#I hate how after all these years I’m still struggling with my body

[bubbleggum444]

—❝𐌋ITTLE MIƧƧ AC𝚃IVIST!❞

contents damian wayne x fem!reader, new hero!reader au, fluff + angst (n comfort), 3k+ wc. synopsis he knows all too well what it is like to feel like you don't fit it.

This felt so... wrong. Everything and everyone around ___ was just so frustrating, so difficult to deal with.

She had been an activist for as long as she could remember, fighting for what she believed in. But everything changed when she became a hero.

For better or worse? She wasn’t sure. No—oh great, Starfire just burned another tree down. Just perfect. Yeah, definitely worse.

Time and time again, this path hurt. It pulled at her, tore at her, like two different people were fighting for control inside her body.

One part of her—the old her—was someone who spent hours protesting, climbing trees to protect them, boycotting inhumane brands, and helping the vulnerable.

The other—the hero—was someone who saw, day in and day out, just how much destruction heroes left behind in their wake.

She knew her thoughts must have been tiring to others. Maybe even annoying. But she didn’t care. They weren’t her, and she wasn’t them. No one had the right to tell her how to feel about this.

Still, she could only bite her tongue for so long.

During a mission, Beast Boy casually tossed a used water bottle onto the street.

She hesitated, not wanting to sound like a nag. So instead, she simply picked it up, intending to throw it in a trash can.

Then she heard Garfield chuckle.

"Are you our new teammate or the trashman, newbie?"

Ouch.

Even the other Titans fell silent at the remark.

Her fingers clenched around the plastic, her vision burning. She didn’t dare look at any of them. She was too close to breaking.

So she walked away.

She hadn’t planned to. It was an impulsive decision, but that was who she was—rash, reactive. Always ready to act against injustice, even before becoming a hero.

She kept walking until she reached a park bench and collapsed onto it. The moment she was alone, the tears came. She hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that everything was finally catching up to her. The pressure of expectations, the weight of two halves of herself pulling in opposite directions.

It felt suffocating.

Like the disappointment she had seen in her parents’ eyes when she struggled to balance school and activism. The kind of disappointment that didn’t hurt physically but cut so much deeper.

A shiver ran down her spine as something cold wrapped around her from behind.

Whack!

On instinct, she swung back, landing a solid smack on whoever had just grabbed her.

"Damian?!" Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God, I’m so—"

"No, I deserved that," he admitted, rubbing his arm. "I came after you... I just didn’t know how to approach you."

Her chest tightened.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her. Least of all Damian.

She couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled over, but this time, he was ready. He pulled her into another hug, and she let herself sink into it, gripping onto him like she might fall apart otherwise.

"There’s nothing wrong with being someone who picks up trash," she mumbled, voice still thick with emotion.

"That’s a decent, respectable job."

Damian huffed a small laugh.

"That’s not funny—"

"I know."

He tilted her chin up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. His green eyes searched hers, steady and unreadable.

"I’ve noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself, ___," he murmured.

"Stepping out of your comfort zone. Going against things you once believed in."

His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.She held his gaze, her breath catching.

"It’s admirable," he continued, voice softer now. "And... I understand more than you think."

She swallowed hard.

She barely knew Damian. Out of all the Titans, he was the most closed off.

Yet here he was. In a park. In the middle of the night. Holding her. Comforting her.

Was it always this warm at this time of year?

Her voice wavered slightly when she spoke. "Meaning...?"

He exhaled, thumb brushing over her cheek like he was afraid she might break.

"Meaning I’ve been where you are," he admitted. "I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider. To think that no matter what you do, you’ll never truly fit in."

His voice dipped lower, carrying something raw beneath it.

"And it hurt deeply. I rejected those who tried to help me because they were different, yet I embraced the pain from others simply because they were my familiars."

The air between them felt heavy—not with awkwardness, but with something deeper. It was as if their hearts had silently intertwined, speaking in a language beyond words. The weight of unspoken emotions filled the space between them, their rapid beats echoing a conversation only they could understand.

She felt it. The way her heartbeat stumbled, the way something in her chest tightened painfully.

And she could feel his too. Beating, racing—just like hers.

The silence between them was fragile, delicate, like the moment might shatter if either of them spoke.

With one arm dropping to his side, the other wraps itself around her shoulder in a gentle side hug.

"Let’s go get some dumplings," he murmured. "There’s a Chinatown nearby. The vendors stay open late."

Slowly, she let herself relax against him, nodding.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get some pho."

As they walked along the cobblestone streets, ___ let out a quiet giggle.

His cheeks kind of look like dumplings…

She bit her lip to suppress her laughter, but Damian caught it anyway.

His gaze flickered toward her. "What’s so funny?"

She shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Nothing," she said softly. "I’m just really excited for the food."

Damian narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. But he let it go, walking just a little closer to her as they made their way down the dimly lit street.

And for the first time in a long time, ___ felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so alone after all.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

alsooo BB would NEVA be like this. I just needed a "bag guy" for the story :)👌🏻

[ricky-olson]

can I rant about my body issues in the tags? thanks this is your warning

[cybersunnie]

rock-a-bye baby

RAFE CAMERON helps his drunk stepsister get ready for bed.

includes 18+ MDNI / DUBCON / STEPCEST / fem!drunk!reader / unprotected sex (pull out method) / rafe being an unreliable narrator / emotional manipulation / misogynistic undertones / wc 1.9k this is a work of fiction. the behaviors depicted do not reflect my personal beliefs, nor do i endorse or condone such behavior in real life.

Rafe hated that you were his stepsister. 

A little over two years ago, you and your mom moved into his home, and because you all lived under the same roof, that made you family. Bullshit. What you were was an extra mouth to feed. A new problem he didn’t want.

And now, with your arm thrown over his shoulders, Rafe was forced to help you up the stairs. 

A party was thrown at the Boneyard, and you clearly had too much to drink. He wasn’t exactly sober either, but you were slurring your words and couldn’t walk straight to save your life. A part of him wondered if you were playing it up. While he was tempted to leave you behind as not to deal with you, he knew his dad would be pissed if he had, and his dad already disliked him enough.

Eventually, the two of you made it to your room, and you fell face-first to your bed, nuzzling into your warm sheets. Rafe scoffed, a hand running down his face as he turned to leave, but you stopped him.

“Rafe,” your muffled voice called out.

He looked at you and saw you hadn’t moved a muscle. “What?”

You raised an arm. “Clothes.”

“What fucking clothes?”

When he failed to read your mind, a groan left your lips, and you rolled onto your back, a frown tugging your features. 

Oh, he would do anything to wipe that off your face. 

You squinted and then pointed at the clothes dresser behind him. “Nightgown. Top left drawer,” you ordered, the words strung together. Rafe couldn’t believe you were bossing him around. When he didn’t move, you pouted, “Please?”

Spoiled brat. 

But because he was a good stepbrother, he bit back his snippy comments and went to retrieve your nightgown. As he opened the designated drawer, his eyes were immediately drawn to your lace panties. You must have forgotten that those were with your collection of nightgowns. He cocked a brow and picked one up, the fabric soft between his fingers. Who the fuck were you wearing these for? A little boyfriend he didn’t know about? 

Rafe looked over his shoulder, and while you were preoccupied counting how many fingers you had on each hand, he slid it into his pocket. He didn’t know why he did it. An act on pure impulse, he supposed. You wouldn’t notice if one went missing, right? 

He cleared his throat and grabbed a nightgown, tossing it to you. 

“Nice panties,” he commented, maybe a little too casually.

Once you processed his words, a smirk tugged on his lips. You wore a scowl, but he knew you were embarrassed. 

You huffed. “Shut up. You’re so weird.”

Before he could say anything more, you started taking off your shirt. 

Everything within Rafe told him that that was his cue to leave, but his feet were glued to the ground. You didn’t ask him to go. Maybe you still needed him there. Maybe you wanted him to watch. That must be it. You wanted him to see what you were hiding under those clothes. 

After some struggle, you pulled your shirt over your head, movements sluggish. His eyes traced the length of your shoulders, then lingered on your tits for a second too long. Even if he was your stepbrother, he was still a man. And a man had the right to admire the female body. Surely, you would understand.

“You can go now, y’know?” 

His gaze snapped to your face. You looked confused, wary. Fuck, what was he doing? He should leave like you said. No, he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Rafe found himself closing your bedroom door. He turned the lock. Click. “Nah, I’m gonna help you get ready for bed.” 

There was a long pause. “I don’t need help.”

“Cut the shit. You can’t even walk without tripping over yourself.” Rafe walked towards your bed, crouching once he was in front of you. He placed a hand on your knee. “C’mon, just let your big brother help, hm?”

He could see the gears in your mind starting to turn, but you must have ignored it because you said, “You’re barely a year older than me.”

Rafe hummed, unfazed. 

The hand on your knee lifted to the button of your shorts. “Let’s take this shit off,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your face. You were just watching. 

When he unbuttoned and unzipped it, you moved, putting on your nightgown. Poor thing. Were you getting shy? Did you not want him to see you in just your lingerie? His fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts and gave a light tug. Not needing further instruction, you stood up, and he pulled it down your legs, fighting back a grin.

Too fucking easy.

As you stepped out of your shorts, a hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, Rafe stared up at you. The nightgown you wore was white and silky and stopped above your knees. He itched to push them up. Luckily, he didn’t have to do a thing. You raised the silk fabric just enough to allow you to remove your bra, and his gaze dropped to where your breasts were, your nipples hardening underneath. His lips parted, and he sank to his knees.

“Rafe, what’re you doing?” you asked, your eyes still hazy from the alcohol you drank.

Only then did he realize that his hands snuck up your nightgown, fingers gripping your thighs. He was mortified. Not because of what he was doing but rather at the thought you would reject him completely.

He loosened his hold on you. “I’m just, uh, testing the waters.” 

A crease formed between your brows. “What?”

“I’m testing—” his hands slid further up, “—the waters.”

And then Rafe paused. He waited for a reaction from you. For you to slap him. Curse him out. Anything. But it never came. 

Instead, you reached down to pry his hands off you. “Stop, what—? I don’t understand.”

“I do.” He held you tighter, closer, his chin hitting your abdomen as he stared at you, eyes wide and frantic. You pushed his head, though your attempt was weak. “You want this. You want me.”

You stilled. There was a look that loomed over your eyes. Fear. Fear because he was right. No matter how forbidden it was. How fucked it was. You wanted him. You wouldn’t admit that to yourself, but he knew that to be true. He just needed to find proof to help you realize. So, Rafe pushed up your nightgown and worked to spread your legs apart. And there it was, your cotton panties clinging to your already weeping cunt. 

“I fucking knew it,” he whispered, and his thumb hovered over your clothed pussy. “Shit, you’re so wet.” 

You shoved his hand away and squeezed your thighs shut. He watched your gaze dart around your room as if the walls were closing in. You looked overwhelmed—ashamed that you had been caught wanting him the same way he wanted you. No, he couldn’t have that. 

He stood up, hands reaching for your face. “Hey, hey, you’re good,” he soothed, searching for your eyes, your cheeks hot under his palms. 

Finally, you looked at him. “Rafe, I—”

“You trust me, right?” He gestured to himself, fingers tapping his chest. “Right?”

You shook your head. “Yes, but we can’t—”

He shushed you, your name a whisper. “We can. We just gotta be lowkey ‘bout it, yeah?”

You looked torn, your morals pulling you one way and your desires another. But Rafe had you stretched thin, and you caved in like he knew you would. “Right, yeah.”

A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, your cheeks smushed between his hands, “gonna make you feel so good.”

Then he leaned in, his nose nudging yours. You didn’t pull away. He took that as an invitation and kissed you. The first was fleeting, lips brushing, barely there. You still didn’t pull away. After that, he didn’t hold back. He licked into your mouth, hungry. You tasted like the beer you got drunk on, and now he was getting drunk on you. For something considered so vile, he never felt more alive. If this sin were his doom, he would die a happy man.

Rafe was the first to part. “Turn ‘round.” You did as you were told. He placed a hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back. “Bend over for me. That’s it, fuck, look at you.”

He had envisioned you like this before, but seeing it with his own eyes made his cock stir. With a suppressed groan, he folded over you, his chest pressed against your back, trapping you between him and your mattress. “Gonna make this quick, don’t worry.” His hand slid between the two bodies, working to get his shorts off. “Wouldn’t want us getting caught.”

He felt you nod. You didn’t resist. 

Everything after that blurred together. Movements rushed and jittery and fueled by unadulterated lust.

Rafe had your nightgown flipped over your ass and your panties down at your ankles, his hips rutting into you. He had to clamp his hand over your mouth to mute your whines, one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself, but he wasn’t. Not one bit. He was right where he wanted to be, buried deep in your warm, wet pussy. And you wanted this, too. He knew you did, despite the glazed look in your eyes. You were just lost in the pleasure of it all. 

“Takin’ this dick so well,” he breathed into your ear, his thrusts growing desperate. “Shit, gonna make sure you don’t need anyone else. Just me. That sounds nice, huh?” 

His mindless murmurs went unanswered. 

You blinked once. Twice. You whimpered into his palm. 

That was enough for him.

It was better you stayed quiet, anyway. You wouldn’t want everyone in Tannyhill to know how much of a slut you were, letting your stepbrother fuck you like this. Rafe would hate for that to happen to you. 

When your cunt fluttered around his cock, he stifled a moan and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. He wasn’t going to last much longer. But he was keeping his word—he would make this quick. His hips stuttered against your ass, chasing his release, wishing he could just cum in your tight pussy with no risk of you getting pregnant. 

With one last thrust, he pulled out, stroking his cock until he came, painting your ass with his cum. 

