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bettys-redwinesupernova · 1 day ago

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FEAR OF WATER

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: after an abusive past, y/n struggles with toxic communication in her relationship with rafe. when fear pushes her away, love teaches her to stay.

based on this ask !! this was a really angsty and emotional one to write and i LOVED it anon, so thank you, and apologies it’s taken a while <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: angst w/ a comforting ending, slightly toxic!reader (unintentional), emotional abuse (by readers ex), trauma responses, arguing, crying, cursing, soft!rafe, fear of letting people in, flinching, detailed descriptions of emotional abuse & manipulation. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

THIRD PERSON +

The slam of the front door rattled the picture frames on the walls, the weight of Y/N’s footsteps heavy against the wooden floor as she stormed into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking—she hated that they always did when she was this upset. It made her feel weak, even when the anger inside her burned so hot she thought it might consume her entirely.

Rafe followed behind, slower, guarded. He had that look in his eyes again—the one that made her stomach twist with guilt before she could even process why. The look of someone who was tired, not from the fight itself, but from the exhaustion of never knowing how the next argument would go.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this,” she spat, her voice sharper than she intended. “You know exactly what you did.”

Rafe exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Y/N, I don’t—what did I do? Just tell me.”

His calmness made her angrier. It made her feel unheard, like he wasn’t taking this seriously. Her brain was wired to expect resistance, to expect gaslighting, to prepare for the fight that had always followed in her past relationship.

“You said you’d call, and you didn’t. You do this all the time, Rafe. You make promises, and then you break them, like it doesn’t even matter.”

“That’s not fair,” he said carefully. “I got caught up at work. I should’ve called, I’m sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. There’s always an excuse.”

He frowned, stepping closer, but she took a step back, arms folding over her chest like she was shielding herself from an attack that wasn’t coming. He sighed, something pained flickering across his face.

“Do you hear how you’re talking to me right now?” His voice was quiet, not angry, not defensive—just… tired.

And that was when it hit her.

She wasn’t even really arguing with him. Not Rafe. Not the boy who held her when she had nightmares, who traced circles on her back when she was overwhelmed, who had never once raised his voice at her even when she threw words like daggers. She was arguing with the ghost of the man who had hurt her before, who had made her feel like she had to fight to be heard, to be understood.

Her chest tightened, shame creeping up her spine.

She was training him.

She was teaching Rafe—patient, loving Rafe—that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be good enough for her. That he’d always be walking on eggshells, waiting for the next time he slipped up and she lashed out.

She was turning him into someone who feared her.

The realisation knocked the air from her lungs, and before she could stop herself, her feet were already moving, carrying her toward the door.

“Y/N, wait,” Rafe called, but she couldn’t—she couldn’t.

If she let him say something kind, if she let him look at her with that soft, exhausted sadness in his eyes, she’d break down right in front of him.

She barely registered getting into her car, barely noticed the shaking of her hands as she fumbled with the keys.

And then she was driving.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she blinked them away furiously, but they just kept coming, spilling down her cheeks in hot, silent streams.

She had pushed him too far this time.

She knew it—knew, in the deepest part of her heart, that there was only so much someone could take.

She wanted to be better. She needed to be better. But how could she, when she didn’t even know what that looked like? When she had spent so long being told that love was a battlefield, that the only way to be heard was to yell louder, fight harder?

She should’ve let Rafe in. She should’ve told him why she reacted the way she did, why she felt like she had to accuse before she could be accused, hurt before she could be hurt.

But it was too late.

She had to leave before he could do it to her.

Because that’s what she had been taught—that love never stayed, that sooner or later, they always left.

And she’d rather be the one walking away than the one being abandoned.

The thought shattered something inside her, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself sob.

—

Rafe had never felt this kind of exhaustion before.

It wasn’t the kind that came after a long day working in the heat or the kind that settled in his bones after a sleepless night. No, this was different. It was the weight of not knowing—the crushing uncertainty of whether or not he had just lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He hadn’t stopped calling since the moment Y/N ran out of his house. The first few went straight to voicemail. Then, after what felt like an eternity, a text finally came through.

I’m safe. I just need some space.

The relief had been instant—so strong that his knees nearly buckled. But it didn’t last long. Because the truth was, she might be safe, but she wasn’t okay.

And the worst part? He didn’t know how to fix it.

Rafe sat on the edge of his bed, phone still clutched in his hands, staring at the screen like it might give him the answers he needed. But there were no answers—just the hollow ache in his chest and the endless loop of their fight playing over and over again in his head.

It wasn’t the argument itself that unsettled him. Couples fought—it was normal. He and Y/N had had disagreements before, sure, but never like this.

The way she’d looked at him tonight wasn’t how someone looked at the person they loved. It was how someone looked at a threat.

And that… that was what haunted him the most.

Rafe never wanted to be something Y/N had to defend herself against.

His thoughts raced, trying to piece together why she had reacted the way she did. It wasn’t like he’d done anything that bad—he’d forgotten to call. That was all. It wasn’t like he lied, or cheated, or intentionally hurt her. And yet, the second he tried to explain, she had shut down, turned on him, twisted it into something it wasn’t.

It was almost like… she expected him to hurt her.

The realisation hit him hard.

Y/N had mentioned her ex before, offhandedly. Just a couple of times. She never said much, just that he was shitty, that he messed her up.

But this… this was more than just the baggage of a bad breakup. This was damage.

And if there was anyone who might have more answers, it was Sarah.

—

Sarah wasn’t surprised when she opened the door to find Rafe standing there, disheveled and tense, like he’d been pacing for hours.

She sighed, leaning against the frame. “I figured you’d show up eventually.”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Did she tell you?”

Sarah nodded her head. “She sent me a short text. It was reallt vague, but I gathered it wasn’t good.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I just… I don’t understand. She got so defensive. It was like—like she thought I was trying to hurt her. And when I tried to calm things down, it just made her angrier.”

Sarah’s expression softened. “Rafe…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You know her last relationship wasn’t good, right?”

“She said it was shitty, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realise how bad.”

Sarah sighed, crossing her arms. “Her ex was emotionally abusive. Manipulative. The kind of guy who’d twist things until she thought she was the problem. He made her question everything. Gaslit her, isolated her. It took her forever to get out.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted.

Y/N had never told him any of that.

Sarah continued, her voice quieter now. “She’s not like this because she wants to be, Rafe. It’s a trauma response. She learned to survive by being defensive. By fighting back first before she could be blamed. And now, even when she’s with someone who actually loves her, it’s hard to unlearn that.”

Rafe nodded slowly, his jaw tight. He could see it now, see how it all fit together.

How the moment something felt like it could go wrong, Y/N would push him away. How she always needed control over the situation, how she sometimes twisted his words—not because she wanted to hurt him, but because that’s how she had survived before.

She wasn’t fighting him. She was fighting the past.

Sarah sighed. “I don’t want to say more—it’s not my story to tell. But if you really care about her, you’ll be patient. She needs to learn how to trust that you’re not him.”

Rafe nodded, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I do care,” he muttered. “More than I probably should.”

Sarah gave him a small, sad smile. “Then don’t give up on her yet.”

—

Rafe sat in his truck, staring at the dark road ahead, his mind still reeling from everything Sarah had told him.

It all made sense now.

It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t love him. It wasn’t even that she wanted to hurt him. It was that she didn’t know any different.

And that broke his fucking heart.

He thought about the way she looked at him when they weren’t fighting—when she was curled up in his arms, or when she laughed at something stupid he said, or when she kissed him like he was the only thing keeping her steady.

That was her.

Not the girl who lashed out. Not the girl who pushed and twisted things in an attempt to stay in control.

He couldn’t let this be the thing that ended them.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that Y/N deserved to be loved the right way. She deserved someone who wouldn’t run just because loving her required patience.

She deserved someone who would stay.

And if that meant showing up even when she didn’t know how to ask him to—if that meant proving to her that he wasn’t like the man who hurt her—then he’d do it.

He threw the truck into drive, determination settling in his chest.

He needed to see her.

He needed to talk to her.

So Rafe headed towards his place to grab his phone before heading to Y/N’s to fix things.

He had barely stepped into his house when the knock echoed through the quiet space.

He frowned, glancing toward the door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and after the night he’d had, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for surprises. But when he pulled it open, his breath caught in his throat.

Y/N stood there, her frame swallowed by an oversized hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands as she twisted the fabric between trembling fingers. Her eyes—blood-shot and swollen from crying—met his with a hesitance that made his chest ache.

She looked afraid.

Not of him.

But of what came next.

“Y/N—”

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been crying for hours. Maybe she had. The weight of everything unsaid hung between them, thick and suffocating. Rafe wanted to say something, anything, but she beat him to it.

And when she spoke, the words tumbled out in a frantic, shaky rush.

“I��God, I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, sniffing as she swiped a sleeve under her nose. “I just—I need to say this before I lose my nerve.”

Rafe nodded slowly, heart pounding. “Okay.”

She took a deep breath, and then, like a dam breaking, everything spilled out.

“My ex—he wasn’t just shitty, Rafe. He was toxic. He—he manipulated me, controlled me, made me think I was losing my mind. Every time we fought, he’d twist my words until I couldn’t even tell what was real anymore. And when I got upset, that became the problem. I was the problem. He convinced me I was crazy. That I was too much, too sensitive, too difficult to love.”

Her voice cracked, and Rafe’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He had felt it before—the anger, the quiet rage that settled deep in his bones whenever he thought about the way Y/N’s past had left its mark on her. But now, hearing her say it aloud, it burned white-hot in his veins.

“I spent so much time walking on eggshells, just waiting for the next thing he’d use against me,” she continued, voice thick with emotion. “So eventually, I just… I learned to fight back first. Before he could get the upper hand. Before he could make me feel small again.”

Rafe swallowed hard, feeling something inside him break at the way she spoke—like she still carried the weight of it all, like she still believed she was the problem.

“Y/N,” he started, but she shook her head.

“I need to finish,” she whispered. “Please.”

He nodded, his throat tight.

She exhaled shakily. “I didn’t mean to treat you like him. I swear I didn’t. But I don’t know how else to be. Every time we fight, I feel like I have to defend myself before you can hurt me. But you never do. You’re nothing like him, Rafe. You’ve never made me feel small, never made me question myself. You’re the only person I’m actually terrified of losing, so tonight—” Her voice wavered. “Tonight, I left before you could.”

Rafe felt his heart shatter.

She had run because she thought he’d leave her. That he’d get tired of her, of the way she struggled to let go of the past.

She didn’t realise he never would.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she barely seemed to notice, too lost in her own confession.

“I don’t want to be like this,” she whispered, voice raw with desperation. “I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to hurt you just because I don’t know what healthy love is supposed to look like.”

“Y/N…” Rafe’s voice broke, and suddenly, he was moving—closing the space between them, cupping her face in his hands with a gentleness that made her shudder.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, she just leaned into his touch, like she was memorising the feeling of him still being there.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rafe. I know I’ve been difficult, I know I’ve been hard to love, but please—please don’t go anywhere.”

He felt his own tears spill over at that—at the sheer, heartbreaking fear in her voice.

She thought he was going to leave.

She truly believed that he’d wake up one day and decide she wasn’t worth it.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his grip tightening like he was afraid she might slip away again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Ever.”

Her breath hitched, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, like she was trying to anchor herself to him.

“I promise,” he continued, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “You are not too much. You are not difficult to love. I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe that, I’m not going anywhere.”

A sob wracked through her body, but this time, it wasn’t just pain—it was relief.

And then, in the quietest voice, she whispered, “I’ll get help.”

Rafe pulled back slightly, searching her eyes.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I want to get better. I want to be better. For us.”

She let out a shaky breath, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and determination.

“Now I’m not afraid of the water,” she whispered. “I’ll dive right in. And I can be brave, so I’m gonna give it a try.” Her lip trembled. “Because I know you’ll be on the other side.”

Rafe’s heart clenched.

Because for the first time since she had come into his life, Y/N wasn’t running.

She was staying.

And so was he.

Rafe cradled her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, his own tears still slipping down his cheeks.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “I’ll always be right here.”

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she let herself fall into his embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

And as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, Rafe knew—this was what love was supposed to be.

Messy. Imperfect. But real.

And this time, neither of them were afraid of stepping into unknown waters.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

thank you so much for this request anon, i love me some angst !! pls keep requesting everyone, i am working my way through them and i have like four in my drafts rn to be edited so stay tuned !!

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

247 notes · View notes

rhiannonsknife · 3 days ago

Note

I’ve never seen someone write Jackie and Rhiannon like you do! They’re such complex characters and you do an amazing job capturing that, even in just a one shot. Just wanted to tell you that I love your blog!

If you’re still taking requests, would you mind writing a Jackie one where her and the reader come out as a couple at Doomcoming like Tai and Van did? Maybe they’ve been together for awhile but Jackie wasn’t ready to come out until then? I think a plane crash would really put things into perspective lol!

-🦈

── MEET ME IN THE WOODS TONIGHT

— summary: doomcoming with jackie taylor.

— warnings: fluff. implied internalized homophobia. secret relationship. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.

the makeshift decorations sway in the breeze, the clearing glows with warm lantern light and, despite everything, despite the crash, the wilderness, and the gnawing hunger, there’s laughter.

for the first time in weeks, the mood is light, almost joyful in a way that’s more genuine than anything any of you have experienced since the plane went down.

you stand near jackie, your shoulder brushing hers just so as you watch the others dance. she looks beautiful tonight, as she always does: her crown of wildflowers slightly askew, her cheeks flushed from the drinks misty’s been passing around. she’s smiling, but you know her too well to think she’s as carefree as she looks: jackie has always been good at pretending.

you’ve been together for months now, sneaking touches and stealing kisses when no one is looking your way. she had made one thing clear from the start: no one could know. she’d framed it as self-preservation. “it’s not that i don’t care about you,” jackie had said one night, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “i just…i don’t want to make things harder for us out here”

so, you learned to love the mask she wears just as much as the girl jackie is beneath all her pretense.

you’d understood, or tried to; her fears weren’t all baseless. she was used to control, to the certainty of her old world where she’d been whs’ golden girl, the one everyone admired. out here, though, her carefully constructed image had been crumbling from the start. the others had turned on her in subtle ways; side glances, muttered comments, the slow loss of respect. she couldn’t risk giving them more fuel.

now, as you’re watching taissa and van kiss in front of everyone, something seems to shift.

it’s not a grand declaration; they just kiss, laughing against each other’s lips like they’re the only two people in the world. the group doesn’t stop them. some cheer, but no one judges. it’s all…normal. contrary to the events of the past weeks, but normal.

you glance sideways at jackie, expecting her to look away or maybe make a comment to cover her discomfort. but she’s watching them, just as everyone else is, her eyes wide, her expression both soft and unreadable. there’s no jealousy there, either, no scorn. just a quiet longing that makes your chest ache.

