#did I make it all myself to avoid triggers

[anavatazes]

Decisions

Summary: Magneto is called away from Utopia to help care for an injured Rogue. Set just after the Schism, when Mags is still in Utopia, and Rogue is with Wolverine at the Jean Grey School for Gifted Youngsters back in Westchester County, NY. 

Pairing: Rogue/Magneto

Warnings: Trigger Warning: I am ruining the plot for my own story here by choice. There is a discussion of and partial scene of a character having a miscarriage. Because this can be a very sensitive topic and triggering for some, please proceed with caution. I did not go with anything graphic, but to each their own on what they can and cannot handle. You have been warned. 

Author’s Notes: I am working on a rather large Magneto/OC fic, and I am behind on the schedule I set up for myself for it. This is partly to blame. It wouldn’t leave me alone. Anywho, enjoy. There may or may not be a second part. 

********

Checking on the generators of Utopia, Magneto found himself listless. Since Rogue left to join Wolverine's team of X-Men, communication and visits have been brief to non-existent. He was not thrilled with this situation, but he could not abandon Scott, nor could he force Rogue to stay. He missed her. Her companionship. Everything. The generators were just an excuse to avoid the others right now. Erik did not want to intermingle with the others. If he could use the excuse of being busy, then all the better for him. And them, if he was being honest. In the last few training sessions with the younger members, he had been needlessly rougher than he probably should have. If Rogue had been present…

“Your helmet is useless right now, Erik. I don't need to use telepathy to know your thoughts. What you’re thinking about? Or should I say, who?” Emma Frost's voice broke through his introspection. It was softer and gentler than it normally is with him. 

“What may I assist you with, Emma?” Wanting to get this over, Erik turned his back to her, looking over the readout from the machines, again. 

Shaking her head,” Wolverine has been in contact.” He stopped ignoring her then. To have the full attention of Magneto on you when he was in any kind of mood other than neutral or happy, the entire area he was in felt static and alive with electromagnetic energy. It was his way of letting everyone know they had his full, undivided attention. And Emma reasoned, it made it difficult for others to concentrate on anything but paying attention to him. Even using mutant abilities under those conditions was difficult. “It's Rogue. She's been injured. He's asking for you to be at the mansion.”

“She's not?” He didn't want to think of why.

“He said get there as soon as you could.” Emma, taking a chance, reached a comforting hand out for this complicated man. She rarely had a soothing word for anyone, but seeing the slight change in him since Rogue's departure, she hoped this simple gesture would help him. Utopia sure needed it. 

He accepted the comforting hand on his shoulder, holding her hand with his. “I leave in thirty minutes. I assume Cyclops already knows?”

“He was there when I took the call. He knows what she means to you. Go, take what time you need. We'll keep you in the loop.”

He was gone in fifteen minutes. 

*****

Beast led Magneto to the medical labs beneath the Jean Grey School for Gifted Youngsters. The younger mutant caught him up to speed about the battle, protecting the school, again. Before he leaves, if he does, looking over and ensuring school security is more than sufficient was an item he placed on an ever-growing list. Dr. McCoy said that Rogue had attempted to absorb the renegade mutant's abilities, but Gambit hadn't seen her making her way, nor had he heard her saying what her intentions were. The blast threw the both of them back, the renegade using the force to incapacitate Rogue with a serious head wound. Beast backed out of the fight, getting her out of danger. 

Holding a clawed hand up, the blue-furred man stopped their progress outside the room that contained Rogue. “Now, she has been in and out of consciousness for the last hour, but not coherent. I normally hold to the strictest of practices when it comes to HIPAA and my patients and their privacy. But I felt this was something you deserved to know.”

Feeling his anxiety spiking, Erik had to force himself to calm down, lest he lose control and affect whatever machinery was assisting Rogue. Not speaking, he gave the doctor a decided and pointed look. 

Glancing around them, Hank assured himself that no one was nearby. Pushing his glasses up, he took a breath. “Were you aware that Rogue was pregnant?”

Erik felt the world shift as he grabbed the wall, using his powers to help keep his balance. They'd been so careful… except that last night together. Neither had said anything, knowing full well they hadn't been careful. They let their emotions get in the way. A baby? She was carrying… wait?

He swallowed hard, “Was?”

“I'm sorry, Erik. I truly am. Rachel was helping me with her exam when we noticed the blood.” Hank saw all the emotions on display on Magneto's face. A rare show for the older mutant. Anger was the emotion one would most associate with him. Pure, unadulterated, anger. Right now, it looked as though despair and heartbreak were fighting for ownership. 

Voice cracking, Erik barely got out, “I need to see her…”

“Of course,” Beast nodded, opening the door. Rachel Summers sat in a chair next to Rogue's bed, but Magneto barely registered her presence. Beast motioned her to leave, which she was doing anyway, wanting to give the distraught man time alone with Rogue. She sent a gentle telepathic message to him that she should be waking soon, and the last time she was more herself. He barely nodded in acknowledgment. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, the man known as Magneto climbed upon the bed, wrapping his body carefully around Rogue, allowing himself to cry.

*****

Warmth and safety. That is what she felt when Rogue began to awaken. The room was not hers, she knew that. The lights were dimmed really low and it smelled too sterile. She also smelled something familiar, someone she’d been missing. Attempting to move about, Rogue felt strong arms around her. She cuddled into them, having needed them for so long. “Are you awake, libechen?” 

That voice was music to her ears. “Gettin’ there. Am Ah dreamin’?”

“If this is a dream, then it's not a bad one. You are in my arms.” Erik kissed the side of her forehead ever so gently. 

He wasn't waxing his usual poetic, so she knew something was wrong. Her head hurt, and her lower body was cramping. “What happened?”

“You were downed in battle and now you are in the Infirmary. Do you need, Dr. McCoy?” He had already sent a few thoughts to Rachel, who had perched herself nearby, to alert the doctor that Rogue was awake, and likely experiencing pain from a headache and cramping from the miscarriage. Rogue nodded in ascent. 

“Rachel send for ya?” 

“Wolverine did.”

Rogue lay in silence, dumbfounded. 

“This surprises you?”

“How bad am Ah hurt?”

Erik didn't relish this next conversation. He didn't know if Rogue was even aware of the pregnancy. Rachel told him as much. She never acted like it. They both doubted that she would have risked a pregnancy like that if she had known. And he hoped that if she had known, that she would have shared the information with him. 

As it was, if she didn't know, that would mean four people who knew before her: Erik, Beast, Rachel, and Wolverine. The latter because he’d barged into the room to find out how she was when Beast and Rachel were discussing it. Erik reasoned with himself that was the reason why Logan called and sent for him. 

“You have a concussion, a large wound on your head, and…,” It killed him to say this next part. How did one say this? Was there ever a good way to do this? “You had a miscarriage.”

Rogue stiffened in Magneto's arms. The first two made sense. Those were a dime a dozen in this business. But… a miscarriage? That meant she had to have been… “Ah was pregnant?”

Magneto breathed an inward sigh of relief that he was correct that she didn't know. His Rogue was many things to many people, but like he was to her, she was always open and honest to him. “You were, my dear.”

Feeling her shake in his arms, he knew from experience with Magda, that words were no longer needed. What was needed was to be there. They’d never talked about children, and never about a future for them. But he decided that once the dust settled from this if Rogue desired a future with him, he was more than happy to stay at her side, wherever that is. 

He wanted and needed her in ways he hadn’t needed a woman since Magda. But even still, this was different. Rogue didn't depend on him for survival. Not like Magda had. She treated him like an equal, and someone she wanted around, desired to be with, and cared for a great amount. He felt all of that, and more. And now that he knew that a baby was in the realm of possibility with Rogue, he had to admit, it did increase his desire for her more. That, however, was something for later. The now concerned Rogue and her present condition. 

Rachel entered the room, with the medicine, fresh bandages, and clothing for Rogue. Together, in silence, Erik assisted Rachel in caring for Rogue. She refused to let him out of the room. She was showing him a vulnerability that was rarely let out. Even for the others to see. He welcomed it, as he needed her just as much. The child lost had been just as much his. He was gentle with her, surprising Rachel with the care and love he showed for her friend. 

Rogue was a robot on the outside. On the inside? On the inside, she was a complete mess at war with herself. Learning in one breath that not only were you pregnant, but that you also lost the baby?! That was devastating. The fact that Magnus was being so kind and understanding, and not yelling and screaming at her scared her. She went into how many battles and fights with his child, and then she ended up killing it? She killed the baby! Her baby! How could she be so stupid? The signs had been there? Hadn’t they? Did she miss her period? Did she even have her period? 

Could the ringing in her head stop? The room was closing in on her, and spinning, her breathing becoming erratic. Magnus kissed her forehead and put a hand by her uninjured side, speaking calmly to her. The room soon became dark.

“What did you do?” Rachel checked over Rogue's vitals as Beast came into the room. 

“I merely gave her the hypnotic suggestion to sleep,” Erik replied.

“And this won't cause an issue with her injuries?” Beast asked, concerned and slightly accusatory. 

“None. I have done it before. It is faster than medicine and won't cause any groggy after effects.” They settled Rogue back down onto the bed and Erik covered her up with a fresh blanket. 

The other two looked at him conspicuously. Glowering, Erik explains in a steady and angered voice, “In cases of medical emergencies, it has proven beneficial to give a hypnotic suggestion of sleep when the patient is suffering from severe anxiety, like Rogue. It helps to keep them calm, and to keep them from further injuring themselves and others.”

Beast nodded in acknowledgment, dropping the silent subject. 

****

“Are ya mad at me?” Rogue was frightened, that much was clear to him. And it did not sit well with him. Having the woman he cared for so deeply, to be frightened of him, in any way? No, this will not do.

“Rogue, how could I be mad at you? You did not know.” Clasping her hands into his, he kissed them. Seeing her relax some, gave him hope. “I cannot be angry with you over any of this. None of it is your fault. If anyone is at fault, I am. It was gross negligence on my part, my dear.” 

“But, Magnus, how, ya didn't know either…?”

“Shhhh,” he interrupted. “Had I possessed the balls to join you here, instead of being a stubborn fool, I could have prevented you from being injured in such a way. I also would have kept you from being in distress, you and I both would have noticed the changes in your body. And we would have made the appropriate decisions from there. So, if there is anyone here who is truly at fault, I am.”

Sitting there, for a moment, ruminating over his words, Rogue stroked his cheek, feeling Magnus lean into her touch. “So we're both damned fools. An’ you aren't to blame. Ah could have just as easily stayed behind with ya. But ah, didn't.”

“Then, do us both a favor,” his eyes pleaded with her.

“What?”

“Do not ever feel you need to be frightened of me or that I could ever be angry at you for something like this. Ever.” Looking deep into her eyes, he hoped his words rang true with her. Rogue's hormone levels would be all over the place for the near foreseeable future, making life topsy turvy for her and him if they didn't navigate it with love and care.

She nodded, waiting to see where he went with this. “I am here for you during this, Rogue. I love you. And you need not apologize for anything, either.”

It clicked then. He was being very attentive. It was like he knew what to do, what to say. What she was going through. He'd been here for almost a day now, much of that time spent with her asleep. He'd been through this before. “Magnus?”

“Yes?”

“Did Magda ever miscarry?” His crestfallen face told her that yes, she had. “Oh, Magnus.”

“Do not fret over my past, Rogue. If I can draw on those experiences to aid us both now, I do so willingly and without trepidation.” Reaching his arms around Rogue, Magneto pulls her into a loving embrace. 

“Ah love you.”

“And I you.”

“Ah am glad that you came,” nuzzling his neck, Rogue seeks and freely gives him comfort. 

