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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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A Fresh Start [14]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: self doubt, anxiety over appearance, past medical trauma, sexual tension, like so much sexual tension, some heavy petting, slow burn (i use it as a warning here b/c it’s gonna feel like an attack by time you’re through with this chapter lol)

Word Count: 4,682

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Ch. #14: AM I MAKING YOU QUIVER?

Chapter Summary: Exploration and Anticipation

“i must have loved you in other lives because when i see you it feels like coming home. no one makes me feel more myself than you. when my hand is in yours it’s familiar and safe, like i’ve known your soul since the beginning of time, through all the lives i’ve lived. maybe that’s why my love for you is infinite.” --m.m.

This was the first time you woke up beside Din. Up until now, every moment that involved him taking you to bed or falling asleep on him ended with you waking up alone. Alone or with Grogu. Din always seemed to be up before you. There was absolutely nothing comfortable about the cot you were laying on. At baseline it was hard and covered with crinkling, thin sterile paper. It was also only large enough for one person. Which, granted, with Grogu alone on it the cot had looked massive, but now it held Din, Grogu, and you. You were startled that you hadn’t woken up on the floor.

You had Din to thank for that. He laid on his back, armor and helmet present, with Grogu sleeping soundly on his chest. You laid half on his side, curled around him, but he had one arm under you and resting on your waist clinging to you tightly. Saving you from sleeping on the hard, tile floor wasn’t the only thing you had to thank him for.

Last night had been… difficult. Nothing short of the Maker himself was going to stop you from doing everything in your power to heal Grogu, and even then the Maker might not be able to hold you back, but the cost had been steep. The moment your body registered that Grogu was safe, vitals steady and father in the room, you had crumpled in on yourself like a dying star. Every single demon that called your mind home crawled out of the wood works to plague you.

Surely, you thought, they’d devour you whole and leave you an empty shell. Yet, here you were. Still alive, still functioning, and⏤ dank farrik⏤ you were content. Content, borderline happy. An emotion you thought would be impossible after the events of last night. You felt safe. Lying here, watching Din and Grogu sleep peacefully, Din’s arm clinging to you, you felt like there wasn’t a force in this galaxy that could touch you. Over the last year, a lot of people promised that you’d be protected. Many swore that nothing would hurt you.

Din was the only one you believed.

Despite wanting to stay in this moment forever, you knew you needed to rise. There were things you needed to collect and, though you had revealed a lot of who you were last night, it’d be nice to not have an audience. Carefully, you untangled yourself from Din’s arm. He stirred for a moment, but you whispered a reassurance. It was a testament to how exhausted the Mandalorian was as he laid his head back and dozed off once more.

As you stood, that’s when the aches began to settle from the night you had. The cot, and technically Din’s armored body, had not been forgiving to your skin, bones, or joints. You stretched as you walked over to the medical shelves. You wanted to make another two doses of the antipyretic, just to have on hand, and an additional dose of antibiotics for Grogu to take. It was overkill, technically, but you didn’t care. It was also mildly illegal for you to take some of these supplies home, but who was going to stop you? Daelar? That coward was off world so he had no say over this clinic, and you had a pretty solid relationship with the Marshal. Enough so that you doubted he’d be arresting you for this.

Quietly, you worked with practiced ease compounding the medications. Without the added stress of a ticking time bomb in feverish child form, you were able to find the action calming. That is until a figure settled next you. Her presence startled you at first, but you recognized the girl you held at gunpoint only hours ago.

“Oh, Aayla, hey.” You greeted in a whisper, to not disturb Din, “I’m sorry about last night. With the blaster and the⏤”

“No, no. Don’t apologize.” Aayla replied. “You were incredible. This is incredible.” She motioned to the medicine you were half done compounding. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Wait, what?”

“I came here to gain experience before I apply to medical school, and I was so disappointed with what I found.” She said. The girl was practically bouncing in place. “But now I have you! Oh, I am so excited to work with you!”

Your fingers froze and you slowly shook your head. “No. No, no, no, no. I’m not⏤ We’re not⏤”

Aayla tilted her head in confusion. “You’re gonna be the new on site physician, aren't you?”

Maker, in your panic last night had you just told everyone you were a doctor before? You shook your head. You needed to get this done. The sound of Din stirring made you glance over your shoulder toward him. You hummed, “Aayla, can you take out Grogu’s IV? Have you done that before?”

“I have!” She rushed away and you took that as a victory.

Din sat up on the cot at her approach, Grogu still cradled in his arms, and you sighed in relief once more. Grogu still hadn’t woken up, but that didn’t surprise you. You had made both medications last night with a sedative effect. The poor kid needed as much rest as possible. All thoughts were interrupted when Din’s t-shaped visor lifted from Grogu to focus on you. You physically felt his eyes on you and a thrill ran down your spine all the way to your toes. You quickly turned back around and went back to work. You were nearly done with the last one. Would’ve been finished by now if Aayla hadn’t caught you off guard.

As if the universe knew you were trying to stay focused on task and wanted to distract you, an all too familiar form silently approached. Din towered over you, quite the sight in all his beskar, and though his presence hadn’t surprised you the way he curled around you did. Din rested one hand on the counter, his other wrapped around your waist, and he leaned into you so the side of his helmet was pressed against the side of your face. The man might as well have set you on fire with the flamethrower connected to his vambrace. Heat warmed your cheeks and flooded into every nook and cranny of your body.

