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wlntrsldler · 2 months

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how to disappear | luke castellan

warnings: betrayal, fluff, mean!luke for like five lines, extremely long, not canon, drug use and language, probably got some things wrong but it's for the plot; i sobbed writing this. (this might be my favorite piece i've ever written)

part 2: shades of cool

pairing: aphrodite!reader x luke

description: based on how to disappear by lana del rey

i. all of the guys tell me lies, but you don't. just crack another beer and pretend that you're still here.

"hey, angel," a voice startled you out of your thoughts. your feet were dangling over the pier as you stared out into the lake. you twisted your head to see luke approaching. a soft smile was on his face. "been looking for you everywhere."

"needed a breather," you said, scooting over so he could join you. "sometimes i forget how overwhelming being back here is."

he rolled his cargo pants up to his knees, letting the cool water touch his bare skin. "i get it. sometimes i wish i could take a break."

"you can, you know," you nudged his shoulder, "you're old enough to leave camp during the year. nobody would fault you for wanting to go away for a while."

he dug into his front pocket, pulling out a messily rolled joint and the pink lighter you gave him last summer. the heart you drew on the plastic with sharpie was starting to fade. he placed the joint between your eager lips and lit the end. he tried to ignore the sparks that shot up his arm when your fingertips brushed against his.

luke shrugged, "i know, but then who would take care of the kids? mr. d isn't really the model citizen."

you quirked an eyebrow, passing him the joint, "and you are?"

"better than mr. d," he let out a chuckle before taking a drag. luke closed his eyes as the smoke escaped his lips. he could taste your lipgloss. "maybe when you get your own place, i'll take some time off and visit you."

"i'm off to college soon," you said. "going to california. i got a scholarship."

"of course you did," he grinned. the weed didn't take effect yet. usually, when you smoked with luke, his brown eyes are hazed over by the effects, but while he was speaking, his eyes twinkled in pride. "didn't doubt it for a second."

"you'd leave camp and visit california for me?"

luke had a knowing smile on his face now, as if you were ridiculous for even asking that question. "'course. only problem would be that i'm broke as shit right now. being camp counselor doesn't really pay the big bucks, y'know."

you hummed. it was weird really, how camp was just a fraction of your life. your dad made sure that you could have a semi-normal life, or at least as normal as a half-blood's life could be, but not all demi-gods had the luxury, luke included. his dad made sure of it.

at first, luke despised you for it. why was it fair that you were your mom's favorite child while his dad barely cared enough to make sure he survived his failed quest? if aphrodite was his godly parent, he was sure that he wouldn't have this ugly scar on his face to remind him that he was nothing but a failure. she would stitch him up and make sure that he was okay.

this is not to say that luke liked any of the gods; he just preferred aphrodite above all of them. she gave you to the world, after all.

"what else is new?" he prodded, passing you the joint again after his third drag. "anything else exciting happen in your life since last summer?"

"nothing much," you coughed slightly. you didn't smoke unless you were at camp with luke. "just the usual senior year things, i guess. graduation, prom, you know."

"no, i don't know, actually," he laughed, "well, i know the idea of it. did you decorate your graduation cap? did your senior year live up to your expectations? did you have a date to prom?"

"yes, yes, and no." you pretended not to notice how luke's shoulders relaxed at your answer. "i did decorate my grad cap. my dad has it framed with my diploma. the design was my college's logo. i didn't have a date to prom because i didn't really like anyone at school. i would rather take a date i actually enjoyed the company of."

"that's fair," luke said. he took another hit from the joint. you watched the smoke evaporate into the air, the smell of weed surely sticking to your clothes. "tell me about your senior year."

"it was fun," you said, longing on your face. "it's weird to think that i'm kind of on my own now. after camp, i'll be shipped off across the country to take classes for some bullshit degree that i probably won't need because i won't make it long enough to see the workforce."

luke chuckled at that. it was morbid, sure, but he would be lying if he said that that reality wouldn't be a possibility. he didn't like to think about it much, the idea of you dying, but the life of a demi-god was unpredictable. he's surprised he even made it to eighteen.

you continued, "but i got to be a kid and i'm thankful for that. i just can't stop thinking about how this is my last summer here. i'm eighteen now. i've aged out."

"you can come back, you know," luke said. these summers with you were the only thing he looked forward to each year ever since you first arrived. "i'm still here."

"that's because if you step a toe out of this camp, they'll find you," you said, although you knew luke knew this already. he was powerful. he would attract monsters left and right and he'd be putting himself in jeopardy if he left. your suggestions for him to visit you were more wishful thinking than anything. in those moments, you let yourself pretend that you and luke were normal, that nobody would be trying to kill you if you tried to watch a movie at a theater or something.

"fair," he offered you the last hit, but you shook your head. you already felt your head spinning. "beth wants to go to college, too."

"does she?"

"yeah," he put out the joint on the wooden pier. neither of you spoke as the flame was extinguished with a sizzling sound. "told her to talk to you. you know more about it than i do."

"i'd love to talk to her. i think she'd do great in college."

"she would," he smiled, sadly. his eyebrows furrowed in thought. his mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to find the right way to frame his words. you sat in silence patiently. he gulped, "i feel like everyone is moving on without me."

luke propped his elbows on his knees. he looked across the lake, watching the sunset turn into a pink horizon. he couldn't look at you while he spoke. "don't get me wrong, i'm so proud of you for leaving this place. and i'll be proud of annabeth when her time comes, but i think i just hate the fact that at the end of it all, i'll be alone. everyone in my life has a life outside of this, but i don't. this is it for me. i don't know what it is about this place, about this life, that keeps me stuck here, but i am."

you weren't stupid enough to correct him. you both knew the gods had a plan for luke. it was something bigger than the both of you, though neither of you truly knew what it was; but it was always this looming dark cloud above him, a second shoe waiting to drop. luke tried to ignore the feeling most days, but sometimes, he couldn't help but feel himself get pulled into the darkness; like in these moments, when reality hits him a little harder. you probably won't be back after this summer.

"well," you placed a hand over his own. he flipped his hand over to hold yours properly. he still wasn't looking at you. "let's just make the most out of this summer, yeah? think about everything else when we get there."

he squeezed your hand, "yeah."

ii. met me down at the training yard, cuts on his face cause he fought too hard.

"castellan."

luke winced, not because of the pain of the open cuts on his face, but because of the tone of your voice. that voice meant that he was in trouble.

he mustered up the courage to smile weakly at you, trying to ignore the droplets of blood that spilled from his open wound. "hey, angel."

"don't angel me," you hissed, marching to him. you grabbed his face gently, inspecting the damage. "what were you thinking?"

"i was thinking the kid was a bitch."

"castellan."

he cringed, "sorry."

"what happened?"

"i haven't been getting much sleep," luke whispered, "nightmares are back."

you sighed, picking up a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. the apollo kid who was tending to luke earlier was smart enough to leave the room when you walked in. you muttered half-hearted apologies as he hissed in pain. "i'm sorry to hear that, but that's not the answer i was looking for."

"he was just talking shit," luke said through gritted teeth. whatever the ares kid was saying must've been really bad because you could feel luke's anger rising again. you rubbed his back slowly until he calmed down. "don't wanna talk about it."

"okay," you resigned, finally wiping away the final remnants of blood off his face. you stared at him; even with an open lip, red bruises, and flecks of blood on his face, luke was still beautiful. he plopped his forehead against your stomach, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer.

this was common with luke. he acted all big and bad around all the other campers, but in your presence, he turned into this; always looking for comfort, always touching you somehow, like he was finally allowed to breathe. you cradled the back of his neck as he let out shallow breaths, leaving feather-light kisses on his crown when you thought he wouldn't notice them. he always felt them, but he never let you know that he did. he was afraid you'd stop doing it if you found out.

"how bad are they?"

"bad," he sighed, eyes closing. he tugged on you to bring you even closer, though you didn't know how that was possible at this point. "haven't slept in days."

"why didn't you come find me?"

"your sisters don't like it when i interrupt their beauty sleep."

"why didn't you tell me sooner? i could've stayed in the hermes cabin."

"it's gross in there," he laughed. "you deserve to sleep on your soft bed in a cabin that smells like fucking roses, not on my cardboard thin cot in a room that smells like sweaty socks."

you lifted his head up to look at you, "yeah, it's pretty bad in there."

luke snorted, finally letting you go, but a hand stayed connected to your hip. he played with the loose thread on the hem of your shirt. "i still won, by the way."

you cocked your head, "huh?"

"the fight," luke's cocky smirk was back on his face. "you should see the other kid. if i'd been well-rested, he wouldn't have been able to land a blow."

you smacked his shoulder, laughing as you fell onto the bed beside him, "shut up, castellan."

"there it is," he mumbled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he was so close to you.

"what?"

"castellan," he mimicked your voice, but there was no mockery there. he said it like he treasured it, like he was trying to memorize the way you spoke. "you're not mad at me anymore."

it was hard to stay mad at luke. the longest you'd gotten mad at him was when he didn't choose you for his quest. he stood outside the aphrodite cabin the entire day before he was set to leave, begging for you to let him explain. you were too stubborn, too hard-headed, to listen to him. when you were sure that he was gone, you finally left the aphrodite cabin to find a letter from him tucked away under the welcome mat.

you kept the letter, but you never opened it. it wasn't until he returned from his quest, on the brink of death, that you opened it. you were sitting beside his bed, eyebags darker than ever that even your mother couldn't salvage you. your eyes were stained red from crying so much.

in his letter, he explained how he didn't want to put you in danger, how he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to you because of him. your insecurities just got the better of you. you always feared that people saw you as shallow, like you didn't actually have the skills to fend for yourself. many people had misconceptions about the aphrodite kids, but not luke. luke knew that you were incredible. you just didn't resort to violence as quickly as he did.

you felt stupid then, even now, you regret how you treated him before his quest. you hated yourself for how you acted. he never gave you a reason to doubt him, to not trust him; you should've known that he had his reasons. you hated yourself for even questioning him for a second.

luke pulled you into his chest, allowing you to cuddle into his neck. the beads of his camp necklace rested beside your temple. you reached over to play with them, letting the beads thump against his collarbone when you let go. you felt luke twirling strands of your hair around his finger, gently undoing the knots that formed at the ends of your hair because of his antics. you lay there in silence, just enjoying the presence of one another. you felt luke's breathing even out, a sign that he was drifting off.

luke's words from the pier bounced in your head then. did he think that you'd forget about him after you left camp? as if you'd forget about this, about him. a life without luke castellan became unimaginable when you met him when you were fifteen. there was no version of your life that didn't have luke in it.

it was foolish to think that way, you knew that. it was stupid to let someone have a hold on you like this, demi-god or not. even your friends from home warned you about being so attached to luke, though in the version of events you told them, the stakes were much lower. to them, he was just a boy you see at summer camp a few months out of the year; he was just another hometown boy that they urged you to forget when you moved away to college so you could live your life unrestricted.

but luke wasn't just that to you and you knew you weren't just that to him either. there was something between the two of you that was hard to explain, but didn't need an explanation at the same time. even your mom noticed it. she let you know once to tell luke to stop praying to her to give you a sign whenever he missed you.

"i can't keep making flowers bloom whenever he misses you," she wrote, "it wouldn't make much sense for flowers to bloom in the winter, my child, or for flowers to bloom every second of the day."

sometimes, though, on particularly hard days when you'd miss luke, your mom made exceptions. you'd find bunches of hibiscus growing within the cracks of the sidewalk of new york city on your way home from school.

you knew luke was thinking about you then. just the thought of it made your day better.

iii. i know he's in over his head, but i love that man, like nobody can. he moves mountains and pounds them to ground again.

luke didn't know what you'd say if you found out. well, he did know, but he deluded himself into thinking that you'd listen to his reasons, that you'd actually understand why he did what he had to do. maybe you'd even join him.

percy had left camp with annabeth and grover for his quest yesterday. the air at camp felt different since percy was revealed to be a forbidden child. luke, as much as he tried to keep his resentment for the gods at bay because percy was hard to dislike, the poor kid just wanted to save his mom, felt his blood boil when poseidon claimed percy.

he hated the gods, this wasn't new, but luke struggled to understand how he was supposed to feel. he saw so much of himself in percy. he thought of his mother; her hugs that he hadn't felt since he was nine, the taste of her burnt cookies that he hated at the time, but now he just wished he could taste the burnt crisps on his tongue one last time. he even missed her frantic mumbling in the middle of the night.

luke saw a version of himself in percy, the version that had a chance at happiness. luke hated it.

it was too late, anyway. the plan was already in motion. his allegiance to kronos was set. kronos visited him in his dreams often. luke stopped calling them nightmares because nightmares are only nightmares if they happen once in a while. what made them bad dreams was when they were compared to good ones. he didn't have those anymore.

luke hadn't slept much since he stole the bolt. it was easier to think about you, about the happy times, when he was awake. he smoked more now. it helped sometimes. he would pretend your lipgloss was still on the tip of the joint and that you were beside him on the pier, trying to get away from all the noise of camp.

as he walked toward the hermes cabin, smiling cordially at the younger campers who beamed at him, he saw the corner of a pink bag against his bed. his face dropped. luke stopped in his tracks, clutching the beads of his necklace.

you weren't facing the door. your back was turned while you folded the sheets on his bed. he saw you spray perfume on his blankets. he could almost smell the sweet fragrance from where he stood. it took all his might not to run to you and hold you in his arms. it's been months since he last saw you, since last summer. luke's hands fell to his sides before he twisted his body to turn the other way.

he went to the one place that gave him comfort. with his cargo pants rolled up to his knees, he watched the sun fade into the dark sky. there was no pretty sunset tonight. luke didn't think too much of omens, but he figured that was a bad sign. and when your soft footsteps thumped against the boards of the pier, he was certain that it was.

"you damn near running away from me when you saw me was not the reaction i was hoping for."

luke closed his eyes and took a deep breath. out of habit, he moved a bit to let you take your usual spot beside him. when he opened his eyes, he was met with the face he'd thought about for months. a kind smile adorned your lips. you looked different. your skin was a deeper shade, no doubt due to the california sun; your lips were pink and torn apart, like you'd been chewing on them; but your smile was the same.

"what are you doing here?"

"sorry i was late," you said, sheepishly. you played with the small braid in your hair, "i had to move out of my dorm so i had to take a later flight."

"i thought you weren't coming back," luke replied.

"heard there's a war coming," your voice sounded small. luke knew why. he'd listened to you talk about the dreams you had for yourself for hours over the past summers. the idea of an impending war meant that those dreams would take the backseat and you'd have to fight before any of them could come true. "is it true?"

"percy, a forbidden kid, poseidon's, is trying to make sure it doesn't happen."

"do you trust him?"

luke felt his heart crumble in his chest. how cruel is he to keep you in the dark like this? when the only thing you needed to feel okay was to hear that he trusted the kid meant to stop the war?

luke's voice was hoarse, "yeah, i do. beth does too."

"okay," you placed a hand on his thigh. luke stiffened at your touch. you pulled away, embarrassed. "sorry."

"don't apologize," he placed his hand next to yours. he could feel the warmth of your skin. "i've just been on edge."

"it's just me, luke."

he didn't know how to tell you that that's exactly why he was on edge. it was you. the girl he'd been in love with since he was fifteen. the girl he told everything to. the girl who knew him so well that if you were to touch him for longer than a second, you'd know everything.

this summer, for the first time since he met you, he was glad you didn't show up to camp. he knew that the minute you were in front of him, he'd tell you everything and there was a chance you'd want nothing to do with him after it. that was something luke couldn't handle. but now you're here, looking at him like this like his actions just hurt you.

"'m sorry, angel."

"you're acting different, luke."

"'m sorry."

"i don't need an apology," you said. "i want to know why."

luke rubbed his face with his hands, "i don't know, okay?"

"you're lying to me," you were frowning now. luke was angry. he wasn't angry at you, he was angry at the whole situation, but it didn't matter. he was taking it out on you.

"gods, angel, can you just-- not right now," he groaned. you got a good look at him. his eyes were tired, shoulders slumped like he'd been carrying a weight on his shoulders with no reprieve. "i don't really feel like talking."

"you don't have to be mean about it."

he didn't feel like himself anymore. he would never talk to you like this, but there was something in him that made him snap. luke scoffed, "i'm not being mean, you're just being so pushy right now."

you blinked, pulling your hand away from his. shivers ran down your spine, "luke, what the fuck?"

"what?" he stood up. you followed suit. under the moonlight, you saw how dull his brown eyes were. they no longer carried the same glow when he looked at you. luke's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes narrowed, "i just can't handle this right now, okay? can you just drop it?"

"i'm just trying to talk to you!" you raised your voice, disbelief on your features. you walked towards him. holding his face in your hands. he was crying. you wiped away his tears. "i just missed you, okay? i just wanna talk to you because i haven't gotten to in months and i'm miserable."

he let out a shaky breath, your touch grounding him. he felt himself coming back to him. he nuzzled his cheek in your palm, kissing the flesh there as he mumbled apologies into the night.

"i missed you so much," a sob escaped your lips. luke didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, continuing his train of apologies into your ear. you continued, "i-i thought that you'd be happy to see me because i've been counting down the days until i saw you again and i just thought that even though the world was falling apart, we'd be the same. it's always been us, you know?"

"i know."

"and then you avoid me and run away from me and i just needed to see you, luke. i needed to talk to you."

"i missed you, too," he confessed. "so much, you have no idea."