Magneto smiles sadly at her words. Had they defined their relationship before she left, perhaps she wouldn't have the feelings attached to those words that he knew were present. 

“You are injured, my dear. You need me. And I must confess,” leaving a peck on her cheek Magneto continued, “I missed you.”

Rogue, his Rogue, began crying. While this made others uncomfortable, he refused to shy away. Magneto held her closer, cradling her head, leaving the occasional kiss and comforting word.

A few minutes pass, and Rogue breaks the contact. Wiping her tears away, sniffling and stuttering slightly, she says, “Look at me, Ah'm a frightful mess.”

Chuckling slightly, Magneto moves her hair from her face. “Liebchen, you are beautiful. Even after everything you have faced in these past twenty-four hours. You are my strong, beautiful, fully capable Rogue. And I am here to be at your side for as long as you want me there.”

This stunned Rogue. She was used to Magnus calling her his. Saying she was strong, capable, and more. But… for as long as she wanted? “Are you serious? Or is it because Ah was carryin’ your baby?”

“I would be amiss to say that the baby wasn't a small part of this decision. However, I have given this some thought since your departure.” Magnus stood up from the bed. He took her right hand, holding it above his heart. “A decision does not need to be made at present. You are dealing with a great deal. However, my impatience to share my feelings at an inopportune time may be my undoing…”

Rogue interrupts him by placing her index finger over his lips. “Look, we both heard Beast's speech about how it could take a while for muh body's hormones an whatnot, and Ah’m all sorts of confused, and Ah want to cry and break things. But,” dropping her hand from his lips to join his and her hand over his heart, “one thing Ah know for sure, was Ah had already made up muh mind before this happened. Rogue needs her Magnus with her. Here or in Utopia, it don't matter.”

Magnus lowered his lips to hers for a soft, yet powerful kiss. 

******

The next day, Wolverine was in his office when his door was slammed open by a magnetic force. Magneto stood in the doorway. “Took ya long enough.”

“I made sure Rogue was well and resting comfortably first. There were things we needed to discuss, though those full discussions will have to wait until she is fully recovered.” As he stepped into the room, the door shut behind Magneto. Standing before the desk, he narrows his eyes at the other mutant. 

“The only decision that has been made thus far is where Rogue goes, I go,” Erik smirked as Logan visibly bristled at this. “If she decides to stay here, I will sign on as your new physics instructor. And your poor treatment of her will cease.” 

“She tell ya ‘bout me not trustin’ her anymore?” Logan figured she went ballin’ to him.

“Mortimer did. And he will not face any repercussions for talking to me. Any issues you have with me, take them with me, Logan. Not Rogue or Toad.” The need to snarl and become primal against the man in front of him was great. But, he did not want to upset Rogue. 

“That a threat?”

“A promise.”

“She aware you’re up here?”

“Fully.” Magneto reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small thumb drive. “Here. I promised Miss Pryde I would hand you a copy. I upgraded the school's security systems. These are the schematics. You should experience fewer attacks and if you are attacked, have more assistance from the school itself. The probability of teammates becoming injured is decreased by half.” 

With that, the Master of Magnetism turns and leaves the room. Wolverine looks on in stunned silence. 

[thebibliosphere]

I'm still, so, so, so fucking scared to say my MCAS is in 'remission' (or as close as you can get with an illness like this), but I just had a gluten-free cupcake with strawberry jam in the middle and a white chocolate ganache on top, and if you'd told me less than four years ago that was a thing I'd be able to eat without going into anaphylaxis and setting myself back months in terms of recovery, I would never have believed you. Hell, a few months ago, I wouldn't have been able to eat this because I wasn't on the right meds.

And today I get to have a little treat with lunch because I feel like it.

[momochiiee-reblogs]

Being screamed at for things that aren't my fault seems to be a norm in this house

There's cookware scattered an dirty? Guess who gets blamed for it? The exact one that almost never has spoons for cooking in the first place

I live cleaning the trail after me so they won't have any reason to scream at me, but my brother leaves absolute messes behind him and the screams are for me

Fuck off

[lunarflare64]

I think once the batch of showdowns and competitions I'm following are done I should probably block the tags. Any feeling in excess can be bad, and for me the one feeling that can never come in moderation is competitiveness, I don't know how to back down and it makes me a kinda shit person, I've been holding back as much as I can, I don't think I've done anything mean, but I've gotten close and its not a mindset I'm fond of, it feels really unpleasant. So yeah, checking out of that stuff hopefully soon

[foxsnails]

.

[dragonanon]

I love that when I start questioning my child free stance in life, the universe IMMEDIATELY reminds me of why I don’t want kids. 🙃

[kaurwreck]

I think you're right that it's significant, and I think Mori is clever to recognize that Akutagawa is a rook.

Like a rook, Akutagawa is powerful, but generally contained and often undercut by his predictability. However, because he's keenly aware of his own constraints, and because others often aren't (especially regarding variables they've internalized as known), he's able to play into and against his own predictability to paradoxically surprise them.

He moves within the confines of his rigidity to shape outcomes, sometimes more effectively than his more dynamic opponents and peers. Rooks do that too, if you let them.

Me, knowing nothing about chess, probably overthinking the significance of referencing akutagawa in this scene, but is going to look it up later anyways

[drdemonprince]

ENM/Poly circles explicitly discourage real talk around jealousy, and practical considerations around nonmonog in ways that routinely exclude and excise POC and disabled people.

ENM/Poly expects everyone involved to act as though “love” is the reason for every relationship choice. Cliche #1: love isn’t finite. Which… sure. Maybe love isn’t finite, but attention and time sure are— and those are at a premium.

Cliche #2: Love is all you need/love is what makes a family. I am familiar with criticism of this from a family abolition, anticapitalist standpoint, but I have seen this be uncritically repeated by ENM/Poly people. It’s not true that love is what makes a relationship work or not work. It’s also about dumb shit, like geographical proximity and practicality. Good luck being ENM if you can’t regularly host because you have roommates or live at home. Good luck being the gold standard of ENM (out to everyone, including family and maybe even the workplace!) if you are any kind of marginalized. Love is simply not enough. There’s real world shit to consider.

Most ENM/Poly people are white gen x’ers and older millenials for a reason. It’s a framework that works awesome if you have abundant spare space, disposable income to blow, and free time. Plus most ENM/Poly people are heavily in therapy, and just have a fuckton of time to deal with their various baggages… or at least like to posture as though they are doing those things.

Non monog can be liberatory— disabled polycules caring for one another. QPRs! Multiparent households! But ENM/Poly is very lodged in a liberal, hyper-independent Super Good Boundaries Thank You Very Much world of its own, and so most of the “resources” like More Than 2 or Polysecure have hella flaws in that respect.

COME OFF ANON SO I CAN FOLLOW YOU! Because you just said a whole word.

I find "ethical nonmonogamy" and polyamory circles to be viscerally unpleasant and alienating to be in as a crazy, chaotic antipsych person who does not always make choices for carefully therapized, restrained reasons -- and who doesn't believe that most other people do either, no matter how much they claim to.

I don't fuck multiple people to serve some higher purpose; I do it because I'm horny, impulsive, and have a variety of niche fetishes that are really difficult to satisfy.

I didn't choose to be openly nonmonogamous because I nurtured my soul and found that it was abundant with love that I just had to give -- all my relationships already were nonmonogamous at one point or another, either because I cheated or the other person did or both, and I eventually decided to move with my feelings rather than against them, and to stop denying all that is inside me -- all of the hunger and darkness as well as the light.

And I can't say that my nonmonogamy is inherently "ethical" either -- just like my monogamy sure wasn't! I'm a human being, and a crazy one at that, I get jealous, I have emotional blowups, I lash out and fuck other people to make myself feel better or to affirm that I am desired, I make big demands of the people I date, I fail to show up for people consistently, I get hurt, and I hurt others, and I will continually have more to learn. I will also continually have wild animal emotions and triggers, and I won't always deal with them in the way my partner(s) might want me to. I try to avoid hurting other people needlessly, of course, but sometimes your own needs are incompatible with another person's, and hurt is inevitable.

When there is only so much time and attention available in our lives, it's true that somebody's often going to come up short. And ultimately the person that I choose above all others is me. And so, no, I can't say I'm always doing nonmonogamy in some caring yet dispassionate way, or that love is the solution to all problems -- I am driven by passion and need, and sometimes being alive in those ways means getting hurt, or hurting in turn.

I would echo essentially all that you've said. We need time and resources and spaces to enjoy privacy with other people, and if you're not some rich work-from-homer, that shit's all in short supply. I hate the sheen of calm positivity that "ENM" and polyamory folks tend to place on everything -- as if no choices they make are fueled ever by bitterness, dislike, resentment, or hell, fucking white hot irrational DESIRE. With how fair and measured so many of them make their polyamory sound, I don't even see what's fun about any of it.

Sometimes you want to upend your whole life because you're so down bad for a person. Sometimes you hate the shit out of your partner's partners and you say and do little manipulative shitty things to convey those feelings, or to try and blow the relationship up. Sometimes the hours just don't add up and somebody gets shafted. Sometimes you make a promise and then you can't follow through, or just don't WANT to anymore because you have changed.

These are real human realities whether we like it or not, and I find it terribly unrealistic AND unsexy to refuse to acknowledge all the darkness and frustration that comes out in any relationship. I think a lot of the ENM/poly crowd that is white and middle class and heavily therapized is so averse to naming anything edgy or prickly in themselves that they make their spaces actively hostile to anybody who openly expresses negative feelings. That means Black & brown people get tone-policed a ton, "mad" people like me get no-true-scotsmanned out of "ethical" nonmonogamy for ever doing anything messily, and all the romance and sexiness of relationships gets sanded down into a Canva-graphic beige blandness of weekly polycule meetings and processing sessions.

In this world of self-optimization, even fucking and loving other people has to be cast as therapuetic -- our desires must justify themselves by somehow making us better, more capable, more controlled people, But fuck that. Sometimes sex or love is worth exploding your whole life over. The ENM/poly crowd says their way of loving makes them more even-keeled but it seems like a kind of death to me.

[dollgxtz]

My first and only statement on all the accusations

Hello, I’m sure most of you are aware of the accusations about me and some of the stories I posted on my account. This post is not only an apology post, but an accountability post that details everything that happened from beginning to end. Everything will be here, so I will not be making more posts about this unless it’s to direct to this one.

Adding a tw now for suicide baiting, death threats and mentions of razors. So sorry but it must be included.

First I just wanted to say, no I wasn’t avoiding any of this. When this all started I was still in the middle of finals week, and I don’t live on tumblr 24/7. I had to focus on my finals to ensure I can get my degree and graduate. That was my number one priority. If anyone was blocked or comments were restricted during that time, it was my mostly my irl friend ensuring I wasn’t consumed by tumblr and could focus on my finals. I was already under a lot of stress and she offered to take over until I was finished with finals.

I was also getting death threats (people telling me to skin myself I alive and to jump). So she was ensuring that when I returned to my own blog, I would not see such triggering content. I have a history with suicide attempts and this was necessary for my mental health. The appropriate people were unblocked and remain unblocked to this day.

I always intended to make a statement, I just prioritized my real life first. It also took time to craft the post you are seeing now. I wanted it to be authentic, no misinformation, and well written.

So, as far as plagiarism goes, yes I did plagiarize specifically 3 of zombiekillerbiceps stories. I can’t actually remember the names of them and the author has removed their account from the site. But on my end specifically “Getting Closer”, “Edge of Control” and “Thrills” were not my own writing. Before they deleted their account I had already reached out via dm and apologized. We came to an understanding. I do not know why they deleted their account but they essentially said in DMs they accepted my apology and wanted to put this behind us but they were very hurt that I had copied them.