“jackie?” you ask gently, leaning closer so only she can hear.

she blinks, pulling herself back to reality, and gives you a shaky smile. “it’s nothing,” she assures quickly.

“are you sure?” you press, keeping your voice soft. “you can talk to me, you know?”

jackie’s smile falters. for a split second, she looks like she might say something. but then she shakes her head, looking away. “come on! let’s dance!”

you follow her to the makeshift dance floor, letting her spin you around with surprising enthusiasm. the two of you laugh, swaying surrounded by the other girls. for this short while, it’s easy to forget everything that comes with the looming uncertainty these days. but then jackie slows, her movements faltering as her gaze locks on yours.

“what?” you ask, unable to brush it off this time.

she hesitates, her hand tightening around yours. “i just…” she glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the crowd. no one’s looking at you, their attention scattered all across the clearing. jackie takes a shaky breath. “i don’t want to hide anymore,”

“jackie, you don’t have to-“

she cuts you off by cupping your face and pressing her lips to yours, as easy as it would only ever come to her behind closed doors and the comfort of knowing you’re unseen. the kiss starts tentative, like the very first time jackie had kissed you, with her hands trembling against your cheeks. when you don’t pull away, when you lean into her, your own hands finding her waist, she deepens it. it’s soft and warm and open, jackie’s lips moving with a kind of desperation that you feel all the way to your core.

the entire world around you fades, you don’t hear the murmured conversations and laughter that surround you. all you can feel is jackie, her hands moving to your shoulders, her thumbs brushing your jawline. when she finally pulls back, her cheeks are tinted in the softest shade of pink.

“jackie,” you whisper, breathless, your forehead resting against hers still, hesitant to withdraw.

“i mean it,” she murmurs, the side of her nose nudging yours. “i don’t want to hide anymore. not with you!”

her gaze flickers shyly to the other yellowjackets around you.

there’s a moment of quiet as the others catch on, realizing what they’ve just seen. it’s van’s loud whoop that breaks the silence. when jackie looks back at you, there’s something new in her eyes. relief, maybe, or pride.

you smile at her, your fingers squeezing her waist through the fabric of her dress. “i guess the plane crash really did put things into perspective, huh?”

jackie laughs softly. “yeah. something like that.”

she doesn’t step back. if anything, she moves closer, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips as you rest your chin atop her head and pull her into your embrace.

“come with me,” she murmurs eventually.

your heart skips. “where?”

jackie’s smile turns coy. she doesn’t answer, instead she takes your hand and leads you away from the group. the warmth of the fire gives way to the cool darkness of the woods, and then, once you reach it, the cabin door creaks behind you.

inside, the room is dim, for once completely empty with the team still celebrating outside. jackie turns to face you, her eyes catching yours in the low light. she doesn’t say anything, but the way she steps closer, her free hand reaching for the back of your neck, speaks volumes.

when her mouth finds yours this time, it’s slower, deeper, her movements no longer tentative. it’s not just about showing something to the others now. it’s about you, and her, and everything that had been unspoken until now.

jackie steps closer then, backing you up until you hit the wall. her hands move to your neck, fingers sliding into your hair. the full length of her body presses against yours, caging you in as the kiss deepens.

for months, she had to hide her desire for you. now that it’s all out in the open, it’s like a dam has broken. jackie kisses you desperately, all the pent-up longing of the last poured into the collision of your mouths.

you can’t help but gasp, struggling to keep up with the demanding motion of jackie‘s lips. they trail from your mouth, down the side of your neck, nipping and kissing hungrily as her hands tug impatiently on the fabric of your clothes.

“jackie” you pant with your head tossed back against the wall. “we- we’re still-”

she pins you harder to the door, one of her legs slipping between yours. for a moment you allow yourself to get lost in the friction against your center, your hips rutting back and forth instinctively.

then, finally, you repeat, “jackie!”, breathless when she breaks away from you. her hazel eyes are dark, her chest heaving with the force of breath.

“did i do something wrong?” she asks, her voice quieter now, a hint of insecurity threading through the haze that’s come over you both. “i’m sorry, we don’t have to-“

you cut her off before jackie can overthink it.

your hand finds hers, squeezing just enough to ground her. the others could come in at any second, loud and stumbling, forcing you back to your new ‘normality’. you don’t want to forget this, don’t want to let the moment pass.

“attic. now”

you’re on top of her. chest to chest with a bare body that arches up against yours to meet you halfway.

jackie’s arms are draped over your neck, her ankles locked around your waist, pulling you in close. impossibly close, because you don’t think it’s possible to be any nearer unless you merged into her completely, lost yourself in the press of her skin, the curves of her body against yours. maybe that’s exactly what she wants. maybe that’s what you both need.

to forget where one ends and the other begins.

your clothes are scattered all around the makeshift bed you’re sharing. her dress, neat and beautiful, crumpled up on the dusty attic floor alongside your own.

it’s the most intimate you’ve ever been together: in all the months you’ve spent dating in secrecy, you never got jackie like this. you’ve imagined it, sure, pictured her at the absolute crack of dawn after making sure the other girls were definitely asleep, with a hand shoved down your pants. but even your poor attempts at masturbation in this absolute hellscape could never compare to having her underneath you.

you know, from the occasional stories she’d tell you -secrets, exchanged in hushed whispers- that jeff hasn’t either. that she was never quite ready to go all the way with him, never felt comfortable enough to.

with you, that has changed. jackie seems very comfortable now. she’s reassured you at every shy check-in between layers of clothing slipping away: “are you sure?” you’d asked when your fingers pushed up the hem of her dress. “is this still okay?” as you struggled with the clasps of her bra.

now, with the restrictive clothes gone, her lips are everywhere; against your own, the side of your neck, wandering as low as they’ll go in your current position, never getting past the swell of your breasts. jackie pulls you in absentmindedly and traces soft lines up your naked spine as her lips move down your throat. one of her hands finds yours, threading your fingers together.

this is different from all the stolen moments and careful touches you’ve shared so far. there’s no fear of being heard, no risk of being interrupted. jackie is different, every soft sound raw in a way she’s never been capable of before.

her hands roam with purpose, memorizing every single inch of your skin. her mouth traces a path from your collarbones to your shoulder as she whispers “i need you” with both her eyes closed. you can’t stop your hips from grinding into her all over again, bare skin sliding together.

you break away, blinking down at where jackie is sprawled out. “are you sure?” you manage. she bites her lip, but nods determinedly.

for months, she’s been so focused on what she should need -the validation, the approval, the status- that she’s almost forgotten how the simple act of being wanted feels like.

“okay...okay”

jackie strokes over your bare shoulders, her thumbs digging into the skin there. “can i-“ she begins, blushing under your attentive gaze. “can i touch you?”

when you nod, she brings both of her hands up to your chest. you exhale shakily. this is all so new, so sweet, even in the mess that you’re in. it’s a blur of shy touches and breathy murmurs of approval, and, for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re happy. truly, undeniably happy. happy that it’s jackie. happy that she’s the one you get to share this with.

her thumb brushes over your nipple and you arch your back forward, a quiet moan drawn from your lips. the floorboard creaks under the weight shift and you laugh into each other’s mouths.

“you like that?”

your eyes flutter shut and you manage another nod. as if to test it, jackie repeats the motion, applying just the right amount of pressure.

“oh-“ you gasp, your full body shuddering.

jackie smiles, satisfied. she leans up again, her hips jerking against your leg as she moves to press kisses to the hollow of your throat while simultaneously playing with your nipples. only when she lets out a soft noise of her own, do you realize that your thigh is pressing right between hers with the way your bodies have moved together.

momentarily caught off guard, you breathe out and jackie opens her eyes to look up at you. eager to get a similar reaction out of her, you experimentally flex the muscles against jackie’s cunt, grinding carefully. her hands grasp the thin sheets beneath her body instantly, her fingers curling up in the fabric tightly. her head falls back as she gasps: “oh my god”

“does that feel good?” you drop one hand to hold her hip.

jackie nods, her jaw slack when she gives her hips a couple of gentle rolls, dragging her wetness over the length of your leg. you watch in awe when the first actual moans spill from her lips, her voice unusually high-pitched.

you press your forehead against jackie's again, anchoring yourself to her like you're afraid of losing this moment the second there's space between you. her breath is warm but uneven, ghosting over your lips as she tilts her head, her fingers threading through your hair to pull you closer.

her open mouth brushes yours, barely, just enough to make you dizzy and press your lips to hers.

the temperature around you is rising steadily as jackie moves against your body, your breathing tangling together.

this is better than anything you’ve ever imagined already, but it is not enough.

“jackie,” you whisper. immediately, she stops the movements altogether, her brows raising in concern.

“are you okay?”

her attentiveness makes you smile. “more than okay, i just-“ you bite your lip. “i want more,”

“oh”

“is that okay?”

jackie smiles in response, shifting backwards and maneuvering you both into a new position. after some more rustling movement on the blankets, you find yourself kneeling face to face with her. the way jackie’s eyes fall to your bare chest doesn’t go unnoticed: they widen as if she’s still struggling to believe that any of this is really happening.

she takes your hand in hers, gently pressing it against the valley between l own breasts so you feel the racing of her heart against your palm.

“touch me,” jackie instructs. “and let me touch you too?”

suddenly, your position makes a lot more sense. you don’t have to be told twice. instead, you bite your lip and nod. “please”

both of you reposition your knees so your legs are spread wider, and jackie’s delicate fingers trace down your front. when they reach the hemline of your underwear, you watch her, catch the way her mouth falls open as her fingers brush over the wet patch on the fabric.

“you’re so wet” jackie murmurs in awe.

hearing those words from her is enough to set you into motion too. first, your jaw drops and you feel yourself clenching around nothing, painfully aware of the emptiness where you want to feel jackie the most. then, after a soft cry of “touch me,” you drop a hand between her thighs. jackie’s arousal is damp, soaking through the lace of her panties as you cup her carefully.

she moans your name, and her head falls against your shoulder while she simultaneously fumbles with your underwear and pushes it aside. you copy jackie’s motions, panting as you look down the little space that’s left between your bodies.

you don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed about the moan that falls from your lips when she finds your clit and starts circling it with her index finger.

“god, jackie-“

“it’s okay,” jackie promises, her free hand cradling the back of your head. “you- oh!”

whatever she was going to say is cut short when you press your fingertips against her clit, rubbing it the same way you know you like. judging by the sharp intake of breath through her nose, it seems to be working for jackie too.

she’s the one to pick up the pace first, rubbing quicker circles. you can feel your thighs trembling already, struggling to support the weight of your body as you try to focus on touching jackie too. her wetness glides against your fingertips, practically dripping from her. occasionally, you dip lower, where her arousal pools, so you can gather it and bring it up to jackie’s stiff clit.

when she feels you there, she leans back, her pupils dilated as she looks at you in the dim light of the attic. her fingers press against your entrance. “can i?” she breathes, sounding surprisingly pleading for someone who’s just asking to touch rather than be touched. in response, you do the same for her: a singular finger toying at her throbbing hole.

when jackie pushes two of her own into you, you immediately follow suit, shuddering as she slides in with ease. your moans mingle together in the thick air, only half aware that, if any of the others come back inside now, they will definitely hear you through the floorboards.

“more,” you whine.

jackie pulls her fingers out slowly at your request, until only their tips are still inside, then pushes them back as far as they’ll go, tearing a soft cry from the back of your throat. “oh, jackie!”

her own walls throb around your still finger -which you have almost forgotten about until you feel her squeeze it. weakly, you curl it forward against jackie’s g-spot, trying to make up for your lack of movement. her eyes roll back in her head instantly.

"oh-“ she whines softly. “oh my god-“

you manage some gentle thrusts into her before you slide in a second one. jackie easily takes it.

regardless of your efforts, she doesn’t stop moving and her thrusts don’t falter. jackie, unlike you, keeps up with ease, her fingers reaching deeper than your own ever did. when she curls them in a come hither motion, you reach for her and jackie pulls you in closer, pressing her lips against yours to stifle your sounds.

it doesn’t take long at all until you feel a knot forming in your abdomen, tightening with every press and thrust.

when you part from her to catch her eyes, there's a string of spit connecting your mouths. the sight, the sensations, the knowledge that you’re hers in a way not even the wilderness can undo is all so much, and enough to have you on the edge of the first orgasm in months.

you know exactly what it’ll take for her to finally make you cum. and, even though her touch feels too good for you to string together coherent sentences, you manage a quiet: “jackie, god, i’m close!”

jackie, bless her, seems to understand: she finds your clit with her thumb while still pumping her other two fingers into you, and rubs it just like she did before, studying your face for a reaction.

"right there!“ your head lulls back, each breath coming high-pitched and every muscle tense. your hips rock against her hand and she starts circling your clit faster, adding just the right amount of pressure.

that, and her other hand sneaking up your body to roll your nipple between two of her fingers, is all it takes.

“jackie-“ you never get to finish what you were going to say. instead, you feel your orgasm washing over you in pulsing waves. a breathless moan dies in your throat when the world around you shifts out of focus and your thighs shake violently around her wrist.

just like that, you come, coating her fingers in your release as your legs give out beneath you. somewhere through the sensations, you hear jackie’s whine when your fingers slip from her, but you’re still too caught in the pleasure to really care.

finally, when it fades, you open your eyes to look up at her. jackie is panting and removes her hand from between your legs. she’s still kneeling over you but is quick to settle down in your lap now that you’re no longer holding your weight on your knees.