"you have a funny way of showing it," you joked through your tears.

luke laughed. it shocked him. it was like he had forgotten how to. he hiccuped, removing one hand from around you to rub the tears away from his eyes, "come on."

selfishly, he ignored the pit in his stomach. he allowed himself just one more day to have you like this. as he lay on his bed, he held you close to him. he was overwhelmed with how much you filled his senses; the smell of your perfume, the feeling of your lips ghosting on his chest as you told him nonsense stories from college, the sound of your quiet giggles when he made some stupid joke, the look on your face in the dark, staring at him.

an unfamiliar feeling took over his body, rest, he realized it was, a while into lying in the darkness with you.

"i love you, you know that, right?"

luke didn't trust his voice anymore. he pulled you closer, hoping that that was enough for now.

iv. think about those years as i whisper in your ear. i'm always going to be right here.

"i love you."

you turned your head at the sound of luke's voice. camp was in disarray. percy was badly hurt and annabeth was frantic, sobbing about how luke was behind it all. you ran away after hearing it.

you didn't want to believe it, but it was annabeth. she wouldn't say that about luke unless it was true. you knew it killed her just the same to accept it.

"what are you doing here, castellan?"

it felt like a dagger was plunged into luke's heart. he'd heard his name leave your lips in different ways over the years; jokingly, angrily, but never like this. disappointment.

"i couldn't leave without telling you," luke licked his lips, keeping his distance. he was pressing his shirt on the spot percy broke skin. he looked down at his feet, "couldn't leave without letting you know that i love you."

"why did you do it?"

"i don't know."

"okay," you walked towards him. "when did you get so comfortable with lying to me?"

"angel," he sounded broken. "please, don't do this."

"you were wrong, by the way," you said. "you're not stuck here anymore, but i don't think the place you'll end up in is any better than this."

luke was silent.

"go, luke," you whispered. "don't make it any worse than it already is."

he nodded. this was it. you watched as he disappeared into the dark.

you were too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice it then; your mind was plagued with worry, but in the gaps of the wooden pier, a single hibiscus flower bloomed under your feet.

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nothorses · 1 year

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I noticed that you reposted something that is along the lines of proship

I agree with leaving media alone but I think its incredibly disgusting when people ship, for example siblings, because what it feels to me is that they have an incest fetish or something

I know just because someone writes about murder doesnt mean they support it, and I believe that. but usually when people write about murder it's in a negative context, obviously showing how it is so incomprehensible to outsiders about how someone could do that, or showing how we need to get these people help.

trying to apply this to, for example, incest, if someone ships an incestuous relationship then it seems like it would be in a good context, and it seems like they support it should it be in real life. that's how I view this all. (itd be different if they shipped siblings as a strange headcanon and talking about how it's bad... this reasoning I can understand the most to the point where I can let myself ignore it)

how am I supposed to learn to not care? especially when they are really outward about it?

okay.

I do not participate in shipping discourse because I do not participate in shipping. I'm not really In Fandom anymore like, generally. I don't... care.

Because of this I had literally no idea what you were referring to in this ask. I had to scroll. So far back. To get to this post, which also doesn't refer to shipping discourse.

I also have not talked about incest here, and the post in question doesn't talk about incest.

It's about murder. And gore. Which you say here is fine.

Literally why did you send me this ask.

And like... there's a fair chance this is just bait, and there's also enough of a chance that you're genuinely asking that, like, fuck it. I'm gonna get shit no matter what I do, so I may as well try to do a little good.

You use the words "feels" and "seems" a lot in this ask. And I'm really glad you did, actually, because I think it's honest; you're operating on your feelings and assumptions, and that's really important to keep in mind.

And your feelings on this are valid! It's normal to be uncomfortable with certain content, and it's normal to not want to see or engage in it. You don't need to feel any differently about those things. You don't have to consume incestuous content, you don't have to be okay with it, and you don't have to be around it.

But ask yourself: you assume that other people engaging in this content means they support it in real life, but what if they don't? What if you're wrong?

Maybe they're saying it's wrong in a way you're just not picking up on, or that you don't recognize. Maybe they aren't saying it's wrong; maybe it's in the context. Maybe it's in a genre trope in a genre you're not familiar with. Maybe it's irony or satire that you aren't picking up on. Maybe they aren't saying it at all, but that's still what they think, and they just chose not to put it in that content for... who knows what reason. Maybe they're literally just bad at writing.

What then?

Sometimes you're going to feel or assume that something is going on, and you're just gonna be wrong. And you could ask who's fault that is- did you fail to pick up on something you should have been able to, or did they fail to communicate it well enough?- but like, what are you going to do with that information?

Sometimes people are not very good at literary analysis, and sometimes people are not very good at writing, and that's just part of learning. Do we tell everyone not to attempt to talk about certain topics unless they're "good enough" to do it "right"? How do we know when someone's "good enough", and how do they get to that point without practice? Do we just ban those topics altogether? What topics do we ban- where's the line? How do we enforce it? How do we prevent that from being weaponized against marginalized people?

Anon, you asked me how you can "not care" about these things existing. And I think that's a valid question; you feel there is injustice, and you want to stop it. That can be a very noble impulse, and it can be harnessed for a lot of good.

But it can also be really, really toxic- not just to the people you hurt because you act on assumptions and impulses that are incorrect, but to yourself. You can't control everything. You can't control how other people feel, whether or how they engage in certain topics, or what they do or say. You just can't. And trying, or wanting to try, or thinking you should try- it's going to drive you nuts.

So here's how not to care:

Remind yourself that you might be wrong. Take a moment to think about all the things you don't know for certain, and the things you would need to know to be absolutely, 100% sure that you're right.

Consider how important this is to you. How close is this person to you? How important is this issue? What would it feel like to let this go- would it continue to impact you? Do you have other options? (removing yourself from the situation, blocking tags/posts/people, etc.)

Consider what you can do, and what you should do. Think about the tools at your disposal, the power you have in this situation, and how likely this person is to listen to you. Think about whether those tools are ethical. Again, what if you're wrong? Is there any reason you might regret your actions?

If you still feel like it's worth addressing, start by asking questions. Make sure you really know what's going on, and if (and when) the situation changes with new information, walk through this process again. Repeat back what you believe is happening until they confirm that you're right, decide again whether this is worth it, and then proceed.

Sometimes it's more effective to just vent to someone else, or to make a post about the issue generally without confronting that person- especially considering your assumptions might be wrong! Maybe it's worth it to talk about what you thought was happening, but you don't know that what you thought was happening is what was actually happening. You can still talk about it, just, y'know, without making it an attack on someone else.

And again, I don't give a shit about fandom discourse. This is important to me because these are themes that crop up in regular-ass media all the time, and disagreements that crop up in regular-ass relationships with friends and family and loved ones. I think it's important that people have the skills to navigate disagreements, unintentional harm, and perceived slights in healthy, productive ways.

You can't live your whole life demanding that everyone agree with you on everything, or blaming other people for everything you misinterpret or assume incorrectly. You cannot assume that everything that hurts you was designed to hurt you. You can recognize that these are assumptions and feelings, and that's great! And I hope you're being honest when you say that you want to learn to let things go.

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sidekick-hero · 5 months

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let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one

(steddie | wc: 918 | teen | written for @steddiemas and @steddieholidaydrabbles (prompt: came back wrong) | tags: fluff, first kiss, kas!eddie

"I'm not staring at you. I'm staring at your ugly ass sweater. What is that thing?" Steve asks, aiming to sound appalled but failing miserably. There is too much affection in his voice, laughter echoing in every word.

He thinks he can't be blamed, though, because Eddie looks ridiculous in that big green and red sweater with Rudolph the Reindeer on it, pulling an empty flying sleigh. Especially with the gray tinted skin and the sharp teeth and the fucking wings that spilled out of the cuts in the back of the sweater.

"Where's Santa, huh? Did you eat him?" Steve laughs and Eddie chirps again, this time clearly offended. He pulls away from where he was leaning against Steve, climbs off the bed and retreats to the farthest wall. Standing there in a defensive pose with his arms crossed over his chest, Eddie hangs his head and hunches his shoulders, making himself small. His long, black curls hide most of his face, but Steve can still see the onyx color of his eyes gleaming in the dim light of his bedside lamp.

The sight makes his heart ache in his chest.

Getting up from where he's been sitting cross-legged on his bed, Steve pads over to him, determined to fix whatever he's done to make Eddie look like this. But when he ducks his head to catch Eddie's eyes, all he gets is an irritated growl as Eddie turns his head away from Steve's searching gaze. Behind him, his tail flicks back and forth angrily.

One thing he didn't know about Eddie before, but learned pretty quickly, is how damn stubborn he can be. Good thing Steve is not one to give up easily, having spent nearly four years babysitting teenagers.

His hand slowly reaches out, making his intentions clear until it rests on Eddie's forearm. He learned his lesson when Eddie first started coming to his room late at night, still has the scars to remind him of that lesson. He knows that Eddie didn't mean to hurt him. Steve just startled him the first time he reached out to touch him without warning, eager in his excitement to see Eddie alive.

Things have changed since then. A lot.

Eddie is less cagey, no longer afraid of Steve. He tolerates his touch now, even seeks it out. But he still doesn't take well to surprises. Steve wonders what happened to him all those months he was lost in the Upside Down and thinks maybe it's better he doesn't know. He's not sure he wouldn't do something rash and epically stupid if he did.

"Sorry, Eds, I know you don't eat people. It was a dumb joke, I didn't mean anything by it." His thumb smooths over the tense muscles he can feel under the soft material of the sweater. It looks like it should be scratchy, offending more senses than just his eyes, but it isn't.

Just like Eddie looks scary, but isn't.

It seems to be the right thing to say, because the onyx of his eyes takes on a warmer shade, like very dark chocolate or the first precious coffee of the morning. Eddie chirps again and shakes his head.

"No, I mean it, Eddie. I don't think you're a monster. I know you wouldn't hurt anyone, it was a really stupid joke. I guess I'm still an asshole sometimes and -"

Eddie interrupts his ramblings by bumping his head against Steve's before nuzzling close to his neck, chirping and purring. He still can't talk, even though Steve hasn't given up hope that he will, but that doesn't mean he can't communicate.

"Okay, okay, no bad self-talk. Got it, jeez. You're worse than Robin, I swear," Steve laughs as he runs his hands through Eddie's soft curls. Secretly, he doesn't mind letting their bodies do much of the talking. Words have never been his strong suit, but this? He's damn good at this.

"But honestly, what's with the ugly ass sweater, huh?" He can't help but ask again as he practically holds Eddie in his arms. He's colder to the touch than a normal human, but Steve doesn't mind. He always runs a little hotter than most, so it balances out perfectly.

Eddie pulls back a little so he can look at Steve and points to Steve's chest with his claw.

"Me? What do I have to do with this? It's not one of mine, is it?"

Eddie shakes his head and his claw taps Steve's chest again, then points at himself and the ugly sweater.

"I'm sorry, Eds, I don't -"

The claw moves from his chest to his face and Steve holds still, his eyes crossing as it follows the deadly weapon. Eddie's finger touches his mouth, effectively shushing him, before the tip of the claw slips between his lips and pulls ever so gently at the right corner of Steve's mouth, forcing a crooked smile.

"Sssseve" Eddie hisses, the first words he's spoken since he returned not quite the same as before, and it clicks.

"You were trying to make me laugh?"

Eddie beams at him. "Ssseve," he says again, chirping with delight and Steve can't help but kiss him. Eddie freezes for a second under his mouth before kissing him back urgently as more sounds pour out of him between kisses, chirping and purring against Steve's mouth.

So what if Eddie came back a bit wrong? He came back to them. To Steve.

In his book, that's worth more than normal anyway.

#steddiemas #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddie #steddie drabble #eddie x steve #kas!eddie #stranger things #my writing

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intoanotherworld23 · 10 months

Text

The Neighbor

Pairing: Female reader x Chris Evans

Warnings: Brief mention of masturbation, swear words, mention of sex

Summary: Your incredibly handsome new neighbor Chris Evans moves in across the street, and he’s holding a secret that he doesn’t know if you’ll be able to handle

Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks

Part 2

"You got any plans tonight?" Your friend asked as she made herself a drink.

"Yeah I actually do." She turned to give you a knowing look.

"Reading your dirty books and drinking wine is not plans." She scoffed as you rolled your eyes at her. She knew you all too well. "Let's go out tonight."

"I don't know." You groaned as you plopped down on the couch. Going out wasn't really your type of thing.

"You can touch yourself another night." She joked as you almost choked on your own spit.

"I don't do that." You exclaimed but she just scoffed at your response both you and her knowing that was the furthest thing from the truth.

"Everyone touches themselves Y/N." She gave you a look as she raised an eyebrow up. "It's perfectly normal and healthy."

Your friend had no trouble speaking her mind especially when it came to anything sexual. She literally had no filter and didn't care what she said. That's why you and her became best friends. She was the outgoing and spunky type of person, and you were a little shy and timid. Somehow it just worked out with you two.

"I don't need to do that anyway." Your voice became softer and quieter.

"Masturbation you can say the word out loud you know." She teased you watching you struggled to say the right words.

"Alright let's change the subject." She laughed at your response knowing which buttons to push.

She talked about sex so easily whereas you became flustered and uncomfortable. It wasn't a topic that came to you naturally or easily like it did her. You've had sex before but it was always so vanilla and boring. Which is why you just kind of gave up on the matter. No man being able to make you feel sexy or frisky.

"Okay let's go out tonight." She pressed again as you just sighed out loud. She wasn't going to give up.

"Nope." Popping the p looking at your phone.

"Come on bitch it'll be fun." Walking over to sit next to you.

"You know I don't exactly do well around..people." It was true every time you were around large groups of people you tended to make a fool of yourself. Sometimes unintentionally.

"When was the last time you went out?" She asked you. Looking down at the hands resting on your lap knowing she was right.

"I mean I go out." Shrugging your shoulders trying to dodge the question.

"Bitch please if you go out you go out with me." Laughing into her glass at your failed attempt to prove her wrong. "So like I said when was the last time you went out without me?"

Keeping silent of you started picking at your nails knowing she was right. You pushed yourself to go out more, but it never worked out the way you wanted. That's why you always went out whenever your friend invited you.

"Exactly." She sounded proud that she had a point. You just stuck your tongue out at her. "You only go out when it's with me."

"Well you're my best friend." You shot back but she wasn't buying it.

"Your my best friend too but I go out without you." She was making her case and you hated when she was right.

"Well we're different types of people." You stuttered that was the only thing you could come up with.

"I don't care you are going out tonight and that's final." She wasn't going to let up no matter how hard you tried. She'd drag you out if she had to.

Before you could rebuttal both of you heard what sounded like a big truck pulling up to your house. Getting up you walked over to the front window to see what was going on. Seeing a red Ferrari in the driveway of the house across the street, and a moving truck parking as close to the house as the could.

Immediately recognizing the man who stepped out of the Ferrari. Remembering you had seen him last week to close on the new house. What you really remembered though was just how drop dead handsome this man was. Your friend thinking they same thing too, as she practically was purring at the sight of him.

"Who is that?" She fanned herself making you giggle.

"I have no idea." You shrugged as your eyes remained glued to the man. "I only have seen him once last week."

What you didn't tell her though was how you couldn't get him out of your mind. That everytime you woke up you had hoped you'd see him again. Relying your time on seeing him, and even dolling yourself up a bit and sitting on the front porch hoping he would see you. Of course that didn't happen. Thinking a man like him would never go for a woman like you.

"And you didn't get his name?" She sounded offended and shocked. "I say we go over there and introduce ourselves."

"Are you crazy?" Stepping back to look at her with wide eyes. "We can't just go over there and talk to him."

"Ummm yes we can." She nodded her head not even bothering to look at you. "God he just looks like if sex were a person."

Y/F/N." You exclaimed lightly pushing her shoulder. "He's probably got a girlfriend or is married."

"Only one way to find out then huh?" Wiggling her eyebrows as she made for the front door not waiting for your response.

Following closely behind her as she strutted her way over, and you just kept cursing to yourself. Your nerves getting the better of you the closer you got. Wanting to just turn around and go back in your house to hide. Telling yourself he was going to be creeped out by the two of you, and not want anything to do with you.

Stepping on his driveway as you both stood behind him hearing your footsteps turning around to face the both of you. He looked a little surprised how swiftly you both approached him, but at least he smiled.

"Hi there you must be the new neighbor." She spoke first as you just stood almost behind her.

"How could you tell?" He sarcastically spoke looking as the movers carried boxes into the house.

"Just a hunch." She flirted as she stepped a little closer to him. His eyes focused on her as he would glance at you every once in a while. "I love you car by the way."

"Best purchase I've made." He turned to the shiny sports car that probably cost more than your house.

"Well I love these types of cars." Batting her eyelashes at him knowing she was already going to make her move. Given the fact that he clearly had money was an even bigger bonus for her.

Squinting your eyes as the sun started shining in your face, but that still didn't stop you from staring at him. Focusing on his massive arms as they bulged through his shirt. He was a very fit man, and you could only imagine what he looked like without a shirt.

"You must be the neighbor across from me." Of course he thought she was the one who lived there since he was interested in her.

"Actually I don't live here." She shook her head as a hand grabbed you toward her pull you closer. "But my beautiful friend here does."

"Hi." You waved awkwardly as he smiled so widely he showed off his straight whitened teeth.

"You must be the beautiful friend." Crossing his arms across his chest as his attention was on you now. "Oh the names Chris Evans should probably have said that."

"I'm Y/N and this is my friend Y/F/N." Introducing yourself his eyes not leaving yours.

"Well it's nice to meet you both." Coughing subtly as he realized he was just staring at you.

