#unusual stims

[phantomhivestims]

Emily (corpse bride) Stimboard

For my gf @stelleeee , sorry for inactivity I have been posting on my alt more than anything

🪦-💀-🪦

🧟‍-💍-🧟‍

🪦-💀-🪦

[primarina-stims]

⟡🧼🟢 Light green soap 🟢🧼⟡

[cam0mi1e]

so about my audhd assessment

I wasn’t diagnosed. But. Doctor said that i need to see a specialist. And generally it was kinda confusing. She said that I, like, almost qualify for autism, tho my mom probably said that all things that i said were bullshit. And she discarded adhd because i wasn’t neurotic enough?????? Even though i told her that I practically had meltdowns for 2 previous days. And all other symptoms are there. And she said that i just have anger issues??????? Even though emotional outbursts are a legit thing that adhders expirience???????????

I feel like she just forgot half the shit that i told her before? But she said that she’ll refer me to another specialist.

Honestly i just think that she disregarded my experiences because they’re “subjective ”, and maybe because she thought it might be a teenager thing. It felt like she just didn’t asknoveleged (how the fuck do i spell) things that i didn’t explicitly stated, like, in bold letters but with words. To be fair she might’ve had couple good points but it might be just because in my family lotsa people r similar to me and my mother’s opinion is just as subjective. By her words I didn’t have repetitive behaviours even though I literally rewatched same 3 cartoons all the time. And lined up and sorted toys, and preferred not to engage in imaginative play.

Tbh it’s just confused me more and i will cry when i get back home. Also that thing with ignoring my perception. And lying about letting me ask questions in the end of the sesh.:,,,(

Tldr: Self diagnosis rules. I know myself better and it was just an another case in support of that statement.

[just-a-cryptid]

"Pssh...Nothin Personnel......Kid."

☠️☠️-🔫🔫🔫-💣😈💣-☠️-🔗🔗🔗-💜-☠️

A stimboard based on Coldsteel the Hedgeheg (by Blood_skull_boi84) ; featuring emo graphics, spikes, sonic, glitter, and webcore/old web !

!! don't tag as kin

[dissociache]

Drank 2 cups of coffee this morning (havent regularly consumed caffeine in years) and felt like i was gonna crawl outr my skin and fucking hated it. Decided to drink a hard seltzer bc of how fast my heart was racing and they're balancing each other out so harmoniously rn. I feel productive without wanting to explode while also relaxed enough to not get too over-stimulated/irritable. 😭

[skrunksthatwunk]

oh the inherent autistic4autistic romance of harold and maude (1971). im gonna lose my mind

they. i. omg. look i've seen this movie 3 times and it always gets better. it's very good i love it dearly. im not sure what this post is im just gonna talk about them being autistic that's all.

sensory stuff (sensory seeking, in particular):

maude's scent machine (to "give her nose a treat"!!), harold's enjoyment of it

her "switch to the tactile" via things like statues, her encouragement to explore it in a variety of ways, which harold does in some unconventional ways, i.e. sticking his head in lol

when replanting the tree maude mentions a love of dirt for sensory reasons (i believe it's the way it feels but it might be the smell)

that scene where harold's like ooh the day's so nice i feel like somersaulting and she's like yeah!! go do it!! and he's like but id feel stupid and she's like everyone has a right to make an ass of themselves. and then he somersaults. very neurodivergent friend group of them that kind of enabling is literally me and my friends

in the above scene, maude declines harold's offer of a cartwheel and says she feels like yelling, then does so. vocal stim

maude's breath of fire morning routine could also be a vocal stim

arguably maude's fascination with art and them watching the fireworks and model trains could be visual stims, but that's a bit more of a stretch. still.

maude's clutter could also be kind of a visual stim. i like visual clutter for that reason; perhaps she doesn't mind it in her home

maude's focus on music and making sound, something she passes to harold via the banjo, singing (even if imperfectly), etc

they dance :) (harold's dance at the end particularly feels like stimming to me)

harold sitting upside down on the therapist's chair

harold's morning-after bubble blowing could be visual

maude likes stealing different kinds of cars for the variety. this, combined with how she comments on how harold's hearse drives, makes me wonder if it's a vertebral/proprioceptive kinda thing where she likes feeling the cars move differently, like the different leans to their turns and how they start and stop, things like that (mecore)

communication/self expression:

harold expresses himself through faking his death in a variety of gruesome and creative ways

harold drives a hearse!! and he likes it. even as his wardrobe moves from black and he stops going to funerals it's the one thing he holds onto

harold's affect is relatively flat. his smiles are pretty small and rare and he almost never raises his voice

harold makes little to no effort to hold conversation with others besides maude outside of performances (i.e. faking maude's death with uncle victor). a lot of this is because he detests the situations he's in (i.e. the dating service calls or speaking to the motorcycle cop), but even when speaking could theoretically add to the performance, he chooses not to, instead silently showing what he needs to, i.e. in the harakiri scene. in short, mecore

maude infodumps and overshares and i love her. it matches well with harold's relative quiet. like when she's walking to her house after harold drives her home for the first time and she talks about her friend who gave her the keys and tricks to car theft? unnecessary. but wonderful

not sure how to explain this one but when harold begins to cry when telling the chem lab story, maude doesn't say anything like, "im sorry, that sounds really hard", but instead talks about people backing away from life, and does her "give me an L give me an I" L-I-V-E cheer. it's not a typical response, but it's one that resonates with harold (not that saying the former can't be an autism vibe bc i for sure rely on scripts in situations like that Because they're unfamiliar, but it depends person to person yk)

harold falls in love and plans on proposing within a week, potentially suggesting very strong experiences of emotions

i mean. the whole movie is maude being like get weird be authentic explore and love life and then them being weird. unmasking journey starts NOW!!!!