He panted, his chest rising and falling. Satisfied, he stuffed his softening dick back into his boxers and put on his shorts, making sure the lace panty he took was still in his pocket. Slowly, you lifted your head off your bed and tried to push yourself up, your arms trembling. 

“Don’t, alright?” Rafe leaned over you, his hand brushing back the strands of hair stuck to your face. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you.”

There wasn’t much fight left in you. Not when you were drunk and all fucked out. So when your eyes found him, you dropped back to the mattress, nodding. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek then kissed your temple. And Rafe did as promised. He cleaned you up, helped you brush your teeth, and tucked you into bed. 

Like a good stepbrother would.

sunnie speaks! stepbro!rafe lacks sooo much self-awareness its crazy. also literally the filthiest thing i ever wrote. but i hope you freaks found how fucked up he is interesting to read?? i guess??? — remember, this is a work of fiction! let's chat about stepbro!rafe

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[alphajocklover]

Hey man, thanks for the treats! So here’s the deal, I’m a 23-year-old med student, blonde, green eyes, skinnier than I’d like to be, but I’m literally too busy to do anything but study, let alone hit the gym like I really wanna. Even though "relaxing" ain’t in my vocab right now 'cause of the stress I’m livin' with, sometimes I treat myself to a Snickers bar. So yeah, that’d be my pick!

You had never wanted to be that kind of guy, the one whose life revolved around school and studying. You had always been a hard worker, you had to be to get into medical school in the first place, but you had always prided yourself on having a good work-life-studying balance. It had never been easy, but throughout both high school and college you had managed to keep up your grades, work part time to save up for medical school, and have a satisfying social life with a number of close friends. Hell, back in high school you were actually fairly popular. Now that you were in medical school though, it seemed like everything else in your life was falling to the wayside. You didn’t have time for hobbies, parties or friends, you didn’t even have time for your old part time job anymore, as the hours conflicted with your new schedule. The worst part was that even after giving up all that you were still struggling to keep up. You had always been a smart guy, one who thrived in school, but now it seemed that no matter what you did, no matter how much you sacrificed, it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t imagine how hard things would get in two years when you had to do clinicals and actually work at a hospital. You hated to admit it, but your dream of being a doctor had started to feel like a huge trap.

Today was your first night off in months. You had just finished a big exam, one you were certain you only barely passed, and were overjoyed to finally have a moment to relax, even if you were too exhausted to actually do anything fun. You were so tired from everything and so happy to have some time that wasn’t spent studying that you didn’t even question the snickers bar you found in your pantry, convincing yourself you had bought it at a vending machine or something and simply forgotten. You tore off the snickers wrapper carelessly, and took a big bite as you flopped down on a nearby couch, your mind racing as you did. As the chocolate and caramel danced on your tongue, you let your mind wander, imagining if things were different. If you had gone a different route in life, one that allowed you a little more time to just be yourself instead of constantly working. You imagined a life where you didn’t spend so much time worrying about your grades and where you didn’t need to work a part time job to save up for college. Instead of studying you could have thrown yourself into something else, something fun like a club or a sports team. A part of you had always been jealous of how carefree the guys on the football club seemed to be, the guys who worked out for fun or to challenge themselves, not because they were trying to be responsible. Maybe if you hadn’t been so obsessed with your future career, the one you were no longer sure you wanted, you could have been like them. You were fairly athletic in high school, but if you worked out seriously you could have gotten absolutely huge. You could imagine yourself with a body like one of those jocks, or even one better than one of those jocks. In your mind you could picture yourself with broad shoulders and beastly biceps. If you hadn’t spent all that time working at a shitty job to save up for med school you could have had that. You could have joined a sports team, probably football or wrestling. You could have made friends with your teammates. Instead of being fairly popular you could have been the big man on campus! You can almost picture yourself playing football, working out with the guys, making out with cheerleaders. You never thought you wanted a life like that, and had always thought of people who lived for pleasure and fun as being frivolous, dumb even, but… looking back, you can’t help but wonder what it would have been like, what you would have been like.

You relaxed into the couch and let your imagination start to run wild, your body tingling as you did. You imagined going from high school and into college, not having to scrimp and save like some loser, getting by on family money and your football skills. You imagined not worrying about grades, cause only nerds and losers did that, and instead just enjoying your life as an all around stud and football god. You imagined having a different major, probably something cool like business or kinesiology, something that would help you open your own gym one day so that party wouldn’t have to stop when college did. You imagined a life where instead of always working towards a future that disappointed you, you enjoyed the here and now. A life where you could just relax. 

You had gotten so lost in your thoughts that it took you a moment to realize you had finished the Snickers Bar. As you realized you had eaten the whole thing without even thinking about it, you felt a slight chuckle escape your lips, one that quickly grew into a manly guffaw. Did you really just eat the whole Snicker Bar without even thinking about it or enjoying the taste? That was the one cheat on your diet you allowed yourself a week! You could be such a dumbass sometimes. Not that it really mattered. Being smart was for fucking geeks.

You laughed a little as you tried to remember what you had been thinking about moments before. You could swear you were wondering about what your life would be like if you were different… but why would you ever want to be? You had a killer body, great bros to hang with, a sweet job as a personal trainer, and chicks and twinks throwing themselves at you almost every night. Why would you want your life to be any different? The idea of you wanting to be anyone besides the awesome, laidback stud you are… its fucking laughable!

[acynicalsweetheart]

What if reader was Curlys teenage daughter and they're bathing together and he's taking his time washing her body and thinking about how much she's grown n stuff.. I think that'd be a neat fic if you have time🌚

okay after embarrassing myself majorly im just posting this. not a fic just a very long fucking drabble… sorry to disappoint anon LOL i have no idea what this is umm it sucks ass i can't lie i didn't even follow the ask LMFAO. cut it down a little bc i hated it so much . original version posted on my ao3… read cws as always!

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, daddy-daughter incest, etc etc

“Wow…” dad grabs at your hips, fondling them while his eyes rake down your body, his expression looking more like awe than perversion. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“Can we just get this over with?” 

“Alright, we can get it over with,” Curly lifts you up princess-style, carrying you in his arms like you’re his bride to the bathtub. 

“Dad!”

You’re placed in the bubble bath, dad’s taken the time to pick out your favourite sickly sweet scent even if he’s been clear about how it gives him a migraine. He enters after you, maneuvering you to sit in his lap. 

Dad leans back, makes these embarrassing sex-like noises that have your cheeks setting ablaze. The fact that you’re both butt fucking naked, stuck in a bathtub meant for one, doesn’t help the situation either. 

“This is nice,” he breathes out, pornographic in sound in the way only dad manages to be, pets you on the head and pulls you closer to his chest, “you, me, just like the old times.” 

“Yeah…” is all you can offer in reply, mainly because of the way his dick seems to be agreeing with his words—pressing uncomfortably against your hip in its heavy and floppy glory. 

He’s mostly soft, which you suppose is a good thing. 

Curly washes you like you’re still his baby, struggling to scrub your body squeaky, watery clean ‘cause of the bubbles stubbornly sticking to your skin. 

Everything is fine so you let your guard down for approximately one minute and his hands have already wandered off to where they aren’t supposed to be. 

“Look at these, baby,” he says like you haven’t been looking at them for years, cupping your breasts in his large palms and feeling up the tits he helped to make. “One day they might be as big as mine.” 

Right. Because dad has tittage enough to make Anna Nicole Smith reek out of jealousy. 

“Funny.” You click your tongue at him. Dad means well, you think. You just don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s being wildly inappropriate. 

“Lighten up, baby.” 

“I’m all grown up now, dad, it’s… kind of weird.” He’s like a puppy, if you get stern with him he’ll start pouting and near keeling. 

“All grown up? Honey, you’re my little girl. Always.”

You’ll be my little girl even when you’re fourty, you’ll be my little girl even when I’ve kicked the bucket—

“Even if you walk around with these babies” dad squeezes your tits, chuckles like it’s the most normal thing in the world when you yelp, “nowadays.”

(You’ve had them for as long as you can remember. Maybe he’s just been too busy fucking around up in the galaxy to notice.)

“I’ve been walking around with these,” you pluck his hands off your chest and he wraps them back around your waist—and much to your surprise, dad takes it, stays like that. 

“Whatever you say.”

It comes to a point where you’ve both been in the tub for so long that your fingers are starting to get pruny, wrinkling up like raisins. 

Dad’s hands drift slowly, very indiscreetly, down your tummy until his fingertips brush against your mound. You’re almost praying it’s an accident, frozen like a stone statue in his lap. 

“Are you…?” He trails off, seemingly a bit taken aback of his own question. 

“…Am I what?” 

Sick? Wet? Legal? A virgin? 

“Nothing,” he says but starts feeling around like he’s searching for something. A nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that ‘something’ might be your hymen. 

“I can—I can wash… down there myself, dad,” grabbing his hands to stop them from going any further, your heart’s beating so hard in your chest you can feel it in your throat. You swallow it.

“Right. Yeah.” Curly finally retreats, spurting out a half-assed excuse, “sorry, sweetheart.” It’s like he’s on another planet. 

Yet your stomach flares up with a heat you definitely should not be feeling at your dad’s touch—or lack thereof. 

It comes out before you can stop yourself, “why are you acting so weird?” Like you’re not the one with clenching thighs and a blanket of buzzing arousal over you as you speak. 

“Weird? Honey, I’m not—“ dad cuts himself off, sighs and starts over. “I just… missed my girl. Feel bad for spending so much time away from you,” he admits quietly, saddened as he looks down and strokes your tummy under the water. “Didn’t get to see you grow up.”

“Oh,” that does not explain things. “It’s okay, dad.” 

“No, I shouldn’t have touched you like that, baby.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you wonder if he’ll start sobbing. 

Maybe you’ll let him stay like this for just a little while longer. 

“I can show you,” you take a moment before deciding to guide one of his hands back to your breast, the other to cup your mound. “How much I’ve grown up.”

A lone rubber duck floating amongst the bubbles judges you. 

[darkestcorners]

polarity | 06 yandere!jungkook au ( sneak peak )

—

A/N : I decided to post this little sneak tonight since you guys have been waiting so so long. This is not edited yet so please excuse any grammar errors. Thank you💕 :)

——

“No secrets? I-I know what you did.” You accused in between sobs, your hands planted firmly on the floor as you shifted your body weight towards your right leg that left you in an awkward sitting position. It was hard to ignore the chills running down your entire body, your mind struggled to focus on what you wanted to scream at him.

He turned his head to look down at you. His penetrating gaze meeting yours at last.

“I know that you were the one that made my professor accuse me of plagiarism.” You said after another intake of breath. “ You did it, didn’t you? You blackmailed him! Just like you did to me. Just like you do to everyone in order to get your way. I don’t know with what but you did.”

He was silent. Just quietly looking at you.

Your short breaths only quickened, the horrible feeling coming in waves, stopping then gaining more force. You felt like you were stuck in a mid fall. It felt like years passed before Jungkook slowly made his way over to you, your eyes traced over the slight twitch of his fingers and cubic steel bracelet around his wrist. He bent down to your level and you felt his fingers lifting your chin up at him. You knew he could feel you shaking because he angled your face towards him again when you tried to look off to the side, his set gaze halting your rapid eye movements.

“Seems like a little birdie has been talking.” He whispered to you, he almost sounded disappointed. “That just won’t do, baby.”

You felt the sudden urge to slap him but you went to push him away instead. He caught your arms before you could do so, pushing them towards his chest and pulling your whole body closer to him. His actions were rough and careless. An indicator of just how much you’ve pissed him off this time. You could feel your teeth chattering now, your panic attack reaching its peak as you felt your vision blur. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice all over you except you wished someone actually had just to rid you of this feeling.

“You know she’s right, you know I’m right. That’s why you’re so upset.” You went on as you squirmed in his hold.

“How easily you’ve forgotten what she’s done to you. Is it that easy to fool you, baby? Does that bitch really have such a tight hold on you still that you that you accept her words as truth without question?” He sounded a parent scolding a small foolish child over taking sweets from a stranger.

He was wrong. Your once all-consuming love for Eunji had turned into a grudge that you couldn’t shake off. She might’ve been a horrible friend but why would she lie about something like that? It seemed too specific. It seemed like she knew more than she was willing to admit and for some reason that only angered you more. She knew more yet she had given you crumbs in return. Was that the plan all along or was she making you a victim of her selfish bitterness again? Even after everything, it was hard for you to believe she hated you that much.

Because you had seen it. You had seen a fragment of sincerity in her eyes earlier. A small piece of pity, no matter how fleeing.

“Ask your little boyfriend what he was doing walking into Professor Clark’s classroom a few weeks ago.”

You swore you had heard it in her voice too. As if she had been doing you one last favor. Granting you one last bit of kindness for all those years spent together being thrown away. But the more you ponder over it, the more Jungkook’s planted seed of doubt began to grow its roots. Had you only seen what you had hoped to?

“You accuse me of lying to you over some gossip your little fake friend filled your head with? It didn’t take long for you to go running back into her arms, did it? Where is your pride?” The disgust in his voice would be hard to fake and you had to look away from the sheer sincerity in it.

“I didn’t run back to her! I wanted answers and-"

“And did you find them?” He cut you off, eyes searching your face like something in it had already granted him the answer. “No, of course you didn’t baby. You let her have the last laugh again.”

Again.

“How would she know to make that connection and why would she lie about her seeing you walk into our professor’s classroom weeks ago.” You hissed back at him eagerly grasping to take control of the conversation that he had so easily overpowered in seconds.

God, you really couldn’t breath.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re asking me why a girl that has been jealous and spiteful towards you for years would try and scheme against you for sleeping with her ex-boyfriend! ” Jungkook sneered back and you flinched at the sudden raise of volume in his voice.

“Lying comes as easily as breathing to some. Haven’t you learned that by now? You really are more naive than I thought if you have yet to realize how unkind this world is and how often people like you get trampled over.”