"The pleasure is all ours." Hearing as she deepened her voice. Trying to hold in the giggle that was bubbling in your throat.

"We're having a pool party tonight if you'd like to come." Your friend blurted at as you snapped your head to her.

"You have a pool?" He sounded excited and all you could do was just nod your head unable to find your voice.

"Oh yeah she has pool parties all the time." She continued on and you just turned to glare at her. "They are always a blast."

"She does look like a wild one." He winked at you feeling your cheeks starting to burn from embarrassment.

"I am not." You chuckled looking as innocent as you possibly could. He'd figure out real quick how shy and timid you exactly were.

"Oh yeah trust me Chris she's an animal." Placing an arm around your shoulder as he pulled you in flush against her. "She loves her pool parties."

"Can't say no to a pool party." He smirked already feeling himself getting hard at the thought of you in a bikini. "Any excuse to take these clothes off."

You weren't sure if he was just making those kinds of comments on accident, or if he was blatantly saying those things to get you all flustered. Either way he seemed like a guy that wasn't shy when it came to anything. He was definitely making you nervous.

"It'll start around eight you can just come in through the fenced gate the door will be unlocked." Not stuttering as she clearly made up this party at the last second. "You can bring your own food or liquor if you want."

"Yeah I might just have to make an appearance." Smiling as he glanced back at you as you returned the gesture then looking down at your feet.

"Okay then we'll see you tonight hopefully." Both of you started slowly walking backwards as you waved goodbye.

"What the fuck was that?" You grumbled as you both turned around heading back to your house. Chris still standing there looking as you walked away.

"What?" Looking at you with an innocent look damn well knowing what she was up to.

"A pool party?" You questioned her wondering how you were gonna be able to put together a pool party at last minute. "What happened to going out tonight?"

"Well fuck that we're having a pool party now." Stepping back into your house as you slammed your door shut. "So I'll gather a list of people to call and you just get the pool ready."

"I don't really feel like hosting a party tonight." Groaning at the thought of having tons of people in your house and then having to clean up.

"Oh babe you won't be hosting this party I will." She stated as you just raised an eyebrow at her. "You just need to focus on getting it in with the hot new neighbor."

"I'm not just gonna have sex with someone that I just met." You protested and she just rolled her eyes at you. "No matter how good looking he is."

"Drink enough and you will." She winked as she started going through her phone finding people to invite.

"I'm not that type of girl." You argued back not backing down.

"You need some good dick in your life." Stating her case as she gave you a certain look. "You'd be surprised what good sex will do to you."

"Then why don't you just have sex with him?" You joked but in all reality you started to feel a little jealous as you said that out loud.

"Please bitch I already get good dick you need it more than me." Unsure if you should be offended at her choice of words or thankful she was letting you have him. "Either way it's too late it's already been done."

It wasn't enough for her on pushing you to go out tonight, but now she had invited your incredibly attractive new neighbor to a last minute pool party at your house. Thank god she was your best friend otherwise you'd be super pissed at her. At least she was trying to help you find someone even if it was just a fling.

"Alright I'm gonna head to the liquor store, and bring you one of my bathing suits." Grabbing her purse as she got out her car keys.

"I already have a bathing suit." You defended.

"Yeah nothing sexy enough." She shook her head as she scrunched her nose.

"What do you mean not sexy enough?" Placing your hands on your hips as you glared at her offended. "You want me to just go nude?"

"Now there's an idea." Placing a finger under her chin as she seriously thought about it.

"I'm joking." Belting out a laugh as she saw the horror written across your face. "Okay bye bitch I'll be back later."

Shutting the door behind you as you stood there not knowing what to do now. Well looks like you were having a pool party at your house that your best friend made up, and your hot new neighbor Chris might be coming. This wasn't going to end badly at all.

#chris Evans #chris Evans smut #chris Evans imagines #Chris evans x reader #Chris evans x female reader #Chris Evans imagine #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fic #chris Evans series #fic rec #Chris Evans fiction

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cosmictrashqueen · 2 months

Text

I’m still trying to figure out the best format for these little writings, but here! Have some Dick Grayson angst!

💙💙

It was about an hour before Dick came home you had received a text from Jason- a heads up that patrol didn’t go well and Dick most definitely needed some support through it.

After reading that message, you hadn’t been able to fall asleep as the anxiety of “what happened?” buzzed in your mind. Did Dick get hurt? Did a mission go wrong? Did they lose someone on the team? You hadn’t been told about any nefarious plans they were currently trying to stop, and as far as you knew Dick’s patrol for the night was just a normal one of patrolling around the city and stopping any crime that he saw happening.

It was nearing 4am when you heard the sliding of the bedroom window opening, rousing you from the half unconsciousness you had fallen into. “Dickie?” Your voice was quiet as you sat up, seeking out his silhouette in the darkness of the room. The lights from the outside filtered through the window and gave just enough light to cast a soft blue into the room.

Dick didn’t say anything as he moved, his body language that of an injured cat trying to curl in on itself- though he didn’t move as if he himself had an injury. You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay as the anxiety spiked once more, but your words died on your tongue as Dick all but slumped into the bed, burying his face into your chest as his breathing was a little labored.

“I lost a kid tonight…” Those words whispered against your skin may as well have been a bullet sounding in silence. His words were heavy with sorrow and regret, and you knew Dick well enough to know there was self loathing and blame weighing him down as well.

“Oh baby… I’m so sorry.” You say, your heart clenching at the pain you know Dick feels right now. Your fingers gently run through his hair soothingly, “… if you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”

Dick remains silent for a while, his breathing shaky as it seems he’s fighting back crying. Moments later you feel his tears against your skin and his body sags into yours, “It was a bunch of the usual thugs, low names in one of the crime syndicates looking to up their rank. They… kidnapped a kid and were trying to use him as leverage.”

His voice was getting more strained as he talked, your collarbone feeling more wet with his tears, “Oh Dickie… I’m so sorry-“

“That bullet was meant for me. If I hadn’t moved to take him down when I did, it would have hit me and not killed someone’s child. It’s my fault. I should have- I should have….”

“Shhh, it’s okay…” Your words are soft as you hold Dick, his words devolving into sobs as he finally lets it out.

Over the course of your relationship, Dick has had some rough times with losing civilians, and each and every time it’s like the first time ever. He has so much care in his heart for the citizens of this city, a fierce longing to protect them, and whenever he feels as if he’s failed them, it’s not so much a blow to his ego as it is a new tear in his heart. Dick was kind, compassionate, loving, and losing civilian’s lives on his time- especially a child- was not something he took lightly.

You hold him close as he cries into your neck, fingers rubbing along his scalp soothingly as you can do nothing but be an anchor for him so he doesn’t get ripped out to sea in his emotions.

“I know it’s hard, but even though you’ve been doing this for almost your whole life sometimes things are unpredictable. Things can just… happen. Unfortunately that’s what happened tonight… it’s not your fault. You were trying to save that little kid, and things just… escalated.” You never really knew the right words to say to Dick when things like this happened, when he needed the support and comfort from his partner through tough times.

The two of you stay quiet for a little while longer, his laborer breathing and soft sobs slowly coming to a rest as he calms down more and more. You’d stay here holding Dick as long as he needed you to, though you knew he’d probably relax more if he wasn’t still in his suit.

“Let’s get you out of this, okay baby?” You say quietly, gently pushing him away so you can help him start to undress out of his suit. Even after all these years you still struggle with taking it off him by yourself, so once your fingers begin to fumble he lets out a soft chuckle and sits back to peel himself free from Nightwing, coming back to your arms as just Dick Grayson.

“There we go, much better.” You whisper as your nails gently scratch along his back. Your lips place gentle kisses along the smudged black ringed around his eyes, “A life was lost tonight, and I know you know it’s not the last time it will happen. You’re out there every night fighting, Dickie, fighting criminals from the lowest of ranks to those like Joker and Freeze. You’ve been saving countless lives between your time in Gotham and Bludhaven, don’t ever forget that. I’m not saying that little kid’s life is meaningless, what I’m saying is don’t forget him as you keep fighting to save other lives.”

Dick remains silent until the two of you drift off to sleep together, his head resting on your chest as your arms are wrapped around him. You knew come morning Dick would be a little more recovered from the night, and that little child he lost would be his driving force for new actions taken against the criminals of the city.

***

The following week during dinner, Dick is talking to you about the Avery Fund, which is a new Wayne financial fund he and Bruce agreed upon that would help with family’s who have lost children to the crime rates in the city.

Dick never ceases to amaze you with the efforts he takes both as Dick Grayson and Nightwing to better the lives of civilians.

#dick grayson #Nightwing #nightwing fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing angst #dick grayson angst #listen this man has such a big heart and he just needs to have a good cry around a trusted loved one every once in a while #idk how to tag lmao #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader

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angelltheninth · 1 year

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can I req kunigami fucking you in the locker room after his team loses? i feel like he hates to lose so he’d be more rough than normal

The cinnamon roll turning feral? Please that's one of my favorite things.

Pairing: Kunigami Rensuke x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, locker room sex, frustration, mostly clothed sex, rough sex, size difference

A/N: I love it when the soft ones lose their shit. It's so fun to watch. That makes me sound a little sadistic but you can't say I'm wrong can you?

Kunigami was a sweetheart since the day you met, a shy sweetheart at that. The first time you had sex he was afraid to touch you because he didn't want to disappoint you. Hell to this day he looks away sometimes when you're undressing.

You've rarely seen him go berserk other then on the field. Even when you ask him to be rough with you he still holds back some because he knows he's a lot stronger then you.

So... safe to say that being slammed against the lockers was a dream come true. His jersey and his tight suit coming off while you're the one still wearing clothes because he just couldn't wait anymore, and have his big, hard cock slamming into your wet pussy, slamming you against the lockers.

"Sorry." He choked out while pushing your breast into his mouth, licking over the nipple with his whole tongue as he did so. "This is the only... I can't... I... fuck!" He hardly even looked at you since you walked in to comfort him after you saw him lose the game. He couldn't look at you, the disappointment he felt in himself was too much.

"Don't be sorry Ren. I'm okay, we're okay." With your legs closing around his hips to pull him in deeper he couldn't resist temptation of going faster. He'd already made you scream his name in the game, and he failed to make it worth while. Not this time, this time when you scream his name he will make sure it's for a good reason. His body strained, his muscles still aching from the adrenaline and rush of the game, even so he lifted you up higher, your breasts right in his face, your arms locked around his head, fingers running through his sweaty, messy hair. From your position you could make out the blush on his face, all the way to the tips of his ears, the frustration in his eyes. Frustration that you were more the willing to take away. "You want to come don't you? You can do it inside this time. It's okay, I can-"

Kunigami didn't even allow you to finish what you were gonna say before he started dumping his hot load of cum into you, "Shit! So tight! So good, so good, so good! Squeeze my fucking balls dry, come on! Just take it all!" For the hoarse desperation in his voice and the repeated slapping sound of his body against yours it wasn't gonna take long for you to spiral over the edge with him. He held your smaller self up so damn easily, even now when he was beyond gone. So earnest, so needy, so caring, so damn rough, what more could you want in a boyfriend? Especially one so damn willing to fuck your brains out with his big, thick cock hitting your sensitive spot in such a mindless frenzy.

"Don't want it... dripping out so much." You panted and with a low grunt found yourself with your back on a bench, Kunigami gripping your ankles, cock drilling into your pussy. The show of strength and the sight of being filled so completely finally sent you tumbling over the edge, your body arching, hands gripping the edges of the bench for dear life. Kunigami slammed inside you one last time, going completely still to let your orgasms run its course, breathing hard, shaking, dizzy.

What made you dizzy was the sight of his cock pulling out, covered with cum, the same cum that flowed out of you in abundance, running down your stomach as he still held you in your folded position.

"Hm, I'd say you just scored pretty well big boy."

#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk imagines #kunigami rensuke #kunigami x reader #kunigami smut #kunigami headcanons #blue lock #kunigami rensuke x reader #kunigami rensuke imagine #kunigami rensuke headcanons

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ravennaortiz · 22 days

Note

Okay I'm back again. This time I'm going with Guero. Let's go with prompts 2,11,40, and 30.

Welcome back lovely! You want my sweetie pie Guero and with those prompts? I can work some magic for ya! As always my stories are 18+!

Prompts:

2. I'm not the right man for you

11. I'm not enough for you

40.That hurt/Hurts

30. I need you

Tag List: @keyweegirlie

Mistake

Guero couldn't take his eyes off you as you played pool with Coco, Gilly and Angel. His grip on his beer tightening as he saw Angel's hand brush your hip in passing. His growing anger and jealousy had his vision darkening. I did this to myself he thought as he tried to rationalize and talk himself through this. He had been the one to break up with you. Through text to add insult to injury. Telling you he was not the right man for you and that he wasn't enough for you and never would be.

He had declined your call like a coward not once but all ten times. He knew if he heard the pain in your voice that he would take it back. He knew he needed to protect you and that in order to do that you two could not be together. When you texted asking if he was breaking up with you he had doubled down on being Santo Padres biggest asshole. - Thought you were a smart girl? Basic English to hard? I can do Spanish if you want.- You had left him on read. That had been two months ago.

What Guero had failed to consider was you had been a regular visitor to the clubhouse your whole life. You had been around longer than he had and the guys in the club were your friends first. So for the last sixty days he had seen and or heard you. Your presence was everywhere. Including his house where your stuff was still strewn around. He slept holding a pillow with your hoodie on it because it still smelled like you. He sometimes used your body wash in the shower and he burned your favorite scented candles sometimes to pretend like things were still normal.

Your laugh broke through his thoughts and he glanced up to see Angel with his arm wrapped around your waist and his face buried in your neck. The two of you leaning into the pool table. His voice of reason was trying to tell him he had no right to be mad or jealous. He had been a fool and fools do not get rewarded.

Unfortunately you had always been his voice of reason. The urge to beat pretty boy Angels face to a bloody pulp had him standing up and starting to stalk over to where you all were. He could care less if this got him kicked from the club. He had no right to touch you like that. Before he could swing he made a split second decision to grab your arm.

"That hurts" you yelped as you felt a sharp pain shoot up your arm as Guero pulled you off balance and away from Angel. Guero kicked himself mentally as he loosened his grip but pulling you closer. Ignoring Angel and the others. I need you" he stated his voice urgent as he let his hands travel your curves.

Why the sharp sting and resonating smack that traveled through the clubhouse surprised him he was not sure. Rubbing his burning cheek he turned and met your angry gaze. "I'm not a club whore" you growled before shoving past him, grabbing your jacket and making your way out the door.

"I think you should have said sorry first" stated Gilly as he sipped his beer before going back to the pool table. "Yeah, feeling her up and saying I need you gave the wrong impression" agreed Coco. "She still loves you. I'm annoyed you broke her heart. We don't take to kindly to her being fucked with but I can see if she will give you another chance. This was my fault after all" stated Angel as he used his boot to scuff at the floor looking guilty.

*A little while later*

"Well get to it. My stupid girl brain will get distracted soon" you snapped as you stood across from Guero. Arms crossed and right foot tapping the ground impatiently. Guero grimaced as you through his words back at him.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you and making you feel small. I love you more than you know. I made a mistake. I wanted to protect you and I thought breaking up would do that." confessed Guero as he stepped closer to you clasping his hands together. "Please give me another chance. I am begging you" he pleaded as he dropped to his knees in front of you."I cannot do this life without. I need you" he murmured as he felt tears slip down his cheeks as he reached for your hand.

You took a deep breath as you felt your own tears start to travel down your face. "One mistake is all you get" you stated after a few minutes.

Want more Guero? Click here

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#ravennasmasterlist #ravennasrequest #guero x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #guero fanfic #guero mayans #guero mayans fanfiction #guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #fanfiction #imagines

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filthforfriends · 11 months

Text

Chapter 14

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Read chapter 1-13 on my Masterlist

This is just self-indulgent fluff and smut, but next chapter has plot, I promise.

This morning was the type of event that would prompt basically any alpha-omega pair to knot. Including long term relationships where knotting outside of rut was subsequently rare. When a mate’s well-being has been endangered, sometimes that connection is the only thing that alleviates the emotional anguish. The borders of individuality blur during a knot. If I am part of you, then I can be absolutely positive that you are okay. If I am part of you, then I know you are safe.

You’re aware this is how you’re supposed to feel, but sex couldn’t sound less alluring. Damiano clearly disagrees. He strips without prompting, cock hardening from just the prospect of love making. This visual alone should be sufficiently arousing, and yet there isn’t a spark of sensation between your legs. This would be the first time you said no to sex. It was bound to happen at some point, but this particular relationship milestone couldn’t have chosen worse timing. You find yourself trying to figure out why. He’s gorgeous with his hair pulled back, all the harsh angles juxtaposed by the gentle curve of his bottom lip and those big, round eyes.

“Would you like me to take your clothes off?” Damiano asks with a smirk. He raises a single eyebrow and saunters towards you. Nothing. Like someone had clicked the off switch.

“Can I have a hug?”

“Of course you can have a hug,” he scoffs, eyebrows knitted like the request is ridiculous. Dami’s embrace brings you onto your tiptoes. Instead of having you lean forward, he moves completely into your personal space. Immediately, both hands are under your top, his warm skin sliding against yours. Touch wasn’t the issue, in fact it felt wonderful and relaxing. It was a welcome reminder that all the chatter was in passing, but permanent were your two bodies, bound together.