harold knows that the only way to get people to leave him alone is to scare them away, or to make them think he's a lost cause that they can't make "more normal". he tends to do this instead of talking. obv faking his deaths, but also faking maude's murder, showing his mother maude's photo instead of explaining beyond exactly what's needed, torching the car his mother exchanged the hearse for, etc. he knows he won't be accepted and uses his weirdguy vibe to his advantage bc he knows they think he's weird anyway. and also because he doesn't want to talk much in general

when confronted by a cop about stealing a car she's like yeah i took it. and this tree. she doesn't bother lying bc she doesn't see a problem with it and/or because she isn't afraid of the cop

when harold goes to tell his mother that he's planning to marry maude he interrupts her even though she's on the phone multiple times because he Has To Tell Her Now

harold sending the hearse off the cliff at the end as a symbolic but ultimately useless gesture is another silent death he expresses himself with, but one he is rebirthed from

interests/beliefs:

harold's interest in death and destruction are kinda his only hobbies for a while, and are ones that keep him isolated

they go to strangers' funerals for shits. enough said (they also freely admit to not knowing the deceased like they do not care)

maude chooses to end her life at 80. she has a very positive, loving view of death in relation to life and change, and does not see this as sad, nor does she consider her relationship with harold as a reason to stay longer. she's made that decision, and he's just one beautiful component of an endlessly beautiful world she's leaving behind. her perspective is not common, but it's something that drives her throughout the movie, that search for life and whimsy

the romance itself is unusual, but the only ones who question it are outsiders. they both seem unphased by the age gap. the taboo doesn't matter to them at any stage

maude's past of protest could suggest a strong sense of justice, and her disregard of law could suggest an "im not gonna follow this rule if it's not right/doesn't make sense" attitude (she also explicitly ties her unorthodox behavior to her protest experience, saying it's her own, small form of resistance. just against social norms generally)

harold's rejection of normal social conventions i.e. dating, hanging out at funerals/demolition sites, etc. as well as his disdain for the military (particularly the way it manifests when he's tricking victor into not enlisting him by pretending to be bloodthirsty and screaming at maude that she's a commie pig, reflecting how he sees victor/those like him) show a kind of disregard of/distaste for hierarchy and norm (though he does feel those pressures to mask, as shown by the somersaulting conversation)

maude brings a yellow umbrella to a funeral, not even trying to blend in or seem mournful (her use of color is tied to how live flowers are used at funerals rather than dead ones. it's another joy and life thing. this logic of "i don't get why everyone does this. why should i not celebrate life here/in this way?" is straightforward and unaffected by/in spite of norms but IS affected by/because of her world view in a way that's real autistic to me)

misc

maude collects stuff

maude shows an unusual amount of empathy for the tree in town and moves to rescue it. this may be contrasted with her flippantness about the trouble her car stealing may cause people to show both an unusual amount of empathy for inanimate objects/non human beings and low empathy for humans

something so so very autistic to me about harold blowing up the chemistry lab at his boarding school and just. going home. jdjhsksg he didn't tell anyone he just went to bed im--

when maude says all the daisies are different she mentions all kinds of subtle details, which could indicate a higher level of observation than average

maude shows almost no sense of danger or fear. whether she's being questioned by cops in a stolen vehicle or telling her new lover she's poisoned herself, she seems carefree. that could be because of how much horror she's faced, or because of her knowledge that it'll end soon and she won't have to deal with the consequences for long. but it could also be autism

harold has a similar unusual relationship with fear. he's totally fine with the stunts that could easily go wrong and with maude falling into the ocean and with mixing random chemicals in a lab for shits but when it comes to other people putting him in situations he's upset

harold has no friends and is misunderstood and made to change to become more "normal" by everyone except for maude

just. the themes of societal oppression by demanding conformity. and resisting it by living authentically. they're Everywhere in this movie and that's inherently coded towards all kinds of marginalization, neurodivergency included (one way i haven't mentioned that this appears is in the implication that maude is a nazi concentration camp survivor, as evidenced by the numbers tattooed on her wrist. obviously, fascism and eugenics are heavily invested in removing difference, whatever it may be. nazis did focus on autism somewhat (hans asperger was a nazi doctor, after all), so that could be a sort of autistic coding, though it is (understandably) generally not used as such because they were not nearly as much of a focus to them. such coding is much more often for jewish people for that reason. it's more likely that she is/was jewish, or frederick was, or she helped others who were victimized, or resisted, etc. anyway, her drive to live fully regardless of convention could be related to seeing so much death and suffering firsthand, or to a complete rejection of the ideology that brought it and anything that resembles it. it seems influenced by that, at least.)

tl;dr harold and maude is about rejecting small talk and dating and the government and instead smelling things and rolling around in the grass and loving completely life and living weirdstyle. plus they both give me Vibes. that's all go watch harold and maude