You let out another quivering sob, growing more and more upset by his words. You might be naive but you weren’t that naive to not realize that he wasn’t the one who should be saying this to you. Him of all people. It felt like a stab in the chest. Jungkook lets go of your arms and brings them to cradle your face in his hands instead. His thumbs wiping away your never ending tears. His action is meant to be gentle but his grip is so tight that you feel his nails digging slightly into your skin.

“I’ve only ever tried to protect you, baby. Protect you from her and from yourself.” His hot breath sent waves of shock through you, you felt his lips lightly graze your own. “How many times must I save you from her? And from everyone who has ill intentions towards you before you realize it’s only ever going to be me.”

He lifted one hand from your cheek to carress your hair, those glossy doe eyes pulling you in and tugging at the invisible strings on your limbs and heart.

“How many times must I prove my love to you?”

This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It felt like something much stronger. Much too different. Your love for Eunji had never felt this overwhelming. It never felt like you were being lulled to a perfect sleep, just to be suddenly plunged into a free fall. This didn’t feel anything like a secret held close to your chest, your heart skipping a beat everytime you used to see her even when you’d already seen her three times before that day. How giddy you felt at her accidental touches. How much you seemed to please her and never wanted to see her in pain. How easily it came to you to want to fix all her minor inconveniences.

No, this felt nothing like that. It wasn’t a secret. It didn’t allow itself to be. It was too loud. Too ugly. Whatever you had felt for Eunji, it felt five times more heightened with Jungkook. His presence felt like too much yet like there was never enough of it to actually violate you. It fit you in a way you were so frightened to admit. He had taken a piece of you that you never agreed on giving him. Yet it was that very foreign feeling that had you craving him in moments you shouldn’t have. In nearly all hours of a day. You were frightened at what you had been feeling these past two weeks sharing his space. Completely terrified at what he had managed to make you feel for him in such little time .

Even now, he felt so familiar yet so untouchable.

“This isn’t love.” You replied back in a broken whisper. It was mistake and you realized it quickly but it was too late to take it back. You blamed your overly emotional state for the thoughtless response.

A few beats of silence passed with only your uneven breaths filling the room. Jungkook continued to caress your hair before the corners of his lips twitched. An almost sad small appearing on them.

“Fine.” Another few beats of silence. The heavy air lingered.

You licked your dry lips as he retrieved his hand completely from you. Your eyes tracked the movement before they landed on the unreadable look on his face.

“ If you think I’m such a monster, I promise I will show you how easily I can make that come true for you. ” He stated lowly, dark eyes taking in your features again. “And it will make everything else I’ve done pale in comparison.”

—-

[vanishingstarrs]

loss of my life ( k. bakugo x reader, anxiety, depression, mourning, stages of grief, character death mentioned, some self deprecation OR your boyfriend laments the loss of his life and struggles through the reality of being the one left alive ) ( and what if i was feeling sad ) ( i’m actually so sorry omg xx ) ( play loml by taylor swift if u want this to hit extra hard </3 )

The sky was crying.

Katsuki Bakugo disliked nothing more than the rain, the whole concept of it made him feel extremely weak— useless. Not only did the heavy downpour make it harder for him to produce sweat and therefore harder to use his quirk, but being drenched made everything much slower and heavier, so cold and lifeless. He never understood what you liked about it so much.

Not until he was sitting on a bench, tears and rainwater blurring his vision, the two liquids blending together and making it hard to distinguish whether he was crying. He tilted his head back, letting the water pelt against his skin as he finally released his breath.

For a moment… it almost felt like the clouds were doing all the hard work for him, he didn’t even have to cry. A sudden crackle of thunder snapped against the sky, screaming so he didn’t have to, angry for him over life’s injustice.

He didn’t understand it. And then he did.

He could understand why you’d sit at the window for hours, staring out at the rain with a serene look in your eyes, your whole body at ease.

The text cursor blinked up at him mockingly as he remained frozen, looking at his phone, your contact pulled up. It was still favorited on his phone. He hit call after a few seconds, letting the other phone in his hands (one he paid for solely so he could keep doing this) go on and on, the special ringtone you’d picked out specifically so you’d know it was him calling played out. Over the speaker he heard it… your voice.

“Hey! It’s Y/N, I’m off saving the world right now so leave it at the beep and I’ll call back… or not ‘cause I hate phone calls… unless you’re my boyfriend… I’ll text ya! Okay bu— beeeeep.”

The recording cut off before you could fully say bye in that signature cute way that was simply so you, it was more of a buh-bye, with you dragging out the final vowel. If anyone else had said it that way he would’ve found it annoying, told them to speak normal. With you… well, he thought anything that you did endearing.

He wished he’d been strong enough to save you.

His finger twitched, and before he knew it his whole hand was shaking. He stared helplessly at it while his heart went haywire inside his chest.

Dying… he was definitely dying. He was dying and he would get to see you again—

“Kacchan?”

It was overwhelming. The tightening in his chest, the sense of nostalgia washing over him, the longing he felt for someone whose blood had run cold months ago.

A familiar voice broke him out of his reverie, Katsuki looked up to meet green eyes.

How he wished they were yours… he’d often get lost in the world behind your eyes, picturing where life would lead the both of you, together.

“What are you doing out here? You hate the rain.”

He was crying.

It was obvious to his childhood friend, even with the rain trying to disguise it. Izuku Midoriya knew him like the back of his hand, and he knew how much he was hurting with your loss.

“I know you don’t feel like celebrating right now, why don’t we go back inside?” Deku continued,“I’ll walk you to your room.”

He’d rather be in yours… a room now empty, it used to be filled with all your things— books, knickknacks, posters on the walls, photos you’d force him to take that he secretly loved being in because it meant you felt he was worth remembering for years to come… he used to love spending time in your dorm if not only for your scent, being enveloped in it made him feel warmer than he’d ever known before…

“She’s gone.” He finally spoke.

You really were gone. You weren’t coming back. You wouldn’t appear once more someday, jumping up from behind him to yell “sike” and laugh off just how good you’d gotten him. You’d never hold his arm again, or force your freezing cold hands under his shirt. Never text him from across the classroom how much you missed him despite having spent the whole morning in his room, getting ready and taking over his whole bed with your makeup. You wouldn’t whine about making the wrong shoe choice for the day and wait for him to begrudgingly let you jump on his back for him to carry you back to the dorms. He’d never hear your annoying laugh again, or stare at the little mole you had under your left eye. The days of flushing in embarrassment when you forced a bit of pda on him in the hallway before class were gone, and so were your secret moments behind closed doors. There was no more holding back, he was crying again.

He wouldn’t see you again.

Izuku gulped, frowning deeply,“I’m so sorry, Kacchan…”

He looked up, eyes somber.

You were the loss of Katsuki Bakugo’s life.

[nvuy]

palingenesis — il capitano

summary. oh, to the gods, and to be reborn again from your rib.

notes. “nvuy do the corpse bride capitano fic” said about three people so i did it. is this actually corpse bride? no. do i care? also no. my halloween present that only certified freaks are allowed to read. capitano is geniunely not mentioned by his name or his status, so LOWKEY. you could read this as any male lead you want, i guess. but uh… it’s capitano. well. it’s supposed to be.

warnings. mentions of death. mentions of decay (but the khaenri’ah version of decay). capitano is literally a dead man walking. tangents about god and love. standard nvuy fic where everyone is miserable. angst if you squint.

“You used to love me for me, but I don’t even know what I am anymore.” 

There’s a small huff of laughter as you bring your knees to your chest. You wonder how he would react to you after all these years. You surely look different, and rot has set its teeth into your skin, and it morphs into his least favourite colour. 

You wonder briefly, if he would even remember you, was he to ever return. How childish.

You pick up a lone stick in the soil next to you and poke at the withered and abandoned white and yellow orchards surrounding the stone. 

His grave sits idly, silent. 

“I lost myself the day you died,” you admit. Your throat constricts for a moment and you struggle to breathe. “I had no idea what to do.” You lean against the tree stump, as you always do. “I still don’t.” 

His name is etched from many many centuries ago. Not by you, no. You hadn’t even attended the funeral, and to this day, you regretted it. Regret was a terrible ache that never quelled nor strayed too far from your heart. 

The flowers were dead now. You’d laid them here almost a hundred years ago. You hadn’t expected them to live, but the petals were now an ashy black, and the edges that used to be soft and rubbery were now crumbling like paper against your fingers. The petals fell to small pieces. 

The land was withering. Of course, the flowers would rot as well. 

“You’d hate what your home has become,” you tell him. “We’re all rotting. And it all hurts.” You grimace next, but almost playfully. “Everything is blue. You hate blue. You used to tell me it upset you.” You look down at your forearm, and the withering aches upon your skin. “Even I’m turning blue.” It’s more so black than it is blue, but whatever colour it may be, it scars and will never leave. It is your fate, as it is your people’s. 

The forest is quiet. 

His body was buried amongst his favourite orchard field, but those flowers are long gone now, and all that remains is the black and blue prickly grass that you sit in, and a stone with his name left in it. He is somewhere below the ground, his body long decayed and faded and given life to the soil that once grew the most beautiful greenery you’d ever seen. 

Not even that remained. 

“If you were alive, you’d… y’know…” You tilt your head. “You’d rot, too. And for that, I’m grateful you died with glory.” You stare out into the dead fields. “Though, I can’t help but be selfish. I think it would hurt less if you were here.” 

And there it is. 

You hum soundly. “Yeah… you made everything hurt less.” 

There’s a ring in your palm. It’s small, just large enough to slot nicely around the swell of your fourth finger, but the rot has dug into your flesh just enough that it doesn’t fit anymore. Not the way it used to. 

It’s beautiful, however. Silver with white and blue diamonds. He bestowed it to you one night, though it was significantly after his proposal. The proposal itself was… special. Not in a bad way — but in his way. He had been missing for several days after his army had been struck with an ambush. Only a few men had initially returned to seek refuge and aid from the city. 

It was only two months later, after the city had mourned the soldiers’ losses, that they had returned. Bloodied, battered, beaten, but they had returned. 

He’d spotted you that day when he’d ventured out alone to visit his favourite field of flowers. You were sitting amidst the orchards, because this was where he’d usually be. 

And by your wishes, he returned. 

“It’s you,” you heard him whisper. 

You’d never heard a more beautiful sound. 

You turned quickly and dropped the flower from your hands. The colour almost drained from your face before a newfound pleasantry blossomed across your cheeks. You smiled, and it’s the first time you’ve done so in months. “You’re alive.” 

You took a hesitant step forward, as if unsure if his body would crumble to dust the moment you touched him. 

You sobbed pathetically. You held his face, or what remained of it. “You’re here. I thought you–” 

“I am here.” 

You think it silly now, believing he was dead over and over again. Every time he departed he’d come after the expected arrival date, and even then you used to panic and flourish and do everything but accept he was really gone this time. 

And now. 

Now that he is gone, it only took you three-hundred and ninety-four years to accept it. The rest of those you were busy returning to his grave and retelling your day as if he was alive and listening. 

The few people that were left on this side of the city pitied you. Even the grand old Mage had whispered that you’d better off leaving the dead to sleep soundly before he’d left for Snezhnaya. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this, or what occurred afterward. 

You had asked the Mage, once, if necromancy was truly a thing possible. 

“I am sure, even if it was, living dead is worse than living alive,” he had told you one day. “The past is finished.” 

“Is it selfish to think this way?” 

He looked down at you, and there was pity in his glance. “Very.” You eyed the ring still captured around your finger. “But, love is selfish. To want one person for yourself. It is indulgent.” 

“I suppose,” you whispered. “But possession is beautiful.”

And it had been beautiful. 

Just you and him. 

It was hard to adapt. Still is, really. You forget him for days at a time, and then you remember, and then you return. You stop and stare at walls. You glance to where he would be standing if he was around; next to you, at the dinner table, on his side of the bed. You never truly made the bed your very own. It was his, once. 

Just as your heart was — you weren’t able to develop the courage to move onwards with your life, so you were trapped within purgatory; swindled in a void of pure blue, like his eyes. 

Because isn’t being someone’s everything so special? 

Especially someone like him. 

Someone so brave, and courteous, and gentle. 

You never deserved that, really. So it makes sense why he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared in your life. Unfairness. 

You look down at the ring again. 

“You would be mine?” he asked one day, laying beside you in the field. “If I asked?”

You stared up at the sky. “I already am.” 

That pulled a small puff of laughter from him, and he sat up. You followed shortly, facing him. “I have a ring. And a proposition.” 

Oh. You looked down on what he was offering you. 

“It is your burden to oblige, and it is your choice.” You couldn’t see his face clearly through his armour, but there was a flash of that awful treacherous blue he hated so much. “But, if you’ll have me, I will have you. In this life, you and I will be as one, and never apart again.” 

“That is a bold claim to make,” you told him. “There is no guarantee you will not die soon.” 

“To which I rephrase: even when I am gone and you still walk these plains, you will be mine, and I will be yours, and my love for you will blossom through the soil and bloom the flowers that you love so much.” 

You laugh gently. Such a stupid man. 

You want to crush the ring until it welds flat and unwearable. 

Marriage is a privilege to the blessed, and you’re far from it. You receive no watchful eye from the Gods; they don’t care. They killed everyone you ever knew, and loved, and shared this miserable life with. 

The jewel squeaks in its confines as you squeeze. 

Such a stupid ring. 

You breathe in shakily. Stupid, stupid fantasy. Stupid games. Stupid delusions and useless pining and all of this heartache was for nothing and–

How hard do you have to believe in love to love the same person for an eternity? How hard do you have to imagine a world where everything is perfect when what is foretold to be eternal dies with the soul and the flowers in the rot? 

How long do man and Gods have to continue fighting each other before they realise it is futile? Gods are not kind, man even less so. 