“here,” she pants, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as the other guides you back between her thighs. you know what to do without any more instructions: you give yourself to her, letting her use your fingers to get herself off too.

jackie slides down onto you, jaw going slack as you slip into her with ease. you hold her by the waist to support the gentle rocking motions that make the floorboards creak.

her nails dig into your skin, leaving half-moon shapes on your shoulder blades, and she cries out quietly. you watch the scene through heavy-lidded eyes while jackie rides your fingers, getting closer and closer to the sounds of skin slapping against skin. she picks up her pace until she’s practically bouncing on top of you, her chest heaving erratically.

jackie is beautiful, you knew this about her already, but -as you watch her cum- you doubt anything else could ever compare to this sight: she pulls you closer so that her mouth is right by your ear and her face is buried in the crook of your neck, repeating your name like a prayer, not stopping even as her body tenses.

her fingers clutch at you desperately, as if you're the only thing that's keeping her grounded, but she doesn't stop. doesn't let up until she's all spent and collapses into your arms. you hold jackie through it, pressing your lips to her temple, your hands steady where she needs them most.

it takes long until you’ve both fully recovered. neither of you recalls how you ended up lying in the messy sheets, with jackie’s head resting on your chest and your fingers combing through her hair. she has her arm draped over your waist, gently stroking across your side. you don’t speak.

eventually, she shifts, pressing her face further into your chest. “we should probably go back down,” jackie murmurs, though she makes no effort to move.

you hum. “do you want to?”

she’s quiet for a moment before shaking her head. “not yet,”

you smile, letting your hand settle on her back. “then we won’t,”

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x female reader #jackie taylor x fem!reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #🦈 anon

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mangionebabymama · 1 day ago

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That Time of the Month — Luigi Mangione

Summary: It’s that time of the month for you, and it’s an instance like none you’ve ever experienced.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of menstruation (blood) and vomiting, fluff

A/N: Based on this ask, thank you, anon! Fun fact: writing this hits different when it’s that time for you (me) too 🥲

It started as a dull ache, the kind that usually lingered in the background and barely affected you. But this morning was different. When you opened your eyes, the pain surged in waves, radiating from your lower abdomen and clawing its way into your lower back, wrapping around the crest of your pelvis. It wasn’t just discomfort—it was sharp, relentless, like a dagger twisting in your gut. A deep groan escaped your lips as you curled onto your side, your hands instinctively pressing against your belly as if you could physically push the pain away from your body for good.

Luigi was standing by the dresser, already dressed for work. His neatly pressed shirt hugged his broad frame, and he was fastening the last button when he turned to look at you. His expression softened instantly, concern flickering across his dark eyes.

“Hey, bella, you okay?” He asked, his voice warm and gentle, with a hint of worry.

Your hair was a mess, your face pale and drawn, and your eyes held a hint of desperation. It didn’t have to take a mirror, more or less, the innate place of your imagination to visualize how abominable you looked at this moment, inside and out. You wanted to brush it off, to reassure him like you usually did. When it came to this time of the month, your periods were never this bad. Sure, you got cramps, but nothing that a heating pad and some ibuprofen couldn’t fix. But this time, it felt different. Your whole body ached—your muscles felt sore and drained, as if you had run a marathon in your sleep. Your breasts throbbed uncomfortably, sensitive even against the soft fabric of your pajama top, hurting from just hanging and protruding off your chest for their dear life. You could feel the tight swell of bloating in your stomach, pressing against the waistband of your sweatpants, making you feel heavier, indisposed than you actually were. The nausea was a constant companion, threatening to overpower you at any moment.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing yourself to sit up. The moment you did, a stabbing cramp made you gasp and clutch your stomach. In an instant, Luigi was beside you, his hands warm and steady on your shoulders. You tried to keep your voice steady, not allowing the tears welling up in your eyes to spill over. But the pain was too much, and you felt a tear escape, betraying your facade strength.

“That doesn’t look fine,” he said, his frown deepening with genuine empathy. “Talk to me, amore. What’s wrong?”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into his touch. “It just hurts more than usual,” you admitted. “My stomach, my back, everything. I feel like absolute garbage.”

Luigi’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied your face. Then, without hesitation, he knelt beside the bed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want me to get some medicine? A heating pad? Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

You appreciated his attentiveness, but even the thought of moving right now felt like too much effort. You felt worn out and depleted even before the day started, frustrating you immensely. Adding to your frustration, you felt unusually irritable, with every minor annoyance getting under your skin for no apparent reason. You found yourself wanting to yell at your uterus for its betrayal, for gripping you like a vice within yourself at the most unexpected yet prolonged moments of time, for making you feel weak despite your pride in handling the pain well with your level of tolerance. The emotional toll was as heavy as the physical pain, if not more.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will help. It just sucks.”

Luigi pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Then let me help you figure it out, bella.”

Just as he was about to rise, a creeping sense of nausea took you by surprise, like an unseen wave gathering strength just before it crashed onto the shore. Without warning, your stomach lurched violently, and a cold sweat prickled your skin, leaving you reeling in its sudden grip.

Uh oh.

“Oh God—” you gasped, scrambling off the bed and bolting to the bathroom.

Luigi trailed behind, worry evident on his face as you staggered, crumpling just in time before the toilet. Your stomach churned relentlessly as you heaved, the intensity causing your whole body to shudder. The bitter taste scorched your throat, and when you finally stopped, a wave of disgust washed over you, leaving you feeling utterly weak. However, as the nausea began to fade, a strange sense of relief crept in. You felt lighter, almost like the significant weight of undergoing this episode of menstruation had been lifted from your stomach. The turmoil was over, and while the aftermath left you feeling weak and embarrassed, there was a glimmer of comfort in knowing that the torment had finally ceased. It was a contradiction; relief coexisted with regret, leaving you appreciative of the release yet painfully aware of the ordeal that brought you here.

A warm hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “Oh, sweetheart,” Luigi murmured, his voice full of sympathy. He reached for a washcloth, running it under cool water before gently wiping your face.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you leaned back against the wall, exhausted beyond words. “I hate this,” you whispered. “I just—this whole cycle has been hell. I feel so fucking disgusting.”

Luigi cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not disgusting, amore,” he said firmly. “You’re in pain. You’re having a rough time. But I’m here, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”

You sniffled, feeling overwhelmed—by the pain, the exhaustion, and the way Luigi looked at you as if you were the most important thing in the world. “You need to go to work,” you mumbled, even though you desperately wanted him to stay.

Luigi shook his head. “No way. I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Luigi—”

“I’m not gonna argue about this.” He helped you up carefully, guiding you back to the bed. “Work can wait. You’re more important.” Knowing not to fight against him, you didn’t dare utter another word as he helped you onto the bed, as he began, “I remember growing up, my sisters had the same thing. Some months, it was unbearable for them. They’d have to stay home from school because the pain was too much. I used to bring them water and blankets, just like this. I know how bad it can get.” His voice became even softer as he gently cupped your cheek again, stressing his need to stay home with you, looking you right in the eyes. “So, trust me when I say work doesn’t matter right now; you do.”

And that did it.

That was it. That was when your emotions completely betrayed you. The floodgates opened, and you broke down in tears, hiding your face in your hands as a wave of embarrassment washed over your body. You didn’t even know why you were crying—was it the pain? The exhaustion? The sheer relief of being cared for so tenderly? Because he knew that his sisters also had terrible periods, too, and you could just picture little curly-haired, doe-eyed Luigi bringing and offering a blanket for his eldest sisters when they were in pain?

“Hey, hey,” Luigi soothed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “Shh, bella, it’s okay. Let it out.”

“I hate this,” you choked out against his shirt. “I feel so stupid for crying.”

“You’re not stupid,” he reassured you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re in pain, you’re overwhelmed, and your body is putting you through hell. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

You clung to him, letting his warmth ground you. He held you like you were fragile but not broken, rubbing soothing circles on your back and whispering sweet nothings in your ear until your sobs subsided into sniffles.

“I got you,” he promised. “Now, let’s get you comfy, yeah?”

You nodded weakly, allowing him to tuck you under the blankets before he disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a heating pad, a glass of water, and a warm cup of tea.

“You’re an angel,” you muttered as he helped you press the heating pad against your stomach.

“No, I’m just a guy who loves his girl,” he replied, the dimples of his smile showing out on his cheeks.

And as you snuggled into the warmth, lulled by Luigi’s presence and the way he gently stroked your hair, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this terrible day wasn’t so unbearable after all.

As the morning passed, Luigi remained at your side, a comforting presence in the soft glow of the sunlit room. His strong yet gentle hands worked their magic as he massaged your lower back in slow, deliberate circles, each movement designed to ease the tension that had knotted your muscles like tight, coiled springs. He was meticulous in his care, ensuring you sipped enough cool, refreshing water throughout the day, his voice soothing and coaxing as he leaned in, planting gentle kisses on your forehead whenever you resisted the urge to drink.

And as the sun's warmth chased away the chill in the air, your stomach finally settled, the discomfort fading. Luigi entered the room with a bowl of hot soup, steam curling invitingly above it. With a smile that lit up his eyes, he sat beside you and offered you small spoonfuls, pausing occasionally to wipe a stray drop from your lips. His touch was tender, conveying nourishment and a deep affection that made your heart swell, wrapping you in a sense of safety and warmth long after each bite.

By the afternoon, just hours after the worst of everything could have happened today, you felt exhausted yet undeniably comforted. Wrapped in his arms, with the warmth of the heating pad against your belly and the soothing weight of his presence grounding you, you finally allowed yourself to relax.

“Thank you,” you murmured sleepily, your fingers curling against his chest.

Luigi smiled, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Anything for you, amore.”

And with that, you drifted off at long last, safe in the arms of the man who loved you more than anything and would do anything to make you feel better.

Tag List: @daydreamingwithluigi @mailovesreading @wannabenugget @paolavallado @chipsxsalsa @yancii @briarloves

#mangionebabymama works #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x yn #crying thinking about little Luigi being there for his sisters

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nmhdreamscape · 12 hours ago

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my turn! ✧ l.hc

pairing | dad!haechan x fem!reader

request | "sry to ask again but could you write whiny husband Haechan getting jealous of his son cause you give him more attention then Haechan by peppering him with kisses or cuddling him the whole time pls? (make it long if you can pls)"

word count | 944

content | fluff, slightly suggestive, jealousy, you and hyuck have a son, making out

“mum!” you heard a tiny yell sound down the hallway as the front door opened. you looked up at the clock, school was indeed over for the day. poking your head out of the laundry, you watched as your son came barrelling down the hallway towards you. you bent down to catch him, the boy landing in your arms quite harshly, earning a grunt from you.

“how was school today, baby?” you asked with a smile, squeezing him into a hug. you truly treasured small moments like this. moments where you could just truly take in your son. you pressed a flurry of kisses onto his cheeks as he tried to squirm away. when he finally broke free from your tirade of affection, he began to recount his day.

“and, we learned about dinosaurs today! dowon said the t-rex was the coolest but i thought it was the brac- bracio- bachi…” he trailed off, really trying hard to remember the name correctly. you let out a small giggle, pinching his cheek.

“brachiosaurus?” you quizzed, knowing you were right. what made it even better was watching the way his eyes lit up in delight at you knowing exactly what he meant.

“yeah that one! how’d you know that mum, you’re so smart.” he marvelled, leaning into your touch as you stroked his hair.

“anything else happen?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was finished with his story.

“nope, i thinked that’s it.” he smiled up at you, looking like the direct copy of his father. you pressed a final kiss to his cheek before standing up again.

“it’s thought baby, not thinked.” you corrected, ruffling his hair. “why don’t you go and have a shower, i’ll make sure there’s a snack waiting for you when you get out.” the promise of food was enough to make your son take off running. you let out a hearty laugh, watching as his small frame disappeared upstairs.

the sound of someone clearing their throat rather loudly snapped you out of your motherly daze. you turned your head to find donghyuck leaning against the wall in the hallway, almost as if he hadn’t moved from the moment your son had greeted you. he was standing there with his trademark pout adorning his lips. you let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes as you made your way over to him. as you got closer, he backed further away. you raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“what’s up with you?” you questioned half-heartedly as you moved towards your husband once again. this time, donghyuck didn’t back away and welcomed you into his space. his arms naturally came to wrap around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. you looked up at him, waiting for your answer.

“i don’t get hellos like that.” he whined, pout still present on his lips. you let out a laugh in disbelief, hand coming up to clutch at your chest.

“seriously?” you stared at him in disbelief. you watched as a slight redness began to appear on donghyuck’s ears. biting a lip to surprise a laugh at his embarrassment, you watched as he stepped out of your grasp.

“yes seriously! you didn’t even say hi at all.” he continued in a huff, arms coming to cross over his chest. you just watched on in amusement, wondering how he could get jealous over his own son, of all people.

that’s when you heard the shower turn on, signalling your son was doing what he was told. it also signalled that the two of you now had some time alone. without much of a second thought you cornered your husband up against the wall, standing up on your toes so that you were now eye level with him. your noses brushed against one another as your breaths mingled, your husband staring down at you in anticipation.

“hi.” you whispered, as your arms came to rest around his neck once again. his hands came down to grip at your waist, eyes not so subtly drifting down to your lips.

“hey.” was all the response either of you needed. your lips crashed together hurriedly, donghyuck surging forward, so now you were pressed against the wall on the other side of the hallway.

while you had missed your son while he was away at school, you also missed this. the feeling of donghyuck pressed up against you after a long day of work. your kisses were messy and rushed, his tongue slipping inside your mouth with ease as you began to tug on the hairs at the nape of his neck. the two of you could easily lose yourself in the sensation, donghyuck beginning to trail open mouth kisses down the column of your neck. however, that was soon to be interrupted.

“mum! dad! there’s a spider in the bathroom! i’m scared.” you both heard your son yell from upstairs, causing you both to pause and stare at one another. in assessing each other dishevelled state, you began to laugh, attempting to make yourselves look somewhat presentable, so your son wouldn’t ask questions you couldn’t quite answer.

“i better go deal with that and i’ll finish dealing with you later.” he winked, giving you a light tap on the ass as he walked away. you simply shook your head, watching as he disappeared up the steps.

“i’ll be waiting.” you called out from the kitchen, having moved to prepare your son the snack you had promised. moments like those with donghyuck you treasured as well, especially with the promise of what was to come later on once you both tuck your son into bed for the night.

masterlist requests and asks are open!

#nct dream #nct dream x reader #haechan x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #haechan #nct x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fluff #haechan imagines #haechan fluff #nct haechan #lee haechan #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #haechan scenarios #haechan reactions

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hellodarling1357 · 3 days ago

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More Than A Moment: Part 1 - Cassian x Reader (AU!)

What? A post? A whole new fic? After months of broken promises (rip me)?

I sporadically got the inspo to write today and this idea just flowed on out and all but wrote itself!

Is this a stand alone? A multi-part (I hope so)?

Who knows!

Either way, I hope you enjoy 🥰

Summary: After a drunken night between friends, just friends, nothing more, Y/N and Cassian’s lives end up changing forever. But maybe not in the way they had originally expected.

Word Count: 1.5k

“Cassian!” You shout through the door, one fist pounding on the wooden frame as the other, hidden away in your coat pocket, held tightly to what had felt like a lifeline since you had raced to the store just over an hour ago.