[maximalistim]

the unal bubble house - source

[unproduciblesmackdown]

imagining for winston quant billions the kinds of spontaneous stims or other Sudden Adjustments that could arise when focusing etc while alone and able to tap into that, like “hang on a sec [holds own breast] okay.” then drawing it

[edgy-mahou]

[pleuvoire]

when i was little i read a book in which the main character’s mother used to wrap her arms around trees and kiss them and the main character tries it as well and feels a little silly but emotionally fulfilled about it. and i got all my knowledge of the world from books so i had a period where i actually did this at recess. looking back on it i’m kind of embarrassed that people were seeing me do that, plus the germs. but seeing that last post i became overcome with a great urge to feel tree bark against my lips.... 💭

[chewelry]

semi-raw fed bowl | credit me if you use my gifs!

[zimmbzon]

^^^ “you loved us first… we’re just loving you back.”

[ambeer6]

Neudivergent people, please tell me about your unusual stims! I'm curious about it!

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

not enough spoons to explain adherant to ffxiv lore

but dragoon jump powers+ wheelchair = crazy ass shit.

its just always arm day not always leg day in terms of aether powering ur muscles

just pretend for a sec that putting that amount of force into one push would just propel you fast and not go horribly wrong, but that could be cool as fuck!

if you are in any cutscene w emo mc dragon issues[estinian] u know dragoon jumps can be insane, so if you say used that power with a wheelchair?

it would be hard in of terms combat with probably needing some modifications in order to work around the fact for mobility you kinda need two hands to steer and most weapons need at least one hand.

BUT still: i cant remember it saying anywhere that its a dragoon only skill, just that they were the only group that decided to go ham on leg day as oppose to spellcasting or archery when faced with big fuckoff flying lizards so its entirely possible that you could just spend a few years training, get a good wheelchair and boom. your faster than all most all modes of transport. and even if you cant do it withought dragoon training gimme a job crystal and a spear and ill kill all the dragons i want to be able to pop a wheelie all the way from dragons head to the astralogim observatorim or whatever

anyway tldr: in mad fantasy worlds you can almost always have a lore adherent way to be disabled and still kick ass. or at least have quality of life improvements without the whole 'we have healing magic so no disablitys exist exept for the occasional amputation'

squenix i still hate you but ff14s a banger and i will never again complain about queue times if i can watch dudebros have a meltdown over the wol being able to use a wheelchair and still, u know, kick ass and be the warrior of light.

its an mmo. you can play as furry bait [twink], bunny person, or furry bait [bear] among others i think we can have a goddamn wheelchair [and if u pull a 'it affects your charecters combat negatively becuase realism' im pulling a glock out of my ass and shooting you. its fantasy. ive already thought for five minuits and made some stuff work, and u can always dump new lore]

[prosthetics and other adaptive devices would be cool to. you have all the garlean tec and also the ironworks they can make a cool prosthetic for an arm [diff attachements for diff weapons/tools].look if u can be blind but not because u can see through aether currents you can probably also have magic hearing aids. the list goes on]

[gffa]

Hey, are you feeling salty about STAR WARS for no reason whatsoever, just totally happened randomly, and want some fic that reflects the Jedi Order of the movies and TCW? Ones that are novel-length time travel fix-its to really make yourself feel better? Then I have some ones that I've been reading and really enjoying! Because I think maybe we could all use a bunch of fic to get lost in over the weekend, just 'cause. STAR WARS TIME TRAVEL FIC RECS: ✦ there is no death ashkav, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cal & quinlan & ocs & cast, time travel, 134.9k wip Darth Vader is a cataclysmic event, and Cal, delirious with pain, scrambles to catch the hilt of his saber as he begins to drag it out their corpses – and that’s what he and Cere are, corpses, with only a last few seconds of misfiring neurons left in them, no matter how much BD-1 trills and punches stim after stim into his arm – they are tipping past that point of no return now, and Cal needs to do something right now before it’s too late for – for what?

✦ Take it from the top and try again by mauvera, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & padme & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 142.3k wip     Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. Should be relatively easy. Right?

✦ Let Go by Micillyn, qui-gon & obi-wan & anakin & padme & cast, time travel, 101.5k Qui-Gon did not expect to die on Naboo. Nor did he realise that by insisting for Anakin to be trained as a Jedi, the boy would one day fall and become Darth Vader. Foresight, it seems, did not confer the gift of infallibility, yet if it took all those tragedies to destroy the Sith and restore balance to the Force and hope to the galaxy, then perhaps it wasn't so bad after all. Or, the story as happened in the movies is the fix-it, and this is the story of the disaster that happened before the time-travel happened.

✦ a distant fire is burning by e_va, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cal & cast, time travel, 47.4k wip Cal Kestis can move backwards in time (kinda-sorta-not really), and his confrontation with Darth Vader in the Fortress Inquisitorius plays out a lot differently. Fixing the timeline while stuck in his 10-year-old body will be quite the task, but Cal is up to it. He has to be.

✦ Reprise by Elfpen, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & mace & cast, time travel, 558.9k wip Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. Major AU.