Beautiful rot and ruin. 

That’s the world. 

The crows that sing in the trees screech their awful song to mock you. 

So, you drop the ring. You abandon it right where he had abandoned you in the soil. The silver rolls along the stone until it comes to a stop on the cracks. 

And it sits. 

You consider picking it back up. 

You don’t. 

Instead, you stand and turn to leave. 

Fate is fickle, however. 

If you had picked the ring back up, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. 

The breeze hits hard behind you and it sends chills down your spine. 

You glance up. 

The crows are making awful noises again, and you grimace. Though the spindly trees are ugly, you find there’s nothing uglier than the sound of those birds. 

He rather liked them.  

You step away.

Something sharp scratches against your ankle and then twists, and you scream. 

It’s a branch of some sort, and it moves and wriggles like a worm when you free your foot from its grasp. It twitches as if it has not moved in years, as if the bones inside of it were finally coming to life. 

It retreats into the soil beside his grave. 

Then, nothing. 

Nothing moves. 

The crows still and quiet, and you feel as though you can’t find the energy or courage to breathe. Your ankle is covered in soil and scratches, and you’re sure from how weak it stands when you try to apply weight to it that it’s twisted at best and completely sprained at worst. 

The soil does not stir. 

Until it does.

A hand pops a hole through the ground, and it is as still as the branch was, twitching and writhing and feeling through the open air for leverage. 

A hand. A hand like yours—covered in rot and ruin, purple and blue, and the phalanges are swollen with wither and time.

You step back and bite your tongue. A wrist reveals itself next, consistent with blue and bruise, and it reaches until the bloodied terrible fingers squeeze the soil and begin to pull. The hand claws and claws and digs itself from the ground, fingernails dirtied and brown. 

You want to scream. 

Nobody would hear you all the way out here. 

An elbow. It climbs and climbs, revealing more rot and decay. It writhes as if in pain, and you don’t doubt it so. 

You swallow hard. 

A shoulder. Sides of the neck reveal itself through the soil, caked in mud and wear and tear. It’s other arm tears free from the ground. 

And then a face. 

A face unidentifiable and ruined. Sullied with rot and bruise and wear and fade and filth. Two horrific blue lights of sort cast through the pain and the shadow that shrouds its face, and it only prompts you to step back even further. 

To that, the creature leans forward as best it can to try and grab your ankle. It’s waist is stuck in the soil, and it tries to pull itself out, despite how weak it is. 

“It’s you…” the creature whispers. 

You can’t move. You don’t even blink. Your breathing only comes out in short pathetic bursts. 

You’re not sure what it is, but rot has completely disfigured it beyond recognition. It’s sickening to look at. It’s worse than anything you could ever comprehend, and you imagine one day that you will appear the same. 

It manages to free itself from the confines of the soil, though it cannot stand. It hasn’t done so in centuries, nd the feeling of moving limbs are foreign to it, being entrapped below the ground for so long. 

It tries again to reach for you. It’s fingers brush just shy of your foot.  

You swallow hard. “Who…” You feel as though you already know the answer. 

There’s a single eye that you barely recognise. Deep blue like violet satin robes. Darker than the dead blue spruce. Darker than the sky, and lighter than the depths of the ocean where the sun could not reach. 

You know him. 

You bite your tongue. 

Waves of black hair as deep as shadows drown you on both sides until the world has swallowed the two of you whole. 

“I’m yours,” he reminds. “Correct?” He raises the ring you let go of.

It is him. 

You fall to your knees in front of him despite the fear and nausea churning in your stomach. He almost leaps on top of you, but settles in front, hands reaching forward to rest on your legs. He has not felt the warmth of another person, or anything, for five-hundred years, and he only simply freezes at the feeling. 

You furrow your brows and try to control your breathing. You try to push him off to sit up, but he does not budge. 

“You kept my ring.”

Your fingers curl around what remains of his shoulders and he takes your hand. 

“It is you,” you whisper. “How’re you–” 

His old uniform he was buried in is caked in soil, and it’s covered you, as well. He does not bring himself off of the floor, but he leans back just enough to allow you to sit up. You feel you can’t turn to run just yet, and you’re not sure if you want to. 

You can’t steady your breathing. 

He cannot move his legs properly, and so while you freeze, he uses your corpse as leverage to climb further up and rest upon your shoulder. He is heavy, as heavy as a corpse is, but you find comfort in the weight, somewhere. 

“You look so different,” he comments. Rotten fingers come forth to graze the same textured remainders of true flesh across your cheek. “What has this world done to you?” 

“You died,” you say. His lips rest against your cheek and he hums. “I…” 

“I abandoned you.” 

“I grieved over you for five centuries,” you quickly finish. “You were alive this entire time in the ground?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I don’t think so. I feel as though time hasn’t moved at all. But it has.” He looks around, your face still in his hands. “This is the field.” 

You nod briskly. 

“Everything’s dead,” he comments. 

“It has been,” you reply. “For years.” You look elsewhere. “Everyone’s dead.” 

He holds you tight. “I left you in a world like this.” His hair is matted and disgusting, but you reach up and rest a hand on his crown. Guilt presses into his chest like a weight, and he wills himself to ignore it, despite how heavy it is. 

He is a corpse. A corpse. Like you. Like everyone that remains in this place. 

And he scares you. 

Despite how tight he holds you, you fear him. You feel for a moment you are hallucinating; this can’t be real. Your husband cannot spring from the soil and restate his love. Not like this. 

True death was incurable, and he had died many moons before the war in battle. He had sacrificed himself for victory and peace, only for it to end when the Archons set forth and destroyed your home. You still remember them, even if most of them were dead now. That Barbatos and Rex Lapis remained, despite everything, and you wanted them both dead in return. Dead and buried and never to return in the soil. 

“This isn’t real,” you whisper. 

“It is.” 

“No,” you try. “You died. You cannot reverse death.” 

“It is not reversed. I am still dead.” He wants to kiss you, but the fleeting warmth of your skin as you try to pull away and the soil and filth that rests upon his face shies you away with a flinch. “I can be yours again.” His fingers grace over the rot along your face. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

“I proposed that I would never part from you, and you I, even after death.” He holds the ring close to your face before he takes your hand. He rests it against your knuckles, perhaps admiring how the silver still shimmers against your skin. “It was a vow.” 

A vow, he says. Your face scrunches up in frustration. “I never married you.” 

“Marriage or not, the ring was a promise of my word, and you kept it all these years.” 

He takes your fingers gently before he parts them and slots the ring where it belongs. It nestles gently close to your knuckle and you swallow. Your finger felt strange without the piece, and wearing it again after only minutes satiated that discomfort. 

His face is… nothing you remember. 

His eyes are barely the same as they were before, and you turn away when he draws close again with a shaky breath.  

“Are you afraid of me?” He’d asked you that many years ago, many times. 

Even now, you feel the same. “Should I be?” You look out towards the dead fields, and you feel something cold bump against your cheek. 

His nose squishes against your skin when he kisses you close to your ear. “No.” 

It is only then through a gentle whisper and his lips do you muster the courage to look at him. He is so different. 

But, he’s still yours. 

“Are you the same man you were five-hundred years ago?” you ask him. 

He leans in as close as he can and his nose brushes against yours. His fingers lock tight around your hand and he squeezes; the silver ring imprints on your finger. 

He smiles, and you fall in love again. 

“I can be.” 

[xechu]

The Downfall

cw: 18+ mdni, please read my blog rules before interacting, angst, swearing, Sukuna kinda toxic here

wc: 1K

summary: the argument that leads to your break-up(?) with Sukuna

a/n: part of this au. I think I need to come up with a name for this au now. This happens before the events of 'Warm on a Cold Night'. Thank you for reading. x

P.S. I've now created a master list for this series: Cross My Heart - check it out!

Banner credit @cafekitsune

You currently found yourself in a confrontation with your boyfriend. This particular argument was triggered by the events of a few nights ago when you received a call from the hospital at 2:30 AM. The blood drained from your face as dread consumed you; deep down, you had anticipated receiving a call like this eventually, given Sukuna's reckless lifestyle and tendencies. You hate to admit it, but you would have been a fool not to expect him to land in some kind of trouble. Though this was the first—and you desperately hoped to be the last—time you had to pick him up from a hospital, the underlying context of your arguments had always been the same, and this was no exception.

Sukuna's choices and the company he kept had always been the root of your arguments throughout your four-year relationship. When he was on his own, he was manageable—proud, and stubborn, yes, but manageable. However, when he associated himself with the likes of his old college classmates—Shiu, Toji, and Yorozu—it was like an explosion waiting to happen.

You despised how they reveled in his reckless behavior, always spurring on his worst instincts. The ungodly trio (yes, that’s what you secretly called them) reminded you of high school big shots trying desperately to relive their glory days. Of course, Sukuna was the only one of the group who was actually making something of himself, and it broke your heart watching his hard work crumble because of these so-called friends.

When you got the call about the ER visit, something within you finally snapped. It all started when Sukuna mentioned going to the bar with "some friends." It didn't take long into your relationship for you to catch on, whenever he opted not to mention specific names it meant that he was his going to see his college mates, which he knew you had reservations about. You clenched your jaw, anxiety already beginning to swirl within you, but you still managed to force a smile and say, “Alright, Ryo. I hope you have fun, and please, stay safe.”

The altercation unfolded when a man tried to hit on Yorozu. After several attempts to shrug him off, the man finally decided to leave, but Toji and Shiu wanted to take things a notch further, and to take the matter outside. Sukuna initially tried to break up the fight, but the man, adrenaline-fueled and panicked as he perceived himself to be ganged up by three large men, pulled a knife. And of course, it was your boyfriend who ended up injured, while Shiu and Toji—who instigated the whole debacle—was completely unscathed.

“I’m worried for you, Ryo—can’t you understand that?” You struggled to hold back the emotions bubbling inside you.

“I don’t need you to be worried for me, Y/N. You’re making something out of nothing again,” he said, frustration clear in his voice.

“How can you even call them your friends? They could have gotten you killed! And for what? Just because they wanted to feel good about themselves?”

“But I’m fine, aren’t I?” He lifted up his shirt, and gestured to the bandaged wound on his abdomen. As if that was supposed to make everything suddenly alright.

“If you were fine, I wouldn’t have gotten a call that you were in the ER being treated for a stab wound!” You were in utter disbelief at how he could be so nonchalant about it.

“It’s just a minor wound that needed some stitches, that’s it. They made it sound worse than it really was.”

“This is not minor," your brows creased, "I don’t want to get a call one day saying they found your body in a ditch or something! Please, if you cared about me, you’d stop getting yourself into these situations.”

“Why are you always bringing up these what-if scenarios?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration amping up by the second. “It’s always like this with you. I love you, I really do, but you struggle with internalizing things, and then you make it my problem!”

“What are you trying to say?” You tried to remain calm, though there was an undertone of warning, telling him that he ought to choose his next words carefully—

“That you’re being a pain in the ass!” he snapped. “My life has always been like this, and I’ve been able to get by just fine! You knew who I was before you got together with me. Now it’s suddenly not good enough for you anymore? You just can’t accept it?”

“It’s not like that! You know it's not!" Devastation lacing your voice at the accusation.

“Then I don’t know what the fuck you want from me! You’re always worried or anxious about something when you have no reason to be. I told you I'm fine, you know I can handle myself.”

“I’m only like this because I care about you! Can’t you see they’re tearing you down? Everything you’ve fought for—what good is it if you keep going down this path? If only you could put in an ounce of the respect you have for your work into your personal life, I wouldn’t be so worried all the time!”

“Don’t twist this into my issue! You’re not doing any of this for me; you’re doing it because you can’t get over your own fucking head.”

“Ryo, you don’t mean that...” A pang of hurt struck you. Though he saw the flash of hurt in your eyes, he was too caught up in the heat of the moment to acknowledge it.

“I can't put up with this right now,” he spat, his voice cold. “Don’t come find me.” He grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the front door behind him.