Edit: I found the post she made calling me out and will attach it.

As far as His Watchful Eye goes, the only plagiarism that took place was specifically the first chapter of it and only the first chapter. The first chapter of Something Permanent and His Watchful Eye are very similar. The remaining 13 chapters are my own writing and ideas. I have already reached out to @explorevenus and apologized. She has responded and made her own statement regarding it if you want to go and read it.

The only reason it was in anon is because this account (dollgxtz) is my side blog. I couldn’t figure out how to send a non anonymous message without exposing my main blog, so anon was the best thing. I didn’t want people sending death threats too that one too. I should’ve put my username in the anon, but it was already very late for me and I hadn’t slept in about 26 hours. I just wasn’t thinking very clearly and for that Venus I am also very sorry.

@manika-whims (the person that first wrote about all this) will remain blocked and some of her followers because I do suspect it was that group of people telling me to die. Manika wrote a very long post as she was upset that I “mischaracterized” Xavier in His Watchful Eye, called me a bitch and a loser because of a fictional man in a fictional story, and I will not entertain such immaturity. Full stop.

One of the anons that sent the suicide bait also called me a bitch and a waste of space. It was just too similar.

I also got this one. It’s too graphic to show the entirety of it.

I apologize for the plagiarism. But I will never apologize for writing characters the way I do or for writing dark content. It’s just not that serious. After she posted that I started getting these death threats and more.

You had every right to call me out for plagiarism Manika, but I stand my decision to keep you blocked. It had nothing to do with plagiarism accusations or me hiding from them, but I do believe you egged on your audience to come attack me over a fictional story and for that reason you will never be unblocked. I’ve attached screenshots below of the entire exchange. This is not to deflect from my own actions. This is simply to explain why she is blocked. She will say it’s because I was trying to hide from this but that is not true. I am just very sure the death threats came from her or her audience. This isn’t to say that she absolutely did but just in case, for my own mental health and safety I had to have them blocked.

Now that that’s discussed, I would like to address my readers and any future readers of mine. The plagiarized stories “Getting Closer” “Thrills” and “Edge of Control”. have been deleted and will remain deleted. Those of you asking for copies, please do not. They are not my writing nor my own works. Any remaining single work story on my blog is my own work and 100 percent my own ideas. My masterlist has been updated to reflect this as well.

When I first made my blog and posted those stories, I was a very insecure writer. I did not think I was truly capable of writing or making a good story. I did those things out of insecurity and not feeling good enough. But as time went on, I began to create my own stories and realize that I can write if I put my mind to it. These are not excuses, only explanations. Nothing excuses my behavior.

If you want to defend me, that is your own choice. I ask that you do not though in terms of plagiarism because I ultimately did plagiarize and that is 100 percent wrong of me to do. But in terms of AI usage accusations, these are not true. I have never and never will use AI to write.

I have spent countless hours writing chapters for His Watchful Eye, pulled all nighters, and even lost sleep making this story. I have timestamps in google docs that show me editing and writing my own story. I didn’t even know AI had advanced to the point that you can write fully blown novels. But make no mistake, Ai checkers are not reliable. I had an incident in my first year of college where a paper I wrote got flagged for 77 percent ai generated content. That paper was written 100 percent by me over countless hours and still got flagged. It was a very scary time in my life and for that reason alone I will never use AI.

If you want to unfollow me, please do so. If you want to block me, please do so. I would never hold that against anyone and am not mad at anyone for doing so. Just don’t come in my anon box telling me to jump, don’t message me rude or disgusting messages telling me to die. I am a human, I am a real person behind the screen. What I did was wrong but you are no better telling someone to kill themselves. Please just block me.

All in all thanks for reading. If you unfollow, thanks for being here. If you don’t, thanks for being here. If you want to be removed from any taglists, please just message me. You will not be blocked. Just removed from any future taglists! I have vowed to only post 100 percent of my own content from here on out, so if you stay I can promise you will only be reading my own work.

I am no longer the insecure writer that I once was, I now know my abilities and am confident enough to make my own stories. I have a 240,000 word fic out right now, I genuinely am still shocked I have done that. Writing has become a joy for me and I will not stop now. I should’ve never been afraid to make mistakes or be bad at it. I’m sorry to the people I hurt, my readers, and anyone reading this in the future. I am still growing and learning from my mistakes, and this has been the biggest lesson I will never forget.

Plagiarism is wrong and hurts authors. If you are reading this and have done so as well, please rethink your decisions and take them down, just as I have done.

I love interacting with you all, when you send me asks and messages about HWE or any of my original single fics. It is amazing getting to explain stuff or gush with you guys over the things that I have truly written. I truly love being an author and want my future as one to be honest and communicative.

The comments on this will be monitored, but not restricted. Voicing your thoughts is okay as long as they are respectful and not a direct threat to me or anyone’s life. Questions are okay as well and I will answer to the best of my ability. Please no:

insulting me or any of the people mentioned in this post (manika, venus, zombie, etc)

death threats or suicide baiting anyone

I want this to be a mature and honest discussion, and that can’t happen if I allow such comments. Despite what has been said about or to me, I do not want to replicate any insults/drama on my own blog. You can voice your displeasure or opinions without name calling.

Same goes for any messages or anon box messages you all may send to anyone involved here. We are all real people with feelings. Keep that in mind please before you message anyone.

We all make mistakes. Without mistakes, we cannot grow as people. It’s what we do after we make those mistakes that truly attest to our character. And this is what I’ve chosen to do. Lay it all out for my readers and the rest of the LADS fandom to see, apologize to the people I hurt and only write my own stories from here on out. Thank you to the readers and friends who approached me with kindness and encouraged me to keep writing authentically. And thank you all for reading, I wish all of you the best in life 🤍

-Umi ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[physalian]

On Writing Characters with Hyper-Specific Triggers (and a PSA)

*Trigger warning for this whole post

Once upon a time, I had a roommate. Nothing looked wrong from the outside and this narcissist probably thought nothing was wrong on the inside, but there was. I knew moving in with them was a mistake, but financial circumstances demanded I shut up and try to make the most of it. Enter the longest thirteen months of aPTSD-inducing psychological stalemate I hope to never repeat again. Seven of which were on overdrive.

The why doesn’t matter. The how doesn’t matter. What matters is that this roommate was so toxic, there was no point in attempting to talk things out because any little thing could be a land mine for starting an argument and it didn’t matter what casualties got caught in the crossfire, so long as this person “won”. Casualties including our friendship. So if any little thing, anything at all, could be a land mind, what do you do if not try to completely avoid them? For seven months.

This person’s work schedule was incredibly erratic, but they were gone more hours than not, and when they were home, they were usually asleep. In those few overlapping hours where we were both awake, I could not leave my room for fear of said verbal land mines. If I wanted to cook, leave the apartment, get anything from the living room or my desk that I had to abandon, get more water from the fridge, I had to do it before they got home, or after they went to bed, and I could never predict when they’d be home.

Luckily (or unluckily), my room faced the parking lot, and this roommate drove a car that made a very specific sound. From the moment I heard that car from my room, I had about 20 seconds to shut down whatever I was doing in the apartment, retreat to my room, and lock the door. Overreacting? Potentially, I wasn’t in any physical danger, but this was seven months of near complete isolation from any other friends, and the fear of making it worse kept me silent.

So, 20 seconds from the moment I hear the telltale whine of that engine. If I couldn’t hear the car, our front door had a lock that chimes and I had about 7 seconds from the first chime to the door opening to get the fuck out of the way. I lost weight that I couldn’t afford to lose from being unable to cook past a certain time in the evening and staying locked in my room on their days off.

Seven months of only having a door chime and an engine to tell me when it was safe and when I had to run.

—

These chime locks are the new normal and one year removed from that apartment, every time I hear it and I’m already stressed, it’s a trigger.

Every time I’m on the highway and I see a dark grey sedan of that make, that is the most important car on the road until I make sure it’s not their car.

Every time I see a dark grey sedan parked in reverse, as they habitually did, that is the most important car in the parking lot until I make sure it’s not theirs.

Every time I have to drive near a certain location where they work, I am watching for that car.

I could pick it out from 200 others. I know the license plate, I know the license plate frame, I know what sticks to the windshield, I know what hangs from the rearview mirror. I would know that car rusted and crushed in an impound lot.

So. Today I drive home and I pass a rear-parked car one turn before my unit, and I think to myself, “that’s not X’s car, but I noticed it, I’m never not going to notice it.” It wasn’t the same make, model, or color, it was just a sedan with its nose sticking out and that was enough.

Then I turn the corner. And there it is. My ex-roommate’s car.

I shit you not it was like I had a warning from the Universe before it hit.

I don’t need to check the windshield, I know it’s theirs. I’ve seen it in my complex once before. The last time I did, I’d parked my own car and waited, got out, and hid between two others in the dark, waiting for this person to leave.

Today, in broad daylight, that car is empty. They happened to arrive while I was gone for 30 minutes. So I park, and I wait. I watch that car from my side mirror. I scan the sidewalk for them and I don’t see anything. I have frozens that can’t wait.

I’m thinking to myself, of all the parking spots in all the parking lots, of all the apartments in this godforsaken town, you parked right behind my spot.

Nothing happened, and even if we crossed paths, nothing probably would have happened (that’s how they worked, pretending nothing was ever wrong and that I was the crazy one). But I still waited, and when I decided to leave, I moved as fast as possible without drawing attention. One whole year removed from that person.

—

It doesn’t take physical abuse, or yelling and screaming and death threats. It doesn’t need to be a parent or a sibling, a relative, or a romantic partner. This person never touched me, never screamed (though they did yell on occasion), never actually threatened anything. They never called me names, were never direct with any of their insults, were never explicitly petty. I had no proof. Ever.

I just had example after example of every time they cut me down to feel smart, picked on me to feel better about themselves and project their own insecurities and jealousy, or used me as their emotional punching bag because of choices they made.

So a year after completely cutting them out, there’s that fucking car parked outside my apartment.

Media portrays “triggers” usually only in characters who are veterans. Noises that sound like gunshots, or thunder, fireworks, because that’s what we think of when we see PTSD—people who fought in wars.

It’s not like I sit around fixating on that car or that door chime (and actually with exposure to that chime every day with no consequences it’s gotten better), but that’s the point. They come out of nowhere when you least expect it. They don’t prepare you for their arrival, they just happen.

I didn’t have anything close to a panic attack, but nothing in the universe was more important in that moment than making sure I didn’t run into this person, until I calmed down.

Trigger attacks don’t have to be this big flashy thing, born of big flashy movements. It can be something as subdued as going quiet, staring at the thing, and your brain dumping everything else except all the potential outcomes of not escaping this situation immediately. It’s just a car. It’s not like an evil Big Dick truck with smokestacks and truck nuts and a MAGA flag on the back. It’s just a nerdy sedan that could belong to anyone.

—

So. PSA.

What you think might be an overreaction by someone you care about, they probably think is an overreaction, too. Did I want to have fate shit on my day and spend extra minutes under the hot sun when I have chores to do? No. But it happened.

What you think a trigger is supposed to look like or what the symptoms are supposed to be are not just what’s dramatic and flashy for the TV. Here I am writing a whole blog post about it instead of just moving on and I can't go back and check for typos because I don't want to have to reread it.

Do you want to die on a hill of “get over it” when someone you care about would love nothing more? Just. Be there for them.