“Cassian! I swear to god if you don’t open the door right now…” You took a step back as your fist met the air, the words dying in your throat as a girl with sleep mussed hair, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that you knew belonged to Cassian, stared back at you with a look of distaste.

“What?” The girl asked, stifling a yawn as her eyes blatantly looked you up and down, a smirk spreading across her lips as she took in your frazzled appearance. “We’re a little busy here, so…”

You blinked at her before pushing past and making your way inside the small apartment, ignoring the girl’s protest as you beelined for Cassian’s room, stopping momentarily as the door opened before you could reach it.

“Y/N. Hey,” the man in question was straightening out a tight black t-shirt, having clearly put on the closest items of clothing he could reach. “I didn’t expect to see you today, especially not at 8 am on a Sunday morning…”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay, alright. Could this not have waited until a more reasonable time?”

“Cass, please…”

Clearly picking up on the slight plea in your voice, he nodded, a slight furrow to his brow as he studied you a moment longer before turning to the girl who remained bristling by the front door.

“Hey,” he started, beckoning the girl towards him, you cringed as you took a seat on the couch, not wanting to be a part of the scene that was about to unfold. “So last night was fun, yeah? But I think there’s a few things I need to deal with here so we should probably wrap this up for now?”

“Oh? So you want me to leave?” You rolled your eyes as she clung to him, battering her lashes in hopes of changing his mind as he led her back into his room to help her collect her things, not missing the daggers she sent your way when Cassian’s back was turned.

“It’s not that I want you to leave… But I’ll call you. Soon, alright?”

“You better.”

Barely managing to conceal your scoff you busied yourself with your phone as she pulled him down into a lingering kiss.

“Alright, well get home safe and thanks again for last night…” Cassian trailed off and your attention flickered over in disbelief as he clearly tried to scramble for the poor girl’s name.

“Rebecca. My name’s Rebecca.” Her icy tone was a stark contrast as she moved out of his grasp.

“Of course, I know your name. How could I forget? I was just deciding whether I wanted to start calling you babe or baby.”

You didn’t attempt to hide the disgust at your friend as he shot the girl a charming smile that had her swooning as she said her goodbyes - all iciness melting into a flirtatiously shy smile as she stared up at him from under heavy lashes.

“You really can be a pig sometimes, you do realise that?” You said without looking up from your phone once Cassian had shut the door behind the girl.

“What?” He asked, voice laced in indignation as he slumped onto the couch beside you.

“Oh I dunno, do I call you babe or baby? Of course I remember your name, random-girl-I’ll-never-actually-call.” You lowered your voice into a mockery of his own before being met with a pillow to your face as Cassian got up and headed towards the bathroom.

“Hey, I just got rid of a perfectly nice girl for you. No need for the disrespect. What’s so important anyway? You know I love to see you and all that, but usually not at this time.” He leant against the bathroom door, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he stared at you waiting for an answer.

Right.

You had almost forgotten that you were here for a reason other than witnessing one of your closest friends be a complete dick to a girl he’d spent the previous night with.

“Oh… Um yeah it’s all good. Get dressed or whatever then we can chat.”

Cassian stared at you for a moment longer before shrugging and returning to the bathroom. You slumped back as soon as you were out of sight, squashing the pillow Cassian had previously whacked you with against your face as your thoughts raced through your head. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

By the time Cassian was ready, you had had enough time to work yourself into a somewhat frantic state as you paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to even bring up the reason why you had almost knocked down his door on a seemingly normal Sunday.

“Jesus, what’s up with you this morning?” Your head whipped around to face Cassian, freezing mid-pace to stare at him like a deer in headlights. When the only reply you could muster was the very unsubtle opening and closing of your mouth, Cassian let out a sigh as he reached for his shoes. “Well, seeing that you appear to have a whole heap of pent up energy, we’re walking to the cafe down the street. Your shout for waking me up and prematurely ending what was sure to be a very satisfying Sunday morning.”

You scrunched your nose but nodded all the same as you silently headed towards the door, missing the concerned look on Cassian’s face as his eyes trailed your retreating figure before he jumped up to follow you out.

——

The ten minute walk was silent except for the slight crunch of autumn leaves under foot as the pair of you narrowly avoided the early risers who were jogging past along the footpath and manoeuvred around the copious stream of families with young children enjoying the crisp morning air; your heart rate soared as you tried to control your breathing

Cassian managed to score a secluded table tucked away by the window, thanking the waiter for the menus and water as you stared past him in a daze, your mind reeled of how to approach telling him what had happened, what had resulted from…

A large hand waving in front of your face had you blinking in surprise.

“Y/N?”

“Yep. Hi.”

Cassian gave you another quizzical look but was halted from saying anything else as the waiter returned, asking about coffee and food orders.

“Just a long black for me, thanks.”

You could hear your heartbeat and wouldn’t be surprised if everyone around you could as well.

“Y/N?” Cassian gave you a soft kick under the table, pulling your attention to the waiter who was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, um… Just a latte. Thank you,” Shit. Could you even have coffee now? “Wait. I mean, no. Just a tea. Peppermint, please. If you have it. Sorry.” Your voice trailed after the waiter as he nodded and walked off with a shake of his head. So far, this was not going well.

“Alright, what has gotten into you?” The immediate retort of ‘um you?’ was held back by a bite of your tongue. “You better not be here confessing your love for me. I mean we spoke about this, right? It was just a one off, drunken night between two friends who both happen to be very attractive.”

Some of the tension left your shoulders as you offered a small smile in appreciation of Cassian’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“You’re not actually in love with me are you?” You rolled your eyes at the slight panic in his expression, deciding not to take it as an insult. “I mean, I love you, but, you know, as a friend. Because we’re friends. We’re all friends; me, you, Rhys, Az, Feyre, Mor…”

“Cassian,” you let the smile grow a bit as he prattled on. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Oh, thank god. No offence.” He offered you a guilty looking smile which softened as he nodded in encouragement for you to continue.

“But I did want to talk about that night…” You trailed off, trying to gauge Cassian’s response as he quirked his head to the side and furrowed his brows in confusion. Well, here it goes. Taking in a deep breath, you reached into your pocked and placed the pregnancy test on the table.

“Cass, I’m pregnant.”

----------

I have so many ideas for this and how I want to continue it but would love to hear your thoughts!!

#cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #feyre acotar #azriel acotar #slow burn #friends to lovers #acotar #marley writes

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doodlemcjazzhands · 14 hours ago

Note

Hi! My friend is a big fan of your art, and they asked me to ask you for tips on how you draw hair. I'm no artist, so I probably shouldn't be the one to ask these questions, but would you mind sharing a few suggestions? Any pointers about your character designs or your art style would be greatly appreciated. Thanks so much, and hope you're having a good day! <3

Hiya!! I tried to breakdown my approach to drawing hair here, but these are by no means hard and fast rules! Hope this helps :)

1: The Hairline

I usually start with the hairline. I like to break it down into 4 main sections, that I can play around with:

I like to try to line up the temple section with the ridge of the side plane of the head

Try to have the hairline follow the natural flow and planes of the head

There's a gap between the hairline and the ear (often it gets covered up by longer strands of hair, but if you're drawing a short cut or pulled back hair, you'll probably see it)

2: The Silhouette

I like to draw out the silhouette next. Sometimes I'll use the lasso and fill tool, so I don't get wrapped up in extraneous details.

Try focusing on finding an appealing shape for the hair, and how it will frame the face

Consider how thick you want the hair to be and it's texture

(I find this is also a good time to flip the canvas to make sure the weight feels balanced)

Try to avoid having tangents with facial features, if you're drawing bangs or face framing pieces

Keep in mind how outside factors may affect the hair (like if there's a breeze, or if the character is lying down, or if they've tucked a piece behind their ear, ect.)

Try to keep shape variation in mind. A small shape next to a big shape is often more appealing than 2 medium shapes side by side

I also like to play with a lot of straight/curved line variations to make the shapes look interesting

3: Flow & Volumes

(I usually just visualize this step, rather than drawing it out like this)

Basically try breaking down your silhouette into big volumes, and know where the hair pieces coming from and where they're going.

^For example, the hair on top, is brushed froward, with no defined part, so the chunks that we can see start at a cowlick at the back of the head and spiral out from there. The hair on the bottom however starts at the part, shwoops up, and then cascade down in 2 layers.

^Another note: more layers usually means more volume wherever the layers are placed, longer hair pieces will weigh the hair down, meaning less volume.

4: Details

Once I have an idea of what the hair is doing, I draw out the chunks of hair, following the volumes and flow I've mapped out. Sometimes I'll do a little bit of hatching to indicate volume or texture.

I often like to choose 1 or 2 shapes for my clumps, based on the hair texture, and then repeat those shapes throughout:

Vairy the size of your clumps

Beware of overworking it at this stage, sometimes less is more yk? And too much detail near the face can be distracting

Make lines on the silhouette and lines closer to the front thicker (especially if it's overlapping another line)

You don't have to draw every strand. Sometimes I'll break up big clumps with a thinner inner line, but I try not to go overboard with this. You can also indicate strands by adding little cutouts to the silhouette, like this:

5: Rendering

My process for rendering hair is pretty much the same as it is for anything else. Base colour layer>shadow layer>highlight layer.

I like to use the lasso/fill tool here again for shadows, and then soften them up a bit by going over some of the harsh lines with a pencil brush

For shadows, I usually just do a multiply layer with a lowered opacity, clipped to the base colour layer and then use a bright red or purple colour

Highlights and shadows can also be used to indicate more hair clumps that you haven't drawn in

Try to think of the shadows as big graphic shapes, that fall where the light won't hit, and wrap around the forms of the hair

I personally don't like to go crazy on the highlights, but when I do, it's usually for dark hair, since shadows don't show up as well on darker hair

Shiny glossy hair, usually has brighter highlights with harsher edges

Also black hair isn't usually pure black unless it's a stylization thing or the lighting is reeeally dark

Sometimes once I fill in the hair, I'll look at it and go "ew why's it look dumb now?" Sometimes the warp or liquify tool can help with refining the proportions to rectify this and sometimes you just have to cut your loses and redraw stuff :P

Then as a final touch a may add a few stray strands of hair that break off from the main shape

Ok that's all! Hope your friend has fun drawing hair! Have a great day <33

#how to hair #art talk #asks #sorry this ended up being longer than expected...I like hair

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0omillo0 · 9 hours ago

Text

HAN x READER

| based on the last minlix ig live. you have no idea how mad i am rn. he had to starve himself for this and he cried while eating… I hope he feels better. I love him.

The apartment was dark, save for the soft glow from the city lights outside. You sat curled up on the couch, the ticking clock echoing in the empty room. It was well past midnight, and Han still wasn’t home.

Lately, his absence was becoming a familiar ache. Ever since the Balenciaga photoshoot preparations began, he had been slipping away—physically and emotionally. Late nights turned into early mornings, his once vibrant laughter now replaced by forced smiles and hollow words. He was distant, guarded, and each time you tried to reach him, it felt like he was slipping further out of your grasp.

When the door finally creaked open, you looked up, heart skipping a beat. Han shuffled in, shoulders slumped, hair disheveled, eyes sunken with exhaustion. His frame looked smaller, his clothes hanging more loosely than before.

You stood, hesitating as he dropped his bag carelessly by the door and walked into the kitchen without a word. Following him, you found him staring blankly at the open refrigerator, eyes unfocused. The cold light washed over his face, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

“Han…” Your voice was soft, laced with worry. “Did you eat today?”

His shoulders stiffened, fingers tightening around the fridge door. “I’m fine.” The words were clipped, emotionless.

You took a cautious step closer. “You’ve been skipping meals. You’re overworking yourself… You need to take care of yourself.”

His head dropped, a bitter laugh slipping past his lips. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.” You reached out, but he stepped back, eyes blazing as he finally turned to face you.

“You think I don’t want to eat? You think I enjoy starving myself?” His voice was harsh, cracking under the weight of his frustration. “I don’t have a choice! If I mess this up, if I’m not perfect… then what was all this for?” His voice wavered, anger masking the fear underneath.

You opened your mouth to respond, but his words cut through you, sharp and cold.

“Just… stop. Stop trying to fix me. Just leave me alone.” His voice broke at the end, but he quickly turned away, shoulders rigid as he marched to the bedroom and slammed the door.

You stood there, rooted in place, the echo of his words ringing in your ears. Your chest tightened, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You knew he was hurting, drowning under the weight of expectations, the pressure to be flawless. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tears finally fell, silent and heavy.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the night. When you woke the next morning, his side of the bed was untouched, cold. Your chest ached, worry gnawing at you as the hours dragged on.

It was late afternoon when you finally heard noise coming from the kitchen. You hesitated outside the doorway, heart pounding as muffled sounds reached your ears. Moving closer, the sight before you made your breath catch.

Han was sitting on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, surrounded by containers of salad, half-eaten and scattered around him. His hands were trembling, a plastic fork slipping from his fingers as he stared down at the greens in his lap, eyes unfocused, face pale.

He was shaking, his shoulders hunched, body curled in on itself as if trying to disappear.

You stepped into the room, the floor creaking beneath your weight. His head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes before they filled with shame. He quickly looked away, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“Han…” You moved closer, voice gentle. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

His fingers curled into fists, shoulders trembling. “I… I can’t do this.” His voice was hollow, cracking under the weight of his confession. “I’m so hungry… all the time. But if I eat… if I mess up this diet… then what?” His eyes finally met yours, filled with fear and guilt. “What if I ruin everything? What if I’m not good enough?”

Your heart shattered, his pain cutting through you like a knife. You sank to your knees in front of him, hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching him. “You’re more than enough, Han. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He shook his head violently, his shoulders curling inward. “I don’t know how to stop. I can’t stop… It’s never enough.” His voice wavered, raw and vulnerable. “I just… I just wanted to be perfect. For them… for you.”

Tears filled your eyes as you moved closer, finally wrapping your arms around him. His body tensed, rigid and unyielding, before he collapsed against you, his weight heavy and desperate. “I’m so tired,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so… so tired.”

You held him tighter, his head resting on your shoulder, his body trembling as he let go of the control he had clung to for so long. “You don’t have to be perfect. Not for them… not for me. Just be you, Han. That’s enough.”

His fingers gripped your shirt, a broken sob escaping his lips as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You stroked his hair gently, voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “I know. I understand… and it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His body sagged against you, his weight heavy as exhaustion took over. “I don’t know how to fix this…” His voice was small, defeated.

You held him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “We’ll figure it out… together. One step at a time.”