You keep your face pressed against Dami’s shoulder, avoiding pulling away for as long as possible. Because then there’ll be kissing and the expectation of slick, or at least something. Damiano takes it upon himself to keep the ball rolling, fingers unclasping your bra. You move back so suddenly that he’s worried he hurt you somehow.

“I don’t wanna,” you blurt.

“You don’t wanna…what?” His confusion isn’t misplaced, considering you’ve never offered less than enthusiastic consent.

“After all the crying, I don’t feel like it.” You step back and begin rubbing the accidental smudge of permanent marker on your thumb.

“Say it so I know you feel like you can,” he requests, softly.

“I don’t want to have sex right now.”

“Is it because I smell different?” He fails at masking his devastation.You try to determine if the presence of his normal musk would change your mind. Separating everything so it could be properly examined felt impossible.

“I don’t feel like a sexual being right now and I’m not sure if anything could change that headspace.”

“Okay.” Dami nods with a poker face. “Well, I will put pants on.” Something pulls inside you, not from your cunt, but in your stomach. It’s the sensation of really, truly missing someone, the need to be closer.

“Mm – wait!” As soon as he turns, you throw yourself back into Damiano’s arms. He loudly kisses your head during the lengthy embrace. You rock side to side and a tepid hand cups your lower back under the uniform. He worried you’ll think he’s ignoring your wishes. You hum in contentment and kiss his neck so Dami is reassured that all is well.

“I am all for the standing and hugging, but do you want to cuddle and watch a movie or nap, or…?

“I don’t know...” As soon as you release Dami, that empty feeling is back. “Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with me right now?”

“Nothing, baby. You are under no obligation to –”

“I know, it's not that. I just feel…uncomfortable in my own skin.” He hums in acknowledgment and turns towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants. Damiano is holding his tongue, but he changes subject before you have the chance to interrogate.

“What about a new nickname?” He flops down on the bed and you crawl up the mattress to meet him. Touch still careful, Dami runs a hand along your back and over to your hip. His gaze stays fixed in that region for several seconds, so you answer to distract him.

“I hadn’t thought about a replacement to be honest.”

“We don’t have to think of one,” he assures.

“No, no, I like it during…when I’m feeling a certain way. It sounds more natural than my name.” He could also just address you with the customary title “omega,” but that felt wrong too. Not to mention that adhering to customs was the antithesis of your personal philosophy. You didn’t want to be alpha and omega as society dictated, but instead Dami and…something.

“In Italian, are there pet names?”

“Oh my god, so many. There's…leprotta, topolina, pulcina.” You could listen to Damiano pronounce his R’s and T’s all day.

“What do those mean?”

“Leprotta is bunny. Topolina means little mouse and pulcina means, um, chick.” You shake your head with an expression of displeasure. “Too cutesy?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, my grandmother calls Sandro orsetto and me tigrotto which means little bear and little tiger.” Those names make you perk up before the reality of the association sets in.

“Won’t you think of your grandmother then?” Damiano makes a face of disgust. “Yeah, exactly. I like those though.”

“Piccola just means little one.” You ponder on that diminutive for a moment. It could only be used in Italian because the possibility of him saying it in front of another person makes you preemptively cringe.

“Maybe…”

“That’s also pretty cutesy. Ah, okay, there's leoncina and lupina. Little lion, or I guess little lioness, and little wolf. Yeah?” You watch Dami’s expression change to one of excitement as he speaks. The both of you can feel those fit better.

“So in English that’d be cub or, um…”

“Pup.” Pup was a feeling that always landed you in headspace. It was a word you associated with submission, but not submission for the sake of it. To be Damiano’s pup was to be under his protection, to be safe, carefree. Pups weren’t expected to say and do the right thing. Pups were still learning. Everybody knew that a pup couldn't guard itself, couldn’t take care of itself.

“So you’re my pup then?” You nod and melt onto Dami’s chest. “You’re my little wolf. My little, baby wolf.” The throaty whine you omit is just an effort to externalize the swell of internal pressure. For the same reason your feet flex and hands strangle the pillow under Damiano’s head.

“I feel like your pup,” you confess.

“I can tell. You’re squirming around like a puppy.”

“I think I want a knot, but it’s like my body doesn’t want sex,” you groan in discomfort at housing such a contradiction.

“I could give you a knot and we could just cuddle.” You prop yourself up, legs still entangled with Dami’s.

“You’d do that? What about the blue balls?” He smirks knowingly.

“Well I’d have to complete my normal morning routine and wait 10 minutes.”

“Morning routine?” He’d definitely brushed his teeth. The glass of bright orange juice on the try catches your eye and you realize neither of you had eaten. With a metabolism like Dami’s, he was probably starving and sex would burn calories he hadn’t yet ingested.

“I’m definitely hungry to,” you shrug, sliding off of the bed to retrieve the tray. It was such a sweet thoughtful thing for Matteo to do. He knew you were coming to his house unannounced and he knew you’d be hungry.

“Your dad’s kinda the best mmm,” you eat half of a sandwich in about three bites and drink all the juice in a single go.

“Yeah, this was really great of him,” Dami agrees through a mouthful of eggs. Thankfully, you’d skipped the Trying to Not Look Like Hyenas When You Eat stage in the relationship. Plus teasing Dami for getting crumbs in his underdeveloped facial hair was way too much fun. (Unless Sandro pitched in at which point he’d get a little sensitive).

“Something on my face?” he mumbles with a full mouth, left hand coming to brush off the usual suspects.

“Not this time.” He sets his utensils on the tray and moves it to his desk. Hands on his hips, Damiano thoroughly chews his last bite while conscientiously piecing his next sentence together.

“Making sure you eat, I should have instigated that, but it's not um…” he gestures towards his head, “not what I had in mind when I said morning routine. See, usually I, I –” he looks down to his still partially erect cock.

“Masturbate! Babe, you didn’t have to make it into charades.” He blushes, now looking at his feet.

“So I’m gonna do that.” Damiano gestures of the shoulder with his thumb. The fact that he wanted to jerk off in the bathroom so you didn’t feel pressured was adorable.

“Alternatively, I could sit on your lap with my top off and play with your hair. Maybe kiss your neck?”

“Hnnngg oh, fuck yes.” He scrambles back up the bed, shedding his sweats on the way. You straddle his lap and allow Damiano to enthusiastically undress you. There's a pause, once you’re topless and he’s naked, but self-conscious about going straight into violently wanking. You almost tell him to get on with it before coming up with a better idea. Gathering all the saliva to the front of your mouth, you spit onto his dry cock. A trail of saliva connects your lips and his groin for a few seconds. Once that breaks, so does the spell that held him in a pause. Damiano whimpers with abandon and damn near strangles his shaft.

Right away, you have to sit up and support your own weight, since resting on him was about as steady as breaking a wild mare. Damiano rolls his hips, thrusts his pelvis, changing how he’s getting off every 10 seconds. Of course he doesn’t have to decide, because there's no one else requiring consistent stimulation. His facial features twitch, eyes unable to decide on being open or closed.

First, you carefully untwist the elastic from his hair, letting it fall. You run your nails over his scalp and through his undercut. One hand curls pieces around your finger and another massages his ear. You run the shell of Dami’s ear between your index and middle, then rub the cartilage, before finally pulling on his earlobe. Making the most of your cleavage, you put both arms around his neck and hunch your shoulders forward. Dami manages to focus his gaze for a moment and presses his face to your breasts. He makes a few warped sounds of pleasure and you feel jizz hit your stomach. Damiano kept pulling on his cock far past when you would’ve stopped. Even after the ejaculation, he stroked himself to over-stimulation.

That had to be under two minutes. Now with both hands free, he encircles your mid-back, keeping you close enough to have his face against your boobs.

“Dami, I come bearing terrible news. You can’t stay with your face between my titties forever.” He bemoans this theatrically.

“Just a little longer,” he whines. You scoff and allow it, stroking his hair. A few seconds pass and Dami lets out the heaviest, most burdened sigh and sits up like his head weighs 100 pounds.

“I know that was hard for you, but at least you made great time.”

“You don’t get to make fun of me for finishing fast if it's not inside you,” he groans, turning red anyways.

“It was a compliment! That was very efficient.” He rolls his eyes with a smile and releases you. It’s only so Damiano can lean back and watch his cum drip down your abdomen. You indulge this until the semen is nearing the waistband of your pants, at which point you wipe it off with a tissue. Dami pouts like you’ve told him he can’t have dessert before dinner and not as if he wanted to watch his cum dry on your skin.

“Let’s try something familiar to start, yeah?” Already aware of the position he’s referencing, you turn on your side. Damiano lays snuggly behind you and even pulls up the blanket. It feels so safe that you’re almost ready to slip into headspace, eyes slowly falling closed.

“I’m gonna put my hand between your legs, completely still. It’s just for pressure and warmth,” he narrates. Dami rubs your lower stomach, then dips his fingertips into your underwear. Rather than push a hand between your thighs, he waits for you to open your legs. You do so gradually and his touch moves at the same pace. After some adjustments, you get his hand in a comfortable spot that closely cups your vulva. It’s a really reassuring sensation, for the most vulnerable part of you to be guarded by your alpha.

“How’s that pup?” he whispers. You nod and sigh in contentment.

“Good, mhm.”

”This is just a gradual way to wake up your body.” Very lightly, Damiano scents you and rests two fingers on your bottom lip. It's gratifying to watch you submit despite not being penetrated. Allowing yourself to act out of instinct, you curl up for the sake of safety. It’d been such a terrifying morning, and while the day's events may not be in the forefront of your mind, you still vividly remember how they made you feel.

“Why is my little, baby wolf curling up against me?” Dami mirrors your body language so he remains just as close. He feels you take a breath and untense your muscles. The warm puff of air from the exhale hits the pads of his fingers.

“Pup, you are safe. I am your shield.” You go quiet for a couple minutes and he is trying to figure out your headspace when Damiano sees a weak hand making its way to his wrist. Usually, he’d help you along, but this time his own hands are occupied. Watching you struggle to reach his wrist is painful, but he needs to respect your autonomy. Finally, you push his hand forward, fingers breaching your lips. It was this funny little habit you’d developed to stay quiet, sucking on his index and middle finger while in headspace. He’d accidentally instigated it when Damiano touched your scent glands for the very first time.

“There you go, pup,” he murmurs. It turned out that this reassurance was what you needed to finally trust the urge to submit. Unfortunately, Damiano also needed his hand back because his wrist was aching. Since you were practically silent anyways, he figured it’d be a non-issue, but felt teeth when pulling away.

“Pup, what’re you doing?” he coos, and kisses your hairline. Dami’s careful not to interrupt omegan headspace by jostling you. Without sexual contact or much practice, the state was more meditative. You were just under the surface, relaxation anchored only by Damiano’s hands. So when he tries to remove his fingers from your mouth again, Damiano ends up hissing in pain because you bite down. Far more painful to endure was the forlorn, betrayed whine you release. All progress is lost and you curl up again, holding tighter to his wrist.

“Okay, okay, pup. It’s yours,” he whispers. Damiano puts his lips to your ear and hums. You can feel the music’s vibrations. It soothes your scattered thoughts and allows your focus to narrow. You imagine the sound waves making their way through space, unencumbered by the world’s stressors. Dami’s original objective was to get you purring, but now he’s centered on a pertinent, and perhaps more realistic goal; figure out why you’d become so attached to his hand in your mouth for these past few months.

Assuming the gesture was utilitarian, he’d never questioned it until now. It might be the only part of your sex lives you hadn’t discussed. However, Damiano could feel from your body’s lack of response that it wasn't sexually stimulating. It was about comfort, somehow, a way to regulate during headspace and that's why you couldn’t let go. It made sense, considering you never did this with your eyes open. You pulled his hand to your mouth on the way into headspace – which is why Damiano had begun just placing it there – and you rejected it while surfacing to consciousness.

“I’m curious about this little habit of yours, pup,” he muses. Up close, he could see the tiny movements your mouth made because you sucked in a rhythmic pattern, releasing intermittently. The mannerism was strongly reminiscent of something he couldn’t quite recall. He could just ask later, but you might not even be aware of the behavior. Damiano imagines trying to explain that you suck on his fingers to self-sooth. You’d be embarrassed, maybe even squirm around, like today when he called you pup for the first time

I feel like your pup. Dami had assumed you meant that the name “pup” fit well in your dynamic, but it might have been literal. He admires your profile, finally a peace, and realizes your mouth is moving because you’re not sucking, you’re suckling. He’s almost overcome with a wave of protectiveness, since there's no way to guard you more than he is right now, even though he fucking needs to make you safer. Spooning, a hand between your legs and the other in your mouth – the only way to get closer is a knot. Damiano reminds himself that it is a decision made both ways and tries to calm down.

Feeling the drastic change in his body language, you begin to stir. The very glandular progress between your legs speeds up as you ascend towards consciousness. At the same time, you reject Dami’s fingers, turning your head one way and pushing his hand another. He winces while flexing his wrist, and the stiff joint makes a clicking sound.

In an attempt to get more comfortable, you turn onto your back, feebly pushing the restrictive elastic waistband of your uniform down and grunting at the effort. Damiano uses both hands to finish the task for you. At this point in the relationship, guiding words for physicality aren’t necessary. Because he was the only partner you’d explored headspace with, there weren’t any left over mannerisms from another relationship that he had to decipher. Dami had personally overseen the entire evolution of your relationship with omegan headspace. Subsequently, he could read your body language, your vocalizations, and even your energy with near complete accuracy.

Near being the operative word today. The day he’d figured out that your subconscious perceived him as such a nurturing and protective figure, that you were nursing. Or rather, going through the motions of nursing as a way to self-soothe. Omegan headspace allows you to relinquish that pernicious hold on self-awareness. Upon which, your first instinct is to seek a feeling of profound safety, and you trusted him to provide that. You felt like Damiano’s pup because Damiano felt like your guardian.

“What’er ya thinkin’?” you ask, before turning to press your face against Dami’s skin, laying on your right side. When he doesn’t answer, you halfway pull him on top of you, trying to absorb that golden, radiant heat into your own skin. It felt like the beginnings of a sunburn and also served to pull Damiano out of his head. To your surprise, when your eyes finally open, he’s beaming, not pensive.

“Hey,” you croak, chin tilting up for a kiss. Of course he obliges and keeps it gentle, almost chaste. When you look up after parting, he’s already gazing down at you in adoration, wearing a full smile.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I am,” he confirms warmly. “But how else could I feel, with you all to myself, precious lupina.” Kiss.

“Fuck taking space.” Dami snorts, but nods in agreement.

“Jay hasn’t mentioned it since.” Kiss. “So maybe he rehid the body and Clem can’t blackmail him anymore.”

“I really would have been happy to lend him a tarp if he’d just asked.” Damiano giggles and scents you, nuzzling against your profile. You know he could keep going until the entire room was heavy with pheromones and you smell like a I Belong to Damiano billboard. To prevent the cloudiness of mind, you break his focus. Kiss.

“I love you.” Kiss.

“And I love you,” kiss, “little wolf.” Now you’re the one beaming, and every part of you knows that calling Damiano was the right thing. Less than two hours ago, it had seemed like that fear and misery would do more than take its pound of flesh. it would erode your self-image until there was no y/n left. That was the only way out before Dami’s presence. Of course you knew that he was here to protect you from monsters, but never had you considered those monsters would be ones of your own making.

“I can feel my vagina again.”

“That is one of the more unique ways I’ve been propositioned.” Damiano turns over, reaching towards his nightstand on the right side of the bed. He opens the drawer, pulls out a clear plastic bottle with a blue cap, and lays down, situating a pillow under his head.

“Well, get over here.” He grabs your left upper thigh and hauls you across the bed with a grunt, positioned with your hips above his own, and your bent knee level with his ribcage. Damiano rests a wandering hand on the top of your ass while the other shakes the bottle to disperse the contents towards the cap.

“Actually you’re gonna want to take off your underwear.” You oblige while trying to read the stylized writing on the label, also in blue. Dami sets it on the counter and puts his hair up. You hum in appreciation and resume the previous position: chest to chest with your other leg relaxed along his side. It's so comfortable with the skin to skin contact that you could fall asleep like this, if not for the spear digging into the crook of your thigh. Everytime you shift, Damiano’s eyes flutter from the modicum of stimulation.

“This would be easier if you had less distracting thighs,” he pants, kneading the dimpled tissue below the crease of your glute. At any given time, this area bore a teeth mark or two because someone had a particularly strong pursuit predation instinct. Laying on your stomach was the comfiest way to do homework, but you’d learned your lesson about doing so around Dami with bare legs. Still, sometimes he was out of the room for long periods of time or didn’t greet anyone upon arriving. You wrongfully assumed that you’d be able to hear the bedroom door opening, but Dami somehow became dead silent as he stalked across the room.

You fidgeted mindlessly while distracted with your AE notes, feet kicking, arches alternating between flexed and bent. All that movement only heightened Damiano’s prey drive. He couldn’t rest his weight on the mattress without you knowing, so as soon as he reached the edge of the bed, Damiano began the brief, but most exciting part of the pursuit. He pounced, scrambling up the mattress so quickly that you felt the weight shift and his teeth in your soft flesh simultaneously. Of course he didn’t actually hurt you, but the bastard loved to hear you squeal and then catch you when you tried to scamper away. Perhaps he enjoyed it even more when you snarled in retribution and tried to fight him off, knowing that his victory was inevitable.

When Damiano slips into headspace while chewing on his bottom lip, you realize what kind of sex he’d like to have. The kind that you could never explain to Gia, and would hesitate describing to Xiema, despite her also being an omega.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? No, no, no. If you don’t want a knot anymore that's fine.”