And to writers, artists, anyone—it doesn’t have to be dramatic to be the most upsetting part of someone’s day. Including such simple things as a door chime, or the sound of an engine, really helps with visibility so people like me don’t think “I’m not allowed to feel this way, I didn’t actually suffer like a shell-shocked veteran”.

Most of us never will. That doesn’t make any of our hardships any less valid. Please be kind.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TWELVE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch

warnings a lot of angst this time whoops 🤭

kalena speakss 🪽! so there’s like four chapters left guys woah. i’m sorry for this one and the next one because it’s lowkey just angst but you’ll live 😆

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You did what?”

“Azz—”

“No you dumbass, you did what?” Nika cuts in, her voice echoing through my phone speaker as she repeats Azzi’s question.

I had just landed from our latest road trip, mindlessly trying to unpack and clean up around the apartment. Maraye was coming over and I wanted to have everything looking good by the time she showed up.

I’ve kept our conversations brief over the last couple days. Every time I hear her voice it just triggers my throat to close up and my mouth to get all dry.

But I can’t avoid her anymore. Whether I tell her about Nyla or not, she’s bound to find out. So I’m left with no other choice to tell her.

“You really want me to say it again?” I ask them, turning down the volume on my phone. Each time one of them yells it feels like my ear drum is seconds away from being ruptured.

“You had sex with Nyla? Why the hell would you do that?” Azzi yells again, confirming the fact that she heard me the first time.

Azzi is filled in on the lore more than anyone. So I know she’s irritated, she almost gave me a concussion when I told her about hooking up with her before the championship. I know if we were in the same room now she might actually render my abilities to play.

“I already told you it was an accident.”

“Oh, you accidentally fell into some pussy? Good luck explaining that to Maraye.” Nika laughs at me. I just know if I could see her face she’d be red from laughter.

“You didn’t tell her yet? Oh my—”

Azzi obvious exasperation is cut off when I hear my front door knock. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat and reach for my phone.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s at the door so we can talk later.” I breathe, not even waiting for a response before hanging up on the group call.

My feet drag against the floor on the way to the door.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been nervous for a girl to come over to my place. Even when she was here last week, it felt natural. Like she was supposed to be here anyway.

But now my palms are all sweaty and slipping against the silver doorknob.

I think I might stop breathing the second I see her. Raye’s always been perfect, she could be wearing a garbage bag and I’d still think that’s true. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in person completely barefaced, not even a little blush on her cheeks or mascara on her lashes.

Just her. No enhancers, and looking as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her.

Raye wears that one jacket that every girl in LA seems to own, the Lululemon one. I didn’t get it at first but now I totally get the hype, the navy fabric clings to her arms and waist and everything in between, making her body look otherworldly. The matching shorts, however, are too damn short. I might not be able to control myself.

“So, can I come in?” Her nose scrunches as she asks almost like she’s shy but also teasing me over my gawking.

I don’t even waste any time tugging her arm and pulling her body into mine for me to hold.

I can’t help but grin to myself at how fast she returns the gesture, her arms wrapped around my neck and mine pressed to her lower back. Raye kicks the door shut behind her, humming softly.

It feels light, the hug. Almost like thousands of pounds of weight were lifted off of both of us and now we’re just floating together.

“Someone missed me, huh.”

I let out a breathless laugh, resting my head on top of hers. She smells incredible. “So fuckin’ bad, Raye.”

Raye is pulling back from me slowly, limb by limb detaching from me with a little fight as if they were stuck.

My lip travels between my teeth, looking over her whole outfit once again. Navy looks so good on her, and I start thinking that I might have to buy her more colors of this exact set because of what it’s doing to me.

“This lil set is cute.” I compliment, tugging at the spandex material on her mid thigh.

“Yeah?” Raye asks, looking over her own body. “I was supposed to go to the gym and then you called.”

The statement brings an embarrassing smile to my face. The fact that she dropped what she was doing, changed her plans to come and see me.

I’m embarrassingly whipped over her.

“We can do sum exercise here. No worries.” I smirk. She’s quick to drop a hand from my shoulder to mush my face off to the side.

“Shut up.” Raye giggles, “you wanna get some food?”

I lick my lips as slyly as I can, which really is a lot harder than I thought. There’s something, something that makes my mind run a thousand miles a minute. Her eyes, which I swear I’ve been obsessed with since we first met. Her skin, it’s glowing, looking like glitter that covers her skin. The smell of whatever curl cream she used lingers in my nose.

“Well I needa shower first, and then I wanted to talk.” I explain. My hands trail down to the backs of her thighs, just under the curve of her ass. She lets me, not even fighting me off or telling me that all of this is wrong. It’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with her that hasn’t led to kissing her.

Which makes me want to do it even more.

“About?”

"You." I say gently pushing her back against my front door and Raye raises her eyebrows. "And me." I add on.

Her tongue slightly slips from her lips, poking at the corner in the way it does when she’s concentrating or listening or thinking. She holds the back of my neck with one hand, her acrylics grazing the hair at my nape. I shudder, finger nails subconsciously digging into her skin.

“Okay.”

—

I’m not sure what I thought Paige’s room would look like. Her apartment— large and spacious, floor to ceiling windows, lights that set the mood so well that i’m sure every girl she’s had in here was throwing themselves at her— fits her completely. But her bedroom, is almost bare.

Cream white walls and a bed in the center. Oddly enough, there’s no purple decorating it like I assumed. Her duvet is a tan color, pillows that match, and a white throw blanket that is a nice addition to it.

The mattress nearly sucks me in when I lay back on her bed. Her phone in my hand as I order us some Chinese as per her request.

I can’t help but let my eyes wander. The room is clean. So clean, not a single book or pencil or sock out of place.

A bible sits on her beside table, along with a journal and some pens.

Then the more I look around the more the room becomes Paige. The bible is her, the picture on her full length mirror of her and her siblings, the framed piece of nylon she cut down from the net in April, the affirmations on sticky notes above her dresser. It’s all Paige. Everything that I know makes her the annoyingly smart, beautiful, and sweet blonde that I know her to be.

And she gets to be mine. As soon as I tell her that Julian isn’t my boyfriend anymore, things get to be the way they should be. I get to feel good around her rather than guilty.

Even if I do. If I do feel guilty for enjoying myself around her, I’d live with it. Because it’s Paige, and no matter what she always finds a way to get my mind off of everything.

My ears perk up the second I hear the shower turn off and I swing my feet off the side of the bed, almost in excitement of seeing her face again.

Her phone buzzes avidly on the blanket, just slightly muffled but I still hear it. I reach for it immediately, thinking that It’s our DoorDasher confirming our order. I type in the password she told me, clicking on the message notification.

lmk when you get bored of that LA girl again

i’ll be right here like i always am 😂

When you’re like me, and have been in your fair share of shitty relationships, you sort of become numb to it all. The lying, the hurt, the yelling.

I deal with it through music. Spending hours in the studio or in my room writing. It works. It helps me remember that the Earth will keep spinning.

But for a second, it does feel like the world has stopped. Like the planet, that spins a thousand miles an hour, has come to a complete halt and everything is just crashing around on me.

I have to stop looking, protect what’s left of that goodness in my heart and not keep fucking reading. But my thumb moves anyway. I read this girl’s text to Paige from last Sunday. The day after I stood in her arms and told her I’d make a decision. The night after she told me she’d wait for it.

A texts that reads: “had fun ;)”

That fucking wink. It makes me seethe. I swear it’s meant for me, just to rub it all in my face. My heart thumps so loud, and I feel like I’m underwater just drowning.

Within seconds I’m scrolling through what seems like years of texts messages, years of pictures and intimate texts that make me nauseous.

This has to be what karma feels like. I did it to Julian, right? I kissed and touched on someone else while making a promise to him. And now it’s all getting thrown back at me.

Paige took everything I gave to her, and went and gave it to someone else.

Her bathroom door glides open, a cast of steam coming into the room and she follows. “Are you sure y’on’t want anything more comfy to wear? Y’look sexy, but I can—”

Paige stops when she sees I’m not looking at her but rather that my eyes are trained to her phone.

“Ma, you aight?”

“Let me know when you get bored of that LA girl again, I’ll be right here like I always am. Paige, do you take me for a joke?” I ask her, rereading the text out loud to her before finally looking up.

I can’t let her see my tears, the ones that build and poole at my waterline, but Goddamnit they sting. Everything does. My throat feels small, the lump in my throat huge in contrast. And I want to cry. Like all this, all the confusion and the trust and the happiness she made me feel was all for nothing.

I see all the color drain from her face in an instant. Her shoulders dropping.

Paige only has on a sports bra and some sweatpants, the white towel around her neck picks up all the water that drips from that perfect blonde hair, and I’m so mad at myself for thinking about how irresistible she looks.

It’s entirely too reminiscent of the first time we met, when she was all flushed as sweaty and standing there looking like everything I’ve ever wanted.

Now I look at her and just feel like a boulder is crushing my chest.

“Raye.” She starts, stalking over to me and I stand up, feeling like that’s the best thing I can do to stop her from touching me. “Baby, just listen.”

“Me? Listen? To what. Listen to you lie to me about how you just want me? Because you obviously don’t.” I shake my head at her. “It took you 24 hours, Paige. 24 hours and you were fucking some other girl.”

“I—” She starts, sighing and tossing the towel in her hand on the bed. “I thought you chose him and I got drunk.” She babbles. Each step she takes towards me sets me off just a little more, and I feel suffocated.

“I didn’t! God!”

“What?”

“I didn’t fucking choose him, Paige. We broke up, I ended it. But instead of communicating with me when I called you, you went all silent on me.”

My voice cracks as I feel my composure slipping. It’s unbelievable, the entirety of it all.

“But now it all makes sense. You were with her.” I laugh, except it’s not funny. I think it’s the only thing I can do to stop me from lashing out at her, screaming and crying and fighting her in a way that makes me look like the bad guy.

Paige’s eyes flicker. And I know her. The confident and slightly cocky blonde girl that would double down on anything. She’s stubborn, more than me, so when I see it; the slight hint of guilt in those crystalline blue eyes, I know she’s not going to say anything I want her to.

“Wait a minute, you don’t get to be mad at me over this.” She shoots. The words hit my heart violently, sharp, like a knife. “You were with him. The whole time, who I was with is not something you get to be mad over.”

“You knew, Paige! You knew I was with Julian. And I fuckin’ told you over and over that this had to stop. Don’t turn it back on me when it’s what you wanted.” I defend, my voice cracking under her gaze.

She’s nearly unrecognizable. This isn’t Paige. Or at least the Paige I knew and fell for, because I thought she would never do something like this to me, yet she did.

Paige takes a step back from me, running her fingers through her wet hair.

“You don’t have the right to tell me what I can and can’t be mad about. I trusted you.”

“Julian trusted you.” She says, bitter and harsh. “But that didn’t stop you from kissin’ me and tellin’ me you have feelings for me, right?”

“That’s not the same—”

“It’s exactly the same, Maraye!” She yells. “But I’m tellin’ you the truth. I’m tellin’ you straight what happened, and you ain’t even do that for him.”

Maybe it’s the way she says it all like it certain. Like she knows me so well that she assumed I didn’t tell Julian anything. Or even the way her voice is so animalistic, full of emotion that I’ve never heard from her. But I lose it. All that is left of my composure, if you could even call it that, goes down the drain and I’m breaking down.

The tears in my eyes finally slip, making my lashes stick together. They’re hot, burning my cheeks.

I hate that I’m letting her see me cry, hate that she gets to see me this emotional. She doesn’t deserve to see me cry. Paige doesn’t deserve to know that she hurt me this bad.