For a long time, you stayed there on the cold kitchen floor, wrapped around each other as the world outside continued without you. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, holding on, refusing to let go.

You could feel his heartbeat slowly calming, his breathing evening out as he finally let himself rest. You tightened your grip, whispering a promise against his hair, a vow that no matter how dark it got, you would be there, right beside him, helping him find his way back to himself.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @omgsecretsecret @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon @hyunjiiza @jisunggy

#han stray kids #stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han x reader #stray kids imagines #han jisung angst #han jisung fluff #han x you #han x y/n #han angst #han fluff

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revelboo · 1 day ago

Note

I was rereading Gravity because it was one of my inspirations for the song I ended up writing about Optimus and I just realized I accidentally made it a waltz.

https://www.tumblr.com/mi-mi-ri/775082342247202816/sneak-peek-of-the-optimus-prime-x-yn-song-ive?source=share

I wanted to share a bit of it because your fics have been helping me emotionally so much 😭🫶

This is so cool! I’m glad you’ve been feeling creative 💕

Gravity- one shot Waltz

Optimus x Reader

• “Do Cybertronians dance?” Lifting his head from a report at your question, he watches you move around his desk. Dancing by yourself when he’d give anything to dance with you. Would you let him? Or would that be another line you draw and refuse to let him cross. Afraid of letting him get too close. And not even realizing that for him, it’s too late. Loves your attitude, those quick, mischievous smiles and the sound of your laughter. “Besides the horizontal tango, I mean,” you add, laughing when he frowns slightly.

• That one went right over his handsome head. Most of what you say probably does, but he’s good enough to just look slightly puzzled and to go with it. “We dance.” Motions faltering, you stare up at him. Really? ‘Show me,’ you demand, aware that you sound like a little kid, but this you need to see. “Show you?” He repeats. And maybe you want to dance with him. A real dance not just grinding on a stranger, the air thick with cigarettes and your skin itchy with glitter.

• There’s a challenge in those eyes of yours as he sets his datapad aside and presses him palms against the desk. Vaulting up and mass shifting, stumbling a bit before he finds his balance. And your eyes drift up and down him as he holds out a hand in invitation. Your little hands so soft as he curls his servos around it and sweeps you up against his frame. Aware of how inexperienced he is with this. That while Senator Shockwave had invited him to parties, he’d rarely attended and then only so the other mech could pretend to be occupied talking business with him to avoid being pulled into a dance. They’re all sharkticons, the Senator had whispered once a bit too loud, lips curling into an almost smile. That memory fills him with an unexpected melancholy as he tries to remember the dances he’d seen. Trying to remember the steps. Not what they’d done to the Senator for daring to question them.

• For a moment, there’s something in his expression. Almost pain and he takes an uncertain step, resting a hand against the small of your back. It’s a waltz, you realize. Or something close. Following his slow, uncertain lead, there’s a vulnerability in his hesitant movements. Resting your cheek against his chassis, his palm slides up your spine, servos splayed. You can hear his spark thrumming, those little noises his internal systems make. Familiar sounds. “Thank you for not laughing,” he says, venting to stir your hair. “I know I’m bad at this.”

• Palm shifting against your spine, he chases the steady beat of your heart and the feel of you breathing. Needs those things or he can’t recharge anymore. Needs the feel of you. “You’re really not,” you reply, your free hand on his chassis and tucking his chin to see you, your eyes are closed. Relaxed in his arms as you let him guide you. Those words you don’t want to hear on the tip of his glossa. Wanting to say them anyway even if you get angry with him. To tell you he loves you, but he swallows them down again, spark aching. Taking what little of you that you allow him to have and being thankful for it.

#transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #idw optimus prime

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temporarywelcome · 3 days ago

Text

Hospital Visit - Spencer Reid

REQUESTED!

The Request: Your smooth criminal series is actually perfect!!!! Ahh I love the way you write both of them and their dynamics with the team. Obsessed 💕 Request: Kleptomaniac!Reader twists her ankle or like gets hurt due to practices during a dance and ends up at the hospital and worried spencer comes and sees her stealing little equipments again and her trying to leave because she doesnt want to miss her dance. (I really didn't know how to frame what I was thinking but honestly i think whatever you write will be amazing) -anonymous

CW: swearing, a bit suggestive towards the end. Technically part of my "Smooth Criminal" series though you don't need to read the other parts to understand!

AN: I'm half Dominican so yes I can poke fun of Dominican people 🙄 lmao this character I created for this is loosely based off of my grandpa-. Also totally forgot the "her trying to leave" part so I might make a seperate fic with that, mb...

_____

Words: 2k

Spencer Reid wasn’t one to leave work early.

When there was not a case and the Behavorial Analysis Unit was busy at the office, Spencer never left early. For him, that is ridiculous. Other members of the team like Hotch and JJ would have their moments where they would have to dash out of the building with barely any warning, due to little emergencies with their children. It barley happened, but when it did, it was understandable.

Spencer, on the other hand, did not have children to worry about. He never had a reason to leave work.

Until his phone rang.

Flipping it open, his brows furrowed when he noticed who it was. His girlfriend. Her calling him in the middle of work never raised any alarm. She probably just brought him some lunch again, which she did a few days ago. Or some drama happened in a show she was watching and she just had to let it out. Probably something silly like that.

But, wait! She had said she was going to be at the studio early today to get in some extra practice before rehearsal. So why would she be calling him instead of practicing?

“Hello?” he placed the phone to his ear.

The voice on the other end answered in panic, “Hello? Is this Spencer?”

That was not his girlfriend. Instead, it was a man with a heavy accent, the genius deduced Dominican. What the fuck was she doing with this guy?

“Yes, I’m Spencer, as the contact ID says,” Spencer replied curtly, feeling a hint of jealousy brewing within him, “Who is this?”

“I am Flavio!” the man replied confiently, “Flavio Herrera de León! I-”

“-Why are you calling me from my girlfriend’s phone?” Spencer interrupted in annoyance, “Where is she?”

“Oh!” the man laughed awkwardly, “On the floor! I will be taking her to a hospital now!”

Now Spencer was shooting up to his feet, gathering his things as he spoke, “Hospital?! Why do you need to take her to the hospital? Why is she on the floor?!”

“Very bad injury,” said Flavio, “I worry for her,”

Very bad injury?!

“What do you mean by that?!” Spencer mouthed to Hotch a quick ‘I gotta go’, not waiting for an answer as he sped towards the door, “How bad-”

“-Must take her to hospital. Blood everywhere. Bye bye!” And with that, fucking Flavio hung up the phone, leaving Spencer in an even worst panic. Blood everywhere? What the hell was Y/N doing?

Knowing her, it could have been anything. Every possible thought went through his head, every possibility. She was zoned out and got hit by a car. She tried to befriend a dog that wasn’t very friendly. She fell down a flight of stairs.

She stressed him the fuck out.

After breaking at least twelve traffic laws, Spencer found himself at the ER, pushing past people to get to the receptionist. “Y/N L/N,”

Not looking up at him from her computer, the woman replied with: “Relation to the patient?”

Ugh. “FBI. Let me see her,” he waved his badge at her. He knew this was unprofessional and an abuse of power, but this was his girlfriend. The girl he was planning to marry someday. Who he was convinced stupidly got herself into this medical emergency.

Abuse of power be damned.

He was led through the ER to her room, bursting in. He was expecting tubes and machines connected to her unconscious form, maybe a cast or two. He was expecting to be completely traumatized by the sight before him.

Not his girlfriend shoving surgical gloves into her pockets.

Her head snapped into his direction, eyes wide, but when it hit that it was Spencer and not a doctor, she sighed, body relaxing. “Shit, Spence, why didn’t you just kick the door down while you’re at it?” she said sarcastically.

He did not find her amusing. She didn’t even know if her words registered to him. “What happened?!” he felt like he repeated that quite often today. He cupped her jaw, turning her head in all different directions while looking for any wounds, “That guy said there was blood everywhere! Where are you hurt?!” his eyes went from her face to the rest of her body.

“He’s so dramatic,” Y/N groaned, “There was blood everywhere because I had gotten a bloody nose from hitting the floor.” She grabbed his hands that were now on her shoulders, bringing them to her cheeks. Her eyes closed and lips curled into a smile, nuzzling into him. “No broken nose,”

“Then why the hell are you in the hospital?”

“Sprained ankle. Doctor said I won’t be able to dance for about three weeks,” Her eyes opened, meeting his, and all his anger and anxiety vanished. She was okay. She was safe. Not mauled by a dog or hit by a car.

Safe.

“Next time you get an injury like this, please call me yourself,” Spencer sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “Your friend scared me to death,”

“My friend is super dramatic,” she giggled, already sensing his dislike towards Flavio, “He thought I broke my foot and my nose,”

“Of course he’s dramatic. Birds of a feather flock together,” Spencer tried to joke, hands now resting on her waist, “You know… You never told me you were practicing with this friend. I thought you were practicing alone,”

“Didn’t think I had to specify,” Yeah, he was so jealous, it was so obvious to her.

“You should, so in the case you get kidnapped, I would have somewhere to start-”

“Spence!” she gasped, playfully hitting his shoulder, “Not only is that really anxiety-enducing, but I know for a fact that’s not why you wanted to know.” Y/N smirked, leaning closer to him, “He has a wife, Spence.”

“And? People cheat all the time. About twenty percent of married men cheat on their spouses-”

“How little do you trust me though?” she huffed.

“It’s him I don’t trust,” Spencer corrected himself, “I trust you. Of course, I trust you,” As he spoke, he removed the surgical gloves from her pockets, “Even when you steal all of my things and I have to buy replacements because you lost them after, I still trust you. It’s just…” he trailed off, throwing the now contaminated gloves into the trash bin.

“Just what?” As he distracted himself with the gloves, she reached out and grabbed a handful of q-tips from the table next to the examining bed she sat on, now putting those into her pockets.

Spencer turned to face her again, “It’s just that, with this job, I see so many horrible things happen to women. And the thought of something happening to my woman scares me,” His arms went around her again, “Every time I get a case file and see a woman’s body, it occurs to me how easily it could be you,”

“...damn,” she cleared her throat, looking down, “Gee, now Imma be scared to go outside,”

“No you’re not,” his hands slipped into her pockets, taking out the q-tips. Spencer always noticed everything. “You’re going to continue being you and I’m going to continue worrying about you every time we’re apart. I do wish you would be more careful. I know right now you were with this guy for work-related reasons and you had to, but at least tell me?”

“Mhm,” she nodded softly. He went to throw out the q-tips, and while he did so, she began shoving gauze into her pockets next.

“Put the gauze back,” he said firmly, not even looking at her as he disposed of the material.

“I can’t help it,” a huff left her lips as she tossed the box (yes, she attempted to steal the whole box) back onto the counter.

“Tell me why you need a whole box of gauze, dear,” Spencer always spoke like that when addressing her kleptomania. Why do you need this object you are stealing? And they both would know she didn’t need it, and she would keep repeating that in her head until the urge (hopefully) went away.

“I don’t need a whole box of gauze,” she stated the obvious, taking a deep breath, “I don’t need a whole box of gauze,”

“You don’t need a whole box of gauze,” Spencer confirmed, taking her hands like he always did when she was getting her urges, “Or q-tips. Or surgical gloves. What do you possibly need to examine with those, hm?” he said the last part lightly, nuzzling her nose with his.

A smirk formed on her face as she spoke, “You?”

“Me? And how would you do that?”

“Can examine the part of you I love most….” she trailed off, in thought, “Wait, that’s hard. That was supposed to be me saying your dick however is that really what I love most? ‘Cause, like, look at you,”

She always knew how to make his cheeks burn red. “What else do you love then?”

“Oooh, where do I begin?” she threw her arms up in the air dramatically, “Okay, let me start with your facial features…”

____

By the time she was cleared by a doctor and allowed to leave the room, Spencer had a good hickey or two (four actually) on his neck and a giddy expression on his face. Once in the waiting room, a man shot up seeing Y/N, Spencer immediately assuming Flavio.

“Ah, mi flor,” he exclaimed, examining her all over, “Nothing is broken! How good!”

“Yep, all good,” Y/N replied, “Flavio, meet my boyfriend, Spencer. Spencer, meet Flavio, one of my dance partners for my current show,”

Spencer and Flavio shook hands, Y/N giggling softly at the look Spencer was giving him. Oh, she knew damn well Spencer was profiling the fuck out of him. To most people, Spencer looked like he had a blank expression on his face, but Y/N knew him better. There was something about Flavio that Spencer did not like. She wasn’t sure if it was the simple fact this was a man who spends alone time with his woman, or something else entirely.

“It is so nice to meet you, Spencer!” Flavio shook his hand cheerfully, “I have heard many good things about you!”

“Oh, really?” that made Spencer cheer up slightly, “I’m glad to hear that,” he draped an arm around Y/N’s waist. Spencer didn’t look like the type, but he was incredibly possessive, which was fine, because Y/N was possessive as fuck over him. Spencer precieved everything friendly said to her as flirting, though, when someone actually flirted with him he wouldn’t catch it. It was cute, but also frustrating, because then the only way to get these people to leave him alone is a threat or two coming from her.

Flavio opened his mouth to speak, but paused when his phone rang. He flipped it open, seeing the caller ID. “Ah, I must take this. My girlfriend is calling,”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, “I thought you were married?”

“Yes yes, I am,” the dancer shrugged, “My wife is here. My girlfriend is in la Republica Dominicana,” And with that, he was off, babbling into the phone.

“I told you,” Spencer rolled his eyes, glaring at Flavio’s retreating form in disgust, “Twenty percent,”

“You best not be part of that twenty percent in the future or I’ll end up being an unsub your team has to catch,” Y/N threatened lightly, pinching his side.

“Hey!” he gasped, “What makes you think- wait,” hard stop, “Does that mean you see yourself marrying me someday?”

She smirked, beginning to walk (limp) towards the exit, “Hmmmm, maybe?”

“Wait! Wait, you can’t just drop that and wobble away from me!” He followed after her, a huge shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

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redamoureux · 15 hours ago

Note

Can i request some tf2 headcanons of some of the mercenary boys (it can be anyone i dont mind and i honestly have a hard time pick also i dont know if you have a character limit)developing a crush on someone from the enemy team(reader), who found the respective merc injured in a corner, and instead of finishing them off they hand the merc a nearby health kit and just tell them to be safe before running away. Hopefully that's something you'll do and thanks for letting me request! I really like your writing style and your little art doodles are always a pleasure to see!! Thanks again byebye hope you have a good day!

╰﹒ARE YOU FALLING IN LOVE?