“I do, it’s just that I can tell that you…” He blushes and shakes his head.

“Mm-mm, no apologies.” Kiss. “We don’t do low-key very often. This is nice.” Dami’s eyes are drawn to his hand as it strokes up and down your flank. His other forearm again rests on your very low back/glutes.

“Look at my face,” you murmur. His eyes snap up and Damiano’s cheeks turn pinker. He’s bashful, but still grinning slyly.

“Wanted to give you a chance to have a complete thought.”

“Oh, uh.” He exhales shakily, avoiding your gaze because he’s flustered, but his eyes fall right back to where they were. “Dam!”

“You’re getting curvier and it's killing me,” he finally exclaims. “Your hips are wider and your boobs are – they’re, um…I can’t believe you had a growth spurt right after I marked you. It’s cruel.”

“I guess my clothes have been fitting differently,” you ponder.

“Yes! Yes they have!” he exclaims in near hysteria.

“I had to go up a size when Valera ordered my uniform. I just figured it was because you’re a damn good cook.” You pat his chest, tracing circles on his areola.

“I would like to think that my amatriciana contributed to such a wondrous thing.”

“Hmm, your amatriciana is a wondrous thing.”

“You are my wondrous thing,” he retorts, touch dipping between your legs. In different circumstances, you would tease Dami for being so damn corny, but in this one you are watching his reaction to the lack of slick. You’re wet, body responsive to his steadying or teasing touches, nothing else. Like a beta would be. No doubt he’s disappointed, but Damiano manages his expression and picks up the bottle from the nightstand.

“What potion are you about to put inside of me?”

“Lube,” he chuckles. “Haven’t you heard of –”

“Yes, I’ve heard of lube,” you scoff. “I’ve just never…”

“Seen it?” He cocks an eyebrow, squirting some onto his hand. Dami uses his thumb to coat his fingers and warm the gel.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d have some, since we – oh.” Of course he had a bottle left over from using it with past partners. Why hadn’t he thrown it out? To be fair, you were using said lube right now.

“I actually bought this for myself, since you shamed me for using lotion,” he emphasizes.

“Scented lotion, better known as a yeast infection,” you retort.

“A little cold,” Dami warns, before his fingers make contact with your hymen. He spreads the lube around and inside the bottom of your labia, then ventures slightly above the vagina. Everything is so slippery that he ends up accidentally dipping the tip of his finger inside. You collapse on his chest with a hum, taking a deep breath and relaxing against your alpha. Damiano has three freckles on the back of his neck, all around his spine. You tap each one then switch to teeth.

“Are you gnawing on me, pup?” Instead of an answer, you bite down and enjoy working the trapezius muscle between your teeth. Damiano pushes the first finger in all at once, not met with any resistance. Your mouth falls open and you drool on his shoulder.

“So relaxed,” he hums. “Good pup.”

“This can’t be a terribly flattering position.” You were just limply splaying across him, left leg resting on the mattress and hips relaxed and open. Damiano smacks your butt as a response, pulling the cheek up to get his fingers better access. With the right leg hiked up, it actually was a pretty flattering position.

“Wait, when did I get an ass?” When you look down, the curve of your butt actually blocks the view of Damiano’s left foot.

“I can’t believe you’re just now noticing that you’ve filled out. I can’t let my mind be unoccupied, because that’s all I’ll think about.” He’s visibly straining and you can’t help but giggle, stroking his undercut. “At breakfast, during class, and especially on the field. Oh my fucking god,” he whines with his eyes squeezed shut at an embarrassing memory.

“Increased blood flow.”

“So it's basically impossible to chill out. When I feel it happening I run as hard as I can so the blood will go elsewhere.” You imagine Dami during practice, trying not to get a boner and smirk.

“How did you go through half a bottle of lube in three weeks?” you tease. “Doesn’t sex help relieve some of it?”

“Au contraire,” he pulls you on top of him, with a grunt. “You make it worse.” Now your bent leg is hanging off of Damiano’s side – knee to foot comfortably cushioned by the duvet – and your straight leg has taken its place.

“Is this position we’re gonna have sex in? Cause anatomically…” Dami wraps both arms around your waist and turns to face you. Your thigh is clutched between his own, and his cock is nearly nudging your vulva. It’s like a hug, but so much more intimate. The position also makes you keenly aware of how not wet you are.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, but we’re so feral that…” Damiano bends his knees so he has a way to create momentum, shifting to get things just right. “It takes a bit of adjustment and half the time we’re having sex before we’re even horizontal,” he huffs, already a little breathless. The head of his cock cries drops of milky pre-cum as it bumps against your vulva. Viscous tears run down the tip and onto the ridge, where they fall to your thigh, hot and sticky.

Damiano gets the crook of his arm under your neck and his other hand steadies his shaft in a fist. You nod so he’s confident. The blushing, velvety head rubs between your legs, parting your labia to touch you more completely, spread open. Dami keeps the pressure firm, his skin is even softer than yours. When his cock slips against the lubricated area, he doesn’t penetrate like you’d expect. Damiano runs the tip up your vulva, smearing the lube and his now plentiful pre-cum.

You find yourself moving closer and shifting to further open your hips. It’s a subconscious reaction, but once you become aware of it you check for a smirk and find Dami’s expression extremely focused instead. Aided by direction from his hand, he rubs the prominent ridge of his cock along your clit. It felt so goddamn good internally that you hadn’t considered using the anatomy externally. This is evidenced by gasping and accidently pulling Damiano’s hair. He doesn’t break the stimulation, instead using his free hand to tug on your hair in order to bring your attention to it.

You switch to cupping his shoulder. Trying to bring yourself closer, and closer still, to the point that it’s ruining the angle. Damiano is forced to momentarily abandon his ministrations to reposition your hips.

“Hey. Hey.” He has to say it twice because you’re distracted, trying to figure out why he’s moving you around. Despite your efforts to the contrary, Dami had scented you quite thoroughly and your brain wasn’t working at full speed. Finally, he just lifts your chin.

“Do you want to bite me?” He shifts into headspace since his primary role has transitioned from caretaker towards sexual being.

“Yes.”

“Good.” There's the smirk. Damiano runs his cock down your cunt, pushing inside carefully. Only then do you become aware that he’d made you produce slick while your mind was focused on his touch rather than expectations.

“Holy shit, you did it.” Dami chuckles with one of those smiles you’d run into a burning building for.

“I didn’t – ughh,” he takes a breath before thrusting deeply, until he’s met resistance. Damiano titrates his force way down, observing the miniscule changes in your expression. It's a balancing act: enough pressure to open the parts of your body that had not yet realized they could relax, but not so much that it hurts.

“That was all you, little wolf,” he pants. Your breasts are just below chin level, each heaving breath bringing them closer to Dami’s face. He forgets everything at the sight of it, eyes falling to where you’re so voluptuous that the soft flesh puckers up between his fingers when he grips your thigh. From this angle, he can just barely see his cock disappearing into the pink rim of your cunt. Damiano puts everything into the next thrust, trying to bottom out while constricted by the walls of your pussy that react to every microscopic adjustment, every breath.

“Gotta relax,” he chokes, but you tense instead, throbbing around his cock. The combination of precum, slick, and lube drip over your stretched hymen, so plentiful that your body can afford to waste some. Finally, Damiano recognizes that your cunt is squeezing down on him the way it does when she needs a knot. There was a larger purpose to this intimacy than drooling over all the ways you curved.

“Ready, lupina?” Dami’s first instinct was to fend off the urge to knot with even more fervor than he fended off the urge to cum early. With you, it was always there, but typically both parties wanted “normal sex.” A knot was both a commitment to time, intensity, discomfort, and could even be counterproductive to pleasure. All the same, Damiano had to re-enforce his ability to hold back.

He’d had plenty of practice with other omegas, but your relationship made him feel 14 again. Three months without penetrative sex didn’t help matters either, since every molecule of his being was screaming for your bare skin. It was an entirely unexpected level of difficulty and Damiano consequently embarrassed himself on several occasions. If he held off the knot, he also came in a few minutes. If he did both, Dami would be forced to pull out until the urge to give you a knot was manageable again.

“Ready,” you whispered, face tickled by his hair. Today should have been as simple as following instincts. However, as the pressure swelled from groin to bollocks to shaft, Dami felt a wave of anxiety.

“Are you sure?” Indisputably, you are sure, looked it too. The point of no return was daunting to him only and Damiano wasn’t very good at approximating it either. Your lips kissed his sweaty forehead, hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Thank god your choice never wavered when Dami would voice a final chance for you to refuse the knot. There’d been at least one occasion when he spoke too late. If you’d asked him to, Damiano couldn’t have pulled out no matter how intensely he may wish it. That thought haunted him.

It caused you pain each time. Since you hide nothing from him in these moments, Damiano could see it very plainly in your expression. Through preventing pregnancy, birth control also reduces your levels of relaxin, the hormone that relaxes ligaments in the omegan pelvis. Yes, you wanted it, but maybe Damiano should have held back. Maybe, with a clear head, you wouldn’t choose the discomfort and he should have known better. He should have been more aware of the cost and protected you from it.

“Dami?” The hand on his shoulder comes to stroke his pensive expression. “Where’d you go my love?” He was overthinking something about your wellbeing, visibly straining. You squeeze down on his cock forcefully, which does the job better than words ever could.

“Ooh ah,” he gasps and blinks forcefully, landing back in the present. When he finally looks at you, Damiano knows that you’d resent him for making a decision about your body on your behalf. A lapse in the trust you shared would be worse than struggling to integrate a knot. Plus, marking would have been so much less personal. Damiano wouldn’t have been able to feel your body’s reaction as he pierced the gland and that was an experience he couldn’t give up for anything.

“Let it happen. You’re not meant to control this.” With a huff, Dami plops his head onto the pillow, noses brushing.

“I want to control it,” he grumbles. You run a finger down the bridge of Damiano’s nose fondly while admiring him.

“But you don’t get to,” you coo, moving the loose strands out of his face. He grimaces and shifts his hips in discomfort. You did some independent research and found that, with medical exceptions that didn’t include AD2, knots shouldn’t be painful to produce.

“Do you think it hurts because you’re trying to control when it happens and how fast?” He shrugs, which is an alpha’s way of saying yes. You have to shove the hand on your thigh away because his grip hurts. Dami whines an apology while looking distraught and you finally just take his face in your hands.

“Let go.”

“I wanna –”

“Let go.” He shakes his head, propped up on an elbow and casting his eyes downward. This makes you wonder if forcing a knot is possible, by squeezing down like an omega might during heat. You direct focus into gripping his shaft lightly and progressively applying more pressure.

“Damiano, don’t make me watch you suffer, let go.” He quivers, the veins in his face distended even more than usual during alpha headspace. He’d been scared before your first knot that you’d flip shit like a beta had a couple years ago. You try a different approach.

“You’re safe. I’m safe. I’m not gonna reject you.” He pouts, looking at you from his peripheral vision.

“Mind reader,” he gripes, laying back down. Dami inhales deeply, taking stock of his physiology. How was he supposed to let go? When he occasionally woke up with a knot, he used it as practice for self control. He didn’t even know what letting go would be like, how it would feel. That tension felt vital to sexual performance.

“What if I can’t do it?” he groans.

“You can.” Damiano tried to stop managing the stifling pressure in his groin with which he withheld or allowed a knot.

“I don’t know if, if –”

“Take a deep breath and relax all your muscles.” You do so together, and can hear Dami’s frustration at first, but on the third breath his eyes roll back in his head momentarily. He whines and clutches you, hips working much faster and taking long strokes. Initially, after letting go, Damiano came to the conclusion that there was no other way to produce a knot. A seconds later the feeling inside him swelled up so quickly that he almost choked on it.

You were there, thank god. Had he tried this alone, Dami would have been overwhelmed and put off. At first you’re supporting – and enjoying – his very visceral reaction having a knot without discomfort. However the lag period between Damiano feeling it and you feeling it is much shorter.

“Wow,” you gasp, the sensation pushing behind your belly button, making it hard to catch your breath. Through sheer willpower, Damiano had been giving you an extra second or two to integrate the knot. The position wasn’t helping either. Hugging made everything cramped and closed your hips when having the open felt most natural. There simply wasn’t room for the knot in this position and it was creating an obstacle for the both of you.

“Back,” you manage, holding tight as he flips you over. It was something you really appreciated about Damiano. Whatever you found most comfortable was what your bodies did. In the new position he can take those deep, long thrusts that he’s been craving, so forceful it's scooting you up the bed. Feral fucking – while a person favortie – wasn’t what you wanted after this mornings events. However, he was enjoying this knot so much that you didn’t have the heart to say anything, initially.

“Dami, Dami, hey.” You bring his focus to the present. When your eyes meet, it's obvious that Damiano has lost all his self-awareness to pleasure. He slows down while visibly struggling to focus on anything but this sensation. The tendons in his arms strain as does the vein across his forehead, while he quells that desperate sexual inertia that demands he fill you up with his seed. Resting on his knees, Dami comes to a stop while panting.

“Hey, there,” you stroke this side of his face, earning a smile. He blinks languidly and takes a few seconds to focus his vision.

“Holy shit.”

“So that works. Are you gonna be good or…?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dami nods a little too enthusiastically, partially to convince himself. Gradually, you find a comfortable position to rest in while connected. The reassurance of a knot stills the tumultuous swells of emotion which had been haranging you all day. Right now, Dami fills that void, not just literally, but the literal part was so important. Alphas and omegas were physical creatures.

Instead of the excruciating tightening of panic or nausea of fear, your body was satisfied with alpha cock. To just call it fucking was beyond reductive. Velvety in texture, firm in structure, and throbbing with his heartbeat, Damiano made himself fit into the needs of your body. Omegas were supposed to sexually serve alphas, but he was serving you. Focusing on the exact place where your walls stretched around his knot was more grounding than anything else could be. The imposter syndrome, dissociation, and mental fogginess cleared. You actually find yourself yawning out of relaxation.

“I feel better, too,” Dami says, pulling you in by your thigh again. As he wraps his arm around your middle, each line of musculature is revealed. He’s so strong, and if you focus, you can feel that strength in your own body. The invincibility, physical prowess, and absolute certainty that no one would get past him today was a pivotal reprieve from your own vulnerability.

“Lupina.” You’re too caught up in enjoying the diminutive to realize that Damiano is trying to address you. “Lupina. Lupina,” he repeats in a sing-song voice. “Pup?” he tries. You meet his gaze lazily. Just a couple months ago Dami would run from this kind of intimacy screaming. Right now he’s reaching towards you, in every sense of the word.

“Yeah, you’re sleepy now, aren’t you?” It takes a moment to pinpoint the sensation, but upon doing so you nod in agreement. This kind of drowsiness while the sun was high in the sky was disorienting. Damiano pulls you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. Surrounded by both his arms, forehead against his skin, a shadowed niche is created.

He’d forgotten to put deodorant on today. The slight sourness of his armpits, mixed with the heady scent of his pheromones, is ambrosial when it should be repellent. This is what safety smelled like.

***

After 10 minutes of tearing apart his bedroom, Sandro finally remembered that his little brother had “borrowed” his dark green sweater last week. The temperature was going to plummet right before the game this evening and he really didn't feel like bringing a blanket. He knocks on Damiano’s door, once gently and once not so gently, to no reply. Rolling his eyes, Sandro plays video games until 3pm at which point he doesn’t feel at all guilty interrupting Dam’s beauty sleep.

“Dam, I need my sweater,” he calls through the door. After another round of knocking he presses his ear to the wood and listens. Matteo was peacefully stirring sugar into his tea when Sandro’s knuckles rapped against the door once again. Dam was a notoriously heavy sleeper, even as a baby.

“I’m just going to come in if you ignore me!” Caught up in a memory, it takes Matteo a moment to recall that his son isn’t the only one asleep in his bed.

“Sandro, Sandro, wait,” he calls, hastily setting his mug on the counter.

“Dad, he needs to get up for the game anyways.” He turns the knob and flings the door open. Usually such commotion would make you startle awake, but the security of a knot allowed your nervous system to decompress. Stimuli elicited a less drastic reaction, which is why you were only halfway to consciousness when Matteo called out a warning as he rounded the kitchen counter.

“Wait –” Sandro rolled his eyes at the precious treatment parents alloted to the youngest child and tapped Dam on the shoulder. He was turned on his side with you tucked so snuggly against him that his body obscured the view of your own. A person would have to be close enough to set a hand on Dami’s shoulder, which Sandro currently was, to see you.

“Y/n is in –” Even as his older brother tried to scamper backwards, it was too late. You woke to the most petrifying growl of blood thirsty territorialism you’d heard in your life. It made you cower against Dami, even though he was the source of the sound. His hand yanked the covers up to your chin while you tried to make sense of the present.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry!” The foreign voice turns out to be Sandro slinking out of the bedroom.

“If you weren’t my brother I’d break your ribs!!” Dami bellows. Even more terrifying is that he means it.

“Dam, I’m so so sorry.” Sandro shuts the door and continues talking through it. “I really, really am sorry. Y/n, I –”

“Don’t you fucking speak to her!!”

“Okay, okay, but I didn’t see anything, I swear!” You flush with embarrassment then blanch with fear as Damiano lets out another bone chilling sound. His forearm is sturdy across your shoulder blades, still protecting your modesty.

“I swear to god, if you even think about her, I will snap –”

“No threatening your sibling with bodily harm,” calls Matteo. Damiano snarls and falls dead silent, gradually turning his attention from to unadulterated rage to you. Footfalls tiptoe down the hall.