At the same time, I want her to see it. To understand how fucking stupid her actions were. That what she did hurt me to my core, because I don’t even cry in front of people like this. But I am for her. I’m crying, and the tears don’t fucking stop falling.

“You think you know me! You don’t know me, Paige.” My eyes narrow and my arms fall to my sides. “I told him everything. I told him that you made me feel different, so much better than he ever could. A-and I told him I was sorry. I fuckin’ apologized for having feelings for you. I owned up to it, and I messed up so many times but you, God, Paige, you made it all worth it.”

When I look at Paige she isn’t even looking at my eyes. She always does, but now she looks at the ceiling, frustratingly running her hand over her chin.

“And you didn’t. You didn’t tell me the truth, I found out myself like an idiot.” I scream until my voice is raw. Her phone in my hand feels like hot coal, burning my hand and then burning a hole in her sheets when I throw it there. “Fell for you like an idiot.” I murmur under my breath.

“Hol’ on, Angel. C’mon.” Paige says. It’s soft, the quietest her voice has been all night. Of course Paige hears me. She steps to me again, reaching for my hand that I pull back with haste.

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“I made a mistake. A huge fucking mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this shit out.” Paige reaches for me again, I throw my hands away from her, hitting my hand on her bedside table and breaking a nail in the process.

“Fuck.” I groan, shaking my hand off and turning away from her. “Move!” I yell, stepping to the side so she isn’t that damn close to me.

“Raye—”

“I don’t trust you.” I breathe, shrugging my shoulders at her and trying to wipe the tears that stain my cheeks. “It’s not about working this out. You broke my trust and y’can’t even apologize for it.”

“Jus’ listen. Please.” I hear her voice crack, that guilt I could pick up on when she first came out of the bathroom so evident in the way she looks at me.

Paige’s blue eyes are rimmed with red, I nearly scoff. She doesn’t get to cry. She did this, she went to her, confided in her instead of talking to me. I shake my head in an attempt to wrap my head around all of this.

“I’m sorry.” And I thought that hearing it would make it all better but my chest just burns. I’m honestly running out of patience because this isn’t working. I’ve made up my mind, she’s done something so fucking unforgivable and it’s sad. I never would’ve imagined it from Paige.

“Really, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I can’t do this.” I blurt like word vomit. “I just can’t. Ion even wanna look at you right now, Paige.”

“Maraye.”

“I’m gonna go.” I say under my breath, nodding as if that’s what I’ve decided to do. I reach for my phone on the dresser, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling in my broken fingernail. The room suddenly feels so small, suffocating. Filled with hot air and lingering insults.

Paige looks at me incredulously. Almost shocked that I was willing to leave it at this, that I didn’t want to hear her out. “I-that’s it? We’re not gonna talk? You just gonna leave like none of this shit matters.” Her voice is low, throat almost scratched raw.

“I don’t know what to say to you that’s not gonna make this worse.” I explain.

“I can fix it, Raye. Please.”

It’s so hard. Hard to not fall victim to everything that she is and give her what she wants.

Believe it or not, I want to, I want to hear her out and have her tell me just how much she regrets it all.

But every time I look at her, I keep thinking about that girl. That girl who had Paige first, seemingly long before I did. Who had her hands in Paige’s hair the same way I do when she’s laying on my couch with her head on my shoulder.

That girl who got to feel Paige’s lips. Soft and plump with that enticing color of pink. The same lips that told me she felt something for me, told me that she’d give me time. The lips that made me feel like I was the only person in the world to her.

Don’t even start on the image of the two of them— a girl who’s probably prettier than I am or funnier or impossibly more into her than I am, and my perfect blue eyed Paige— being together in a way that we haven’t. Kissing and touching and moaning together.

Being together.

It’s nauseating.

So I just turn around, dragging myself to her hallway and to her front door. I can hear her soft footsteps following after me fast. I sniffle as I slip my shoes on, hoping that if I leave just fast enough I can hang on to the words she said to me before she slept with someone else. The words that let me know that it was just us.

Maybe those are enough to get me to forgive her, eventually.

But right now. I can’t.

So I leave. The door slamming shut behind me, and more tears falling before I even get a chance to stop them.

[revelboo]

This isn’t an anonymous ask you need to respond to or anything: I just really wanted to say that your Armada Starscream fic is wonderful, and I’m enjoying reading it. It touched base on some things I grew up with, and I remember always imagining Starscream or any of my other favorites swooping down to save me as a teen/young adult. Thank you for writing it, my inner teen/young adult self is jumping for joy at it so far! You have amazing writing, and every story I’ve read has been great. So great that I find myself thinking about your stories often and wondering what you’ll write next.

I hope you have a great day and great week; and a wonderful holiday season (if you celebrate any!)

I try not to get into too much detail on readers with bad pasts so my writing isn’t triggering if I can help it, but I try to design readers that need something the mech can offer and that might heal them in return by giving it if that makes sense

Even If It Kills Me Pt 6

Armada Starscream x Reader

• You’re crooning to Sonar, the mini-con’s head against you. Still treating them like sparklings, despite telling you that they’re not. A human thing? Maybe just needing to take care of someone else regardless of whether they need it, but he doesn’t bother correcting you again. Not when the mini-cons seem enamored with the attention and though he’ll never admit it, there is something soothing about listening to your little voice. And it makes you smile, for some reason seeing that spreads warm through him. The bruises on your skin are slowly fading to a sickly yellow, but he knows there will still be scars on the inside that won’t ever fade away. That you can smile at all, instead of being bitter is something he can’t understand as he watches you walk your fingertips over Sonar’s arm to make the mini-con chirp.

• You don’t need to look to know he’s frowning down at you again. Not when you can feel the weight of his stare. Slowly learning that these sweet little guys are actually a weapon he wields and you can’t help but be uncomfortable with that idea. But from what you understand, they’re at war and have been for a very long time. Starscream volunteers so little, speaks rarely. Though you suspect it’s more from being used to his opinion not mattering or being dismissed outright and that’s something you can understand. Part of you wanting to let go of the past, but unable to get over the fear that this is something that will just be taken from you eventually. That you’re not allowed this. To be happy. “When you get tired of me,” you begin, avoiding looking up at the much bigger mech. “Can you carry me somewhere far from where you found me?” Anywhere but back there. So far away he’ll never find you and drag you back.

• Little head down so your hair falls forward to hide your features, his servos still on his datapad. Because the defeated way you say that reminds him of when he’d found you. Decided to take you with him because you were him, trapped and slowly being broken. You’d seen him, assumed the worst, and had just accepted it, because you’d learned to expect pain. Might even think you deserve it and that spills like an inky wave through his processor, strangling his spark. Bending to reach for you, hearing your little noise of surprise and Sonar’s chirp of protest as his servos curl around your little frame and he lifts you.

• What’s he thinking? Did you make him mad? Hands on his big servos, you tense waiting for him to lash out. Breath shuddering out of you when he leans back and cradles you against his chassis. Feeling his warmth and the faint thrum of him under you. The tip of a servo sliding so very gently over your head and then you’re trembling. Because anger, yelling you can deal with, but this achingly cautious touch? You don’t know how to deal with this, because it’s been so long since someone just held you like this, wanting nothing in return. And you don’t know if you can trust it, even as you lean into him and sink your teeth into the side of your fist to keep from crying. Needing pain to keep you from coming apart. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to comfort others,” he murmurs, venting to stir your hair.

• Can feel you trembling against his servos as he tips his head back against his chair. Feels the wetness on his servos and knows you’re leaking again, those eyes welling like he’s seen you do sometimes when you should be resting. And he doesn’t know how to help you when he’s as broken as you are. There’s not enough of him left to fix, but maybe he can piece you back together. Maybe he wasn’t too late for you, even though he’s certain it is for him. Venting roughly, he keeps running his servos along your spine, feeling how insubstantial you are in his grip. Not knowing if his touch soothes or just frightens you.

Previous

Next

[snifferish]

Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.

I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment

--

When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.

However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.

So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.

I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.

I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.

That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.

However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.

I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.

I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.

Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.

Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.

--

I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.

So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.

I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).

I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.

Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,

Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?

[travelingmaster-inspirations]

Escape Rooms

I couldn't believe something like this could even exist, but it did!

An escape room targeting Hypno-Kinksters...

Like the brochure said, the goal wasn't to solve puzzles, but to solve your own mind by allowing the room to place you in a trance so it could implant the code you needed to gain access to the next room.

The catch was that the trance wouldn't implant one code, but 2.

Each code word would allow you access to a different room. In one, you would find yourself facing the same levels of trance as the room you were currently in while the other would give you access to a room in which you are made to drop deeper. Making each code word blend together so you can't be sure which will allow you a safer path.

For anyone that isn't a total trance addict, the escape rooms remain relatively easy to solve and all you have to do is pay close attention during your trance and you'll know which code will grant ou access to the safest rooms until you reach the exit.

However...

For hypno-subs like me, the challenge grows ever more difficult because usually, we tend to drop faster and deeper than others. So... Right off the bat, we are facing deeper trances while also battling our own desires to see what the deeper trances are like on the 'un-safe' path.

And... if that wasn't enough...

When you sign up, they ask you a very tempting question in which you have to describe a simple trigger or suggestion you are willing to let them implant inside your mind should you end the 'escape' in the wrong door. It can be something simple like freeze trigger, but the sky is the limit so you can write down anything.

Of course, the organizers know that for hypno-addicts like me, the temptation is way to great to simply fail again and again so I can be implanted with such a trigger. So... They also tell you to write down something you are willing to let them implant inside your mind should you escape the room in the 'safe' door.

Naturally, the objective is to write down something you are VERY willing to have implanted in your mind on the safe path while writing down something a little more... Punitive... On the un-safe path.

My own goal when I walked into the first room was to try to avoid the un-safe path even though I knew that deep down, the kinky parts of myself longed to experience the subjugation I described for them. That being said, I didn't plan to fully resist the trances I was about to subject myself to because I couldn't pass up the chance to experience whatever trances were on the un-safe path. So... I planned to try them out in the first few rooms before then fighting my way back on the safe path.

The challenge for me was to know when to resist...

As I focused on the first spiral, I knew it wasn't wise to come into this challenge with that mindset, but the moment I felt myself sink into the slow spinning screen in front of me, I knew that it didn't really matter which door I ended up coming out of, all I cared about was the hypnotic journey that would bring me there...

[03jyh23]

🫀⌇enamored┆choi jongho (fluff? version)

jongho x tattoo-artist!reader

│synopsis: the tattoo appointment turns unexpectedly intimate when jongho offers you, a drenched tattoo artist, his hoodie

│genre: fluff, sugestive

│trigger warnings: physical touch/intimacy, mild sexual tension, embarrassment, pain (tattoo process)

│words: 4.8k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

│the requested prompt is bold

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! i had so much fun writing this one! it was a request for drabble yet i couldn't help myself but write a fuller story. this one is slightly more sfw than the smut version that will be published soon! hope you will enjoy it! I LOVE WRITING JONGHO FR

thank you for requesting! ♡

love, monika ♡

i’d be so grateful for a little love – a tagged reblog or comment would truly make my day!