You sank into the couch and broke down, uncontrollable sobs wracking your body as your hands covered your face. It seemed that time and time again, he had chosen them over you. Chosen his own way of life over what you had built together. Were you not part of his life? Did you not deserve even a sliver consolation and reassurance? You didn’t know how much more you could take, and this felt like the last straw.

a/n #2: Kind of been in a rut lately with my writing, my creative motor went on vacation. Unfortunately, I don't make the rules - it goes when it goes.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Banner © @cafekitsune

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

[lycandrophile]

12 weeks post-top surgery thoughts

most importantly, i’m absolutely fucking in love with how things look! it’s still not set in stone yet, my surgeon said i won’t really see the final result until up to a year after, but I’m so happy with it already.

my surgeon’s default timeline would’ve had me starting scar tape at 4 weeks, but i still haven’t started yet because some little scabs are still hanging around even though most of my scars are completely healed. my surgeon didn’t seem concerned about it taking longer than expected, she just said everyone’s body is different. given that i have a connective tissue disorder and skin that just hates being messed with at all, i’m not surprised that it’s been slow going and i’m just happy that the rest is healing so well. i just had another post-op today and was cleared to start using scar tape because the scabbing is so minimal at this point, so i can finally move on to the next stage of healing.

i can (mostly) lift my arms now! they still can’t quite go all the way up, but i have enough of my mobility back that the only things i really struggle with are super high shelves like the ones above my fridge, and things like the washer and dryer that i have to reach really far to get into. technically, i was supposed to wait six months before raising them because that’s what my surgeon usually recommends for aesthetic purposes, but i have to be able to raise them to do my job anyway so i’m not limiting myself beyond the natural limits of discomfort at this point.

my chest muscles are mostly back to normal too, but they’re still very sensitive. when i flex them, it doesn’t hurt or feel uncomfortable but i am a lot more aware of the feeling than i was before. they also still tire out more easily than they used to — i’m back at work now, and i’ve learned the hard way that i tend to favor one arm over the other for certain tasks because when i do any of them for too long, i start to feel it in that side of my chest. it’s not anything too bad, but i’m still making sure my shifts are spread out because i don’t want to risk overdoing it.

i’m getting used to touching my own chest, but being touched by other people still feels super weird and honestly uncomfortable at times, particularly when it’s my bare chest and not over my shirt. i’ve been touching it a lot to try to desensitize it since around week 3 or 4, and it seems to be working as far as my own touch, but other people is a whole other story — when my boyfriend is touching my bare chest and their hand touches the scars, it doesn’t actually hurt but i react to it like it does. i suspect it’s more of a mental thing than anything, that since i’m still instinctively protective of it and not quite used to how it feels, touches that i’m not in control of just automatically set off alarm bells. it’s also just a generally foreign feeling even without the weirdness of healing because my boyfriend never really touched my chest before surgery since i was dysphoric about it, so it seems to require desensitization on multiple levels. i’ve given them permission to keep touching it even when i flinch (unless i explicitly ask them to stop) because i want to make sure i start getting used to the feeling.

i’m also still very sensitive to pressure against my chest, especially the front of it. it’s getting easier to lie down on my side now but i’m still using my body pillow to take some pressure off of the scars under my armpits, because if i don’t i usually can only stay in that position for a little while. my boyfriend can mostly lay their head on my chest for short periods of time now, but the position matters because if the weight isn’t distributed evenly enough or if it’s on the wrong part of my chest, it hurts. that being said, less intense pressure on the front like a hug or holding something to my chest is pretty much fine, i’m just still more sensitive to it (as with everything). i’ve been able to lay face down on top of my boyfriend a couple times without discomfort too, but i’m still erring on the side of caution and not laying on my chest too much yet.

when i was around a month in and thought i would be starting scar care soon, i was really nervous about it — particularly about the scar massage — because of the state my chest was in. i still didn’t feel like i could press on it or move the skin around or pick it up with my fingers at all, and the scar tissue underneath was still really thick and firm. i assumed that all of that would stay the same until i did the massages to break down the scar tissue and loosen things up, but i can now confirm after another month and a half of doing nothing while things healed, my skin is naturally a lot more mobile and a lot of that really thick scar tissue has already broken down. obviously i’m still going to start massaging now because i want to give myself the best possible chance of healing well, but i wish i had known how much my chest would be able to bounce back on its own. in hindsight, i’m glad i ended up having to wait to start the massage instead of doing it back when my chest was much less healed, because i’m much more comfortable manipulating it now.

every once in a while, i’ll get sharp pains in my chest. they aren’t horribly painful, mostly just unpleasant. they feel a lot like the nerve zaps i was getting earlier in recovery so it might be another round of nerves reconnecting, but it also happens more often when i’m working so it’s hard to say if it’s nerves or over-exertion. either way, i always make sure to take it easy when i start to feel that, just in case it is a sign of me doing too much.

i typically almost never eat meat, but i chose to reintroduce it into my diet after surgery to get more protein, because i wanted to make sure my body had everything it needs to heal and protein is a huge part of that. now that i’m pretty much all healed skin-wise and just waiting for everything to settle, i’ve decided it’s time to go back to my usual diet of not-fully-vegetarian-but-pretty-damn-close. i’m sure the diet change wasn’t strictly necessary but i don’t regret doing it, though i am glad to be switching back now.

putting on shirts still hasn’t gotten old. seeing how they look over a flat chest honestly feels surreal, but in the best way. hugging people and being able to press all the way into it js also still such a great feeling. i’m far enough in now that i can do all of that stuff without worrying about it, but still early enough that it all feels really new and special, and i’ve been thoroughly enjoying that.

wearing a more genderfucky outfit out in public for the first time post-op was a fucking blast. my boyfriend and i went to a new year’s eve party, and getting to show off my chest through a sheer lace top and my facial hair alongside makeup was so much fun. it was the first time i’ve been able to go all out without the lingering feeling in the back of my mind that dressing up means inevitably being seen as a woman. i definitely didn’t look like a cis man to any of the people who saw me, but they could clearly tell i wasn’t a cis woman at the very least, and knowing that made me so much more confident.

i’m far enough away now from being in the trenches of early recovery that the reality of the fact that i got such a big surgery has started to fade. when i really think about the fact that my body went through all of that and about how hard early recovery was, it doesn’t quite feel real anymore. i’m starting to reach the point one of my friends told me about, where my chest being like this feels so normal that it’s just like “yeah, of course, it’s always been like this, right?” it’s wild, really, the difference a couple months can make — it wasn’t that long ago that i was exhausted and arguably depressed from the early recovery process, and now it all feels so normal that i have to remind myself it took all of that to get here. i never really doubted that it would be worth it in the end, but i’m still more sure of that now than i ever have been.

the last couple months have been a long road, but somehow they’ve also flown by. it’s given me so much appreciation for my body — its potential to transform and what it’s been able to withstand. i wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

[nadvs]

why do i see cheerleader reader having daddy issues, so when she tells rafe she’s pregnant, she’s so emotional and scared about how he’s gonna react and if he’s gonna break up with her or something

it tracks 🥺 she always expects to be disappointed by men and it’s not just because every guy she’s dated before rafe has treated her badly…

based on this fic

when she moves in with rafe after she finishes her post-grad internship, she’s still on the pill. one day, she’s complaining about the side effects of it as she’s making herself lunch and her boyfriend says, “then stop taking it.”

she looks at him from across the kitchen.

“we’d have to use protection,” she says. “every time.”

“sure. but is it so bad if…?”

she’s shocked. they’ve been together for about two years now and they’ve never talked about kids past a mention of it’d be nice to be parents some day.

“if i get pregnant?” she says.

“yeah.”

“isn’t that fast?”

“not for me. is it fast for you?”

she shrugs. maybe it’s not so crazy. they have their future set. a child would be a nice addition. they haven’t talked about marriage, but she’s in no rush. they don’t have to be married to have a baby.

“if we both want it… i guess if it happens, it happens,” she mumbles. “but our lives would change really, really drastically.”

“i know,” rafe says comfortingly.

she continues to make herself food and he stares at her, imagining her with a baby bump and that bump turning into a little human who’s a mix of him and the person he loves most.

he knows she’d be a great mom. and he’s always wanted to be a dad. he’s always wanted to undo how his own father had raised him, making his only son have to struggle for his fleeting approval.

three months later, she misses her period. she doesn’t tell rafe. she picks up a pregnancy test. she doesn’t tell him that, either. when she sees the double lines on the test, she’s standing in the middle of their bathroom, her body trembling.

and she hates that she doesn’t feel excited. she’s scared. she thought she wanted this. she hoped for a positive. but this isn’t the feeling she thought she’d have.

she goes through the motions of ordering a custom newborn basketball jersey with cameron stitched on the back, having dreamed of telling rafe that they’re expecting that way.

a couple of days later, it comes in the mail. she has actually sort of liked keeping the secret while she waited because it meant she could pretend it wasn’t real yet.

she does what she thinks she should do. she puts the tiny shirt in a bag, sets up her phone to record, and calls him over to tell him something came for him. this is what a woman who’s excited to tell him would do, she tells herself.

at first, when rafe opens the bag, he doesn’t say anything. his jaw goes slack, he blinks a bunch of times, and then he pulls her in for a tight hug.

she’s already shaking, tears in her eyes, when she hears him sniffle. he pulls back. his hands are firm on her cheeks, gazing at her through glossy blue eyes.

“you’re happy?” she whispers.

“yeah,” he responds, saying it like it’s obvious. “we wanted this, right?”

rafe stills for a moment when he sees just how anguished she looks. she doesn’t seem happy at all.

“right?” he repeats.

“yeah,” she says, nodding and looking down. “i don’t know. it’s weird. maybe it’s the hormones already.”

“how long have you known? do you feel okay?”

“just a couple days,” she says. “i’m tired. a little nauseous. but he hasn’t made me throw up yet.”

“he?”

she meets her boyfriend’s eyes.

“i know it’s too soon to tell,” she says, “but i really hope it’s a boy. you’ll feel more connected to a boy.”

he can tell by the way she’s stuttering and crying that something’s wrong.

“baby,” he mumbles. “i’ll feel connected no matter what. it’s my kid.”

she shudders, nodding through her sobs.

“what’s up?” rafe says softly. “do you… are you regretting it?”

“no,” she replies, “but are you sure you want this?”

“yes. we talked about it,” he reminds her. “it’s not like this was an accident.”

“yeah,” she mumbles, looking down at her lap again.

rafe stares at her, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. she’s acting like this was unexpected. like she’s wishing they never started trying.

“what is it?” he says. “if you don’t want this, then just tell me.”

she curls up, slouching as she dips her head into her hands, the tears coming harder now.

“if it gets hard…” she whimpers, her voice muffled. “you can’t leave me to do it on my own. you can’t.”

he’s floored. they haven’t mentioned anything about the possibility of things not working out with them in ages. and back when they did, it was almost always rafe needing reassurance that she wasn’t planning on leaving him.

“i would never do that,” he says. “look at me.” his fingers wrap around her wrists, pulling her hands down from her face.

“where’s this coming from?” rafe mumbles. “did i do something?”

he thinks back to the past few days, trying to remember if he said something even in passing that would make her worry about him abandoning his girl and their baby.

the look in his eyes almost looks like betrayal. like he can’t believe she’s saying this.

she swallows hard, coming to terms with what’s been swimming in her head for days now. her father was absent. the only example she had of a dad was one who never really acted like he wanted a kid at all.

“i don’t know what it looks like,” she begins, “when a man actually wants to be a dad. maybe you’re excited now, but what if when it gets hard? when he’s crying or sick or keeping us awake?”

“we’ll deal with it,” he says. he pushes past his own ache to try to understand her.

his cups her hands in his, searching her face with concerned eyes. he remembers her opening up to him long ago about how she always wondered if her dad would have loved her more if she was a son instead of a daughter.

“when he or she is giving us hell, we’ll deal with it,” he says. “i love them already. there’s nothing that’ll change that.”

he puts a hand on her stomach, rubbing gently. she finally cracks a smile, softly laughing. his chest loses its tightness when he sees her look happy for the first time since he got home.

“i was reading that it’s the size of a pomegranate seed right now,” she says.

he smiles in awe, kissing her wet cheek.

“what’s next?” he asks. “what appointments do we make? what should you be eating?”

she laughs again. rafe has always been so intense, so focused on the next step.

“let me catch my breath first,” she teases. she looks over, just now remembering she filmed all this.

“my bad, baby,” he laughs. “breathe. this’ll be good, alright?”

“alright,” she says. and she believes it.

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me (part 3)- matt sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), smut (not in this part)

a/n: a short chapter but the next ones a biggie. love yall and thank you so much for the support

——————————————————————————

when i wake up, i’m strapped to a bed frame. i struggle against the restraints but all that comes out of it is another dizzy spell.

“hey, your awake” i whip my head around to see two blue eyes staring back at me. fear shoots into my chest again, as i stare at matt’s brother, chris, in front of me. if matts not human, then i bet he’s not either.

“get away from me” my voice shakes and i gear my legs up to be ready to kick if necessary. “i know matt scared you pretty bad yesterday, but i promise, no ones going to hurt you here.” he comes and sits on the side of the bed, placing his hand on my knee gently

chris and i have only ever had one class together and it was in our sophomore year, but i always thought highly of him. he was nice and funny, unlike his brother. i may have even had a crush on him, if i had allowed myself to. the version of him i knew before, overides my fear of what he is and as he strokes my knee some of my fear goes away. but then all of a sudden, anger spikes within me that somehow doesn’t feel like my own. chris’ hand that was once comforting felt like a hot clothing iron on my skin. i wince and chris takes his hand off me immediately. instead, he looks towards the doorway apprehensively.

in the doorway, is none other than the matt sturniolo, and he looks furious.

fear and another feeling i can’t put my finger on fills me at the sight of him. i take a deep breath to try and calm myself down. at least he looks like he’s back to normal, no more red eyes and black veins.

“hey, she was freaking out, i was only trying to help. it’s not like that, i swear.” chris puts his arms up defending himself and trying to ease matts anger.

“whatever, get out” he snarls and i wince at the sound. chris scrambles out the room and matt marches up to me, sitting in the exact spot chris was moments before. unlike chris’ gentle touch, matt grabs my thigh roughly and possesively. even though the move was aggressive, when i feel his touch my body relaxes and my thighs clench together, hard. why is this turning me on and why did i stop panicking all of a sudden? his presence and touch should do nothing but scare me after everything he’s done. after everything i’ve seen.

“there you go” he coos darkly. “just relax, i have a lot of shit to tell you.” he says staring into my eyes intensely. the stare sends a heat surging through my body and i feel myself starting to get wet. if i could punch myself in the face i would. “get to it, make it quick.” i snip.

“have it your way then, i was gonna take it slow but i guess not.” he shrugs. “i’m a vampire and your my mate. thats why i went ape shit yesterday. thanks for listening to my ted talk.” he deadpans and cocks his head to the side.

even though it sounded like it was a joke, we both knew it wasn’t. my mind didn’t want to believe it, but my body knew it was true. matt is a vampire, and i am his mate.

“how? how am i your mate? whatever the fuck that is!” my voice raises in anger. did he pick me? maybe, to just to fuck around with me and tie me into all his weird vampire shit. did he really hate me that much?

“what, you think i know?!” he matches my angry tone before taking a breath, bringing his other hand up to rub his temple. “trust me, i have no idea sweetheart. if it were my choice, i’d have anyone but you. but for now, your stuck with me” he rolls his eyes. “and vice versa” he mutters.

his hand is still gripping my thigh and not a fiber of my being wants him to move it, even with all the arguing. and judging by the way he’s looking at me now, it looks like he’s stopping himself from doing more. i feel myself getting annoyed with myself for wanting him to do whatever he pleased and more.