“Breathe,” you gasp for air and feel a wave of dizziness. Catching your breath isn’t easy. It’s been so long since you inhaled. Going from the security of a knot to this is beyond jarring. Dami strokes your cheek with the back of his pointer finger. The motions are slow and steady. Finally, you look at him for the first time, in headspace, obviously.

“You – you were fucking terrifying.” His face falls.

“I scared you.”

“Well…yeah. I mean, holy shit, I’ve never ever heard that type of…” It is the ultimate violation of respect and privacy, to disturb – nay, even approach – a knotted pair. The alpha can’t properly defend his omega without also injuring them. The omega is in their most unguarded state, which is meant to be observed by their alpha alone. The act of knotting creates a feeling of profound safety and another alpha interrupting yanks that motion to the opposite side of the spectrum: profound fear.

Of course, Sandro wasn’t actually a threat. He hadn’t waited for the prime moment to slaughter Dami or steal his omega. It was apparent that you found that easier to remember than Damiano, whose chest was still heaving.

“He didn’t mean –”

“He should have known better.” You already know the wave of rage that your next question is going to evoke.

“Did – did he, um see…me?” Dami tenses for a moment and calms his temper.

“All he saw was your upper back, pup. As your alpha I would never let anyone see your body ever.” He enunciates the words sharply. “I’ll start locking my door. This won’t happen again. I’ll talk to Sandro –”

“Dami, it’s okay.” Lord knows, Sandro was never going to make this mistake again, as long as he lived.

“It's not okay,” he bites. “It is inexcusable. It was a violation and an insult.”

“It was an accident, my love.” You put a hand on the back of his head and press Damiano’s face against your scent gland. This will be more calming than words could achieve. He breathes in your pheromones and both hands wrap around your torso. Secretly, you relished that your body could quell Dami’s senseless rage or acute anxiety. Meanwhile, he didn’t have a fraction of interest in anyone else’s smell. You were his anecdote.

“What do I smell like?”

“Heaven.” This was an answer you’d heard before.

“Is it sweet or musky or?”

“Both.” His lips brush your scared scent gland. “My brother...you’d never, I mean you’re not, like – nevermind.” You try to quell whatever anxiety is plaguing your alpha, only to be reminded that he was penetrating you with your leg thrown over his waist. Dami must have gotten an erection in his sleep because there was no way he was still hard without a knot. The discomfort and ache of that intrusion wasn’t present and neither was the stickiness of leaking arousal on your inner-thighs. So you squeeze down to confirm and end up surprised.

Dami cries out and collapses against you. His mewls turn to garbled sounds and you can’t tell if he’s feeling pleasure or pain. What you were sure of, is the presence of a knot. It’s there, connecting your forms, but without the feeling of claustrophobia, without the urge to shift your hips to make the pressure palatable. You can feel your eyes water out of relief that you finally understand what all your omegan counterparts were talking about. The euphoria, the addictive sensation, you’d spent the last month trying to find this.

Some of your muscles had relaxed, others contracted to support the knot and keep it inside you. Finally, your body has adapted, and as a result, not a drop of slick or pre-cum was wasted. How could you never consider that the missing piece was the fact that this mechanism went both ways? Your cunt didn’t just receive an alpha’s knot, but could also accept it, like a locking mechanism. Wolves did it, foxes did it, omegas did it, but not on hormone suppressants. Slick production, libido, heat, sexual responses, it had all been dulled. But you were young and fertile and your body’s desire to breed circumvented your HSIUD.

This wasn’t just your omegan pussy throbbing for your alpha. Your entire groin throbbed, as if on the very brink of orgasam. The intermittent pulsing of your vaginal walls pulled Damiano inside, keeping his shaft erect. It was like breathing, in that you could stop if you focused, but your body would scream for continuance until it was impossible to resist.

Dami makes a choking sound and you lift his head via a hold on his ponytail. He’s red in the face like you’ve never seen outside of doing sprints after soccer practice. What you initially think is sweat, turns out to be tears. His head falls onto the pillow, unable to hold its weight.

“Are you okay?” He nods, momentarily removing his hand from your back to wipe his face.

“Gonna cum,” he grimaces. “Can’t help it.” You both knew that it was the one and only solution to this state, regardless of what had been previously agreed upon.

“That’s okay,” you reassure tenderly, relaxing beside him. There's a moment of relief where his face begins to go back to its normal color, but then you scoot closer and your cunt pulls another inch inside.

“Ah uh uhhh,” he moans, gasping. Concerned, you press your forehead to his and stoke Dami’s hair.

“Never been locked before,” he grunts. You can’t help but smile because you’ve never taken a first from Dami.

“Me neither.”

“For me…its – its more…” He rests his forehead against your sternum, and knowing what he really wants in his face, you scoot up. “You’re holding on to me,” he whimpers against your breasts, short fingernails digging into your skin.

“It hurts?”

“Overstimulated, but good.” You decide on attempting to distract him.

“Hey, remember when you wanted to wait until I was 16 to take my clothes off?” He chuckles breathlessly.

“This would have killed me,” he answers while stroking your flank, “you getting curves. I’d have to watch other alphas look at you, wonder if they were touching you.”

“I know that I belong to someone.”

“I love you, too,” Damiano looks up, puckering his lips for a kiss. Of course, you oblige. Having stayed in this position for the past however many hours has left several limbs and joints sore.

“Can we do missionary?”

“If we move, I’ll probably cum,” he admits bashfully.

“As opposed to staying locked and in this position forever?”

“I…want to make you cum.”

“If I have an orgasam right now it might break your dick and that's not a risk I can take.” Dami rolls his eyes with a smile.

“I just mean, in general. I thought I was gonna be this incredible lover that could last half an hour every time, and would wow you with my sexual prowess –”

“I have been wowed.”

“And you would be cumming repeatedly whenever we made love and worship my cock –”

“Worship is a bit of a strong word, but I’m his #1 fan.”

“But instead I choke on my own spit and cum quicker than I have in two years,” he winces with shame. In a shocking turn of events, Damiano is not being fair to himself.

“We do have that sex at least half of the time! When I’m so horny that I become a raging bitch or an emotional mess you always solve it, very thoroughly, I might add.” He’s grinning again at your praise and a slew of smutty memories.

“I want it to be 90% of the time.”

“And I want you to stop torturing yourself and cum.” It’s clear your words have made no leeway in this immensely inconvenient mental block so you take matters into your own hands.

“On your back.” Your left leg is already thrown over Dami’s waist at 90 degree angle, so you roll over by leaning into that. All it takes is disentangling your right leg from his and you’ve got both under you in a straddle position. Damiano moans in surprise and takes a moment for his upper body to match his lower body.

“Did you finish?” He shakes his head, again red in the face. “Come here,” you demand, grabbing both arms and pulling him into an upright position. Once you’ve got a confident hold on his torso, you bounce on his cock. Damiano goes from shakily holding himself up to gripping you so close it almost hinders your movement.

Since he’s already holding on for dear life, you switch to rolling your hips on the upstroke. After a single pass, he shrieks and begins crying with his mouth open in pleasure. Now the whole house knew what you were doing, but none of them would dare say so. It's such a beautiful, visceral reaction that you don’t care, and you can feel his spunk when he cums. Normally, you’d keep moving, but instead decide to hold Damiano's face against your bosom as he finds the other side of his climax in a daze. He’s disoriented and struggles to open his eyes at first. You support the back of his neck in your hand and feel your own body beginning to relax.

“Hello, my love. Can you hear me?” He nods, plenty content with his face resting against your bare breasts. The scorching, humid air from his panting raises goosebumps on your skin. As Damiano comes to, he presses feather light kisses on your nipples and the surrounding area.

“Yeah? You gonna be okay?” He nods again, this time managing to look up, no longer in headspace. The beautiful hazel of his irises reflects light.

“I’m good, I’m so good,” he heaves, beaming. “I, uh…” Damiano looks down to the place your bodies are joined. “I think you can get off, or try to.” Gingerly, you pull up while Dami holds the base of his cock steady. It's the last bit that worries you, but the relaxation in his face indicates that something had definitely changed.

“Mhm, you’re okay pup, keep going.” You get to the point that it’ll really start to hurt if your bodies are still locked. “Keep going.” You move maybe half a centimeter and feel something tug internally. A wave of anxiety tightens like an iron fist in your chest.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, sinking down halfway to where it's safe. “I’m scared to do it. I can’t yet.”

“My knot isn’t totally gone, but you’ll be fine. I wouldn’t ask you to hurt yourself, lupina.”

“But what if I’m not…ready? I could tear, Dami.” He pulls you down to the bed, so you’re laying on his chest.

“Flip, he instructs, and you find yourself in missionary position. Before you’ve even begun to settle, Dami pulls out. Reflexively, you gasp, expecting it to hurt, but there’s no pain. A rush of viscous fluid coats your thighs and the bed, undoubtedly all the way to the rubber mattress cover. You make a noise of disgust and recoil.

“Next time we’ll put a towel down,” Dami laughs, unperturbed. “Did that hurt?” You shake your head and his assured expression reveals that he already knew the answer. “The anxiety is normal, figured I’d just spare you and do it myself.” Damiano leans off the edge of the bed and picks a dirty sweatshirt off the floor. “For when you decide to sit up,” he smirks. “Gotta wash it anyways and I know how much you like my sweatshirts.” Blushing, you raise your hips so he can slide the fabric underneath you. Even tensing the muscles makes the hot mixture of cum, pre-cum, and slick run over your stretched hymen, off of your glute, and onto the fabric below.

Damiano watches, absolutely captivated. You close your knees in embarrassment and he makes a noise of dissent.

“C’mon, let me be a disgusting alpha. You’ve never been this full before.”

“You only came once,” you pout.

“Plus pre-cum and slick accumulating while we were locked. Puppy, you know this.” With a sigh of annoyance, you allow your legs to be pushed open.

“It didn’t feel like anything.”

“No? You’ll do well when I breed you then.” Your heart sinks and Dami watches your reaction closely. How did you feel about that? Not necessarily negatively. It was your least favorite part of your biology though. If you weren’t actively against breeding with Damiano then what was your relationship with it? Not positive either, unless there’d been a tectonic shift in your personal philosophy.

“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” It was a slip up and mentally Dami is concussing himself on a brick wall. As if giving him the most intimate orgasam of his life wasn’t enough, now he had to entrap you.

“Um, no, it’s fine. I just,” you sit up, ending his access to spank bank material. “I don’t know how I feel about that word…or concept.” Damiano had assumed that you’d want to reproduce, or at least roleplay it during heat. The drive was vital to your biology. He’s never considered that the entire thing would be outright unappealing. But why the fuck should you know that about yourself at age 15?

“For sure, just ignore me.” To anyone else that’d be quite convincing.

“If it's something you need to talk about, Dami…” He rapidly shakes his head, eyes downcast.

“Not at all. Just accidentally saying what I meant to only think in my head.” He rubs your thigh soothingly as his exhausted cock softens against his dark pubic thicket.

“If I was 17, would we talk about it?”

“You’re not 17.”

“But, if I was.”

“Doesn’t matter.” That makes you bristle.

“What do you mean it ‘doesn’t matter?’ It matters to me.”

“I mean it's not relevant because you aren’t 17, you’re 15.”

“Do you wish I was 17?”

“No.” He means it and that catches you off guard. “I get two more years with you. I get to admire, guide, and nurture you as you grow.”

“I’m willful and hostile.”

“Yes. You refuse to let anyone think or speak for you. Society told you I was a monster and you told society to go fuck itself because you could gather your own conclusions. Everytime you’re a defiant pain in the ass I think about how your loyalty changed my life.” It's not very often that you are left speechless. “Okay, so…shower?”

Notes: Shout out to teardrop anon for reminding me to actually fucking post my chapters. Also thanks to Oreo for the endless encouragement <3 If you like my writing please support it by interacting with these posts!

Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn@icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @azertyhug @biancathecool @bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic @minnietmouse@obiw4n @persona1read1ng @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und@que--sera--sera @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar @lizzylynch1 @hauntedpostpersona

#maneskin #måneskin #må #daminao #damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david fluff #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david angst #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #alpha and omega #alpha/beta/omega au

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wistfulwilds · 8 months

Text

SETTING: you're an orphan apart of the hotel bouffes d'ete group. you help the other three perform their duties in the name of "father" while bonding along the way.

RELATIONSHIPS: lynette & gn!reader, lyney & gn!reader, freminet & gn!reader

★ — due to her upbringing, lynette would keep an eye on you like one of her many cats she keeps around. if she caught wind someone was choosing to pick on you, expect your sister to come to your aid, ears pressed back and tail tip flicking as she gives an unimpressed look to the instigators.

★ — lynette would choose to sit in comfortable silence with you as she does with freminet. the three of you go about your own business waiting for your loudest brother to come back. you know well not to disturb the silence; lynette is focused on drinking her tea while freminet tinkers away with something that's caught his interest. fiddling with your own chosen hobby in hand, you press your lips together and let out a relaxed sigh.

★ — speaking of tea, you become the next victim to test what she's made if lyney is nowhere to be found. you watch as she pours you a cup and passes it over, beginning to pour herself a cup. her words echo in your ears: "remember, don't drink too fast and burn yourself, but don't let it cool down too much."

★ — when on missions, you have a special tune to whistle. pressing your lips together, lynette knows to keep an eye out for your song to locate the rendezvous point.

🌢 — much like lynette, lyney keeps an eye out for you in his own way; the young man is willing to put the attention on himself if you need an escape from a situation. he's a master of the stage and conversation, letting him secure his own getaway afterward. when he catches up to you, it's common you receive a pat on the head as he speaks: "don't go causing too much trouble!"

🌢 — if you find yourself bored, you can typically seek out lyney and lynette to watch them practice their magic show. lyney insists family get first-row viewing regardless of your own input on the matter, both for practice and for real shows.

🌢 — sometimes, you can find your brother looking downcast. he won't ever answer what's wrong, but without fail he'll still manage a smile for you and pull out his cards. when instructed to pull, you always seem to pull the card he made with you in mind. "we're family, okay?" he says this as if to reassure you as much as it is to cheer himself up, and it does, putting a reserved smile on his features.

🌢 — lyney offered to teach you to dance once upon a time. every now and again he asks to see how you're faring to ensure you aren't rusty. even if you may not be interested in the stage and art of performance, lyney insists on its importance. "being quick on your feet is always a good skill to have. take care not to get caught up, alright?"

❄ — you try your hardest not to break things around the house, understanding that if something were to break, it'd end up at freminet's workstation to be fixed. when you do have to drag some broken object over, you give him a sheepish smile in offering; freminet blinks up at you from his desk, taking the object from your hands and quietly beginning to work. your brother assures you in a soft voice that it's alright.

❄ — occasionally, you'll wait outside freminet's normal spots for when he surfaces from diving. upon seeing you, there's a split second where he dives back under... and then he returns to the surface, albeit closer, offering a sheepish smile.

❄ — you're normally on diving duty with freminet during missions. if you begin panicking due to the situation, freminet will take notice and move to comfort you. he rubs soothing motions on your back, unable to offer words but offering the knowledge of his presence instead.

❄ — freminet isn't one for words, which is something the whole house is aware of. it warms your heart when you leave for the morning and your brother taps your shoulder to get your attention, managing out a few words: "be safe while you're out."

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #reader insert #genshin reader insert #gender neutral reader #platonic reader #lyney and lynette #genshin lyney #freminet #lynette #fontaine siblings #genshin freminet #genshin lynette #★ platonic // lynette & reader #★ platonic // lyney & reader #★ platonic // freminet & reader #ʚ “what's the hurry?” // headcanons ɞ #ʚ “don't tell me that's everything...” // self-indulgent writing ɞ

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kimtiny · 8 months

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So what to the ghosts think about their clone progeny? Proud? Annoyed? Indifferent? I can just see OG Confucius facepalming every time his clone opens his mouth, Harriet being annoyed about what a desperate people pleaser her clone is and Kennedy is just like “that’s my boy!” When if comes to JFK.

You basically got the energy!! Here's a list of what the clone parents think of their clone children:

Jeanne: Sees Joan as a reincarnation. Wants the best for Joan, gets upset when Joan is acting out and/or people go against her. Even with her flaws and mistakes she thinks Joan is worthy of her legacy and she just needs a helping hand to accomplish great things.

Abraham: Obviously sees Abe as a direct son. Very proud of him even when Abe is doing irrational things. Wants to guide him towards being a better person everyday, but does not expect/want Abe to be like him. He cringes when Abe tries to resolve conflicts and immediately fails, he has a cringe fail son but he loves him with every fiber of his soul.

John: Sees JFK as a son. Like you said, he has that 'That's my boy!' energy with JFK, always praising his multiple relationships. But even with this, we wishes that JFK was a bit more focused on things like school to actually do smth with his life. He was pleased with season 2 JFK's evolution.

Cléopâtre: Sees Cleo as a reincarnation. Cleopatre loves Cleo like a mother, like a ruler and like a God. She beleives that Cleo is her perfect modern reincarnation, and anyone who says anything wrong about her is wrong and deserves punishement! If she could, she would cover her clone daughter in gold.

Frida: Sees her clone daughter as a daughter. Frida is very proud of Frefre, her art, her attitude, her art, her philosophy, her art, her relationships and of course her art! She wants Frefre to always follow her instinct and never tell anyone what she can/cannot be. She's very proud of her duaghter and herself to have been such a good role model in her life and she feels she doesn't need to look over Frefre as much as the other clone parents, Frefre is independent and unapologetic and any parent would be proud of it.