You started your day by sleeping through two of your alarms, and you were in a hurry to make it to your appointment. You cursed yourself for scheduling the first client of the day as early as 9 AM, knowing you preferred to sleep till noon rather than wake up at 7:30. The sound of rain pattering against your window only made it harder to leave the warmth of your bed. It was raining heavily, autumn was coming closer, and instead of colorful leaves, the world was grey and rainy. As you rushed through your morning routine, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread for the day ahead. The dark clouds outside mirrored your mood, and the chill in the air made you shiver. You grabbed a quick breakfast—if a hastily made cup of coffee and a piece of toast could be called that—and dashed out the door, umbrella in hand. The streets were slick with rain, and you had to carefully navigate the puddles to avoid soaking your shoes. The wind was stronger than you expected. Halfway through your walk, it broke your umbrella, leaving you drenched in heavy rain. You cursed under your breath and started running, shielding yourself with your bag. Despite your efforts, the rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes and chilling you to the bone. Each step felt like a struggle as you splashed through puddles, your shoes squelching with every move. 

You took the last turn to reach your studio, and to your surprise, it was still closed. You could swear your colleague was supposed to open at 8. As you approached the entrance, you saw a boy waiting outside—a handsome boy at that. He was standing there in a casual, dry outfit (at least his umbrella did its job) —a comfortable hoodie and dark jeans. The hoodie looked soft and warm, perfect for the gloomy weather. His hair was slightly damp, the ends curling adorably near his face. His big, boba eyes darted around, taking in the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and alertness. Despite the rain, he looked effortlessly cute, and you couldn’t help but feel a warm flutter in your chest. The way his hair falls into his eyes and the serene expression on his face all make you pause for a moment, just to take him in. You feel a smile tug at your lips as you watch him, utterly enamored by the sight. 

Finally, you step closer, dripping water with every movement. The boy turns his gaze towards you, and his eyes widen slightly in surprise, "Hi, are you here for an appointment?" you ask, your voice cutting through the sound of the rain around you. 

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as he responds, "Yes, I am. I think I'm a little early though." Despite the dreary weather, his smile seems to brighten the rainy morning. 

You nod, shivering slightly from the cold and the wetness that has seeped through your clothes. "I'm sorry for this, my colleague was supposed to be here already and welcome you in," you say, feeling embarrassed about the situation. 

Tho boy’s smile widens, and he steps a little closer, offering his umbrella to shield you from the rain. "It's okay, really. I don't mind waiting," he reassures you. His kindness and the simple gesture of sharing his umbrella, made you smile. 

"Thank you," you say, grateful for his thoughtfulness. As you huddle together under the small umbrella, you can't help but feel a little warmer, "I'll let us in," you quickly reach into your bag and pull out the key, unlocking the door to the studio. As you push the door open, the warmth inside immediately contrasts with the cold, damp air outside, and you both step in, grateful to be out of the rain. The sound of the door closing behind you feels like a barrier against the chaos of the morning. You gesture towards the sitting area. "Please, make yourself comfortable," you say, trying to shake off the cold. 

You quickly run to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to dry at least some of the water from your hair. As you pat your hair dry, you glance at your reflection in the mirror, the water droplets clinging stubbornly to your clothes. With a sigh, you do your best to freshen up. After a few moments of trying to get the worst of the dampness out, you return to the main area where the boy is waiting. He still stands near the entrance, looking around the studio with mild curiosity. The cozy interior, with its warm lighting and comfortable furniture, is a stark contrast to the way he imagined a tattoo studio. You approach him with a tentative smile, hoping to make up for the less-than-ideal first impression. "Who are you having an appointment with?" you ask, your voice steadying as you try to regain some sense of normalcy despite the chaotic start to your day. 

Jongho turns his attention back to you, his eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. "I'm here to see Y/N," he replies, his tone polite and friendly. His presence seems to bring a calming effect, making you feel slightly more at ease. 

"Oh, that's me then," you smile at him and offer your hand. "Nice to meet you." 

The boy’s eyes light up, and he takes your hand in a gentle handshake. "Nice to meet you too, I’m Jongho" he replies, his cute, gummy smile widening. The warmth of his hand contrasts with the chill still lingering from your earlier drenching, and you feel a small spark of comfort. 

"I will give you a few papers to fill in, a consent form, and a health questionnaire," you say, reaching for the necessary documents from the desk. You hand them to Jongho with a polite smile, "Please take your time to fill these out. It's important that we have all the necessary information to ensure everything goes smoothly and that I can provide you with the best possible service." 

Jongho nods, taking the papers from you with a grateful smile. "Of course, I'll get started on these right away," he says, moving towards the couch. You watch as he settles in, his expression focused as he begins to fill out the forms. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, the warmth of the studio slowly seeping into your bones and easing the chill from the morning's rain. As you glance around, you notice how Jongho carefully reads each question, his pen moving steadily across the page.  

You smile as you watch him read through the forms. Your regulars usually breeze through the paperwork, filling them out quickly and almost mindlessly. Jongho, on the other hand, seemed to be taking his time, meticulously going over each question. It was a refreshing change of pace, and you couldn't help but be a little amused by his thoroughness. 

"You've never done this before, have you?" you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement. 

Jongho looks up from the papers, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "Is it that obvious?" he replies, chuckling softly. 

"Just a little bit," you say with a playful grin. "But don't worry, you're in good hands. I love new clients. There's something about watching them squirm in pain that just makes my day," you joke, giving him a teasing wink. "Kidding, of course. I promise to be gentle. Mostly." 

Jongho laughs, the sound warm and genuine and you feel weak in your knees. "Well, that's reassuring," he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'll try not to squirm too much then." 

"Good plan," you reply, still smiling. "But seriously, if you have any questions or concerns, just let me know. I'm here to make sure you have the best experience possible." 

After a while, Jongho looks up from the forms, a puzzled expression on his face. "What's a Release of Liability?" he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

"Oh, it's a form that releases the tattoo artist and studio from liability for any issues that may arise during or after the tattoo process, as long as proper procedures were followed," you explain, your tone reassuring. "It's just a precaution to make sure everyone's on the same page and understands the risks involved." 

Jongho nods slowly, absorbing the information. "Got it. Thanks for explaining," he says and you could hear a hint of relief in his voice. He quickly returns to filling out the forms. 

You decide to search through your cabinets in the hope of finding at least a spare t-shirt when Jongho's voice breaks the silence once again. "Aren't you a bit uncomfortable with those wet clothes?" he asks, concern evident in his tone. 

You pause, looking back at him with a small, embarrassed smile. "Yeah, it's not the most pleasant feeling," you admit, continuing your search. "I'm hoping I left something here that I can change into." 

"You will also be a bit uncomfortable if I start tattooing you like that," you add with a light chuckle, your concern mixed with a touch of humor. 

Jongho looks thoughtful for a moment before standing up and walking over to you, handing you filled out papers. "If you don't mind, I could offer you my hoodie, at least?" He suggests, his tone sincere and considerate. 

You look at him, surprised by his offer. "Are you sure?" you reply, touched by his kindness. 

He smiles (damn, his cheeks look so adorable when he smiles like that), shaking his head. "It's no trouble. Besides, I'm going to have to take it off for the tattoo anyway," he insists, already starting to remove the hoodie. 

"Then I'd be really grateful," you say, your voice soft with appreciation. Jongho takes off his hoodie, and as he does, the hem of his t-shirt gets stuck and rides up a bit, revealing his lower abs. You can't help but glance, feeling a flutter in your stomach at the sight. His toned muscles and smooth skin make you momentarily forget the chill from your wet clothes. Cute and with a hot body, God really does have her favorites.

You quickly avert your gaze, hoping he didn't notice, and take the hoodie from him with a thankful smile. "Thank you, Jongho. This will help a lot," 

He grins, seemingly oblivious to your momentary distraction. "No problem. I'm glad to help," he replies, his eyes warm and friendly as he watches you. 

"Alright, I will change quickly, and we will get started," you say while walking to the bathroom. You took off your drenched shirt and bra, leaving them in the sink, and slipped on Jongho's warm hoodie. His perfume envelops you with its intensity, you sniff it in, and you swear it does something to you. It was almost as if the perfume was made only to ignite a spark within you. You shake this thought off, then you take off your drenched shoes, thankful you had a spare pair of sneakers and shorts—you had left them to have something to change into when you were cleaning the studio. As you put on the dry clothes, you feel a wave of relief wash over you, the warmth from Jongho's hoodie providing much-needed comfort. Once you're dressed, you proceed to your station and start to prepare it for the session. The familiar routine of setting up your tools and arranging the workspace helps to steady your nerves. You glance over at Jongho, who is still seated in the cozy area, his eyes following your movements with quiet curiosity. Something is reassuring about his presence, and you find yourself feeling more at ease. "I usually don't do somebody else's designs," you start the conversation, breaking the silence as you continue to set up your station. "I only tattoo my own, but yours looked too nice to decline. Did you draw it yourself?" 

Jongho looks up, a modest smile forming on his lips. "No, my best friend did. I've always been a fan of his drawings, and I thought it would be meaningful to have something he created permanently inked on me."  

"That's really special," you reply, genuinely touched by the sentiment. "It's always nice to have a personal connection to the artwork. I'm honored to be the one to bring it to life for you." 

Jongho nods appreciatively. "Thank you, it means a lot to me," he says, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. You can't help but wonder whether he's holding an entire galaxy in them.

After your station was set up, you printed out the tattoo stencil and transferred the design onto Jongho's skin. You carefully ensured that the placement and size were to his liking, and he nodded approvingly, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Once satisfied with the stencil, you guided him to a chair. "We are doing this on your arm, so instead of lying down on a bed, I'll ask you to sit down," you explain, gesturing to the chair. Jongho takes his seat, settling in and getting comfortable. "Put your arm here on the armrest and make sure your muscles are relaxed, alright?" You instruct, your voice calm and reassuring as you guide Jongho into position. He follows your directions, placing his arm on the armrest and taking a deep breath to relax. You can see the tension easing out of his body, and you offer him an encouraging smile. "It's important to stay as still and relaxed as possible," you continue, preparing your tools with practiced efficiency. "The more relaxed you are, the smoother the process will be. If you start to feel uncomfortable or need a break, just let me know, okay?" 

Jongho nods, his eyes focused on you with a mix of anticipation and trust. "Got it," he replies, his voice steady. "I'll do my best to stay still." You give him a nod before turning your attention back to your equipment. The familiar routine of setting up your tools and arranging the workspace helps to steady your nerves, and you find a sense of calm in the precision of your movements. 

Glancing back at Jongho, you see that he’s watching you intently, his expression one of quiet curiosity. "Alright, we're ready to start," you say, meeting his gaze. "Remember, if you need anything, just let me know." 

He smiles, a hint of nerves in his eyes but also excitement. "I'm ready."

With that, you begin the process, your focus entirely on bringing the design to life on his skin. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the room and it makes you feel at ease. You glance at Jongho, your eyes filled with concern. "How's the pain?" you ask softly, ensuring your voice carries a tone of genuine care. You know that for many, the first moments of a tattoo can be the most daunting, and you're keen to make sure he's as comfortable as possible. 

Jongho looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours with a reassuring smile. "It's not too bad," he replies, chuckling lightly. "It's a bit more intense than I expected, but nothing I can't handle." His attempt to stay brave and composed only makes you admire him more. 

You nod, offering him a warm smile. "That's good to hear. But remember, if it gets too much, just let me know, okay? We can take a break anytime."  

Jongho's gaze softens, and he nods appreciatively. "Thanks, I will," he says, his voice sincere.  

As you continue your work, you realize you need to reposition yourself to get a better angle. Leaning down to adjust your position, you inadvertently move closer to Jongho. You get lost in your work again, the hum of the tattoo machine and the rhythm of your movements creating a focused trance. As you glance up at Jongho, you notice his cheeks are flushed with a deep blush. Confused, you follow his gaze downwards and realize, with a sudden jolt, that your chest is pressed against the armrest in such a way that Jongho’s open hand is inadvertently cupping your boob. 