“stop getting annoyed” he snaps. “its just the mating bond making us react to each other this way. nothing you can do about it” matt breathes in deeply and a shudder racks through him.

“what was that?” i ask weirded out by the almost animalistic behavior. “you just smell really good to me right now. i couldn’t help myself” he breathes out, eyes darkening slightly.

this man could really eat me alive if he wanted too. i shiver at the thought, but then my mind reels again. how did he know i was annoyed??.

“how did you know? that i was annoyed, i mean” you say bewildered by what being mated might entail. “now that you’re mine, i can feel your emotions almost like their my own. you can do it too, but humans aren’t as good at pin pointing it as we are.” he smirks like being a whole monster is something to be proud of and being human is childs play.

that would explain the random surge of anger earlier with chris. another wave of annoyance courses through me. he’s sooo possessive already. his words from yesterday rings through my head.

“because you’re mine.”

matts voice breaks through my silence. “but don’t worry this is all temporary” he smiles to himself. “i know a girl, and im pretty sure she can get rid of this” he gestures between the both of us. i can’t help the smile that rips through me at the good news.

“then what are we waiting for” i say impatiently.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

@mattslolita

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— WILD FLOWER

SUMMARY : dean gets hit by a spell when fighting a witch and assumes it was harmless or ineffective. he was wrong, but at least he wasn’t dead. he’s a woman now. 

PAIRING : fem!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : nsfw(18+), smut, fingering, oral sex, fem!dean (idk, that’s not a warning), misgendering?

WORD COUNT : 5.5k

A/N : title from RM’s song. this was new but very interesting, and I don’t regret it. I imagined dean as a combination of margot robbie and elizabeth olsen?? yeah, idk lol, yall can picture whoever you want. (I hate my 18 year old writing, but here it is) XXX

Dean grunted as he let himself fall into the backseat of the Impala. Sam and Y/N looked at each other and Y/N sighed, shaking her head as she debated walking into the backseat with Dean or riding shotgun. 

“Dean, keys,” Sam reached his hand inside the car and Dean whined quietly, but started to search his jeans for the keys. Y/N watched Dean struggle with finding the keys, a loving smile growing on her face, and he held them out for Sam to take at last. “Sit with him, make sure he doesn’t die or something,” Sam joked to Y/N.

“Fuck you, man,” Dean grunted, moving slightly as Y/N slipped in the backseat with him snickering at him. Dean snuggled into Y/N, mumbling softly against her thigh as she played with his hair.

“You feeling okay, D?” 

He hummed softly and nodded. “‘M just sleepy.” 

She wanted to scold him for jumping in front of her when the witch cast her spell. He knew that she couldn’t be hurt, she had no idea why he would do that. Maybe it was just a habit, but it’s been a long time since he’d treated her like that, as if she were fragile and could easily die. 

She was worried, but he eventually fell asleep with his face pressed into her stomach, curled up on his side. He looked so adorable when he slept, a little smile tugged at her lips and she took the blanket they kept in the backseat and placed it over his body. 

“Think he’s gonna be okay?” Sam asked quietly as he drove, glancing at Y/N through the rearview mirror. He also looked concerned, his eyes wide and puppy-like, his teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek.

“S’long as I’m alive, he’ll always be okay,” she promised, caressing Dean’s cheek with her thumb. Sam let out a shaky breath, relaxing in his seat while his hands flexed on the steering wheel.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Sam murmured, focusing on the road. Y/N looked away from Dean and gazed at Sam with a little smile, her eyes soft. “I’m glad you’re always here and have our backs. I know it was your choice to come with us all those years ago, but.. you’ve stayed with Dean and me—even after everything. I know anyone else woulda run for the hills, but you actually love my brother in ways I’ve never seen anyone be loved. He deserves you and you deserve him, you two make each other so happy…” 

She blinked at Sam, confused by his sudden speech, she figured he must have been anxious at Dean’s current state. Still, his words had impact. It was no secret she was head over heels for Dean and it was no secret he was just as in love with her. It made her stomach clench delightfully, her face heating up as she imagined how easily everyone else can see the love they have for each other. 

She looked down at Dean, smiling wider at his peaceful face before quietly saying, “you don’t need to thank me, Sam.” 

“No, I know… I just… I’m glad you’re in our lives,” he told her bashfully, smiling at her through the rearview mirror. She looked up and smiled back at him, letting out a small laugh that made him relax immediately.

“I’m glad you’re both in my life too,” she said quietly. A peaceful silence descended within the Impala, the occasional little rock hitting the metal frame while Sam drove as smoothly as he could back to the motel they were staying at. 

Thankfully, the sun wouldn’t start rising for a few hours which meant they could catch a little sleep on their last night at the motel before heading off to the Bunker. More importantly, Dean would get some extra sleep—and Y/N was thrilled that he would be able to sleep fully until morning.

Dean whined and nuzzled into Y/N’s stomach when she tried moving him out of the Impala so he could sleep in a bed. He slapped her hand away and mumbled some nonsense into her tummy until Sam returned to check on them and roughly slapped his brother’s shoulder.

“Ow,” Dean flinched, slowly getting up to rub his shoulder with a pout while Y/N and Sam laughed at how childish he sounded. “You’re both mean…” he muttered, pecking Y/N’s lips just because he could before sleepily stumbling out of the Impala, stretching and rubbing his eyes. Y/N took the opportunity to gently smack his ass as his jacket and shirt rode up his body. 

He smirked at her, pulling her into his arms to kiss her which made Sam groan in disgust, mostly playful. She giggled into the kiss, clutching Dean’s shirt as he held her face in his warm palms.

“Alright then,” Sam cleared his throat. When Dean held Y/N in place, his tongue lazily slipping past her lips as he tilted his head for a better angle, Sam scratched the back of his neck and rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna shower,” he said quickly, and made his escape. Dean chuckled, finally pulling away from his girlfriend.

“Will you make me sleep on the couch if I don’t wanna shower?” He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, it made her smile adoringly at him. Dean could surprisingly pull that look off quite well and she had to resist rolling her eyes—mostly at herself for melting as soon as he looked at her that way. 

“Just sleep in clean clothes and brush your teeth,” she murmured, kissing him softly. He hummed quietly, nodding his head, accepting her proposition. 

“What if I sleep naked?” He wondered with a smirk, staring down at her. He bit his lip, raising his brows as he held her close to him. She laughed and rested her head on his chest, her ear pressed over his heart, listening to the cadence of his relaxing heartbeat.

“I would love that, but unfortunately, we share a room with your brother…” She moved away from him to close the door. He groaned in annoyance, holding her pinky with his. “I know,” she said dramatically, tugging him to the motel room, fully intertwining their fingers, “if only you could sleep naked next to me at all hours, every night.” 

He chuckled softly at the thought, spinning her around to face him with his arms around her waist. She gasped dramatically as he opened the door, but before he could kiss her, she put her finger to his lips, “better yet, what if you were naked at all hours, every day too?” He stumbled in with a laugh, kicking the door closed, and pressing her against the wall.

“Is that what you picture if we have our own home?” He murmured, kissing her passionately and sloppily dragging his lips down her neck. “Me, walking around naked so I can fuck you whenever I want?” He grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around him. 

“Dean…” she moaned, “we can’t…” 

He rutted against her slowly, her hands twisting in his shirts, as his warm breath fanned over her neck. He was already hard, it was driving her crazy to feel him against her clothed core, wetness pooling between her legs.

“Fuck,” he grunted, pressing his forehead against her shoulder, “I know.” He let her down gently and kissed her forehead. “Sorry,” he whispered, kissing her forehead again before he pulled away and started to strip.

“Don’t apologise for that,” she chuckled, stripping off her dirty clothes and putting on a clean pair of panties as he stood there, naked.

“I was apologising to your panties, mostly, and your pussy,” he bit his lip and nodded at her playfully, “because I bet they’re soaked, just ruined, and that you were expecting my dick inside you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she chuckled, stealing a shirt from his duffel bag and grabbing some new boxers for him.

“I…” she laughed, shoving his boxers against his chest, “stop distracting me.” She walked past him as she put his shirt on and laughed when he pulled her into him again. His warm hands moved up her sides, lifting the shirt she wore as he pressed himself against her, his cock squeezed between their bodies. “I’m serious,” she chuckled, looking over at the bathroom door where the water was still running as Sam showered.

He sighed and let her go, dramatically putting his boxers on and standing there with his hands on his hips. “Better?” He asked, rolling his eyes playfully when she peeked at him from over her shoulder and then smiled at him.

“Not really, but I asked you to, so, I guess.” She smiled at him and pulled him closer to her. He moved with her smoothly, holding her close and plopping down on the bed with her in his lap. “Sammy's gonna come out soon,” she warned as he kissed her again and kneaded her ass, his hands warm and rough. 

“I know,” he whined, falling back on the bed, closing his eyes, his thumbs rubbing circles on her hip bones. “Don’t get mad, I don’t wanna brush my teeth, I’m still a little tired from the spell.” Her eyes softened and she leaned over him, kissing his hairline, dropping another kiss on his forehead.

“I’m never going to get mad at you, you know that, Dean.” She kissed his nose and then his lips before climbing off him and laying down with her head in the pillow. He turned to look at her tiredly, but managed to smile at her happily.

“I know, I just like being dramatic.” Instead of claiming his spot closest to the door, he settled between her legs, nudging them apart with his knees. 

“I love you so much, Dean,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought him down to rest his head on her chest. He quickly relaxed, a soft sigh warming up her chest as he nuzzled between her breasts as comfortably as he could. 

“I love you, Y/N, so much,” he mumbled shyly against her chest. His face heated up, but he hoped it made her smile. Her fingers began combing through his hair, and matched with her steady heartbeat and her warmth, they lulled him until he fell back into unconsciousness again. 

When he woke up, it was already sunny outside. He knew Sam must have gone out for a run, and after that, to pick up some coffee and tea for Y/N. He sneaked his hand under his girlfriend’s shirt with his eyes closed. Dean felt her stir when his fingers gently brushed against her nipple, a shudder rippling through her that made him smirk.

He lowered his hand and tugged at her panties, hoping to rouse her. It made her moan softly in protest. When he went to kiss her, a curtain of honey-coloured locks scared the shit out of him and he nearly screamed at the top of his lungs, but settled for a quick, “oh, shit!” 

He stumbled off of Y/N and his wiggling on the bed woke her.

“Dean?” She rubbed her eyes and blinked at the naked woman on the bed who was looking down at herself in shock. It sobered Y/N and she scrambled far away from the unfamiliar woman. “Dean?! Is this some kind of joke?” Y/N got out of bed, her eyes trailing up and down the woman’s body.

“Y/N, it’s me! It’s Dean!” In his attempts to get up, his boxers fell from his slimmer, curvier body, and Y/N froze, staring at him in the eyes. Green eyes. Dean pulled the boxers up and held them at his waist. 

“What?” She asked quietly.

“It’s me. It’s Dean. I’m Dean,” he said more calmly, making his way to her on the bed, walking on his knees. “Im kinda freaking out, babe,” he admitted quietly. Y/N’s eyes flickered down to Dean’s breasts again and then Y/N started to laugh. “What? What’s so funny? Sweetheart, we need to find out what happened! What the fuck is going on?” He didn’t care that she was laughing, he still moved in for a hug which she easily gave to him, her arms wrapping around his, her, neck.

“I’m sorry, D,” she murmured, burying her face in his neck and smelling the same scent that always came from Dean. “I think it was the witch, honestly,” she mumbled, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes, his green eyes and cute freckles that she always loved. 

“But she’s dead…” Dean whispered, sitting down, his long hair covering her chest. “S-shouldn’t I…? Then why is the spell still working?” He wondered exasperatedly, running his hand down his face. “I need some clothes. And-and we need to get to the Bunker, read up on this shit…” he started to ramble as he got off the bed, letting his boxers fall.

“We can call Rowena,” Y/N suggested, but Dean was too busy rifling through his duffle bag. “D, slow down, I’ll let you borrow some of my clothes.” She got off the bed and stopped Dean, who was still pretty tall. He instinctively leaned down to kiss her, his fingers tangling in her soft hair. She kissed him back, to his surprise, as if he were the same, as if it didn’t matter to her that he was a woman now. At least for however long he had to be one before they turned him back.

“I wanna wear that dress that drives me crazy when you wear it,” he murmured playfully against her lips. She laughed at Dean, pulling away completely to dig through her duffle bag for a pair of her underwear and a bra. “Babe, your boobs are bigger than mine,” he pouted, experimentally holding his breasts in his hand and rolling his nipples between his fingers. He gasped softly and Y/N’s face heated up as she watched him touch himself. “Shit, am I pissing myself?” He stopped touching himself to look between his legs and then relaxed when he realised what was happening. “Oh,” he said with wonder.

“Stop that,” Y/N chuckled, placing the bra back into her bag while Dean pulled Y/N’s underwear on. She then took out the dress Dean was talking about, wondering if he was serious or not. “Are you sure?” She asked, holding it up for him to inspect it—even though he’d seen it millions of times. He rubbed his thighs together and then looked up at her, his face flushed.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, getting up and taking it from her, letting him help putting it on. She bit her lip, realising that he was turned on right now. “Man, why am I so wet?” He whined as Y/N fixed the straps of the thin and soft dress. 