Harriet: Harriet sees her clone daughter as a reincarnation/daughter (both). Harriet has mixed feeling about clone Harriet, she's very proud that she's such an excited and energetic girl- but she hates how people pleasing she is, and how afraid she is of a normal quiet life. Harriet wants to guide her daughter towards a healthy middle and especially towards stopping to try so hard to appeal to others! But overall, she is still very proud of her.

Kong Zi: Kong Zi sees Confucius as a son. Kong Zi likes Confucius friendlyness and how he wants to help everyone no matter what, he beleived that Confucius can carry his legacy- if he wasn't so distracted. Sometimes Kong Zi would want Confucius to be a bit more concerned with stuff going around him. But he's especially mad how Confucius' family treats him, Kong Zi was low key a noble and he beleived his prince son deserves the same respect as royals! He wants to guide Confucius in the right path of peice and friendship while protecting him from anyone that would treat him wrong.

Cristoforo: Sees Topher as a son, and doesn't like it. Cristo dislike Topher, finding him too nice and not well spoken enough. He's amused when he can drive Topher crazy but when someone else hurts him, Cristoforo feels a sense of panic to know if Topher will be okay. It's a weird relationship of love and hate. One thing he likes about Topher tho, is that he weird bright pink, Cristo is very fan of colors.

#clone high #clone high ghosts #ask #briefspotoflight

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kayetra-spade-queen · 12 days

Text

What I see

What better way to start the story of this silly team?

A ship story, obviously.

What ship? Benrex, duh-

Rex had been working a lot for the past week.

The amount of times he'd been called into duty for missions is honestly astounding, it's a bit concerning.

One particular person was especially worried about the human EVO man.

"You've been working a lot lately." That was the first thing the designer of Omnique Rosula as he sat in front of him in the living space.

"H-huh? Oh, yeah. Techno-based missions are increasing lately, mixed with the need to bash some heads. But it's nothing that I can't handle." The EVO replied, seemingly noticed the worried tone of his partner.

Even with the reply, it didn't sit right with the anodite hybrid. They've been together for so long now, it didn't take even a second for him to notice that Rex was really worn out.

"You should take a break. If there's any similar missions like this, I'll take over the Overview department for a while. Kim and Danny sometimes forgot that we had other variety of attendants in the departments, and assigned members didn't have to be in the fixed amount on 3 people at the first round."

"It's fine, really! I'm sorry if I worry you, but I'm really okay. I'll be fine for the next couple of missions, I swear."

The wielder of the Omnitrix let out an annoyed yet had the tad bit of worry huff at his EVO fiance. His mother instincts would've said to force him to stay put for a while until he was sure he'll be fine for the next missions he'll be assigned to, but he held back.

The EVO could only slightly sweatdrop at his fiance. He is well aware that the wielder of the Omnitrix and the well known fashion designer in France didn't seem pleased with his reply, yet still decided to just let it be for now, at least until he could convinced him.

But oh boy how he failed. Quickly, and miserably.

It was after a mission that involves spiritualism, technology, and boat load of fighting some rogue spirits. Danny did his best to shield the team, while Rex fought the spirits like some wolf who hadn't eaten in years, and June was trying to keep everyone healed up as everything they do drains them fairly quickly.

When they got back though (with bandages and some parts of their bodies glows in pink), Jake had this particularly grim look with a mix of pity on his face when he looked at Rex.

"Your fiance want to talk to you after you get proper treatment and rest. He and Randy are on their way, I'm just here to give you a warning before I go back to the Magical World for a quick emergency call." Those are the only things the dragon hybrid said before he went off to his pearl keeping duty at the Magical World.

He is screwed, he thought. And he wasn't wrong, not by the slightest.

The entire time everyone got treated, it was dead silent. The silence is so intimidating, no one else could even say a word.

Ben, however, kept with his stoic and unreadable expression on his face, which didn't really help the EVO in the slightest.

After a while, everyone who was involved in the mission was now subjected into the 'Off Site' status until their more serious wounds healed up. They were put into their own bedrooms in the base.

For Rex, he shared a room with Ben, even sleep on the same bed together on many occasions when they couldn't make it back home. So Ben frequently went in and out of the room for either take something, or by extent of this situation, taking care of Rex.

There's nothing going on really, just the occasional questions of how he's feeling or does he needed anything. But Rex just feels not so good altogether, and not for the normal reasons. Ben's expression couldn't be even more unreadable than ever, and Rex is getting even more nervous by the second.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, I am not."

"... But you really looked like you're angry..."

"I'm not angry, I'm just... Upset."

"Upset I couldn't keep myself away from too many bruises better?"

"Upset that things have to take this turn. You really could've died if it weren't for Fenton's shield and Lee's constant healing."

A moment of silence.

"Sorry..."

"There's nothing for you to apologize about. You did the best you could, although I would've preferred something else. As long as you're here, safe and sound, that's more than enough for me."

"I'll be careful next time, promise."

"You better be. You really know how to make me worry so much, you know that?"

"I would've said the same thing to you back then, too, way back, in fact."

"Hush, let's not talk about that. Just get some rest, alright?"

"Sí, mi amor." The EVO said to his fiance with a playful yet sweet grin.

He could hear the soft tone of relief as his alien-hybrid fiance sighed, the tone where he's just glad he's with him. He did expect scolding, and it did came down to it (or at least something close), but in the end, it was only that the sounds of worry and fear, and the aftertaste of relief that everything didn't went progressively bad.

"Yeah, it turns out just some heart-to-heart conversation between a couple. Nothing to worry about." Said the ghost king who was on call with the American dragon who was still away.

["Well, I guess that's good to hear. I did feel worried when Tennyson said that he wanted to talk to Salazar after you guys returned."]

"Hmm... I think I should do some rearranging for the next couple of missions and commissions. I'm more than sure Tennyson is gonna terrorize me if I assigned his dear husband-to-be in the next technology-combat-based mission again."

["That would do everyone good if you ask me."]

"Yeah... I'm pretty sure no one wanted to go through that. The silence is so suffocating, it could probably cut an entire building."

["I could imagine. Anyways, I should hang up now, gotta go back to work."]

"Oh yeah, sure. Take care."

["See ya, Danny."]

Beep

"I really screwed up, haven't I?" The ghost king sighed as he put his phone to the bedside table before going back to his bed to get rest before either of his medical-attendant friends are gonna burst through his room and terrorized him into resting.

#benrex #ben 10 #generator rex #ben tennyson #rex salazar #kayetraspadequeen #shades of prisms

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smellslikebeefinhere · 8 months

Text

klance oneshot, teen and up audiences

prompt: i could never hate you

Honestly, Lance hadn’t even been planning on stopping by the training room.

Really, he was only innocently making his way to the kitchens (with no intention of stealing Hunk’s dessert whatsoever…) and just… happened to hear a particularly pained groan coming from the door to the training room. Naturally, being a very caring and kind person by nature, Lance opened the door only to check, and just… ended up staying.

Completely normal. Nothing homosexual or weird going on at all.

Okay, who was he kidding, he was totally just here to ogle Keith.

But who could blame him! Sure, the paladin of the Red Lion could be pretty mopey, and broody, and Lance wasn’t even gonna start on the obvious anger issues. But in the training room, he almost seemed to let go, in a strange way.

It was like fighting came naturally to him. Like he was made for it. Keith brought his sword down on the drones like it was an art form, and Lance couldnt help but admire the fluidity and grace. The way his hair formed dark waves in the air, his movements almost like water. And yeah, he would admit, it was kind of creepy.

But his crush on the red paladin had been going on for a while, and while Lance had accepted it was never going to happen, it couldn’t hurt to indulge just a little, right?

(Boy, was he wrong.)

Lance was suddenly snapped out of waxing poetic about Keiths raven-dark hair when a loud voice echoed through the room.

«Training sequence over.»

Lance barely had time to think shit before Keith Kogane himself turned around and caught his eyes.

Lance could feel the blush creeping up his neck as the boy stared at him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Keith look this caught off-guard (and that was saying something. Lance had seen him look completely unfazed after just having been shot at from what looked like a space-giraffe.)

The silence continued on for a short while, but for Lance it might as well have lasted a year. He couldnt’ imagine how dumb he must look, in his sweatpants and a blue shirt that was a little too tight around the shoulders, just standing in the doorway. Probably red as a tomato, too. Dios mio.

«Can i-« Keiths voice came out a little rough, so he cleared his throat. «can i help you? With anything?» The question seemed completely genuine, with no hint of sarcasm. Lance was still trying to come up with an excuse.

«Oh, pshh, no i was just on my way to art, and then i just heard- well, no, on my way to the kitchen, i mean you looked like art-« Keith was just staring at him, slack-faced. «Not like, like art in a pretty way, in a… totally horrible way, like a Picasso or something, ANYWAY-« Lance’s horribly failing explanation was interrupted by the softest question he had ever heard uttered from Keiths mouth, so quiet he wasn’t even sure he heard it.

«You were watching me?»

The question sounded so unsure Lance couldnt help but soften a bit himself.

«Yeah.»

Oh, wow, the floor here was really interesting. Lance had never noticed the way it was made up of hexagons before.

«Yeah, I was.»

Now it was Keith’s time to flush. And Lance was not prepared for the red tinge dusting across his cheekbones and painting the tips of his ears. Art.

«I’m, uh, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything. It was just, I…» Lance could feel his own heart beating, and wow, was that normal? Maybe he should take a trip to the healing pods after dying of embarrassment later.

«It was just nice to see you doing something that wasnt yelling at me, for once.» The words came out with a laugh, but really Lance couldnt feel less happy. Because it really had been.

Sometimes it felt like the only thing they did was fight. And it was fun, sure, but Lance wanted… other stuff, too.

He wanted Keith to laugh with him, the way he did with Hunk. Wanted to nerd over things like astrophysics or piloting together. Wanted to talk to him, really talk to him. Wanted to be able to look at Keith without feeling like he didn’t matter.

And suddenly there were tears pricking at his eyes. Mierde, how mortifying. Lance started walking out of the room trying to choke back that awful feeling in his throat.

«Sorry, I’m sorry, Keith, hahah,»

«Don’t say that.»

Lance stopped dead in his tracks.

«I- don’t say that.»

Keiths voice was quiet but decided. He sounded almost… angry. But not for the reasons he should be.

«Lance, i didn’t know you…» Keith looked at a loss for words. «I didnt realize you looked at me as anything other than your stupid rival, or whatever.» Keith looked almost bashful as he studies his shoes.

«I dont really hate you. I just… it seemed like you really hated me. And i was just playing along with it. So stupid…» Lance’s heart breaks a little, he thinks. How could he ever think- ever- that Lance had even the smallest bit of hate for this boy in his heart? Jealousy, sure. Irritation, hell yeah. But hate? If Keith only knew…

«I dont hate you, Keith. I could never hate you.»

Lance’s voice is softer than he intended it to be, and he winces at the implications of his words.

«No?» Keith breathes, and Lance feels it on his skin. When did they get so close? And when did Lances hand end up on Keiths shoulder?

«How could you even think that i- if you had any idea what i really-« Lances words fail him. If this boy thought even for a second that Lance hated him, he would just have to prove him wrong in the most foolproof way he knew how.

Keith gasped as their lips connected. His lips were warm, and lightly chapped, and it only lasted for a second, but it was easily the best kiss Lance had ever had. Because it was him.

It was Keith- arrogant, loyal, jealous, strong, scarred, brave, beautiful Keith. His Keith. Who he had just kissed.

Oh my god, Lance had just kissed Keith.

He immediately backed away, failing to notice the shocked blush on Keiths face. «Oh my- Dios mio, I am so sorry, lo siento rojo, I know you dont- I’m so sorry,»

Keiths hands fist in his sweater and Lance is sure he’s about to get sucker punched before-

«Will you stop saying that,» and Keith drags him down by his shirt and crushes their lips together.

It’s like fireworks. And theyre both inexperienced and the angle is slightly awkward, but Lance tilts his head just so and he sees stars. Keith kisses like he does everything else, white-hot and burning, and so full of passion its almost too much.

But not really. Never too much, as Lance’s hands find their way into that stupid mullet, as Keith gasps into his mouth and he presses his tongue to the seam of Lances mouth, and Lance is sure that if he opened his eyes right now everything would be on fire.

But unfortunately, humans do need oxygen to live, and Lance reluctantly breaks the kiss and lets his forehead fall to Keith’s.

«You don’t hate me,» Keith, red-lipped and pupils blown, almost whispers against his cheek.

«No,» Lance says as he look down at the boy he loves, «I really, really don’t.»

#klance #laith #oneshot #klancerenaissance #voltron #i loved this prompt #they mean so much to me #klance2023 #they are so dumb #writing #fanfiction #vld lance #vld #vld keith #vld fanfiction

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anangelwhodidntfall · 2 years

Text

Beautiful Soul: Eddie Munson

Stranger Things Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

Reqeust: Okay read has ADD and eddie is the only one who knows how to handle her....

Y/N has ADD and Eddie is the only one who knows how to handle her since they had been best friends long before they started dating. He can read her cues like when she is angry or sad or depressed. She is also a hyper-sensitive person meaning sometimes she had to be mindful not to take into too much violence, and death often gets overstimulated by noisy crowds or sounds.

Okay, so she has a really hard time focusing so studying is a challenge. And she can become frustrated with herself for not remembering anything. She is always failing maths but loves her history art and English. She is super talkative her stories almost never have an end. She isn't really hyper but there are days when she has a lot of energy so Eddie has to help her keep her calm from exploding all that energy. So he will take her on walks or dance with her in his room or play games like they are 5-year-old kids. Like playing tag with her. She can sometimes super focus on a thing and just zone out. She daydreams a lot so much that she just stares at Eddie who of course doesn't mind he likes it when her eyes are on him and one day Dustin asks why does she that and Eddie just says she is daydreaming so she will zone out completely. She hates crowds and loud noises.

So she has sensory issues. Eddie did discover that she liked Bells. It's just a thing for her so he started keeping bells in his lunch box to give to her during lunch or times when her anxiety is a bit much. She will hold it up to her ears and just jingle them and it sometimes annoyed the group but Eddie found her so cute when she jingles her bells so he told him to leave it alone. Sometimes she does it subconsciously and will zone out and just mindlessly jingle her bells and when she doesn't have bells she will play with his hand and make his rings clink together and she likes the sound Eddie does not mind and just continues a conversation he was having or she something she will she just have him talk to her she loves his voice and laugh. She could listen to him for hours and physical touch is a big thing for her so sometimes while she plays with his hand she will just bring his hand to her face and keep it there for a while. Again physically touching is a big thing for her she adores hugs and according to her Eddie and Dustin give the best hugs. And that's one thing that Eddie loves about her is that she is super affectionate him being super affectionate as well and her long hugs are always a win for him.

Despite what everyone thought Eddie did genuinely love and care for Y/N, so when she started to act differently than she did he knew something was up immediately. She was quiet, almost zombie-like she didn't talk much and she barely touched Eddie or her bells which worried him but when he asked her about it, she just shrugged her shoulders at him and this is how it went for the rest of the day as poor Eddie wondered what was going on with her.

She on the other hand been over think all morning well more like all weekend since her parents said that they had gotten her put on better meds that would in their words "help you act your age so nobody would have to deal with a five-year-old 24/7", and she couldn't but help but wondered if Eddie felt the same way so she took them in hopes to be normal and not have to be babysat all the time due to her ticks.

Eddie had hoped the drive home would be different, but after twenty minutes of driving and she still hadn't something, he looked over to her before pulling into a parking lot and parking his van so they could talk.

"Sweetheart, you are officially worrying me now, your never this quiet. Please tell me what's wrong." He said looking at her and when she looked at him he could see the tears forming in her eyes which caused Eddie to pull her into his arms.

They sat there for a few minutes as Eddie let her cry while rubbing her back trying to keep her calm while also worrying about her. He felt her breathing go back to normal and then she pulled away from him and looked at him.

"My parents put me on new medication for my ADD so that it would help me act normal and so nobody would have to babysit me 24/7 but it only made me overthink." She said as Eddie sighed.

"Like I know that I can be annoying, super sensitive and that you start getting annoyed with me and that you should dump me cause of how I am and that I'm not good enough for you." She said going into a rant about how immature she is making Eddie's heartbreak at hearing how low she spoke about herself.

"Stop it please." He said grabbing her hands and making her look at him.

"You are the most beautiful person to me and I love you and all your ticks." He said looking at her before going into this rant about how amazing she is from how she lights up his day with her silliness and endless stories that never seem to end because of all the mini-stories in between or things she remembers and that he finds it cute when she does that. He tells her how he loves when she plays with his hands and gives him super long hugs. He tells her how beautiful her mind is and how she can think quickly on her feet.

"I love can you can come up with new and fun storylines for dnd. I love cute it is that you walk into a room and forget why you walked in only for you to walk out again and come back a few minutes later having remembered why you walked in there the first place." He said.

"I love you and your diamond mind, and there's nothing I would change about you. You are more than enough for me and I couldn't ask for a better girlfriend than you." He said as her heart swelled at his words bringing her to tears which made him laugh knowing they were happy tears.

"I love you, sweetheart." He said placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you so much Eddie." You said smiling at him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things 4 #stranger things x yn

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ceterisparibus116 · 2 years

Note

Could you talk about the things you think the fandom gets wrong about Matt? I’m very curious 😆

Okay, so this is gonna be a controversial take, I’m sure. I definitely don’t expect everyone to agree with me, and I welcome healthy discussion!