✦ Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) by Rhiw, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & feemor & bruck & jango & cast, time travel, 135.1k wip     The life of General Kenobi is cut short at the hands of his Padawan, but the sight that greets his eyes upon awakening is not that of blinding light of the Force, but the Jedi Temple he knew when he was still a youth. As he struggles to understand the path laid out before him, Obi-Wan unwittingly captures the attention of a singularly unusual Temple Guard, and that of a reluctant Qui-Gon Jinn.

✦ Averting Galactic Destruction by kj_feybarn, obi-wan & anakin & quinlan & rex & cody & fives & dogma & wolffe & plo & shaak & dooku & sidious, time travel, 44.3k     AKA The Time the Force Sent Obi-Wan Back in Time and Quinlan Vos kept him from Going Kamikaze because let’s be Honest, Being Forced to Come Back in Time Would Suck.

[pastafossa]

"Sharing is Caring" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, 🔥)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 4 (Matt very much did not like this only being a drabble so now it's 5600 words, fuck me), I chose to combine the kink and fluff prompts (69 and 'Are you blushing?'). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.6k, Matt fought me and won

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: smutty smut smut, 69 position so oral for both plus face riding, overstimulation, lil bit of prostate stim, multiple orgasms, panty tearing, matt is a MENACE

LOOK AT THIS SMUG MOTHERFUCKER, I HAD A NEAT AND ORDERLY TIMELINE AND A DRABBLE OUTLINE, INSTEAD HE THREW THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND HE HAS FILLED THIS FIC WITH SIN, THE AUDACITY, WHAT TIME IS IT, MATT THIS IS YOUR FAULT

Matt was a giving lover. That much you knew. 

No round of sex with Matt ended without at least one orgasm for you, and often more if he had his way, which he often did, the audacity of that man. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend hours with his head buried between your thighs, skilled tongue lapping hungrily at your sex in a way that made you see stars, and had also led to you tearing a hole in the sheets on more than one occasion. He’d bent you over every last surface in the apartment, and some of the surfaces outside it too. Somehow he always managed to sink himself so deeply inside you that you’d have sworn you felt him in your throat, and that feeling was always followed by him fucking into you with a practiced athleticism that never failed to leave you a melted, howling mess. 

In other words, if sex with you was an artform, your climax was the masterpiece Matt lovingly devoted himself to creating. You’d never been with someone who took such joy in giving you pleasure. But sometimes he was… too giving.

Like now, when what you wanted was to get that thick cock of his into your mouth. 

“Oh, but sweetheart, I’m so hungry,” he purred, a warm, distracting light in his eyes. He was all heat and hungry fire where he stood in the bedroom doorway, a slow, lazy lick of his lips that admittedly had your cunt clenching around nothing. That look meant he had no intention of letting you out of bed for at least the next three hours. The growing outline of his hardening cock against his slacks only confirmed your suspicion as his voice dropped into something low and tempting. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you all day. It’s the only reason I got through work. Let me get my mouth on you, just for a little while. I’ll make it good for you, you know I will. Don’t you want that?”

It was a good offer. A very good offer, and one he was more than capable of fulfilling. You both knew it. But damn it, you also knew what you wanted. 

“No,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms. “I don’t want that.” “Lie,” he murmured. His head cocked, his sightless gaze dropping to your chest, and then lower until they landed somewhere around your hips. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. “Mm, big lie.” “...Alright, so maybe I always want that,” you admitted reluctantly, biting your lip as you stared down at the outline of your prize, heavy and thick even through the cloth. It was enough to make your mouth water. “But right now I want to suck you off more.” 

And god, did you ever. It was rare for him to let you go down on him, but those memories had become regulars in your fantasies. There was just something about his soft moans and hitched whines when you took him in your mouth, the way he threw his head back and his mouth hung slack, his spine arching when you let the tip of your tongue gently brush that spot below the head of his cock until he fucking begged for you to swallow him down. And if you kept going after he’d already come, kept sucking at his softening cock and pressed your knuckle just right behind his balls, drove his trembling, writhing body carefully into overstimulation, you could even drag something like a second orgasm out of him in short succession. He’d been a melted, purring, barely coherent puddle for a good hour when you'd last managed it and you had every intention of seeing if you couldn’t do it again. 

His brows shot up, as if he were genuinely surprised at just how truthful you’d been, or maybe surprised at just aroused the thought of your mouth on him made you. But those same brows quickly furrowed in open confusion. “You…” His head shifted back and forth, checking again that you were telling the truth. “You want that? Over me going down on you?” “Why is it so hard to believe I want you like you want me?” You snorted, wandering over to him until you could lean in and kiss him playfully. He still seemed puzzled, but he made a little huff of amusement when you did it again, dragging your nails down the front of his shirt. His chest rumbled beneath your touch, a quiet groan of pleasure. “Come on. Share, Matt. Let me have a taste this time.” 

He tipped his head down slowly towards you, clearly tempted. You leaned into him, another rumble leaving him when your lips brushed tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. You almost had him. The blatant note of your arousal in the air would only help your case now that you were up close. There was a growing flush on his cheeks, and his nostrils flared, taking your scent in when you not-so-subtly rubbed your thighs together. You slowly hooked one finger in his belt, giving it a tug. “Please?” Your desire left you almost breathless, the word hushed and pleading. You weren’t above begging if you needed to. “I need you in my mouth, Matt. You can have me after, can’t you?” “Or…” He drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, sucking lightly before letting it go,  his mouth parted and wet. “Or we can both get what we want, with a few adjustments.” Oh. 