General Red/Blu Engineer, Sniper, Spy headcanons/short

• genre: romantic

• a/n: Hey! Sorry for the super late answer- this was just kinda stuck in my draft so sorry for that! ( >_<) Also, glad to hear you enjoy my doodles :) also i like your idea, it actually reminds me alot of how i potray my verison of reader so that may have made me a little carried away while writing this- And yeah, i apologize if my rules aren't very clear, the character limits are around 3-4!

Engineer

Dang nabbit!

That stupid snake spy was up to it again. Sapping his buildings and hiding like a coward. A few fragments of the broken sentry manage to crash on his leg when he tried to fix it but it suddenly exploded likely due to misconception in the system.

Engineer groaned as he try to remove the metal off him which only resulted more pain to his crushed leg. Earlier on, the spy was able to land a few shots which he was able to barely survive from by pretending to be dead.

He was seriously going to get back at him at the next round. He vowed and began forming some sinistrous plans mentally as he still tried getting back up again.

As he looked around the surroundings, his eyes snapped to the health kit nearby. He knew it's hopeless at this point, but he tried just once again to reach it.

Suddenly, the sounds of distant shouting caught his attention. He looked at the corner where the noise was coming from and froze, hearing footsteps and a shadow coming closer to where he is.

Engineer could only stare, taking out his pistol and ready to give his best.

He was about to shoot when he sees your head peeking out the corner and the two of you lock eyes.

You gasped faintly, retreating back your head again, making engineer drop his gun down a little. For a while he only observes, expecting you to pop out again and this time with a weapon.

To his surprise however, you only slowly came closer with your medi-gun and stood infront of him, this made him distracted and you looked to the side seeing the health kit. He also look at the direction you were looking and then you two look back at each other.

You walked towards the kit and picked it up and came close to him as he watches closely, loosely letting the pistol down. You kneel down beside him and handed him the health kit, to which he can only gawk at for a moment before accepting it. You then peer at the metal scrap crushing his leg and motion to him to push it off while you try to lift it up.

At last, with some struggle, you succesfully were able to remove the scrap off.

He thanked you, feeling certainly grateful for your aid. You only smiled and nodded making engineer blush. Then you stood back up, picking your medi gun and gave him a final glance and a wave on your way back to outside.

He can only gaze at your frame leaving, still blushing and thinking about what just happened even while fixing himself up.

Sniper

Ah, piss.

Sniper was so close on pulling the trigger on a enemy's head when he just had to be shot a few times near his chest and shoulder by another sniper.

Now he's currently sitting on the floor, unable to really move due to his wounds. The medic is obviously too busy and far from his spot so all he could do for now is keeping his guards up while trying to ease the pain with some bandages he had.

As he's paying close attention to the ongoing battle, His eyes landed on you emerging from behind a rock, healing your team's scout with your medigun while charging forward.

Now his interest shifted from the enemy's fighting to just paying attention to you instead. He'd seen you time to time through the scope but usually you'd stay behind as extra help. He wasn't sure why sometimes when he aims for you, he'd hesitated. It's almost somewhat wrong.

His thoughts were interrupted by the stinging pain in his shoulder as he groan and lean closer to the wooden window. Suddenly your team soldier's shout rang aloud alerting about his presence.

Sniper panicked as he push himself far away from the wooden window, hearing fast footsteps rapidly approaching his spot. He took his kukri and prepare himself to fight.

Shortly to his surprise though, only you were the one who came. He was really close to attacking─ yet there it is again. The odd hesitating feeling. While being confused with his own choices, you took the medkit you found just outside and offered it to him. While you only smile, sniper is left dumbfound. By the fact that you're not trying to kill him here and there, but also because he did not notice there was even a health kit literally sitting feets away from him.

As he took the kit from you to heal himself, you also proceed to use your medigun to slightly fasten his healing process before you hear your name being called. You call back to them, confirming that you're okay. You gave him a wave and a warm smile before you quickly ran out to your team.

Sniper only sat down there at one of the crate boxes as he proceed the aimless thoughts in his mind about this encounter with you. Well, atleast now it seems like he knows the reason why he's so hesitant to hurt you.

Spy

Oh it's just perfect.

Spy sighs deeply in annoyance as he sat down in a corner with his burnt leg, arm and wounded stomach. His broken Invisibility watch in his hand as his attempts on turning it back on didn't work as it only let out a few sharp electric sparkings.

Great. His invis watch is broken and he is still in the enemy's section with the high possibility that anyone could easily figure out where he is. He feels oddly dreadful about this whole situation as he imagined the worst scenario that could happen in his mind.

It was all oddly quiet at first before he heard a few distinct voices and footsteps passing by. He tries to focus more on where the steps are heading to so he could escape before they caught him first.

He feels rather confused and irritated by the random noises and constant back and forth steps, combined with the pain he's feeling makes him want to just scream but he holds back. He takes deep breath and stood up and accidently hitting his wounded arm which he let out a yelp before he shuts himself up.

It was too late though. He heard some yelling and a brief talk before he hears footsteps once again. He tries to get away but it seems like he was not fast enough as by then, you appeared by the entrance.

You two stared at each other for a moment before he took out his revolver and aim it at you, but you quickly shot it away with your syringe gun.

Spy only looked at his hand then at you in shock. And he realizes that he's basically helpless at the hands of the enemy now.

So close to accepting this defeat, he stumble back and sat down with a tired and dejected look, closing his eyes.

Instead of a quick shot in the head, he felt something being dropped on his lap and a sudden soothing sensation enveloping his body. Confused, spy opens his eyes to see you standing infront of him, using your medigun on him and a healthkit on his lap. He's left baffled by this and was about to ask just what you were doing but you only shush him by nodding softly.

So the two of you only settled in silent as your medigun continue to help speeding up the process. He decided to take out another cigarette, placing it in his mouth and was about to light it up, but he wasn't able to find his lighter anywhere. Just then a lighter reached near his face and lighten the cigarette up for him. Your face was close to his, with the flame illuminating the small details on your face as he stares at you with wide eyes.

Even when you pulled away, spy was still stuck in daze for a moment before he blushes in embarrassment at the gesture. Thankfully you weren't able to see his face with that mask.

He cleared his throat and thanked you in an almost sheepish manner and you smiled in return, giving him a thumbs up. Then you used your syringe gun and shoot at one of the empty bottle laying around before you wink and walked out hurridly.

REBLOGS/ FEEDBACK/ COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!

@redamoureux

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sturniololuvz · 1 day ago

Note

a fic where the boys are trying to vlog in the kitchen and then 4 year old sister interrupts it xx

yess omgggg

“Kitchen Chaos: Take 1”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none

The triplets had set up everything perfectly for their cooking vlog. They’d planned to make their famous homemade pizza, with Chris doing the cooking, Matt handling the camera, and Nick making sure everything went smoothly. Or, at least, that was the plan.

“Alright, guys, welcome back to the channel!” Matt said, grinning as he held the camera steady. “Today, we’re making some killer homemade pizza. First, we’re gonna make the dough from scratch, and you guys are gonna watch as I—”

Smash.

The loud sound echoed through the kitchen as Chris, who had been spreading sauce on the dough, froze mid-motion.

“Uh… What was that?” Nick asked, glancing toward the doorway.

Before anyone could answer, a tiny figure ran into the kitchen at full speed, cutting through Matt’s frame and sending the camera tilting sideways.

“Y/N!” Chris yelped, looking up just in time to see their 4-year-old sister—dressed in one of his oversized sweatshirts, of course—run directly into the counter, slamming into a jar of flour that wobbled dangerously.

Y/N giggled as she tugged at the apron Chris had tied around himself. “Can I help make pizza?!” she asked enthusiastically, as if she hadn’t just interrupted the entire video.

“No, no, no,” Chris said, trying to redirect her while still holding the pizza dough in one hand. “Y/N, not right now.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening. She darted to the side, grabbed a rolling pin, and whacked it onto the counter, sending flour dust into the air.

“Y/N!” Matt groaned as he fumbled with the camera, which had slipped out of focus. “Seriously?”

The camera now pointed at the floor as Y/N happily banged the rolling pin against the dough Chris had carefully prepared.

“Hey, no—!” Chris tried again, but Y/N was quicker. She took the rolling pin and started rolling it over the dough, completely flattening it in a haphazard way that was far from the neat, professional-looking pizza dough they were supposed to be showing off.

The flour jar tipped over, spilling everywhere, and Y/N squealed in delight. “Look! I did it!” she said, holding the rolling pin like a sword, flour splattering across the entire counter.

The triplets just stood there, frozen for a second, watching their baby sister ruin the pizza dough they had spent so much time on.

“No!” Matt said, trying to salvage what was left of the shot, though his voice cracked. “This was supposed to be a cooking vlog, not a disaster.”

Chris sighed, dropping the dough. “I can’t do anything with that now.”

Y/N continued to enthusiastically destroy the pizza dough, using the rolling pin like a toy and slapping it across the counter. “Pizza!” she shouted, spinning around.

“Alright,” Nick said, with a long exhale. “I’m calling it. This is officially chaos. We’re done.”

Y/N stopped spinning for a second and looked up at him, her face lighting up. “We’re done? Yay!” she cheered, excited that she’d successfully destroyed their whole vlog plan.

Matt rubbed his temples. “Well, we were done, but now… we have no pizza.”

Y/N just grinned and tried to make a new batch of dough with the flour she had scattered everywhere.

Chris laughed despite himself. ��I guess this is our pizza making 101… the ‘Y/N Edition.’”

Matt shook his head, turning the camera back to face him. “Alright, guys, we tried to make pizza. It didn’t go well. Maybe next time. But, honestly, this is just how it goes when you have a four-year-old sister in the kitchen.”

Y/N ran past him, her hands full of flour, and waved. “Bye! Pizza’s ready!” she shouted, and with that, she was out of frame.

Chris, still holding the rolling pin, raised an eyebrow. “Well, at least we can say it was… memorable?”

“Memorable?” Matt repeated. “Dude, I think we might be getting a lot of comments on this one.”

Nick was still trying to clean up the flour mess. “No kidding. Let’s just hope people find this as funny as we do.”

Chris chuckled, finally giving in. “If they don’t, at least we know we’ve created something iconic.”

With the camera still rolling, Matt let out a dramatic sigh. “And that’s it for today’s disaster vlog, folks. Thanks for watching.”

The triplets looked at each other, then at the mess in the kitchen, and laughed.

It may not have been the cooking vlog they had planned—but it was definitely one that their fans would never forget.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sister sturniolo #sturniolo series

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mychlapci · 3 days ago

Note

I see you anon. Consider Tarn kneeling on the ground in front of a mirror, sucking his binky pretending it’s Megatron’s clit and humping the air. His silly spike is dripping transfluid on the floor, but he knows better than to touch. His lord hasn’t given him permission… Even just the thought of worshipping Megatron’s array has him wild with lust, though, so he can’t help watching himself in the mirror. Whimpering and moaning around his pacifier at how pathetic and debauched he looks, cock aching. Frame heating and mind fogging before he finally has to give up, knowing he can’t overload untouched—or worse, without permission.

It’s his bedtime routine, at this point. Practice licking and sucking node on his binky while his own pathetic clitty bounces and drips. Try not to cry as he locks it up to make sure he doesn’t hump the berth and cum in his recharge. Suck his pacifier for comfort as he tries to fall asleep, spike still throbbing in his cage like a good servant. And then wake up achingly hard and denied after a night of wet dreams involving Megatron :)

Maybe if he’s extra lucky (and pathetic) someone will catch him humping the air and step on his cock while he suckles and whines. If Tarn manages to cum from that, they’ll let him lick it off… and swipe the nipple of his pacifier through the rest as a treat to shut him up.

he's honestly soooo pathetic... no one's making him do this. he's just so horny for Megatron he has to torture himself about it. in fact, i bet Megatron would even find it gross. maybe he calls Tarn disgusting one day and poor Tarn just cums into his panels on the spot.

#valveplug #texty #scheduled

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on-wine-dark-seas · 1 day ago

Text

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 V. 温泉 Ōnsen

Sukuna was right about one thing: she is not strong enough to contend with the likes of him.

When she initially made her demand that he teach her this jujutsu that he claimed she has the gift for, she hadn’t known what to expect. Her brother had taught her to defend herself insofar as she needed to escape, but to be trained to become an active combatant? Šetû thinks perhaps she might have gotten ahead of herself.

“You can’t control it if you aren’t aware of it!” Sukuna barks as he sends her tumbling through the soft snow. Her body hurts, and she still cannot understand the concepts Sukuna has explained to her, sometimes with a harsh strike to teach her the lesson.

“Where the fuck does it come from?” She grouses back. “I can’t…” She searches for the word, frustrated with her own failure. “I can’t…attune to it?”

Sukuna frowns, and before Šetû can blink he closes the distance between them. One step is all she sees, and then suddenly his broad muscular frame fills her vision. She clamps her teeth to contain the squeal of terror that almost gets out. Sukuna snorts, looking down at her with what she comes to understand is his signature frown.

“I am going to touch you,” he growls, and Šetû isn’t sure she’s imagining it in the cold, muted light of the day, but is that a spot of color in his brown cheeks? “Is this acceptable?”

Šetû relaxes, hands dropping to her sides. She nods wordlessly.

Sukuna steps behind her, taking a knee. She tries to keep from trembling, even as one of his hands comes, large enough that she knows a fist from him will be the last blow she receives. Instead, he splays his fingers over her belly. His palm is warm even through her tunic, and he presses his hand to her belly while another splays against her back, supporting her.

“Here,” his deep voice rumbles. “Your cursed energy comes from here, but it travels through your body like blood. You are perfectly capable of controlling it because I’ve seen you do it when you—”

Šetû turn around, startles when she finds herself face to face with him, unnervingly close. She steadies her breath.

“When I dance?” She supplies quietly. There it is again: that spot of warm-blooded color in his cheeks as he suddenly looks down where his hands have switched places, still spanning her belly and lower back. She stands as solid as an oak, needing no support, but he supports her all the same.

“Yes,” he agrees. “But it’s no good to you if you aren’t aware of what you’re doing. If anything, you’ll die faster out there.”

She frowns.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she grouses. Sukuna doesn’t take his hand away, his brow pinched as if he’s listening or watching for something.

“It wasn’t,” Sukuna says absently. “You are beginning to bore me and if you don’t improve soon, I may do something drastic…like throw you to a curse and see how you fare. Or I’ll just…start cutting you.”

Šetû makes an indignant sound.

“Well have you thought that perhaps your teaching methods may not fit?” She demands. Sukuna’s eyes flash at her.