“I don’t know,” she murmured, fixing the dress on Dean’s body and grabbing the white, silky strap of cloth that went around the waist to make a neat bow at his waist. “Why do you think you’re wet?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Uh,” Dean looked down at himself, bit his lip as he blushed and then looked at her. “Probably because you still turn me on and I’m wearing your panties,” he told her, licking his lips, he stepped forward, watching her stand up straight as he came closer. “I mean, I know wearing panties always feels good to me, but it’s always different when I know they’re yours,” he confessed, looking down as he sneaked his hand under her shirt and into her panties. Both their breaths started to pick up and he moaned softly, finding her as soaked as he felt. 

Just then, the doorknob started to rattle and Dean grunted in annoyance. He moved his hand out from between her legs and licked his fingers clean of her slick before kissing her forehead and heading to the bathroom. Sam froze as he watched a woman—Dean—wad to the bathroom while Y/N stood there, flushed, before facing Sam.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, closing the door behind him to place the cup holder on the table. 

“Uh, the witch made Dean a woman,” Y/N said bluntly, putting on some jeans to look a little more decent. 

“The.. What?” Sam blinked at Y/N, then seemed to have let the information sink as he sat down, abandoning the coffee cup he was drinking from when he came in. “Are you sure?” He asked, even though he knew Y/N knew what she was doing. She nodded and took the cup that had the tea string hanging out of the cup. “I’ll call Rowena as we make our way to the Bunker, it’s just a few hours away…” Sam stretched a little and froze when Dean came out of the bathroom, using a towel to clean his face.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, hating the way Sam looked at him in shock. Dean took the last coffee on the cup holder and started to drink from it. “I know, I’m so hot like this, too,” he smirked up at his baby brother. Sam rolled his eyes, needing nothing more to know that it was, in fact, Dean as a woman. 

Y/N chuckled and made her way to the bathroom to get ready, letting Sam and Dean talk about whatever they needed to before stepping out. She got her stuff ready, found Sam perplexed, prepared, and Dean amused and curious, before they all headed out to the car to get to the Bunker.

Dean pouted as Rowena started to scan his body using a spell, Y/N stifled a laugh, which made Dean smile. As soon as Sam got in the Impala, he started to call Rowena and told her to be there to help Dean out. She was obviously there, faster than either of them cared to mention.

Rowena had also checked Dean out as soon as she saw him, which Dean liked, despite his sassy remark to her objectifying stare. He plopped down on the bed of the infirmary and let Rowena do her thing, Y/N was sitting nearby as Sam anxiously chewed on his fingernails. 

“Honestly, as long as I’m not gonna die…” he trailed off, “but please tell me you can turn me back.” Rowena sighed and smiled at Dean, her eyes mischievous and naughty as she patted Dean’s head like a dog.

“You’re not going to die,” she reassured him and Dean slapped her hand away, sitting up on the bed. “And the spell will run its course in a few days, like a fever,” she explained. Dean listened as he played with the hem of the dress he wore. “Tell me, what’s it like for you being a woman? Have you two already explored your new body?” She asked mischievously. Sam cleared his throat, expressing his discomfort. Rowena rolled her eyes at him, but smirked at Dean’s blush as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I’m asking because I can change you back now… Unless..” she trailed off, looking between Y/N and Dean with a knowing look, “unless you two wanna experiment…” She added casually, shrugging and looking at her nails.

“Okay! I’m leaving now,” Sam said, not wanting to hear it or to embarrass Y/N and Dean for their choice. Sam decided he was going to leave the Bunker for a while and l text Dean that he’d be back in a week. Sam nodded to himself, getting some new clothes and his duffle bag, he wanted to give them some privacy. Maybe he could read all those books he wanted to read and stay in a motel for a while. Or he could call Eileen, yeah, he was gonna do that, spend some time with her and go on a date, too. 

“I’m not judging, I’m actually encouraging it,” Rowena said smugly, packing her things. Rowena didn’t need an answer, she had Dean figured out. He was confident and proud about his sex life; he was an experimenter, willing to try anything. Dean rolled his eyes at Rowena and got out of bed to stand next to Y/N. 

“Whatever, we’ll walk you out,” Dean grumbled, taking Y/N’s hand to help her off the chair as Rowena gave both of them a knowing look. Her dark eyes shone with amusement and flirtatiousness, which made Dean roll his eyes again as he took her other bag and walked out with Y/N. 

“I always knew you two were an interesting pair,” she laughed, “I mean, how do you get Y/N to try all these things? She seems too tame for things like these…” Dean smirked to himself, knowing Rowena couldn’t see his face; if only she knew how many times a lot of the freaky stuff they did were Y/N’s idea. He looked down at his girlfriend, his eyes full of affection and desire. She was so cute when she was flustered. 

Rowena gasped dramatically, her heels clicking as she hurried to stand next to them. “Don’t tell me, this child is the one who comes up with everything… I knew you were the most sheltered, Dean.” Rowena laughed, looking between both of them, and needing nothing, but their silence to confirm her statement. “Well, I’m just shocked… but very proud.” She squeezed Y/N’s shoulder, a genuine expression of pride and mischief shining in her grey-blue eyes. 

Y/N shook her head at the witch, allowing Dean to open the Bunker door for Rowena to make her exit. “Well, thanks for coming out to help, Rowena,” Y/N told her. Dean handed Rowena her bag and Rowena grinned at them.

“You’re welcome,” she kissed Y/N’s cheek formally and patted Dean’s shoulder, “have a fantastic week, lovebirds.” Rowena continued to tease as she walked out, leaving Dean and Y/N alone in the Bunker, both amused as they shut the door. 

“I’m gonna go look for Sam,” Dean said, looking down at his body, “and then I’m gonna shower.” He leaned over to kiss Y/N’s cheek, then kissed her lips, smiling adorably at her. 

“Just… go look for your brother,” Y/N chuckled shyly, walking past Dean just as his phone lit up on the war table. “Nevermind!” She shouted, taking Dean’s phone when she saw Sam’s name light up the screen above a message he sent. Dean raised a brow and walked over to her, looking over her shoulder to read whatever notification he got. 

SAMMY : I’m heading out with Eileen. I’m spending the whole week with her. You two have fun… No details, please.

Dean chuckled too, taking the phone when Y/N handed it to him. He typed out his response with a childish snicker and a grin. Y/N’s smile grew watching Dean look practically the same even as a woman.

Dean : Oh, you have plenty of time to finally sleep with her.. Unlike you, I’d like to hear the details… or Eileen will spill to Y/N and I’ll know anyway. Heh.

Dean proudly sent the message, his attention purely on his phone. He saw Sam had immediately read it and the text bubble appeared, so he stepped forward, leaning his hips against the table, nearly forgetting he was a woman. He quickly recovered and laughed at Sam’s response.

SAMMY : She wouldn’t… Stop that!

               Goodbye, Dean

Dean could already hear the annoyance from Sam through the text and he grinned to himself, looking to where Y/N was. A soft smile graced her pretty lips and Dean found himself smiling back immediately, and reaching out for her hand.

“Let’s shower together,” he said with a smile, his thumb brushing against her knuckles when she took his hand. She nodded at him, looking at Dean the same way she always had. It flustered him. 

While he walked with her to the bathroom, he couldn’t help squeeze her hand nervously—now that he was a woman. It was comforting that nothing had changed for her, that it didn’t matter what he looked like. If anything could display how she felt about him, this was the true testament of her love for him.

As much as he wanted to just get the shower over with, he couldn’t. He had no idea how to stop himself from being so horny, it was like starting all over again from puberty. He couldn’t focus on anything, but the desire for Y/N to touch him. He was so wet, everytime his thighs were too close, he could feel his panties sticking to his pussy, the cool feeling of wetness surprising him. 

He didn’t even realise he was already in the bathroom, until he felt Y/N tugging at the ends of the little bow she made around his waist to keep the dress snug against his curves. He focused on her, but the way it just seemed so natural to her that he was a woman now, it was confusing. Still, it was also nice, hoping that her love for him was just that pure and unconditional.

“I love you,” he mumbled. He felt shy saying that, but she looked up at him with her eyebrows raised slightly, pleasant surprise written all over her face, one side of her lips turning up just a little. She leaned forward and pecked his lips, repeating the same sentiment that made him feel warm, a flush that was different from the lust he’d been feeling all day. 

Dean started to take his dress off slowly, but Y/N stripped faster than he did, focused on the task of showering. She turned the shower on and waited patiently for Dean to get used to his lady parts and the difference in size of all his body. His arms were thinner and so were his legs, he was soft, but toned, and just slightly firm on his ass, he was squishy in all the places he liked Y/N to be. When he’d embarrassedly lowered his panties, Y/N watched, amused by the patch of wetness that drenched the crotch of the cotton. 

“Jesus, Dean,” she chuckled, stepping forward and curiously tugging Dean’s panties to get a clearer look at all the wetness. Dean blushed, now understanding why Y/N became so coy when he did or said things like that. He secretly liked it though, the way she pressed her fingers into the damp cotton and hummed as if it were nice against her fingertips. “You're so dirty,” she whispered, laughing softly. 

“I’m not used to this,” was all he managed to say. Y/N released his panties, letting them pool around his ankles. Dean swallowed, waiting in anticipation for Y/N to do something, anything really, just as long as he could get off. She’d mimicked what Dean did earlier to himself, her hands experimentally cupping Dean’s breast. Dean bit his lip, feeling his nipples tighten and tingle with the prospect of being touched.

Y/N was slow and curious in the way she handled him. Her thumbs gently circled around the nipple, observing them start to pucker up. The soft pads of her thumbs brushed against the little buds of his nipples and he found himself arching his chest the same way she did when he did that to her. 

It had the same effect on her as it had on him, and one of her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him close so her warm mouth was latched onto his nipple. He moaned, feeling her fingers on his other breast, pinching and rolling his nipples, while she tongued the other expertly.

He felt his knees weaken and he steadied himself on the wall, a wave of wetness dampening his legs more. She released his waist, sucking his nipple into her mouth, her teeth pleasantly scraping the sensitive skin of his nipples. Her hand slid down his side, smoothly tracing the curve of his waist, down to his hips.

Her thumb brushed against his hipbone and it felt so damn good, Dean moaned again, squirming and hoping Y/N would show him mercy and put her fingers where she knew he wanted her to. Instead, she playfully tugged at his nipple and let it go with a pop, her warm breath billowing over the wetness and making shivers erupt on his skin. 

Dean felt his eyes roll back, felt so horny when she wrapped her arm around his waist again and repeated every little stroke of her tongue on his other nipple. This time, her free hand moved between his legs. Dean found himself spreading his legs when her palms sailed smoothly up the inside of his thigh, curving up to cup his pussy, her palm grinding against his swollen clit and her fingers pressing into his drenched entrance. 

He gasped, his fingers tangling in her hair, trying to pull her up so she would kiss him instead. She pulled away from his chest and let Dean kiss her, a surprised sound muffling against Dean’s lips. She didn’t stop palming his swollen clit, and Dean began to undulate his hips against her hand and she smirked. Even now, she loved making him desperate. 

“I need to cum,” he gasped against her mouth. Y/N nodded, circled Dean’s weeping entrance with two fingers and moved them up to his clit. She kissed Dean’s neck, licked his sweet skin and marked him as hers where she thought would look pretty against his skin. Dean’s heavy breaths and breathy moans caused a pool of arousal between her legs again. 

Y/N licked her lips, staring at Dean, and truly took him in. She took in the gorgeous curves of his body, his tiny waist and wide hips, the perfect roundness of his perky breasts, his nipples hard and shimmering with her saliva. He looked beautiful, ravenous, in the same way he’d make her feel when he had the body of a man. 

His hair was long and straight, a lighter brown colour. He was breathtaking, with strands curtaining above his chest and falling in front of his face, long tendrils of honey that nearly covered his green eyes. He looked at her breathlessly, wondering why she was so slowly, agonisingly massaging his clit. 

He hadn’t expected to see the same tenderness in her eyes that she’d usually gaze at him with, her eyes sparkling with wonder and love. Dean whined anyway, grasping her wrist to speed up and control the movements just when she began to trace the same freckles she’d seen on Dean’s other body with her eyes. 

She didn’t say anything, just snatched Dean’s wrist with her clean hand to keep him away as she easily slipped two fingers inside him. Dean gasped, not expecting the speed at which Y/N fingered him. Her fingertips easily found his g-spot, curled so deliciously against the sensitive ridges of his wall. His mouth fell open and he moaned her name loudly, feeling a coil begin to tighten in his tummy. 

He tugged at his nipples with both hands, squeezing his breasts and fucked himself against her quick fingers. Y/N stared up at him, captivated by every one of his hedonistic manoeuvres. Desire flourished between her legs and in her stomach at the sound of Dean’s wet cunt around her fingers. 

Y/N got down on her knees, her mouth sending warm breaths over his pelvis. Dean’s eyes snapped open to gaze down at Y/N with an intense hunger, wiggling his hips and abandoning one of his breasts to spread his folds with two fingers, encouraging her to put her mouth on his clit. 

She didn’t hesitate to flick his clit teasingly and he jolted, his head bumping against the wall. He moaned again, the feeling of her tongue’s perfect strokes drew him closer to his orgasm. The smoothness of movement aided by her saliva and Dean just didn’t care about holding back when he came, completely relaxing his muscles and letting it tear through him intensely.

Dean caught his breath against the wall, her fingers slowing down and stopping before her tongue did. Y/N sat back on her legs and licked her fingers clean while Dean watched her. Leaning forward for more, she lifted Dean’s thigh and pushed his legs open to lap up his clear cum and he moaned appreciatively.

“Come on, there’s still a lot more I have to show you.” She grinned at him mischievously, allowing Dean to relax and catch his breath. She stepped into the shower and stared at him for a moment.

“God,” he whispered and rolled his eyes, “it sucks that this is just temporary.” He entered the shower with her. 

“That’s enough time,” she reassured him with a grin. Dean gasped when Y/N manhandled him under the showerhead and used her fingers to clean him up, purposely brushing against his sensitive clit.