Your breath caught, and you went still, something thick and rich as molten honey rolling through your veins. “Why, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head until he could feather his lips over your ear. One of his fingers brushed over your sternum, so light you almost didn’t feel it, before it traced its way gradually up your throat to your cheek, stirring all the tiny hairs in its wake. “Are you blushing?” “No,” you whispered, caught up in visions of what that might look like, feel like, to have his tongue licking its way hungrily into your cunt, all while you took his cock in your mouth and tried your best to make him lose his mind. Would he grow sloppy then, clumsy when you toyed with the head of him? Or would he tap into that focus of his, the two of you in a blatant competition to see who broke first? You wouldn’t deny just how wet the idea made you, but that would also be a lot of sensation for him, especially when you both knew he could come from the taste of your cunt alone. “Or… yes, I… Would that be… too much? Your senses—”

“I’ll be fine. I may have…” He let out a low chuckle, his own cheeks now the lightest bit pink as he cleared his throat. “I may have gone into the office bathroom before I left work, and… taken care of myself. I’d been thinking about my head between your thighs all day. I had to make sure I could get home.”

The visual slammed into you with the force of a truck: Matt with one scarred hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle his moans while he frantically stroked at his cock. And it was all because he’d spent hours thinking about how he was going to go home, throw you into bed, and find his way right down to your cunt. Your low moan was quickly swallowed up as he caught your chin and tipped your head up so his lips could find yours. The kiss was all teeth and burning heat, fire and fierce need, his stubble rasping against your skin until you felt like you were on fire. One of his hands swept down and behind you, fingers spread wide as he groped roughly, greedily against your ass. He used that same grip to haul you forward into him, making you whine when his hips ground into yours, letting you feel exactly what you’d done to him. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I can smell you, how wet you are. Tell me you want that, sweetheart. Tell me—” “God yes, please, please, Matt.”

You didn’t bother to keep track of where your clothes fell as you both stumbled your way into the bedroom, neither of you willing to pull your hands and mouths off each other long enough to figure that out. You managed to get everything off but your panties by the time you neared the bed, and you fully intended to slide those off, too, but you were distracted by the pleasure of Matt’s mouth as he determinedly nipped and licked at the skin of your throat, blatantly drinking the pheromones from your skin. Fortunately, Matt was a bit less distracted.

The tearing of fabric rang out, and then Matt’s fingers slipped between your soaked folds, stroking three fingers eagerly along your slit until you gasped out his name. 

“Oops,” he said with a smirk.

“You’re paying for those,” you grumbled. “Happily.” He side stepped around you, and by the time you’d turned he was already on the bed,  rolling onto his back and tipping his head back in clear expectation. Then he brought his wet, gleaming fingers up to his mouth, inhaling intently as he rubbed his fingers together. The reaction was immediate: a fierce groan, his other hand shooting down to wrap tightly around his cock as his hips bucked. 

“Shit,” you whispered, absolutely mesmerized as he took another greedy breath, a creeping flush spreading across his pale skin. He may have come an hour or so ago, but his cock already looked achingly hard, the whole of it flushed dark and red, a decadent droplet of precum beading at the tip. He was an absolute vision, all of that strength and power, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laid out like a meal for you, this affected just by the thought, the scent of your arousal. It lit a fire in you, and Matt must have sensed it, because he let out a growl before giving in and shoving his fingers into his mouth. His eyes snapped shut, a loud moan tearing through him. His other hand started to stroke quickly at his cock, firm drives up with a smooth sweep of his palm over the head before sliding back down, all as he sucked the taste of you eagerly from his fingers, unwilling to lose even a single drop. It was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” “Get up here and ride my face, sweetheart,” he grit out, shifting to let his thumb rub against the wet head of his cock. A delicious shiver ran through him, and he rolled his head on the pillow to face you. There was something far darker in his eyes, then, whispers of the Devil, of merciless rain on hard city streets. “Do it before I drag you up here myself, because I’m not going to fucking care if you can reach my cock when I do.”

It was the only invitation you needed, and you scrambled up onto the bed before he could change his mind. You had no intention of missing the opportunity he’d given you. 

You hit another brief snag, however, once you’d crawled over to him. You’d ridden his face before, but that had always been with you facing the headboard or the arm of the couch. This required the opposite angle. After a moment’s consideration, one that ended quickly when Matt growled a warning, you muttered a quiet, “fuck it,” and did a half turn, throwing your leg quickly over him so you had a knee on either side of his shoulders. Then you walked back a step or two on your knees, Matt’s free hand taking the meat of your thigh in his grip. It was difficult to figure out just where you needed to be to get the angle right. All you could see from this angle was his body stretched out like a long, open road before you, his other hand still stroking roughly at his cock, his knees bent, feet braced so he could rut lazily up into his grip. You didn’t really know where to put your hands, so you settled for placing them against the broad line of his chest, using them to brace yourself as you tentatively adjusted.

Matt, however, had lost his patience. 

With a snarl, he let go of his cock. Both his hands caught your hips, and with one hard yank he wrenched you down, burying his mouth against your pussy as if he hadn’t eaten in days. 