“I told you I wasn’t a fucking teacher, Asiri,” he snaps, but it comes out as a growl and every fine hair on her body stands on end. Since coming to the shrine two moons prior, she has learned to navigate his cursed energy when he is present. It still crawls against her skin like a brutal ant march, but over time it has become not unlike a pleasant hum…almost comforting. It makes her sleep easier knowing that his very presence keeps this place safe.

But the way he growls her name makes her hair stand on end for other reasons she isn’t quite ready to dissect. She swallows hard. He’s right: he did tell her he was no teacher, but she can’t think of anyone else she can learn from, and he is the strongest…so the legends say.

She thinks of the human remains hanging in his icehouse.

Sometimes legends are truer than one can stomach believing.

“Are you still taking opium?” Sukuna asks. Šetû hesitates but at his warning look, she looks away.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “Helps me sleep.”

“Then you will need to learn to sleep without it,” Sukuna says. “It’s slowing you down and blocking your ability to focus. It’s also incredibly expensive.”

Fear seizes her at the thought. Nightmares she has been working to bury for two moons reach for her with eidolons’ fingers. Sukuna’s hold on her tightens.

“Hey!” He snaps. “Look at me.”

She meets his gaze.

“That fight is over,” he tells her. “You lost that fight, but you’re alive. Stop dwelling on it. Remain present.”

Šetû nods, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, the telltale prick of tears in her eyes. Sukuna is torn because he wants to reach up, dash the tears from her eyes, but she is chewing herself up with a guilt that is neither hers to bear, nor hers to assuage. He thinks of the coward who did this to her to pay him insult, tries to remember the sorcerers who were present that night. It could have been any one of them, or all of them. Asiri remains reticent on who her assailants were, and he knows better than to crack that shell and risk losing her altogether.

Why the fuck does he care?

He pulls away abruptly, grunting in frustration with himself.

“Have you ever lost a fight?” She asks him quietly. Sukuna stands to his full height, and she looks up at him. No fear, but there is a shadow swimming in her dark gaze. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

“No,” he says. A lie, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I have killed everyone and everything that has ever dared challenge my strength.”

Šetû smiles. “So, I just need to get stronger. Strong enough to beat you. Then I can kill them.”

Sukuna smirks. “You are welcome to try, little flower.”

She freezes. That name again. Heat floods her cheeks.

And then, she lunges for him. Sukuna’s brows go up, but he moves. She’s slow, but she’s lighter on her feet than previously. Her strikes are surer, but he catches each one effortlessly. She moves relentlessly, a fierce determination in her eyes. A goad to her pride is all it takes? Sukuna lets himself chuckle derisively. Pathetic. But whatever works, he supposes.

Again and again, the thud of her little fists against his palms. Again, he keeps her at an easy distance, sees sweat and frustration mounting as she pulls back, panting.

“You’re impossible,” she grouses, wiping sweat from her face with a disgusted sound.

“And you’re slow,” Sukuna says back, smug and superior. He holds up his four hands, and the maw on his belly splits open into a grin.

Šetû lets out a yelp of surprise, and Sukuna’s two mouths bark with laughter.

“Ah, I forgot you’ve not seen all of what I am,” he says, genuinely amused. “Still want to linger here, little flower? Or will you run, like all the rest, and pray I don’t follow?”

Šetû frowns at him, her shock wearing away into mild agitation.

“Mschewww,” she sucks her teeth. “When I first saw you, I saw the other maw! Only…I did not think I really saw it. I thought it a trick of the light. But no, I will not run. There’s no merit in it when you are so much faster.”

Sukuna sucks his teeth. “You give up so eas—”

She launches herself at him again, gaining a second wind. In the algid morning, they spar. He thinks it is the easiest thing he’s ever done since he first began training Uraume many years prior. She is determined, but there’s no cursed energy in any of her strikes.

“More!” He barks, sees his command electrify her anger. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

She moves, her cursed energy rising, spreading through her limbs. Sukuna’s grin widens as he easily evades one of her kicks.

“More!” He barks again. “Give me more!”

Her cursed energy spreads farther, and her fists ignite. Sukuna’s eyes flare brightly, his grin grotesquely wide, tattooed tongue running over his unusually sharp teeth.

“Yes!” He cries. “That’s it! Keep trying! Keep trying until you bleed, or I do!”

With her cursed energy loaded into her strikes, Šetû feels connection at last. She clings to the source of that energy: her fury, her frustration, her grief.

She sees Sukuna’s grin and excitement growing as she pushes ahead. She tries different ways to try and get at him, but he blocks everything. Four hands seem vastly unfair but maybe if she focuses.

Thunder rumbles over their heads, but she doesn’t care. Her cursed energy—she can feel it—it’s building, bubbling like a pot on the fire, hissing as it spills into the fire of her soul.

“Yes…” Sukuna growls and it sends a shiver down her spine. “Yes…there you go! Now fucking hit me!”

She lets out a shout, and her cursed energy follows her fist. She strikes one of Sukuna’s palms and a split second later—

Sukuna pulls back, eyes wide, staring at the hole in his hand. For a moment Šetû thinks she has angered him, and she tenses with fear. Then, with horrid fascination, she watches as the wound closes, reknitting the flesh, leaving no trace of her strike at all.

“A divergent fist technique?” He murmurs. One of his eyes roll upward, peering up at the sky, then at her. “Hmm…”

“What happened?” Šetû asks. “Did I…how did you…?” She’s not even sure what to ask.

Sukuna’s attention falls on her like a heavy blade.

“You hit me at last, little flower,” he says. “And now that you’ve got the handle on how to do that, it’s time to test something else.” One of his hands lifts, two fingers twitch, and pain blooms across her arm.

“Wha…?” She whispers and blood pours from the wound that has suddenly opened up on her bicep. She stares at it, uncomprehending. Sukuna crosses the lower pair of his arms.

“Heal yourself.” He says his voice like iron. Šetû stares at him.

“What?” She whispers again. “I don’t…how?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “You’ve done it before. Heal yourself. The next one will take your arm off, so you better think fast.”

Šetû’s eyes go wide. He’s serious. He’s deathly serious.

The lessons you seek won’t be survivable if you are not strong.

You’ve done it before.

What does he mean she’s done it before? She tries to think of the last time she was hurt like this.

That night. The moonlight; the smell of loam, and soil, and a man’s sweat; the cold, weighted steel of her own knife against the tender flesh of her throat.

It’s only fair.

Thunder cracks over their heads, and something like fire blooms behind her right eye, spreading and spreading until—

It’s only fair.

Pain, bright and sharp, across her throat…her life ebbing into the earth around her, soaking the soil…profane atrocities done under the light of the harvest moon.

It’s only fair.

The pain in her arm fades, leaving only rage in its place.

Without thinking, she shouts at him.

The sky yawns open above them, and lightning illuminates Sukuna’s grotesque grin, his face seemingly warped in the flickering light as the wind picks up around them.

Šetû launches herself at him again, angry at him, herself, and the world that dared take everything from her. Sukuna moves quicker, now. She’s getting better. She hasn’t quite gotten reversed cursed technique at will, but he watches as she taps into her fury for power.

He strikes her, harder than he intends, and immediately kills her momentum as she drops to the ground, tumbling. He’s after her in an instant, a tiger scenting prey.

Takeshi Zenin.

The refrain of that name is like tinder to her fire, and she whirls on him, and he opens his palm at the last moment, catching her furious little fist, reinforcing himself against the cursed energy that snaps at him a split second after her strike.

“Good girl,” he growls, curling his fingers over her fist and squeezing. She’s taller than most other humans he’s met, she’s strong, but in his hands, she might as well be a hollow-boned baby bird. “Magnificent.”

He refrains from crushing her hand to a pulp but squeezes just enough to see pain crack the facade of her determination only slightly.

Push past it, he thinks, willing her to be stronger. He wants so much more from her. It is only pain. It is not death.

The cracks fade, her determination making her dark eyes glitter like black glass. The wind picks up, and Sukuna laughs, delighted and manic, his voice booming like the thunder over their heads. The chrysalis inside of her opens a little more, and he can feel her soul clawing its way out, can feel her technique engraving itself on her bones, on her brain. Almost, my lost little flower. You’re almost there.

Šetû is breathing hard, he can see her muscles twitching and quivering against his immense strength, can feel her desire to hit him. He’ll not be caught off guard so easily again. It is enough that she has landed a strike, however. It is enough that she healed herself against an injury inflicted by jujutsu. He would have hated to have to deal with her reacting to a severed limb, although he must test that soon if she is to have a fighting chance against her assailants.

“Enough,” he says, pushing her away. Her cursed energy dims to a steady flame immediately, and he spins his around her in a teasing caress, always one to show just how wide the gulf of power is between them. He knows it nettles at her pride, but she uses it to her advantage.

“It is enough for today,” he says. “And I’ve business to attend to. Get cleaned up. I would speak with you over a meal. I’m fucking hungry.”

Šetû bows as a pupil would to their master. “Of course, my lord,” she breathes, a little relieved they’ve stopped for the day. The wind is gone, and the sky is calm. Strange.

Sukuna retrieves his discarded haori, folding it over one arm as they head inside. She is silent as she pads after him, snatching up her woolen cloak as it begins to snow again.

Inside the shrine, it is warmer on account of the braziers that line the stone halls, and the smaller braziers in the common areas and the bedrooms. The servants—Oboro and Okoi—have their own quarters, tucked away near the back of the shrine. Sukuna’s bedchamber is in the opposite direction of Šetû’s smaller one at the end of the long stretch of hallway. When she arrives in her room, she feels a sense of relief when the door slides shut behind her. The little brazier heating her room is pleasant as she strips out of her clothes, shivering in front of the fire from the sweat. How Sukuna fights shirtless in this frigid weather is beyond her.

She remembers the heat of his body when she stands close to him, the feeling of standing next to a roaring bonfire. Her cheeks heat as she remembers the feel of his hand on hers, moving slowly over the map of the world he had gone to such lengths to procure…all so she could show him how far from her homeland she truly was.

There’s a light scratching at the door. She can hear the shuffle of silks and linens.

“Lady Asiri?” Comes Oboro’s muffled voice. Šetû unfolds from her shivering crouch before snatching up a robe to tie around herself. She slides the door open.

“Oboro-san,” she breathes, a warm smile curving her lips. “Is everything alright?”

Oboro smiles up at her. “Of course, Asiri-san,” she glances around. “Lord Sukuna requests that you join him in the hot spring. He says that you can benefit from its medicinal properties, and if I’m not mistaken you two trained quite vigorously today.”

Šetû chuckles. “How generous of him. I suppose I can use a soak. Lead the way?”

She regrets the words when Oboro leads her down the hall to Sukuna’s bedchamber, slides the door open, and points inside. Šetû remembers her first night when she woke up. Of course, the hot spring is his. The only way to access it is through his bedchamber. Šetû steps inside and Oboro quietly shuts the door behind her.

For the third time, Šetû enters the private sanctum of the King of Curses, clad in nothing but a robe, the waist beads she’s had since birth. She steps out onto the engawa, peering around.

“You’re like to freeze your ass off standing around like that, little flower,” Sukuna’s voice is resonant over the sounds of the gently lapping waters of the hot spring. Steam curls around the surface, and she makes out the silhouette of his upper arms spread along the warm, smooth stone edge of the spring, his pink hair dark from being damp. It curls along his temple as he turns his head, eyeing her with two, crimson eyes glowing in the steam. She bites her lip.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says. “I can wait and go once you’re done.”

Sukuna scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, girl. There’s plenty of room and I’d rather not waste time waiting for you to finish luxuriating before we speak. I figured we can just as easily talk here.”

Šetû’s entire face is ablaze with heat as she turns away.

“I hardly think this is appropriate, my lord!” She says, trying to will something into her voice that sounds firm.

“Tch,” Sukuna says. “I’ll close my eyes until you get in if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What?”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, but then he closes them, as he promised. Šetû realizes he’s quite serious, and she steps out into the sequestered springs mossy grounds, sighing at the softness of it beneath her bare feet. She peers at Sukuna again as she steps closer to the spring. Sure enough, all four of his eyes are shut.

“Get on with it, little flower,” he says in an exasperated tone.

He listens, hears the slip of silk against skin, and then the rippling sound of her entering the water, sinking lower. In his mind’s eye he sees the curves of her submerging beneath the steaming waters. He knows when she’s seated, submerged up to her chin.

He opens his eyes, sees the steam part to reveal her dark gaze to him. Her eyes are wide and fearful. Her fear is annoying.

“Asiri,” he says, and she swallows. “I’m not going to bite you. I told you: that fight is over.”

He hesitates but then forges ahead.

“You’re safe here.”

With me.

Šetû stays where she is, but her eyes widen at his words. She visibly relaxes and Sukuna leans back, his lower hands rise from the water.

“Relax,” he says. “You are a guest, after all.”

Šetû shoots him an arch look.

“Hard to believe when you’re looking at me like you’re trying to decide how you’d like to have me seasoned.” She retorts. Sukuna’s eyes widen momentarily, his mouth opening. Then, he laughs. Šetû can’t help it: she smiles. His laugh is surprisingly joyous for a man purported to be the worst evil to ever touch the world in recent memory. Yet since she has arrived at his shrine the worst she has seen are the human remains in his icehouse.

He’s not the first cannibal she’s met. He’s certainly the politest one she’s met. Sukuna tilts his head.

“You overthink when you fight,” he says suddenly. “It slows you down. Find a way to manifest your moves without thinking. Like your dancing.”

Šetû grins. “I’m beginning to think you like my dancing, Lord Sukuna,” she teases. Sukuna chuckles.

“Of course I like the dancing, Asiri,” he says waving a hand dismissively. “Contrary to whatever those witless peasants have told you, I have an appreciation for the finer arts, and for beauty as well.”

Šetû sinks further into the water, her cheeks burning.

“You know,” Sukuna muses thoughtfully, “I did hire you for your services as an entertainer, and as yet I have not heard a single song from your lips, girl.”

Šetû laughs. “My lord, you seemed more interested in my abilities as a sorcerer than any song or dance I might perform for you.”

“I am,” Sukuna agrees. “But I’ll not have it said I paid for nothing. Sing for me.”

Šetû stares at him, blinking in uncomprehending shock. Sukuna stares at her, his smile as deadly as a naked blade gleaming in the sinister dark, so at odds with the serenity of the scene around them.

“Right now?” She asks, her voice tremulous with rare nervousness at the thought of practicing her art in so intimate a space.