“I am so in love with you,” Dean breathed, pressing a loving kiss to her cheek. 

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[reminiscingtonight]

Sick Days

Alessia Russo x Reader

Word Count: 883

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s the quiet shuffling that wakes you up.  Despite it being minute, it still grates against your ears. 

The wince is automatic, but the action only sets off more discomfort.

As consciousness starts slipping in, you start to notice how hot and stuffy you feel. Your head’s feeling fuzzy, muscles uncomfortably tender. 

A quiet groan escapes your mouth before you can stop it. All at once the shuffling stops. The air around you is still for a moment before you feel the bed dip beside you.

A gentle hand running through your hair has you cracking an eye open. 

“Less?” Despite all of your muscles protesting, you lift a weak hand to rub at your eyes. Squinting, you try to ignore the steady pain pounding in your head. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game or something?”

Your girlfriend frowns at you, not missing the grimace on your face. “I did. We won. Are you okay?”

It’s your turn to frown, ignoring the way the throbbing intensifies when you shake your head. “No, I literally just laid down and closed my eyes for a second, there’s no way--” you break off before finishing your sentence, eyes widening at the sight of your bedside clock. It read a harsh 9:13 PM, hours after you had originally laid down. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed.

“I missed the game?” This time there’s a slight waver in your voice, sadness starting to pool. In the couple years you’ve been together, you have never missed one of her games. Either watching them in person or on the television, you always made sure to catch it live.

“Baby,” Alessia starts, coming to sit down next to you. Her hand comes to your forehead, frown deepening when she feels the heat. 

Suddenly you jolt forward. Alessia nearly clashes her head against yours, but she jerks away last minute. There’s a slight crazed look in your eyes as you struggle to get out from under the sheets. “Wait, I was gonna make you some food and run you a bath before you got home!”

Alessia gently pushes at your shoulder, making sure to keep you in bed. “Babe, it’s fine. You’re obviously not feeling well.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a harsh round of coughs interrupt you before you can. You only just turn your head away in time to avoid coughing right into your girlfriend’s face.

A hand comes up to rub soothingly on your back as you whine out in discomfort. 

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I’m not hungry,” you mutter, knowing full well that Alessia’s going to force you to get up regardless of your answer. 

You could count on one hand the number of times you’ve gotten sick over the course of your entire relationship. Every time Alessia goes through the same procedure. She’ll run you a bath (ignoring your attempts to convince her you’re fine), force medicine down your throat (you really hated those pills), and then tuck you in with a loving kiss on your head.

There’s no use in protesting, so you let her drag you out of bed, albeit with a frown placed firmly on your face. Alessia rolls her eyes at your dramatics but helps you into the bathtub regardless. She ignores all of your protests that you should be the one pampering her after her game, but she shushes you, more than happy to give you a couple minutes of comfort that she knows will soon be overshadowed by the discomforts of your cold.

By the time Alessia dries you off and redresses you again, you’re pretty much half-asleep on your feet. You murmur sleepily against her neck when she carries you back to bed. 

The blankets are warm beneath your quickly cooling body, and you’re quick to burrow yourself into a nice little cocoon. Alessia’s shuffling around the room again but all you can focus on is the sweet call of sleep, gently dragging you back into unconsciousness.

Before you can fully slip back into dreamland, you hear a chuckle and then feel Alessia’s fingers dancing along the edge of your jaw. “Open.”

You know she’s talking about your mouth but you crack open an eye instead, mustering up all of your strength to glare at the pills in her hand. “You know it’s mean to force a sick person to do something they don’t want to.”

“Boo-hoo, love you too, but you’re still going to have to swallow these.” There’s amusement dancing in her eyes as she takes in your fake annoyance. 

You both know you’ll end up swallowing the pills anyways. You always do, if not just to make the excuse of needing Alessia to cuddle you afterwards.

After you’ve begrudgingly taken your medicine and Alessia has joined you in bed, you roll over to face her.

“Hold me?” Your voice is small, the exhaustion of being sick finally catching back up to you.

Alessia’s quick to tuck you against her chest, arms wrapping firmly around you. She presses a soft kiss against your forehead. “Sweet dreams, my pretty girl.”

You know the next couple days are going to feel like hell, but with the comforting feeling of Alessia everywhere around you, you slip off into a peaceful sleep.

[moonandstarshyuck]

"Always."

lando norris x gn!bf!reader

notes: I haven’t written since 2019, so bear with me. I’ve found myself thinking about a little blurb for Lando recently (actually a lot of ideas, but this one is sticking with me more than the others at the moment).

For some context, Lando’s been receiving a huge amount of hate online (and in-person) recently. I haven’t been a fan for that long—I got into F1 this summer, in 2024—but I’ve grown to care about him. I was there for Lando losing the championship, and while I think we all knew it would come to this (Max winning felt inevitable) but I’m proud of Lando for pushing so hard this entire year.

Still, with all the hate directed at him, I’m seeing a new side of him, and I’m learning that he’s a person with feelings like anyone else. I can tell he doesn’t always have the highest opinion of himself and tends to take the blame for anything that goes wrong during his races. What struck me about this is how much I relate to it. I blame myself for things out of my control or when I mess up. What sucks with Lando is that his small, human errors are what so many people focus on to criticize him—whether it’s why he didn’t win the championship or why they think he’s a bad person (which he absolutely isn’t).

The inspiration for this came from an interview he did after the Brazilian GP. At that point, everyone knew it was almost mathematically impossible for Lando to win the championship, and he talked about struggling in the aftermath: “I literally couldn’t sleep for the first two days…So I did like, what, 36-40 hours straight. So that probably made everything worse. When you’re tired, you’re more moody, and that kind of thing…I was just sat at home alone. It probably would have been better if I had been with my friends. But they don’t live in Monaco. They also have lives and are busy doing other things. And I’m a big overthinker, so like the whole flight home, the whole week, it just played over and over in my head. What could I have done differently? Why did I do that? Why did I not do this? You start thinking of all the scenarios that you kind of blame yourself for, why it’s now not possible, that kind of thing. And yeah, because I overthink and I struggle with that kind of thing, that took a bigger toll in the days after. It wasn’t an easy time.”

And I keep on finding myself wishing someone could have been there for him in person, so that he was okay. So, I wrote this. The reader in this is dating Lando but is written as a gender-neutral character that uses They/Them pronouns. The reader also has a service dog, a Bernese Mountain Dog named Thunder, to help with their own depression and anxiety (I’m not an expert on service dogs, so this many not be 100% accurate).

They woke up that early morning to the sunlight shining on their face, streaming in from the window outside. The bliss of sleep clung to them as they lay there, cocooned in warmth, the covers snug around their body. They stretched lazily, blinking their eyes open.

Instinctively, they turned to look beside them—only to find the space next to them empty. It’s too early in the morning to be anywhere else but in bed, even for training, they thought. Lando should still be here.

The realization pulled them out of their sleepy haze. The past couple of days had been not kind to Lando. They knew that he had a tendency to keep his feelings bottled up and beat himself up over his perceived failures. They understood that feeling all too well—the guilt, the constant sense of disappointment, the nagging thought that were never good enough. They had wrestled with those feelings since they were a child.

It wasn’t something that had an easy fix. If they had found the answer, they would have shared it with Lando years ago. But they had learned that the best way to fight those thoughts wasn’t isolation. Talking to someone, writing feelings down, even simple positive affirmations—thought they might sound silly—could help push back against the negative spiral. They had told Lando this countless times.

But Lando had a problem with not wanting to “inconvenience” anyone with his emotions. No matter how many times they reassured him that they were always there for him, he struggled to let himself. They didn’t blame him—it was human to struggle against your own mind.

What made everything worse was the constant online hate. Every little mistake or sarcastic comment from Lando seemed to turn into an avalanche of criticism. They remembered the first time they’d seen him like a hateful comment about himself on Instagram—the little heart next to a cruel statement, paired with note: “Creator liked this.” It had broken their heart. How could the Lando they loved ever believe such awful things about himself?

After Brazil, it had been clear that he wasn’t okay. He’d barely spoken since coming home, choosing instead to himself. They had given him space, hoping he’d find a way to process his feelings. But by the second morning, when he still hadn’t come to bed—almost forty hours after returning home—they knew they couldn’t stand by any longer.

That morning, they rose slowly from the bed, a plan beginning to form in their mind. Lanod needed someone to step in—someone to remind him he didn’t have to face his struggles alone. They were determined to be that person for him.  They couldn’t take it anymore, seeing the person they loved so badly, punishing himself over his ‘failures.’

The first step was to confirm where he was. Grabbing their phone, they opened Twitch and navigated to Max’s stream. After a few moments of watching, they heard Lando’s voice—tired, strained, but unmistakably his. He was joking with Max, his words clipped, like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower. It was enough to break their heart. They opened their messages with Max.

Thunder's Owner

Lan’s streaming with you rn?

Sent at 7:48 AM.

After a few seconds, Max replied.

Maximilian

Yeah he’s on voice-only.

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Gonna do something about him?

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Max knew. Of course he did. He probably heard the exhaustion in Lando’s voice, the edge self-loathing that came with overthinking. They typed back quickly:

Thunder's Owner

Yeah

Sent 7:52 AM.

Going to unplug his setup and drag him out of there.

Sent 7:52 AM.

Maximilian

Lol.

Sent 7:52 AM.

I’ll keep an eye out for when he disappears.

Sent 7:53 AM.

Thunder's Owner

Thx

Sent 7:54 AM.

They quietly made their way to Lando’s gaming room and eased the door open. Lando sat at his desk, controller in hand, headset clamped over messy curls.  He looked worn down, his shoulders slumped as he focused on the screen. His voice through, muted put playful, as he bantered with Max.

For a moment, they just watched him. Even now, he was handsome, but the tiredness in his expression made their chest ache. He deserved rest. He deserved to feel okay. And he wasn’t going to get that by sitting here punishing himself.

As soon as Lando died in-game and leaned back in his chair, they seized the opportunity. They crossed the room, catching his attention when they came into view.

“Why’re you—” Lando began, frowning, but they didn’t let him finish. Reaching down, they unplugged everything from the wall.

“What the hell—” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair.

“No,” they said firmly, cutting him off. “I’m not you hurt yourself anymore. Get up.”

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback. “You can’t just do that!” he protested, but they were already tugging gently at him arm, urging him out of his chair.

“Angel, what are you—”

“No,” they repeated, their voice steady. “Get up,”

Lando hesitated for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and standing. They took his hand, leading him out of the gaming room and down the hall to the living room. He didn’t resist, but he followed like a man in a daze. Once they reached the couch, they turned to him. “Sit,” they said, pointing at the cushions. Lando raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue, but they shook their head. “Stay.”

They turned to Thunder, who had been waiting for them in the hallway, and told him, “Thunder, guard,” while pointing at Lando.

The dog immediately moved into position, standing alert in front of the couch. Lando’s eyes widened slightly as Thunder fixed him with an unblinking stare. He shifted as if to get up, but Thunder’s stance didn’t waver.

“Jeez, I wasn’t going to get up,” he mumbled to Thunder, but Thunder just sat there and watched him until he fully relaxed back into the couch.

The thought ran through Lando’s head, how he had honestly forgotten how menacing his own dog could look. He knew Thunder was trained, saw reminders of it daily with how he interacted with his partner, but he was still shocked at how trained Thunder really was at that moment.

Thunder was still staring at him when he pulled out his phone from his pocket, opening up his texts with Max.

LN

I was just dragged out of my gaming room and told to sit on the couch and like a dog.

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Not against it, but how tf did they get so determined?

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Thunder’s watching me right now.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

I forgot how menacing he could be.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

*Picture attached.*

Lol.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

He’s like ‘try me, I dare you’

Sent at 8:06 AM.

LN

Yeah, I don’t particularly want to try him

Sent at 8:07 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

They told me before they did it

Sent at 8:07 AM.

I just let them. Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

LN

Helpful. What if they were trying to  kill me?

Sent at 8:08 AM.

They wouldn’t have had to if you kept doing what you were doing.

Sent at 8:09 AM.

Lando’s let out a quiet sigh, Max’s words sinking in. He glanced at Thunder, who hadn’t moved, and felt a pang of guilt. He’d pushed himself too far again, and this time it had clearly worried his partner.

A few minutes later, his partner walked back into their living room. He thought they looked beautiful, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of boxers. They were entirely focused on the bowl they were carrying, and only looked up when they got close enough to hand it to him. He gently took the bowl, looked into it and saw it was one of his prep meals. While not his favorite breakfast, he knew he just needed to eat first, so he started taking bites.

He glanced up every so often, and each time he did, his partner was just sitting there and watching him eat. Lando almost chuckled at his own thought that they looked just like Thunder when watching him, and he smiled into his bowl at the thought. His partner didn’t see his smile, but he continued to eat until he had finished the bowl.

When he was done eating, he set the bowl down, and his partner again pulled him up by the crook of his arm. He just let them do so, having a thought of what was going to happen next.

His partner led them both down the hallway to their bedroom, and opened the door, leading him to sit on their bed, then they turned around and went to close their blinds and draw their black-out curtains to cover up the sunlight from the window. They had turned on their bedside lamp earlier, and the soft orange glow of the lamp permeated the room. They walked past him again, going to close the door after letting Thunder in, then they walked back to their side of the bed, and pulled him to lie down against them.

As he settled against their chest, he felt a bit odd, it being a bit of a difference to feel how much he was loved by them. How much they cared for him. And he finally spoke again, “Thank you.”

“Always, Lan. Always.” They replied, pressing a kiss to his hair.

And for the first time in days, he let himself sleep.

author's note: got inspired to actually write something for once...ty @koalapastries for the inspiration (unknowing inspiration but ty) (also sorry for using your layout outline

comments & reblogs appreciated

and i made the dividers :)