You both let out a sharp moan, Matt’s far more muffled than yours. There was no gentleness now, no parting you with his fingers to tease you with the tip of his tongue before settling in. Instead, it was something ravenous and filthy, animalistic, Matt’s mouth open wide as he licked and sucked at your folds and slit, greedily drinking up every last drop of your arousal he could find. For a moment you forgot what your plan had been. Your head fell to rest against his abdomen, your lips parted on a whine as Matt devoured your slick with heavy grunts and rumbles of approval, your hips starting to rock against his mouth. He was eating at you with everything in him, no thought given to things like air, based on his hitched breathing and muffled groans. He’d told you once, lips curled into a smirk, his chin still wet with your arousal, that if he died between your thighs, well, he’d consider that death a victorious one. 

“Mm—Matt, oh god, please,” you whimpered, your fingers curling against his skin, red lines left in your wake.

 Apparently satisfied that he’d taken in everything he could get, Matt tipped his head down just a hair, using his grip on your hips to adjust you until his tongue found your clit. With a purr, he began to lap warmly, steadily at it, over and over and over again, every now and then pursing his lips to kiss at it with a fond affection that was almost tender. The attention to your clit made your eyes flutter shut, quiet whimpers escaping you with each pass of his tongue, your body clenching in want. At the fresh trickle of wetness, Matt groaned in delight. “Taste so good, sweetheart, all mine,” he slurred warmly, syllables thick and sounding almost drugged, before his tongue found you again, falling right back into his aphrodisiac of choice. As he did, his body began to shift beneath you, before settling into a steady rocking. Startled, your eyes fluttered open, and you glanced down his body. What you saw made your mouth fall slack.

Matt had begun to roll his hips, rutting up in lazy waves. At first you thought it might be an invitation, a reminder, but as you watched you quickly realized what he was doing. With every flex and buck of his hips, he managed to rub his cock against his abdomen, just a little. You could already see the smears of precum pooling in the lines and grooves of flexing muscle, and that only made each successful contact smoother, Matt’s moans against your cunt growing stuttered and hoarse. It likely wouldn’t have been enough sensation for anyone else, but for Matt and his senses, it was just enough to drive him further upwards, his thick thighs starting to tremble. Hell, he was probably enjoying it, considering how he liked to tease himself. 

Fortunately, it was also a reminder of what you’d wanted to do. 

You quickly stretched out above him, headed for your goal. Your hips shifted just a little as you did, and Matt let out a low, possessive growl, his hands tightening on your hips in a warning. He didn’t like the idea that you might pull away before he was done, you had a feeling.

“Relax.” You choked out a shaky laugh, lowering your head to kiss fondly at the crest of his hip. Your affection softened his growl to a gentler, contented groan. “Just-just trying to get to you.” He seemed soothed by that, at least. Then again, maybe he just wasn’t listening, far too focused on your cunt to really hear you. Either way it didn’t matter, because you’d finally maneuvered yourself to where you’d wanted to be. You braced one hand shakily on his thigh, some of your weight settling down on top of him. His chest rose and fell on a happy sigh beneath you, more than happy to have you sprawled out over him. It also meant his cock was now in range of your mouth. 

It was even more tantalizing up close, flushed, wet, and practically begging for your attention even if Matt’s mouth was otherwise occupied. You eagerly caught the base of it, wrapping your fingers tight around it. Beneath you he let out a grunt, his tongue faltering against your clit. You had no interest in waiting any longer, so without a second’s hesitation you dipped your head and stuck out your tongue, catching one of the drops of precum rolling down the shaft. From there you rose with one long drag along his length, following that damp trail back up to his tip like you might a melting drop of ice cream. The moment your tongue swept over the head of Matt’s cock, he let out a startled moan, one that morphed into a hoarse cry when you lapped warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him, taking in every fresh drop that welled up beneath your attention. It had been far too long since you’d gotten to taste him like this, bitter and salty in equal measure, the scent of musk and sex so much stronger here.

“God,” he choked out, squirming beneath you, his hands practically clawing at your hips. His head dropped back and away from your cunt as he gasped up to the ceiling, breath hitching on a high moan as the strokes of your tongue grew more firm. “Ah-ah! Your mouth, sweetheart, I need it, just—”

Time to see if you could break him before he broke you.

You dropped your mouth open wide before starting to slide him into your mouth, using your hand at his base to angle him and make it a little easier. But easier was… relative. 

Shit, you thought with a low moan, one that had Matt crying out behind you. He was so fucking thick, broad enough that you felt a faint ache in your jaw, saliva already leaking out past the corners of your mouth to drip down his length. There was no graceful way to swallow him down, but the sensation of your saliva rolling down his shaft, your stifled huffs through your nose as you slowly worked your way down his cock had him absolutely wrecked. His body trembled beneath you, his hips jerking in an only barely aborted attempt to thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. He actually whined when you gave him your first little suck, and those whines only grew in number as you did it again, his panting music to your ears, so wet you were practically dripping down onto him. And maybe you really had, because before you could blink, he’d yanked your hips back down. This time, however, he brought his hands around so he could use his thumbs to part your body for him. With a wild moan, he’d buried his mouth against your slit, licking hotly at your opening over and over until he’d managed to worm his tongue inside you.

Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his tongue lapping eagerly at your inner walls, his chin grinding roughly against your clit. He’d burrowed in so hard against you it was if were intent on drowning, on latching onto you and never letting go. The angle was perfect, and you found yourself grinding down instinctively against his face, riding his tongue inside you and the stubbled texture of his chin, chasing your pleasure just as you were seeking his. His delighted moan as you started to use him the way he wanted was so muffled you swore he shouldn’t have been able to breathe, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, whining around the length of him in your mouth as he slurped deeper, your thighs locking up around his head, his skin slick with you. He was dangerously close to coming based on the way his cock had started to throb against your tongue, and you weren’t much further behind, but he was clearly aiming to get you there first.

No.

No, you wanted to ruin him too.  Focus, just a little more. You clumsily lifted your head halfway up before skating back down to meet your hand around his base. Neither of you were coordinated enough to make this last much longer, too distracted by the rising waves of pleasure, but that didn’t matter. You knew his body. You could outlast him, by a few seconds at least. But to do that, you’d need one more thing. So, determined to win, you quickly worked your free hand down past his cock, pausing to knead briefly at his sac just for the way it made him moan roughly against your cunt before you drifted past it. You didn’t slide your fingers inside him—something you both hadn’t tried quite yet—but you did curl one finger and press your knuckle up gently just behind his balls, indirect pressure against that spot deep inside him. 

His back arched so sharply and suddenly beneath you he almost managed to throw you off, and his choked gasp hit air as he threw his head back. With a shaky whine, he ground down desperately against your finger before snapping his hips up, clearly torn between the wet suction of your mouth around his cock and the firm pressure against his prostate. But unlike last time he’d thrown his head back, this time you followed his mouth with your hips. You were too close to that edge now to go without it, especially not with the noises he was making—whimpers and broken moans, slurred pleas—so you tried desperately to find his lips again, grinding down against his face. And though you were reluctant to let him go, you still managed to tear your mouth off his cock just long enough to gasp out, “Fuck, Matt, please!” 

Your begging dragged him up out of his haze, and he hunted for your clit with his lips and tongue, licking at your cunt until he finally found it. He closed his lips around it just as you did the same to the head of his cock. Two warm pulls of your mouth to match his, and with one more shove of your finger against that spot inside him, he cried out and came hard into your mouth in salty, bitter waves that tasted like fucking satisfaction. His hoarse moans, desperate and so very needy wound up pushing you the rest of the way. Matt’s tongue lapped sloppily against your clit, and with a moan that matched his, you joined him in falling over the edge, your body tightening and releasing in a rolling tide of pleasure that left you floating, whimpering his name around his cock. He quickly shoved his mouth against your slit, grunting as he greedily drank down everything your body gave him. 

You thought you were done, then, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking as the waves began to ease into aftershocks. Matt nuzzled roughly at your clit, his tongue brushing over it almost curiously. Abruptly he moaned, dragging your hips back down. “Don’t stop,” he rasped hoarsely, yanking your hips back down. Just like that, his mouth was on your clit again, which was great except that you still hadn’t quite finished the last orgasm. The sudden rush of overstimulation before you could fully come down left you shaking, clawing wildly at his thighs, but your squirming got you nowhere, your hips firmly held in an iron grip.

Don’t stop. 

There wasn’t much you could do but follow the instruction. 

You moaned and began to suck clumsily at him, the velvet softness of his cock cradled gently on your tongue. The noise he let out was strangled and hoarse, almost pained, because this had to be too much for him, it had to be, and yet… he couldn’t resist starting to rock up instinctively against your mouth, a broken whimper breathed against your cunt when you managed to probe your tongue against the tip of him. You knew, distantly, remembered that you’d had this plan: if you did this fast enough, did this just right, using his senses to your benefit, you could make him come again. And, well, it had helped before, so you slipped on hand down between his legs again, grinding your finger hard against that spot inside him in steady waves, sucking harder at his cock just for the way it made him writhe. His head snapped back against the pillows, his hands dropping away from you to fist in the sheets. He brokenly cried out your name, his thighs trembling, but you didn’t care, your goal in sight. One of these days you were going to get your fingers inside him to see what noises he made then, and just to taunt him, you hooked and curled your fingers against his soft skin, your message clear. 

You weren’t sure who was more startled when he came—you, or him—but  either way, he did, his cock only half-hard at best as he snapped his hips up, his body locking up as he spilled into your mouth. He made a sound you’d never heard from him before, one part shout and one part high, hitching moan, the sounds rising falling with each jagged wave of pleasure you dragged him through, almost enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. There wasn’t much left for his body to give, granted, but you still accepted those few drops anyway, swallowing them down with a satisfied moan as you milked him dry, massaging your fingers against his cock and that spot inside him to drag it out. You didn’t stop until his sounds grew pained, and even then it was a struggle. You had to force yourself to lift your head, sitting back against his chest. The sudden return of pressure against your clit made you whimper, your body shaking, because despite the overstimulation, as predicted he’d managed to shove you up far enough again that you were hanging right on the edge again, orgasm just a breath away.

“Matt,” you choked out, not even sure what it was you needed—his hand maybe, or even just for him to hold still so you could ride some part of him, be it his chest or his abdomen. One glance over your shoulder, however, let you unsure of what he might be able to give. 