Also, this is incredibly subjective. I’m only speaking to the bits of fandom I’ve observed. And the Daredevil fandom is big enough that I can’t say I’ve seen all of it or the majority of it.

That said, here goes.

First and foremost: Matt is not a bad person. I don’t know how much of fandom actually means it when they call him an ass, a bad friend, etc., vs just saying it in the tongue-and-cheek “human disaster” sort of way. But I don’t think Matt’s a bad person at all, nor do I think he’s a bad friend (although this second one is admittedly more complicated).

What makes a person bad? I think I’ve talked about this a little before in other posts, but you can evaluate badness on at least two spectrums: intent and outcome. I don’t think anyone can deny that Matt’s intentions are incredibly good. He deeply desires to help other people. He makes dumb choices, sure, but even those dumb choices are usually inspired by a desire to help.

Of course, sometimes his intentions are less about helping others, and more about something else. That “something else” is most often, I think, self-protectiveness. Like, does he keep his survival of Midland Circle a secret because he thinks Foggy and Karen are better off without him (a dumb but also selfless, others-centered intention)? I think so. Does he also keep his survival a secret because he’s afraid of their rejection (a self-protective intention)? I think so.

But self-protectiveness is clearly rooted in specific traumas, like the rejection he’s experienced from Stick and Elektra and even Foggy and Karen. Personally, I see that as a mitigating factor. I challenge any of us to go through rejections like that and not end up self-protective. Does that make us bad? No. It makes us hurt.

(And this leads to a third factor: capability, or, at least, a person's capability at the moment. I don't think I touched on this the last time when I talked about intent and outcome, but capability is very important to me when determining if I think a person is good or bad. Someone who's been raised with privilege and who's been taught how to treat others well, and yet fails to do so...I'm more likely to believe that this is a person who's either intentionally or negligently treating others poorly. But someone who's never been shown how to treat others well is acting within their capabilities if they treat others poorly. This matters for someone like Matt. I don't see any evidence that Matt was ever taught how to handle even the normal types of complications that come up in human relationships, let alone how to handle something as bizarre as heightened senses and vigilantism. Instead, what was modeled to Matt was that when relationships get complicated, you walk away. Maggie did it first, then Stick, then Elektra. AND YET MATT DOESN’T WALK AWAY. He...uh, pushes people away. But he doesn’t leave them himself, which is what you’d expect, given what he was shown over and over growing up. Also, Matt's capability is clearly capable of expanding as he matures, especially as seen in Season 3. But I think his capability for trust and honesty in Seasons 1 and 2 is lower - and that's not his fault.)

And then we have the outcomes. Matt certainly causes bad outcomes. But do those bad outcomes outweigh the good? Really? Does the heartbreak he causes Foggy and Karen outweigh the lives he’s saved and the people he’s protected from the unthinkable? I don’t believe so, not at all.

Personally, I think both his intentions and the sum total of the outcomes of his life are all good, so to the extent that we measure the goodness of a person that way at all, I’d say he’s solidly “good.”

What about being a bad friend? This is more difficult. Matt is certainly a high-maintenance friend. He’s a difficult friend. But is he a bad friend? This is a much more subjective question, but I personally don’t think he is. I don’t think every high-maintenance and difficult person is a bad friend.

Do you have a friend in your life who struggles with mental illness and trauma which causes them to make choices that hurt you? Does that make them a bad friend?

Do you have a friend in your life who has a job that’s stressful or dangerous, and it worries you? Does that make them a bad friend?

Well, maybe they are a bad friend insofar as they’re not a good fit for you. But for someone else, those issues may not be obstructions. That doesn't make them a bad friend, that merely makes them a bad friend for you.

Honestly, I’m a high-maintenance friend. I’m a person who cares deeply about the problems of others, and it’s hardly unusual for me to call my friends in tears because someone I care about is hurting or because I’ve run into a problem in the world that I can’t fix. This puts a burden on my friends that I'm sure they don't always enjoy.

I’m also a difficult friend because I’m opinionated and argumentative. Sometimes I don’t control that very well. I’ve hurt people in arguments and not realized it, and sometimes I’ve hurt people and realized it and just...kept going. Although I will note that I try not to do this and try to apologize when I do. Still, there are some people who would never want me to be their friend because they don’t want to be friends with an opinionated and argumentative person. I would definitely be a bad friend for them.

Additionally, as a prosecutor, my job is incredibly stressful, and if I end up prosecuting the types of people I desire to prosecute (sex traffickers), then my job will also be dangerous. It means long hours when I’m simply not free to go out for drinks with friends, and it means heavy conversations, and it might very well mean, in the future, that my friends will worry about me if I don’t answer their calls.

Am I a bad friend?

I mean, maybe, lol. But my point is: those things by themselves don’t make me a bad friend; they merely make me a high-maintenance and sometimes difficult friend—and that's not the same thing.

I’ve said it before: if Foggy or Karen can’t handle the stress involved with being Matt’s friend, both due to his choices as Daredevil and due to the impact of his mental health issues, then they need to evaluate whether the friendship is a good fit for them—but that doesn’t mean Matt is a bad friend. The truth is, Matt is a person who is high-maintenance and stressful, but who loves his friends intensely and struggles to treat them well but (and this is key) actively tries to do better, as seen in Season 3.

That’s not a bad friend. A bad friend is someone who hurts their friends and doesn’t care. A bad friend is someone who willfully or negligently takes advantage of their friends. A bad friend is someone who doesn’t bother trying to do better.

Matt doesn’t do any of these things.

Next up, another thing I’ve noticed is that…I don’t agree with how Daredevil fandom seems to think about what it means for Matt to be happy. That’s what a lot of us want, right? We want Matt to be happy. We want him to find healing.

But a lot of fics, posts, etc. seem to focus on happiness as Matt finding more stability in his relationships, be they romantic or platonic. Like, Foggy or Karen or Frank or whomever supporting him. And although I certainly think that would contribute to his happiness, I think there’s a lot more at play.

Matt is a character who is deeply self-judgmental. Which is not to say that he constantly loathes himself; to the contrary, he clearly takes pride in several parts of himself. He is, overall, pleased with his abilities as a lawyer, with his competence as a fighter, and he’s even sometimes pleased with his ability to flirt. ;) What I mean when I say that Matt is self-judgmental is that Matt is constantly evaluating himself. He’s constantly trying to figure out if he’s doing the right thing, if he’s meeting the standards to which he holds himself.

From my perspective, a lot of fandom acts like if other people reassure him, then that will soothe his self-judgmentalness (shut up, tumblr, I know that’s not a word). But the thing is, it WON’T. Matt is not a person whose view of himself depends on how others view him. Even when everyone around him says he’s doing something wrong, he can be convinced that he’s doing something right. Even when everyone around him says he’s doing something right, he can be convinced that he’s doing something wrong.

So bringing Matt to a point where he’s happy needs to address this. Either: a) his standards need to lower so that he can meet them where he is; b) he needs to see that he is meeting his standards where he is, even if he thought he wasn’t; c) he needs to grow in the specific ways required for him to meet those standards; or d) he needs to somehow, despite his self-judgmentalness, become okay with not meeting his own standards.

None of those things automatically follow from his friends being supportive. The closest would be (b) and possibly (d), but I rarely see fics and posts actually address those specific elements of supportiveness.

Similarly, some fics and posts seem to suggest that Matt will be happy if he stops / lessens his Daredeviling. This is a complicated subject because there’s a wide range of how Matt would go about doing this. Is it simply spending less time in the mask? Is it fighting less dangerous bad guys? Is it taking backup? Is it getting better medical care? Is it letting other people know where he is so they know if he doesn’t come home? What, exactly, does that mean?

The problem is that some of these answers, namely “spending less time in the mask” and “fighting less dangerous bad guys,” risk leaving him feeling like he’s not meeting his standards, and he's not okay with that. As he tells Foggy, people get hurt when he takes a night off. So it’s not enough to get him to Daredevil less in those two regards; he has to also believe that he’s still doing the right thing. And I sometimes see that addressed, usually in a utilitarian “you’ll be able to help more people if you’re not on the verge of collapse” sort of way. But although there’s a certain logic to that perspective, it doesn’t really get at the heart of what it means for Matt to believe he’s a good person, you know?

And I mean, I get that a lot of fics and posts aren’t trying to do a deep-dive into Matt’s understanding of what a good person is, especially as applied to himself. This is just a thing that I happen to think about a lot, so I notice when it seems like it’s getting skimmed over.

The final thing that’s probably more controversial is Matt’s relationship to his faith. You can’t scroll though his tag on tumblr or AO3 without seeing “religious trauma” and “Catholic guilt” somewhere.

And here I want to pause to acknowledge my own bias. I’m religious, and I love it. My faith has made my life infinitely better. It has some sort-of downsides (in ways that I believe are similar to what Matt experiences, in that the downsides don't actually come from the faith itself but rather from my misunderstanding/misapplication of my faith), but it’s overall my favorite thing about myself.

I also need to acknowledge that many people in the Daredevil fandom have been hurt by religion. I in no way want to diminish that, nor do I want to diminish the value of Matt as a comfort character to anyone.

But what I’m trying to do is set aside my personal experiences and set aside other people’s personal experiences, and just evaluate Matt within the confines of the story as told on Netflix. Factually, objectively, what is his relationship with religion?

I don’t think it overall is one of trauma or even guilt.

Here’s my understanding of his relationship with religion:

As a child, he’s told by his grandmother that he has the devil inside. He may not know exactly what she meant by that, but he certainly has his own idea: the devil is a scary sort of rage that hurts people. He sees it in his dad, and he sees it in himself. Even as an adult, he still remembers that phrase and still identifies with it to the point that he continually brings it up with Father Lantom, clearly seeking some sort of explanation of it and guidance for how to deal with it.

He believes in damnation. He believes, specifically, that killing someone will lead to damnation.

He believes in redemption. He believes anyone and everyone, no matter what they’ve done, can be redeemed. (Apparently redemption triumphs over damnation, at least in theory, because when Frank talks about giving killers a chance to kill again, Matt doesn’t hesitate to argue that they should have the chance to try again—because redemption is still possible, even for them.)

He believes God made everyone for a purpose. He believes this includes himself, although he’s not certain how that works out in the context of Daredevil, where God’s purpose seems to clash with (or perhaps take advantage of?) the “devil inside.”

He believes God hears people’s prayers, and believes God has given him his abilities so he can answer those prayers.

He believes God hears him and expects God to answer him—and is confused and hurt when it appears that God is silent. But although we don’t see him pray often, he makes the sign of the cross before making hard/questionable decisions (like…to kill someone), and he prays desperately over Elektra when he thought he was losing her. (I also think he prayed when he hugged Karen after Frank shot at the hospital, but I’m not entirely sure.)

He comes to believe that God is not silent, but instead that God is at work subtly in and through him, as well as in and through the people around him, to bring about good in the world.

His faith brings him comfort when confronting the hard things in life—not always, but sometimes. (Unless he’s not being honest with Karen about that, back in Season 1.)

He finds comfort and guidance in talking to religious characters like Maggie and Father Lantom. He seemed to distance himself from religion for a while before the show started, but eventually the need for that comfort and guidance brought him back.

He’s grown up in a church that clearly cares about “the least of these.” There’s the orphanage for one, and Father Lantom sharing the church with people of other faiths, like the mosque in S3, and Maggie’s statement to Karen that the church is experienced with protecting people who are on the run who have nowhere else to go.

The church gave him a home when he had nowhere else to go. Father Lantom was a father figure when he had no one else to care for him that way.

He notably doesn’t appear to feel any guilt over a lot of Catholic sins: most prominently punching people in general (which…actually, it’s debatable whether that’s a sin in the context of defense of others), sex outside of marriage, getting drunk, swearing, skipping church, etc.

I think that about sums it up? Looking over this list, the only things that seems to be traumatic is his belief of “the devil inside,” and possibly his belief in damnation (though arguably not, or at least less so, to the extent that he considers the possibility of redemption for himself). Those are also the only two areas where I see guilt really arising.

Is that enough to say he’s a character with religious trauma and Catholic guilt? Well, definitely not Catholic guilt as it is technically defined, since technically Catholic guilt is about feeling guilt for something that you don’t actually think is wrong, but you feel guilty anyway because you were taught by Catholicism that the behavior is wrong. This would apply to all the things Matt does without feeling guilt, like sex outside of marriage, etc. This would not apply to the things Matt does feel guilt about, like, y’know, beating people up and considering murder, since these are things that Matt truly thinks are wrong.

So I think fandom is using “Catholic guilt” to suggest that Matt feels extra guilt or too much guilt (or…any guilt, to the extent that you might think no guilt should ever be felt) for doing certain things.

So by that definition, is it fair to say that Matt has religious trauma and Catholic guilt? Well, maybe—except when we consider his personality.

I mean, imagine Matt without ever having heard the words “devil inside.” Imagine Matt without any belief in damnation or hell.

Now imagine that same Matt lashing out in anger and beating people up. Imagine that Matt trying to kill someone.

How would he feel about himself?

Here’s the point I’m trying to make: Matt is an intensely self-judgmental person with or without his faith, and it is this self-judgmentalness that compounds his trauma and feeds his guilt. His faith gives him a certain specific framework by which to evaluate himself and his actions, but I don’t see any evidence that, if he ditched his faith, he would no longer care about doing the right thing. Nor do I see any evidence that, if he ditched his faith, he would think that lashing out in anger and trying to kill people is fine.

In other words, Matt would be a guilt-ridden person even if he weren't Catholic.

Additionally, the moments in his life that I believe were most traumatic have nothing to do with religion. Growing up without a mom. Losing his dad. Losing his sight. Growing up in an orphanage (and presumably watching other kids get adopted / fostered, while he was left behind). Stick’s rejection. Elektra’s rejection. These were all formative in his life, and most clearly lead to his specific trauma responses, and they would’ve happened with or without his faith.

Why, then, does Matt sometimes appear to have religious trauma or Catholic guilt, when in fact he’d have trauma and guilt regardless? I think the answer is this: his religion colors his trauma and guilt, and people see the coloring and mistake the coloring for causality.

This is where I have to tread carefully, because I’m straying from fact and entering into speculation, and I recognize that my own life experiences might be coloring (ha) my perspective. But then again…maybe my own life experiences, as a religious person, are simply giving me a unique insight into a religious character.

I mean, Matt hasn’t been to therapy, okay? He doesn’t appear to know the first thing about mental health. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to talk about it.

But what vocabulary does he have? A religious vocabulary. So how does he talk about trauma and guilt? With religion and in the context of religion.

Take his angst over his anger and how he acts on it, for example. If he had the vocabulary, he could talk about it in terms of nuanced emotions or in terms of cognitive distortions. But he doesn’t have that vocabulary. Instead of saying, “I’m constantly angry at the injustices of the world,” he says, “I have the devil inside.” Instead of saying, “I don’t always know how to act on my anger appropriately,” he says, “Sometimes I let the devil out.” Instead of saying, “I engage in self-blame and believe that every bad thing is somehow my fault,” he says, “I feel guilty.” These religious phrases (”the devil” and “guilty”) are not the cause of how he feels; they’re merely the vocabulary he has to explain how he feels.

So again, this is a matter of vocabulary, not causation. And it’s personally what I’ve experienced. My parents are psychologists, so I actually have an advantage over Matt in that I do have a vocabulary for talking about mental health. But even so, my faith adds a layer to things. It has to, if it means anything to me, if it’s not just window dressing.

Like, if I’m depressed and feel that I’m of no value, then I necessarily wonder if God values me. If I’m anxious and I feel that everything is out of control, then that could easily lead to me thinking God has abandoned me. That doesn’t mean my faith caused the depression or the anxiety, but it certainly is how I explain it. My faith colors it.

All that being said, I have to be fair: the idea that Matt’s faith colors his trauma and guilt rather than causing it does not negate the possibility that, by coloring it, Matt’s faith also exacerbates it.

So does it? Personally, I think…yeah, sometimes. Sometimes, but only to the extent that Matt applies his faith in an incomplete, patchwork way to himself. The clearest example is the damnation vs redemption issue, where Matt jumps to say that killing someone will damn him, but never seems to consider the possibility that he could be redeemed from that—or that he could be redeemed from any of his bad choices whatsoever.

I also think Father Lantom was woefully unhelpful in telling Matt that guilt is a sign that his work is not finished, which 1) misstates the Gospel (smh); and 2) places the responsibility of bad things on Matt’s shoulders; and 3) doesn’t bother to help Matt distinguish between the feeling of guilt and the reality of guilt—the reality that he’s done something wrong. (Which is incredibly ironic in S2, given that the “guilt” Matt was referring to in this conversation was about Grotto’s death, which wasn’t his fault at all, and yet we never see Matt process his mistakes with Foggy, Karen, and Frank’s trial in terms of guilt, even though those mistakes decidedly were his fault.)

And personally, I think the positives from Matt’s faith outweigh those. Positives like comfort and guidance, stability, a sense of purpose, a home, the belief that someone out there is listening, the belief that someone powerful is working things for good, the model of a lifestyle of service to others, the belief in redemption...that’s a lot of beautiful things, don’t you think?

I also think the positives from Matt’s faith would outweigh the negatives even more if he had a more accurate understanding of his faith, which would get at issues like whether his anger really is “the devil,” whether his feelings of guilt are accurate, whether his wrongs determine his value, whether redemption is applicable to him, etc. But that’s an essay for another time. ;)

Anyway, those are my thoughts on a character that I love and obsess over and enjoy analyzing way too much. Thank you for the fun and very challenging ask!

#matt murdock #daredevil #meta #religion #religious trauma #catholic guilt

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