"Oh, it's fine!" you are quick to reassure him, but your voice comes out a bit louder than you expected. "It happens all the time,"  you add more gently, trying to compose yourself.

Despite your attempt to ease the tension, Jongho remains frozen, blinking a couple of times as he processes the situation. His cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red, "I'm so sorry," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to—" 

You cut him off with a warm smile, hoping to put him at ease. "Really, it's okay," you say, this time your tone light. "These things can happen when you're in such close quarters. No harm done." You look up at him adding, ''Oh, and you can squeeze it if you want," you joke as you lean in again, a playful grin spreading across your face as you try to lift the mood. "I won't charge extra for that." 

Jongho's eyes widen, and he stammers, "N-no, I couldn't! I mean, I didn't mean to—I'm so sorry!" His face turns an even deeper shade of red, and he looks utterly mortified. He quickly averts his gaze, staring at the floor as if it might open and swallow him whole. 

You can't help but chuckle at his reaction, finding his shyness endearing. "It's really okay, Jongho. I was just teasing," you say, your voice gentle and reassuring. "Let's just focus on the tattoo, alright?" 

Jongho nods vigorously, still unable to meet your eyes. "Y-yeah, let's do that," he mumbles. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but you can see the frustration and embarrassment still lingering in his expression. 

But the thing is that suddenly you can't quite focus on your job. You feel the warmth from Jongho's hand on your chest, with only the fabric of his hoodie between you, and you start to feel uneasy. He was good-looking, sure, but you've been in this situation a hundred times before with plenty of other good-looking clients and never really minded it. So why now? As you continue to work, the sensation lingers. You steal a glance at Jongho, noticing the way his eyes are now fixed on the tattoo, his brows slightly furrowed as he looks at how the needle works, and how it deposits the ink into his skin. There's something about his presence that's different, something that stirs feelings you can't quite put into words. You try to push your thoughts aside, focusing on the rhythmic hum of the tattoo machine and the precise movements of your hands. But it's no use. Every time you lean in, every time you brush against his arm or hand, you feel a spark, a weird sensation in your stomach. His scent, the warmth of his body—everything about him seems to draw you in, making it difficult to maintain your professional detachment. In the quiet moments between the buzz of the machine, you find yourself wondering about him. What kind of person is he? What stories lie behind those boba eyes? Curiosity is distracting, pulling your attention away from the task at hand. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts, but the fluttering in your chest refuses to subside. You can't help but feel a bit frustrated with yourself. This isn't like you. You've always prided yourself on your ability to stay focused and professional, no matter the circumstances. Yet here you are, struggling to keep your mind from wandering, struggling to keep your emotions in check. It's both exhilarating and unsettling, and you can't decide whether you love it or hate it. 

Suddenly Jongho lets out a small whimper, and for a second his hand squeezes your boob. Your eyes widen, and you swallow hard after clearing your throat, trying once again to compose yourself. The warmth of his touch sent electric tingles through your body, making it hard to focus, the sensation in your stomach only getting stronger. If you weren't before, you were definitely turned on now. "Are you alright?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky and betraying the flustered state you were in. 

He looked up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of pain and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, it's just the pain stung a little bit," he explained quickly, his voice laced with genuine regret. It was clear that he was unaware of his hand's movement, and the unintentional intimacy of the moment seemed to have gone unnoticed by him. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "It's okay," you managed to say, your voice softer as you tried to reassure him. "Just try to relax." You hoped your words would calm him, even though you could barely calm yourself. Jongho nodded, his cheeks flushed as he attempted to regain his composure.

As you continued to work, the air between you seemed charged with an unspoken tension. You couldn't shake the feeling of his touch, and your thoughts kept drifting back to the unexpected moment.  Every glance at Jongho, every accidental brush, seemed to reignite the fluttering in your chest. You took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts aside as best as you could. "Alright, we're almost there," you said, your voice steadying as you neared the completion of the tattoo. "Just hang in there a little longer." Jongho nodded, his focus returning to the tattoo process. He seemed more relaxed now, his earlier embarrassment fading away as he concentrated on the sensation of the needle against his skin. Finally, you finished the last stroke and lifted the machine, taking a step back to admire your work. "All done," you announced with a smile, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction.  

Jongho looked down at the fresh tattoo, his eyes lighting up with excitement and appreciation. "It looks amazing," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Thank you so much." 

You smiled, feeling a warm rush of pride. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it." 

You put your tattoo machine down and take off your gloves. You glance at Jongho as you throw the needle and other trash, and you notice how Jongho hesitates before standing up, his movements deliberate and cautious. You didn't pay too much mind, assuming he might just be feeling a bit sore or stiff from sitting in one position for so long. You turned to search for a new pair of gloves and the tattoo bandage, focusing on gathering the necessary supplies to wrap his fresh ink and ensure it was properly protected. As you turned back to face him, you saw him tugging his shirt down with an almost desperate force. It was then that you noticed the distinct outline in his jeans. The sight caused a sudden jolt in your chest, a mixture of surprise and a rush of emotions, a blush creeping in. You reminded yourself to keep things professional, but the unspoken tension in the room was too obvious, and you couldn't ignore the way your own body reacted. Taking a deep breath, you approached Jongho with the bandage, your hands steady even though your heart was racing. 

"Looks like I'll need to wrap this up nice and tight," you say with a teasing smile, your voice carrying a hint of playful suggestion. "We wouldn't want anything to get out of hand." 

Jongho's eyes widen slightly at your words, a faint blush creeping back onto his cheeks. He chuckles nervously, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, definitely wouldn't want that," he replies, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. 

You carefully begin to wrap the tattoo with the dedicated bandage, ensuring it's secure and protected. As you work, you can't help but notice the slight tension in Jongho's body, the way his breathing seems to have quickened just a bit.

The silence between you was getting uncomfortable. Jongho cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. "So, uh," he began, his voice shakier than before. "Do you have any tips for taking care of the tattoo?" His attempt at casual conversation was endearing, and you could tell he was trying to steer the moment back to a more normal footing. 

You nodded, grateful for the chance to focus on something else than the burning feeling in your stomach. "Yes, absolutely," you replied, your voice steadying. "Keep it clean and moisturize it every three to four hours with the cream I'll give you. Avoid soaking it in water and stay out of direct sunlight. I'll give you an aftercare sheet with all the details." 

Jongho listened intently, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and lingering embarrassment. "Got it. I'll make sure to follow the instructions," he said, his voice more composed now. As you finished applying the tattoo bandage, the proximity between you felt charged, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breath hitched slightly whenever your fingers brushed against his warm skin.

"If you have any questions or need a touch-up, don't hesitate to contact me," you added, trying to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. 

"Thank you," Jongho replied, his expression softening. "I really appreciate the care and effort you put into this. It means a lot to me." 

You smiled, "It's been a pleasure, Jongho. I'm glad I could help bring your friend's design to life." 

As Jongho gets ready to leave, he gathers his things and glances at you with a shy smile. You can see him hesitating slightly before he gestures toward you saying, "I guess I'll have to come back to get my hoodie."

You chuckle, leaning against the counter with a playful glint in your eyes. "Yeah, looks like you'll have to," you reply with a wink. "Or maybe I could just keep it as a souvenir?" You draw out the words, making sure he knows you're teasing him. 

Jongho laughs, shaking his head. "I don't think I could let you get away with that, this one's my favorite" he teases back, his tone light but his eyes serious. "But I wouldn't mind another visit." The implication hangs in the air, making your heart skip a beat. 

You smile, feeling a warmth in his words that makes your cheeks flush. "Well, the door's always open for you," you say, a hint of anticipation in your voice. The thought of seeing him again fills you with a mix of excitement and nervousness. 

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to muster up the courage to say something more. "Actually, I was wondering if... maybe..." He trails off, his cheeks flushing slightly as he struggles to find the right words. "I mean, would you like to... go out for a—" He stumbles over the words, his voice trembling slightly. 

Before he can finish his sentence, you cut in with a teasing smile, unable to resist the urge to make him squirm a little. You raise an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Are you trying to ask me out on a date?" you tease, your eyes twinkling with amusement. 

He blushes deeper, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess I am," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart melt. 

"Are you sure you want to ask me out while you have a boner?" you quip, unable to keep a straight face. 

Jongho's eyes widen, and he lets out a nervous laugh. "Hey, you were the one who put your boob in my hand on purpose," he jokes back, his tone light and playful, trying to deflect the embarrassment. 

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. "I promise it wasn't on purpose," you say, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "But hey, if I wanted to, I'd definitely charge extra for that." The playful banter eases the tension between you.

Jongho laughs, the tension easing as he meets your gaze with a playful glint. "Fair enough."

"So, dinner today at 8?" you ask, a hopeful look in your eyes. 

Jongho's eyes light up, and he nods eagerly. "Today at 8," he confirms, his voice filled with excitement. The anticipation in his voice mirrors your own feelings, making your heart beat a little faster. 

You smile warmly at him, and at this point, your cheeks start to hurt "Will you pick me up?" 

"Absolutely," he replies, "I'll see you then." The promise of the evening ahead fills you both with a mix of nerves and excitement. 

As Jongho heads for the door, you can't resist adding one last teasing remark. "Oh, and Jongho," you call out making him turn his head back to you, his hand backing off from the handle of the doors. Your smile at him sweetly, before continuing, your voice playful but with a hint of seriousness. "You better not... you know, take care of yourself before our date. If dinner's a flop, I might need something else to stuff my mouth with." You give him a wink, your tone suggestive but not too forward. 

Jongho blinked a few times before meeting your gaze straight-on, a confident yet mischievous smile finally forming on his lips "Oh, don't worry," he replies, his voice smooth and bold. "I'll make sure to save plenty for you. Just don't be surprised if dessert comes before dinner." He winks back at you, leaving you with a racing heart and a grin you can't wipe off your face. 

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK men react to different insecurities part 1

Pairings: Nanami x reader with facial scars (reqested by @ynackerman9499) Megumi x fem! reader with small breasts (requested by anon) Sukuna x reader with acne (requested by @sanicsmut)

Word Count: 2,9k

Warnings: if you feel triggered by any of those insecurities please don't read it, I'm writing this out of an insecure pov - there's nothing wrong with having scars, acne or small breasts okay 🤍 Hope y'all enjoy 🤍

Kento Nanami - facial scars

You look at yourself in the mirror, eyes already starting to sting in tears. Why? Why did it have to end like this? You were never a pity person, never worried too much about looks. But this, this is something completely different.

“Hey darling, are you okay?”

“Yeah…”, you mumble in response, shaky hand mindlessly dropping your toothbrush into the sink.

You hate the way you look, the way those ugly scars are now a part of your face that will never fade away. Even though you are lucky you even survived, even though all that counts for you is that your precious boyfriend is still around, you’ve been avoiding looking at your own self ever since, covering yourself with makeup and masks even around him.

Him. Kento Nanami. The light of your life, the best boyfriend you could ask for. He told you over and over how much he loves you, that he couldn’t care less about a few scars decorating your face. But ever since that fateful day, you hid yourself very well from him – so well that he hasn’t seen your face ever since.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”, a gentle voice behind you mumbles.

Before you are able to react, he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses your body against his large frame. Frantically, you cover your face with your hands, your mask laying on top of the shelf on the other side of the room. Fuck, why didn’t you lock the door as usual? How could you be so careless? If he gets to see you like this, a jaw-dropping gorgeous man like Kento…

Would he still love you after seeing you like this when you aren’t even able to accept yourself?

“Please stop hiding from me, (y/n). I know the last weeks were rough, that you are insecure about the scars the fight left on your face. But please, just let me look at you without makeup or that mask, let me finally see the love of my life again. You are too precious to not be looked at.”