Matt’s head was still thrown back on the pillow, his wet mouth hanging open as he panted, hair damp and sticking up in every direction. His eyes were glazed over and dark, absent any real awareness or thought. You knew that look. It was one you usually only saw when you’d really managed to fuck him senseless or leave him wrecked. He was out of it, his senses momentarily overloaded, out of order, come back later. You quickly pulled yourself off of him, just in case your weight over him had been unpleasant. He’d need some time to come back to himself, but fortunately, sitting here and staring at what you’d done—Matt Murdock, fucked out and drunk off your body—would be just the sort of visual you needed as you took care of yourself. You dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs until you could circle your clit with your fingertips, your lips parting on a satisfied moan. It wasn’t as good as Matt, but it was good enough.

Or… that’s what you thought you’d do, until Matt’s head snapped in your direction. His hand darted up, grabbing for you.

Except that he missed, his hand snatching at the empty air about two inches to your left.

“Matt,” you huffed shakily, using your other hand to take his. He probably just wanted to stay close, he usually did when you got him like this. “I’m-I’m fine, just, unh, gonna fini—Matt!” 

Your hand brushing against his had apparently been the compass he needed. You abruptly found yourself shoved back onto the bed with a grunt. He was on his hands and knees before you could blink, scrambling and groping around the bed to feel out how you’d fallen, his eyes burning and wild. The moment he made contact with you again, he shoved his head forward with a growl, mouthing at you, licking, biting at whatever skin he could find, which happened to be your ribs, the nip of his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. You knew that you knew you’d have a mark there tomorrow, one to join the bruises on your hip. But it clearly wasn’t the part of you he’d been aiming for, and he snarled in clear frustration, swinging his head back and forth in a failed attempt to orient before he managed to find your hips with his hands. Your own hands wound up tangled in his hair as he dragged himself roughly over your legs, and fuck, if he was offering, you were happy to take it. You canted your hips, tugging at his hair to direct him. “Here!” you gasped, pushing his head down between your thighs. “Here, Matt, right—”

He buried his face sloppily against your cunt again, not a hint of shame or hesitation in him. His furious, messy lapping at your clit was exactly what you needed. The sound you made was raw and torn, almost a shriek as you suddenly got the stimulation you’d been looking for, your body tightening in rapid waves beneath his mouth. He caught your clit between his lips, growled, and sucked hard enough to have you seeing stars. That was it for you, your back arching as you fisted your hands tightly in his hair and came across his tongue, a flood of wetness drenching his face. With every pulsing wave of pleasure, he let out a satisfied little rumble, sucking in time with the rhythm of your body, dragging your orgasm out until the world burned white. The moment those waves began to ebb, he switched to broad flat licks along the entire length of your cunt, moaning and mindlessly drinking up every last drop, his eyes falling half closed in apparent bliss. 

Which was nice. Until your body started to request a break. 

“Matt,” you choked out, trying to shift away. He instinctively followed, blearily keeping his mouth latched onto your cunt, the pressure on your clit almost painful now. “Matt, that’s—fuck—I need a break, sweetheart, please! Matt!”

The sharp call of his name seemed to snap him out of it, and he finally let you go with a groan. He didn’t get very far, though. All he did was tip his head sideways until it landed on your thigh with a soft thump.  

You let yourself breathe for a minute, twitching now and then when an aftershock rolled through you. When you were feeling a little more able to focus, you finally lifted your head to glance at him. “That,” you wheezed, still panting, “was… we need to do that again. But in… in a while.”

He blinked slowly at you, blissed out and lazy as a lion who’d just had a meal. He hadn’t moved from your thigh, his face still shining and absolutely drenched. Then he grinned. The expression was so absolutely, drunkenly smug that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I take it you’re ok, then?” You snorted, reaching down to stroke your fingers down his wet cheek. 

He blinked at you again, and there was a brief delay before his head turned and he nudged affectionately at your hand. Sometimes when his senses got too overloaded after sex, he needed a few minutes without touch to come down. This time, however, it seemed like touch was what he wanted. 

“You wanna come up here and listen to my heartbeat until your senses are all back online?”

He seemed to think that over for a minute before he slowly started to drag himself up your body. He didn’t even bother to lift his head from you, simply dragging it along your skin as if he were loathe to lose the sensation of you against him. He only ran into a slight hiccup when he bumped into your breasts. He nosed around for a second, huffing briefly, before he found the space between them and continued on. “You’re drunk as hell,” you choked out a laugh, as he rubbed his ear fondly back and forth over your sternum, hunting for whatever spot sounded best. “You’re legitimately pussy drunk. God, I love you.” He finally selected his spot on your chest, his head dropping down to lay against it. The rest of him followed shortly thereafter as he settled down on top of you with a long groan of satisfaction. He rumbled out a contented sigh as you got your fingers in his hair, stroking through the sweat-soaked strands. One of his hands fumbled its way down to your hip. He kneaded clumsily at it, your affections very much returned. “Mhm. Love you, too.” 

“Little more coherent?” “Mm. You taste good.” “So do you. Don’t make me wait so long to get my mouth on you again.”

“Mhm,” he sighed. He absently licked his lips, before purring quietly, his eyes falling shut. “I promise. We’ll share.”