Sukuna raises a brow. “Yes, and tomorrow night, you will dance for me. I meant what I said when I hired you and your troupe. Even if you are a troupe of one, you’ve the talent that makes the coin, I think.”

Šetû shakes her head. “It’s not…it’s not about who is more talented, my lord. Our—my—art doesn’t work that way. It’s synergistic. I need my musicians as much as they need me.”

Sukuna knows this, understands this intimately because the night he watched her dance their breath had become one. He doesn’t tell her this, and he places it amongst the other innumerable secrets sewn into his blackened soul.

“Sing, little flower,” Sukuna says with uncharacteristically gentle insistence. He does not know why he needs to hear the honey-sweet melody of her voice right now. The stars are glittering overhead, and the moon is a sliver of a crescent in the sky. The light refracts off the water, reflects in her dark eyes.

Šetû shuts her eyes briefly, and Sukuna watches her. She’s gone somewhere inside of herself, and he knows what’s she’s doing: sifting through the shattered remains of who she once was, seeking what glittering bits of joy remain. Sukuna waits.

Her eyes open, and she begins to sing.

The melody comes out lonely and faltering at first, before gaining confidence. The words are foreign to him, and his brow pinches in pensive annoyance as he tries to understand the tone. The song’s melody is sad, forlorn.

Lonely.

Sukuna feels it again; what he felt that night. The song spirals into the sky, begging the moon and stars for an answer. It slips over his senses like a silken noose, pulls him into her. The song wants, it hungers, it feels…it feels so familiar. He feels himself wanting to reach for her and pull her close.

The song ends, and the spell breaks.

Sukuna hesitates, blinking like a waking dreamer as the last of the melody fades.

“What was that?” He asks. Šetû smiles and he sees the weight of her grief in it.

“The Song of Exile,” she says softly, running one of her hands just beneath the surface of the water to create pleasant ripples. “When we were in Persia, I fell in with another bard. She taught me the songs of her people, as I taught her mine. She said to me: ‘This song, we carry with us always, that way we are never far from home.’”

Sukuna frowns. “But you are not Persian. Why carry this song?”

Šetû laughs softly, sadly. “Because it is a song that transcends cultures, my lord. I do not need to be Persian to know how it feels to be far from home. She did not need to be Hausa to know the song the prisoners of war sing when the sky is stolen from them. What was important was the feeling.”

Sukuna blinks but says nothing. He’d felt the loneliness and heartbreak in her song well enough.

“And are you lonely here, Asiri?” He asks. “Are you in exile?”

Šetû hesitates. “My lord, my family was slain in cold blood, and I was raped and left for dead. You took me in and have agreed to aid in my quest for vengeance. Yes, I am lonely. Yes, I am in exile. I have been unmoored from myself, and I do not know how to find my way back.”

Tears prick her vision suddenly and she brings her arms up to rub her eyes with the heels of her hands. Sukuna’s eyes narrow.

“I am surviving only because you see usefulness in me,” she says, and there’s a bitter tinge to her inflection. “Otherwise, you would have eaten me by now, correct?”

Sukuna turns out his hands in a shrug.

“You will always have value, Asiri, whether it be your power and talents as an entertainer, or your meat as sustenance. I would say being eaten by me is an honor few get to experience. But…I have no intentions of consuming you. You are more valuable to me breathing and healthy.”

And safe.

Šetû barks out a harsh laugh. “I see.”

Sukuna suddenly rises from the bath and Šetû lets out a surprised cry before covering her face with her hands. She catches a glimpse of water running over a well-muscled dip in his abdomen, a band of black ink around a powerful, iron-hewn thigh, and the shadow of—

“For one who performs like she owns the world, you are so shy about…” Sukuna mutters, then shakes his head as he dries himself and wraps himself in a kimono and heads back inside. Šetû sighs in relief when he’s gone and tries not to think about why her heart was racing so fast it hummed the entire time Sukuna watched her. She doesn’t feel restored or rested at all, and she gives herself another hour before she retreats, wrapping herself in a robe before realizing she must pass through Sukuna’s bedchamber to leave.

Lucky for her, the King of Curses is not in his bedchamber when she enters, and she walks slowly, taking in the familiar accoutrements of the man behind the weighty titles of his reputation. An almost spartan lifestyle from the looks of it, but there’s an elegance to the sparse decor, and an austere elegance to the arrangement of the room. It makes her smile to consider Sukuna taking his time to decorate his bedchamber. It seems so mundane and human a thing, and she bites her lip to think of him mulling over bed linens and types of wood, mulling over art and other things to make his bedchamber well and truly his own.

She leaves, making her way back down the hall to her room. Once there, she walks over to the little standing mirror she’s been given and looks at her reflection for what feels like the first time in ages.

A drained creature stares back at her.

Shadows under her eyes, and a dullness to her skin that makes her look as if she is beginning to wane and gray like watercolors washing away in the rain. She reaches up to touch her face. No bruises or cuts, not anymore. The only thing marring her skin is the scar on her throat.

The only proof that the horrors of that night were very real.

She crumples to her knees in front of her reflection, a choked sob crawling out of her throat as grief swings its blade back to cut her open anew. She weeps in front of the mirror until she can no longer bare her reflection.

Gods, when does it stop hurting? How does she make it stop hurting?

It feels like a wound that won’t close no matter what she does. And she feels dirty no matter how many baths she takes, no matter how she avoids her reflection.

She hasn’t so much as caressed herself since it happened, detaching herself entirely from her own desires and urges, deadening the nerves until lust is all but a concept to her.

And yet, when Sukuna talks to her in that honeyed voice, or they inadvertently touch outside of sparring, she feels heat bloom in her core like a night-blooming flower under the cold light of the moon, only she wants to wallow in his crimson gaze. She wants to want him in a way that doesn’t make her feel as if she should be ashamed for wanting anything at all.

What’s wrong with me?

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maddie-dog-story-blog · 2 days ago

Text

New You Gym - 19

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Michael watched Kylee as her short frame waddled in front of him, large infantile diaper sagging wetly between her legs. Michael wondered to himself whether she even knew her diaper was wet.

As Michael's eyes lingered on his wife's padded ass, he could feel his member growing, making his pants tighter. Michael knew he should be concerned for his wife and maybe even disgusted by the fact that she can't keep her pants dry. However, Michael could feel a new fantasy being awaken in him.

Imagining Kylee humiliated, diapered, and treated like nothing more than a un-potty-trained toddler made him feel more aroused then he could ever remember.

However, as Kylee turned the corner towards their bedroom, Michael tried to shake off his feelings. He knew that Kylee had to be mortified by the situation, and that it was his job as her husband to support her through the struggle.

Readjusting the new pink gym bag Emily had handed him, he put on as supportive face as he could muster, suppressed his growing arousal as best he could, and followed Kylee into their bedroom.

As Michael walked in, he saw Kylee standing, legs spread, inspecting her diaper closely with both hands. As Michael looked at her, he noticed tears starting to form in her eyes.

"I… I'm… I mean… It… The diaper… It's wet?" Kylee said, turning to Michael confused.

When Kylee went to untape her diaper, she noticed for the first time that she had wet herself sometime during her trip home from the gym. The fact she was unaware she had pissed herself scared her almost more than the fact that her husband was seeing her in a wet diaper.

Michael walked up to Kylee and embraced her in a hug.

"Yeah, baby, it looks like you had another little accident today. But, I'm sure it was just from the stress of the gym. Do you want me to help you get out of… um… that?" Michael said, gesturing vaguely towards Kylee's diaper.

Kylee wanted to say no. She wanted to run away and hide in shame. She wanted to be anywhere else but here, with the man she loved, dressed like this.

But, she also wanted his attention. She craved experiencing that close, vulnerable feeling she had when Julie had changed her diaper earlier that day, with Michael. She also knew that if things kept progressing as Julie told her they would, it wouldn't be long until this was going to be a more common occurrence.

So, with her mind made up, Kylee's cheeks turned red as she answered her husband. "Yes, please," she said.

"Alright, sweetheart, why don't you lay on the floor. Do we have any wipes anywhere?" Michael asked.

Kylee blushed again. "I think you'll find everything you need in my new… uh… gym bag."

Michael grabbed the bag and looked in. It was now his turn to blush.

The pink satchel clearly wasn't the gym bag of an adult. The only thing it could be reasonably described as was a diaper bag.

Despite the warning he'd received from Emily, Michael hadn't really put together that Kylee would be required to wear diapers to the gym for the foreseeable future. The idea of his wife being forced to continue to wear diapers caused his penis to swell again.

"Oh, wow! They really, uh, set you up here," Michael said, grabbing the wipes from his wife's diaper bag while trying to hide his growing erection, "I know Emily said you'd need protection for the gym, but they really set you up with a lot of dia… I mean… protective underwear."

Kylee turned her head to the side, looking away in embarrassment.

"It's okay. Call them what they are… they're diapers," Kylee responded, trying to bravely face her predicament, "How can I call this wet thing wrapped around my ass anything else?"

"Should I grab out another one… uh… diaper? Or, do you think you can keep your panties dry?" Michael asked hesitantly.

Kylee glared at Michael, her embarrassment overtaken by her indignation.

"Can I keep my panties dry? Of course I can! I'm not a child!" Kylee growled.

Michael raised his hands defensively, then gestured towards Kylee's wet groin.

"I mean, it seems like a fair question, given the circumstances," Michael said, a little more confidence shining through in his tone, "I am not the one lying on the floor, waiting for my husband to change me out of a wet diaper."

"Fine! If you're going to act like this, I don't need your help!" Kylee said starting to sit up, face scrunched in disgust as she felt the wet padding surrounding her crotch squelch as she shifted her weight.

Michael, wipes in hand, kneeled down next to Kylee, placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down.

"Oh, hush! No need to throw a tantrum. Lay down so I can get you out of that wet thing then you can put your panties back on," Michael said, his assertiveness growing along with erection.

Being given this excuse to baby his wife really turned him on.

Kylee complied with his direction. As she laid down, she also found that, despite her embarrassment and anger at her situation, she was also being turned on by the "Daddy" energy her husband was starting to exhude.

"Fine," Kylee said as she laid back down with an exaggerated huff.

"Good girl," Michael responded.

Those words sent a shiver through Kylee's pussy.

Michael patted Kylee's diapered crotch twice and stated, "Let's do this."

Michael carefully ripped open the tapes of Kyle's diaper and pulled the front of the diaper open. The smell of ammonia and rash cream quickly hit his nose, causing him to briefly scrunch his face in disgust before continuing on. What he saw when he opened the diaper though, he wasn't expecting.

"Kylee! Your skin is so red and angry down here? What's going on? Is this what's causing your sudden accidents? Do we need to see a doctor?" Michael asked, staring at the diaper rash covering his wife's most intimate areas but too inexperienced in diapering to know what he was looking at.

A fresh wave of embarrassment pulsed through Kylee, who suddenly remembered the diaper rash she had from her earlier, poopy diaper. Julie's cream really worked wonders on her discomfort, Kylee thought to herself.

"No, it's, it's not causing my accidents," Kylee said, quietly. "I, I fell asleep in a diaper earlier at the gym and woke up with a… uh… rash because of it."

"A diaper rash? Seriously, Kylee?" Michael guffawed. "Let's check your bag. Ah, here it is, some rash cream," Michael said, pulling out some diaper rash cream from Kyle's gym bag. "Are you sure you don't need another diaper? How many times have you wet yourself today?"

Kylee looked up at Michael as defiantly. "Only a couple! But it was just because of stress at the gym! I don't need another, stinking diaper!"

Micheal couldn't help but laugh to himself a little. Kylee, despite her demand to the contrary, sure looked like a woman who needed a diaper. She was laying on the ground, legs splayed apart, rash covered ass laying on a wet diaper, waiting to be wiped clean by another person.

"Sure, baby," Michael said as he began to wipe Kylee's tender skin with the baby wipes.

As Michael wiped the urine off of Kylee's waist, Kylee couldn't help but be surprised from his delicate, caring touch. As Michael wiped, Kylee squirmed as it became clear she was still very sore from her diaper rash. However, Michael did a good job at both being thorough and gentle with Kylee's delicate skin.

Then Michael made his way to Kylee's slit and she started to squirm for another reason. The feeling of Michael's fingers through the wet wipe felt so good to Kylee. It brought back the recent memories of Julie's 'special' changes back at the gym. She started to buck her hips into Michael's hand.

"Oh, baby likes that, huh?" Michael said as he started to pay more attention to Kyle's vagina.

"Don't… call… me… baby!" Kylee moaned out as Michael started to rub her clit more intentionally.

"What should I call you then? Your the one laying here on the ground getting your pissy little pampers changed, aren't you?" Michael asked with a seductively dominant tone.

"Ye… yes…" Kylee moaned out.

"Then what does that make you?" Michael asked as he started to thrust his middle and index finger into Kylee's pussy, while continuing to rub her clit with his thumb.

"A… a… a…" Kylee moaned in rhythm with Michael's fingers.

"A what?" Michael demanded, his cock throbbing at his wife's humiliation and his own sense of power.

"A… a… a… BABY!" Kylee screamed as her body convulsed in pleasure with an epic orgasm.

"That's right," Michael said as he removed his fingers from Kylee and wiped them on a new baby wipe. "But, since you were a good girl and admitted it, I guess we can let you try panties again today," he continued cheekily.

"Thank you, Daddy," Kylee said as Michael finished cleaning her up, helped her stand up, and balled up her diaper.

"Of course sweetheart, why don't you go take a shower though? I got most of it off, but let's not take a risk with that rash," Michael suggested.

Kylee complied.

As Kylee showered, Michael took care of his own arousal. He laid on his bed, put his hand down his pants, and stroked himself, imagining Kylee, sitting in a crib at the end of the bed, looking at him longingly in a wet diaper and childish onesie as he fucked Emily doggy style.

It didn't take long before Michael made a sticky mess in his hand. He used another of Kylee's wipes to clean himself up.

The rest of the day went fairly normally for Kylee and Michael. Kylee put back on a pair of panties, but not before slathering her ass in rash cream. She and Michael went about their normal daily tasks.

The only changes were minimal. Michael would occasionally throw glances at her crotch suspiciously, as if he was making sure she didn't have any more accidents. Kylee also found it a little uncomfortable to sit down due to her diaper rash.

However, with normalcy overtaking her day once again, Kylee almost forgot about the events of the morning when it was time to get ready for bed.

#New you Gym #ab/dl kink #ab/dl story time #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl caption #diaper stories #humiliation kink #ab/dl couple #diaper regression #ab/dl babygirl #ab/dl daddy

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