“I’m not”, you cough out.

Don’t cry, don’t make it more embarrassing than it already is. You have always been so strong, so independent. Crying over something ridiculous like this doesn’t suit you at all. You know yourself that it’s stupid, hiding from the love of your life because of a few scars. But every time you look into the mirror, you see nothing but a crippled version of what you used to be, a shadow of the person Kento fell in love with.

You couldn’t take it. Over and over, you imagined how he’d stare at you with disgust creeping up his face, turning away from you and never coming back. No wonder, Kento is a very attractive man after all, women hitting on him every time both of you go out. But you…One single glimpse in the mirror is enough to make you shiver, to let a single tear fall down your eye.

You are far away from being attractive by now.

“I hate seeing you like this and it truly breaks my heart that I’m not able to see your gorgeous face anymore-“

“Because it’s not”, you scream so suddenly that he flinches.

“I look nothing like the person you fell in love with years ago! I-I’m nothing but a shadow of myself, Kento! If you see me like this, you…”

You can’t put it into words, the thought alone cutting through your heart like a knife through warm butter. He’s better off without you and you know it, he’d definitely be able to pull a nice partner for himself, one that doesn’t look as worn down as yourself. But your heart simply can’t take it, just thinking about him with someone else feels like dying from inside.

You can’t lose him. Even if it’s selfish.

“(y/n).”

Gently, he positions himself in front of you and grabs your face. You want to run away, want to hide your ugly scars from his gaze. But instead, you just stare at him blankly, tears rolling down your cheeks like a waterfall by now. Is this the moment, the moment he realizes that he doesn’t want to be with you anymore?

“Just like I expected. You look as breath-taking as you did back then. These scars show nothing but how strong you are, that you are able to survive everything. Why would you ever suggest that I’d leave you because of something like this? You are my treasure, my everything, (y/n). Wouldn’t you love me if I had scars all over my face?”

“Of course I would”, you sniff immediately.

Kento smiles down at you softy, placing a kiss on every little scar on your face while you cry your eyes out.

How? How do you even deserve a caring man like him, how is he still able to look at you with nothing but affection in his eyes?

“See? Now, put away those masks and your makeup and be proud of what you did, okay? You saved the lives of our first years. Never forget how strong you are.”

“I love you more than anything else, Kento”, you mumble before pressing your face against his firm chest and getting lost in his scent.

“I love you too, darling. Maybe even more with those scars.”

Megumi Fushiguro - small breasts

You watch in sheer disinterest as a random girl from another Jujutsu sorcerer school positions herself in front of you, her cheeky grin almost eating you up alive.

“And who are you?”

“I’m (y/n) and a student here at Jujutsu High”, you remark dryly, not interested the slightest in her cheeky tone.

From the outside, she definitely looks like a dream girl. Tall but not too tall, blonde but not too blonde, doe eyes but not too innocent. And not to mention, the big pair of cherries that seems to stare right through your soul.

Even though you know that you are a decent looking girl, this one thing about your body always made you feel insecure. Every damn day of puberty, you hoped for a miracle overnight, that your breast might eventually start growing. But of course, that never happened.

Instead, you seem to be stuck with small boobs until the end of time. And while it definitely has its advantages here and there, it always makes you feel bad about yourself when you see girls like her, girls who are blessed with those natural curves.

“What kind of woman is your type?”, you suddenly hear from afar, ears perking up just the slightest.

“I don’t know.”

You swallow. That voice you know all to well, the voice of bored Megumi Fushiguro. Who is he talking to? And why on earth does your heart start racing, waiting desperately for his response?

“Are you more like an ass or a boob guy?”

“As long as they have an unshakable character, I won’t ask for more.”

“I saw the way you blinked when I said boobs.”

“There’s nothing wrong with admitting the truth”, Yuji interjects.

“Even if I do, what’s the purpose of all these stupid questions!?”

Your heart sinks. Ever since you’ve joined Jujutsu High, you always had both eyes set on that gorgeous boy. And even though it always seemed a little ridiculous, you thought he even liked you back from time to time. How stupid it was to think that a boy like him would want a girl like you, how stupid to even consider you are his type. Aren’t all boys nowadays into big boobs or big butts?

To be honest, you have neither.

“Why are you looking at me so sad now? Oh, are you jealous? Don’t worry, not everyone has the right to be blessed by mother nature. You’ll find someone who loves you the way you are, though – looking like a stick.”

Her words. Her venomous words shouldn’t hit you with full force, her words shouldn’t make tears sting in the corners of your eyes.

But oh they do.

With a swift motion, you get up from the stairs you were sitting on, running up as fast as you can to avoid curious looks. Damn, how was a bitch like her able to make you feel this miserable, why does it even bother you this much that you have a smaller chest?

Because everyone around you doesn’t have this issue. Because it seems like you’re the only one who isn’t blessed. Even Nobara and Maki have bigger boobs than you, even though Maki is well-trained. Why do you have to look this way? And why…

Why isn’t this what Megumi wants?

“Have you seen her? That looked like (y/n) running into that room”, Megumi mutters, looking after you in confusion.

Why would you run into a storage room so rapidly? You almost looked sad, as if something hurt you. He clenches his fist, not even caring about Yuji’s answer anymore. Out of all people, you are the one who shouldn’t feel bad a single moment, whoever did this to you will-“

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

There you sit, back against the wall and your face in your hands, tears visibly running down your face. His heart almost stops. Megumi has never seen you cry, you were always the cool and composed one. What made you sit there, crying your eyes out?

“Don’t look at me”, you spit at him, turning away in an instant while hugging your knees.

Your words hit him with full force. Why did you sound so furious, did he do something wrong?

“But (y/n), I want to know what-“

“You’re not interested in my anyway, aren’t you?”

You know all too well how ridiculous and childish your words sound, but you can’t keep yourself together. All these months you roamed after him, thought you’d really stand a chance. And now…

And now Megumi Fushiguro isn’t into girls with small breasts?

“Why would you think that?”, he replies in an instant.

Instinctively, he rushes to your side, his mind racing. When did he ever give you the idea that he isn’t interested in you? Of course, he wasn’t exactly clear about it. After all, he himself was scared that you might not be interested in him and everything would turn out awkward after his confession. But did he really treat you this badly?

“Didn’t you say it yourself?”

The venomous tone of your voice makes him flinch. Even with your face puffy from all the tears and twisted in agony, you still look absolutely breath-taking. God, when did he mess up so bad? He can’t lose you like this, not when he doesn’t even know what happened-

“If you’re not attracted to girls with small breasts, I’m certainly not the one for you.”

Megumi has to blink a few times, mind trying to understand the words that just left your mouth. He, into girls with big breast? He, not into you? It doesn’t make any sense. You, the most wonderful girl walking on this earth? You with a body that makes his knees go weak in an instant? You, the girl he’s hopelessly in love with?

“What are you talking about? You are the only one I care about”, he clarifies before thinking twice.

Your heart skips a beat, eyes darting towards him in an instant. One look into his innocent orbs tells you that he isn’t just lying into your face, that he actually means what he just said. Does that mean…?

“B-but…Just a few moments ago, you said it yourself!”, you demand weakly.

“You mean my conversation with that guy from Kyoto? (y/n), I couldn’t care less about things like that. The only think that’s important for me is your character made of pure gold, okay? And also, I love your body the way it is. You look absolutely stunning. And your breast do too.”

In an instant, your cheeks turn bright red. Oh god, did he really just say that? Megumi wants to punch himself for his unfiltered words, for the fact that he clearly made you uncomfortable. Is there a way out of this misery?

“I-I mean…I think they look really good. You look really good. You don’t need big breasts for that. And I imagine small breast have their-“

“Please”, you interrupt him.

“I get it, but can we please stop talking about my boobs like that?”

Ryomen Sukuna - acne

“A pretty bad position you put yourself him, huh?”, the king of curses in front of you sneers.

Your hands fight desperately against the invisible chains, eyes searching for the tiniest possibility of a way out. But it’s impossible. After all, you aren’t held hostage by anyone. No, the man who’s sitting in front of you with his head resting in his hand is none other than Sukuna himself.

“Rather a position you put me in, idiot”, you bite back.

He chuckles unpromising, hand grabbing your chin before you’re even able to fight back. His eyes let your blood freeze in your veins, heart pumping so loudly that you bet he can hear it from afar.

“I don’t need to remind you that you’re here because you’re fighting for the wrong side, right?”

“The wrong side? Whose side is right, then?”

“Mine, of course.”

You snort disdainfully, yanking your chin out of his firm grasp. This guy has some nerves, talking down at you when you were out there enjoying yourself.

“I bet you’d fit well right by my side. You’re strong, you’re hot-“

“Don’t call me hot”, you interrupt immediately.

Out of instinct, you turn your face away from him. The face that makes you feel uncomfortable every time someone looks at it, the face that is responsible for multiple dumb comments you received when you were still at school. You know it’s a quite common thing. Many people fight against acne, some worse than you. But god, how much you hate to look at yourself, to see a new red spot on your face each and every day. No one at Jujutsu High ever pointed it out or looked at you in disgust. Yes, the times were people picked on you because of your acne are long gone.

But oh, their comments still haunt you, they still make you believe that you will never be able to be fully beautiful with those things covering your damn face.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

May the ground swallow you whole and get you out of this uncomfortable position. Why on earth does it have to be Sukuna who gets curious about you rejecting his compliment? Why can’t Yuji just regain the control over his body and put an end to your suffering?

“Because it’s a lie”, you press out.

Again, Sukuna gets a hold of your chin, his face now so near that you aren’t able to escape his stinging gaze anymore.

“Why are you saying that, brat?”

“Are you blind or something?”, you bark at him.

It feels like back then when your classmates used to pick on you. But this time, it isn’t a dumb kid that just wants to make fun of you. No, this time it’s actually the king of curses who toys with your insecurity, the only sore point you have about yourself.

“You may be. Because I don’t get why you’re talking down yourself like that.”

“Don’t you see that stuff covering my whole face?”

You can’t take it anymore, his intense staring paired with your own embarrassment. Within the last months, you really thought you got over the fact that your acne won’t go away that fast, that you’ll have to fight for it to disappear. And since no one ever mentioned it at Jujutsu High, you began to tolerate the red marks covering your skin. But at this moment, your sensitive confidence seems to shatter.

“And what about it? I don’t get what you’re talking about, brat”, Sukuna remarks dryly.

You blink a few times. The bored expression on his face tells you more than clearly that he isn’t making fun of you at all. Is it really possible that Ryomen Sukuna meant what he said, that he isn’t bothered about your face?

“I have acne all over my face”, you breathe out.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders, hand moving your chin right and left.

“I don’t give zero fucks about that.”

It’s a simple answer, an answer spat in your face with disinterest. But oh does it make sparks fly around you and your heart almost beat out of your chest. The king of curses doesn’t care about acne.

The fucking king of curses called you hot despite your face is covered in red spots.

“I don’t know why anyone would care about shit like that. You’re strong and you’re hot, what about those spots?”, he continues while rolling his eyes.

“You really mean it”, you mutter more to yourself than him, a smile creeping up your face.

You feel like a little girl, the urge to giggle and jump up and down almost becoming unbearable. He really finds you hot. He really saw your face and lost not a single thought about your acne.

And he’s the king of curses.

“Why are you looking at me like that, brat? Did you forget that I kidnapped you?”

“Oh, you can kidnap me anytime”, you answer almost euphoric.

Sukuna tilts his head, eyes scanning you up and down.

“Humans really are strange.”

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