This was hardly the first time he had broken the barrier to touch you, but this was the first time it wasn’t spurred on by some emotional turmoil. You hadn’t expected him to be so casual. To openly touch you in this way.

“Hi.” You mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

A low, rumbling chuckle spilled out from the helmet’s modulator and the sound made your breath catch in your throat. Din squeezed your waist. “Hi.” He nodded his head down toward your hands. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh, I’m…” Habit told you to lie. You were supposed to keep this a secret. Nobody was supposed to know about your past. Your logic argued that it was a little late for that and telling Din you were ‘making mixed drinks with the medical supplies’ wasn’t going to convince him of anything. “Medicine.” You blurted. Mentally, you cursed your lack of allure and tact. Maker, why did Din make you babble like an idiot? For once, could you just be cool? Give off an air of mystery and intrigue like he was able to? Kriff. “Uh, medicine for Grogu. Just in case.”

“Good.” He replied. “Smart.”

“What can I say? I have my moments sometimes.”

Din hummed out a sound of amusement, but before you could commend yourself for saying something marginally clever and well thought out, you felt his gloved fingers brush just under the hem of your shirt. The leather warm and firm on the bare skin of your abdomen, and your entire brain short circuited at the motion.

“You almost ready to go home, ner kar’ta?” He whispered.

Voice broken, you nodded dumbly. Din chuckled once more before pulling back and walking back to the cot. Maker. Oh, Maker. You glanced over your shoulder to watch him saunter away. He didn’t do it on purpose, he didn’t seem to know what his gait did to the people around him, but you could watch Din walk for hours. It was such a casual and strong pace⏤ confidence oozing from every step.

For weeks now, you had been fighting an emotional connection to this man. You were terrified of messing up the good thing you had. It couldn’t be argued that the ship of staying distant had sailed. The wall between the two of you, emotionally speaking, was a pile of dust now. The physical thoughts? Those had always been easy to swat away. You forced yourself to not let your mind wander on his hip to shoulder ratio. To not think about the sliver of flesh you’d see at home between the waistband of his sweatpants and the hem of his shirt. To not think about his strong arms and the way they would feel wrapped around you.

You had been so good about it. Up until now, that is.

Now? Dank farrik, you wanted to jump his bones.

Maybe it was the excess adrenaline from everything that happened last night, or maybe it was you being too weak to hold back those primal thoughts, but regardless of the reason the desire was there in full force. Your eyes traced him from boots to helmet once more. He was standing by the cot watching Aayla work with his hands on his hips and his head faced down in a studious manner. Oof. A man covered head to toe in metal and the woven material of a flight suit should not look this good. The man didn’t have a single patch of skin showing, yet you were foaming at the mouth feral for him.

As if reading your wanton thoughts, Din’s gaze snapped to you. Your eyes widened. Though you couldn’t see where his eyes were trained, you still flushed as if he were raking over your form, and when his head tilted to the side it felt like your heart seized in your chest. Double oof. You whipped your head back around, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, and tried to get back to the task at hand. Focus, focus, focus.

Medicine for Grogu first, eye fucking his father second.

They had slept in the clinic far longer than Din had thought. The quick trip back home was made in early morning light and the city was beginning to come to life. Normally, this would frustrate him, but Cara had left him a note saying that Karga was excusing them of all duties today⏤ as a thanks. Any issues would run through him. In any other scenario, Din would argue over this plan, but today? No, today he was going to send Karga a damned fruit basket as thanks when he got the chance.

There was a very long list of tasks Din had to accomplish. He needed to hunt down Daelar so he could rip the man’s cowardly spine from his body and beat him to death with it for leaving his son and you without medicine. He needed to repair his vambrace so the communicator would work once more. He needed to ensure Grogu was healing properly⏤ though you were handling that better than he ever could it seemed. And a few other dozen items he always had on his to-do list. One of the more important things on his list of goals for the day? You.

Din knew he had a bad habit of tunnel vision. He knew because people told him this constantly. He tended to make a goal and then barrel through any obstacle or issue with blinders on until he got what he wanted. It was part of the reason why he was so good at bounty hunting, though it was also the reason why he found himself in so many messes over the years. Today, it would come in handy because you were at the end of this tunnel.

“How much longer will he be asleep?” Din asked. Grogu was bundled up in his arms as the two of you entered into the house.

You set the bag of supplies you had taken from the clinic onto the kitchen counter then shrugged. “If I had to guess…a couple more hours?”

“Good.” Din replied. Without another word, he began the journey to his room. First things first, he needed to get his son settled. The last time Din had seen Grogu sleep so soundly was when they first met and he saved him from the mudhorn.

Carefully, he tucked the boy into his hammock and shuffled through the toys below to find Grogu’s favorite stuffed frog. Din set it in the hammock as well and took a minute to breath out a sigh of relief. Maker, he was thankful Grogu was safe and healing. He was thankful for you, and he wanted to show that to you in any and every way you’d allow him.

Din stepped back and began to peel off layers of his beskar. The gloves and his gauntlets fell away first followed by his shoulder pieces and his torso. He had even shrugged out of the tight upper half of his flight suit leaving him in the plain t-shirt that sat beneath. His hands drifted to undo his belt, but he heard you pass by his room on the way to the bathroom. Din paused in his process and walked out of his room⏤ almost like a man possessed. As he shut the door behind him quietly, as to not rouse Grogu, he heard the sound of the shower kick on. His body was moving before he fully registered the motion, and his knuckles rapped against the wooden door.

“Yeah?” Your muffled voice called out.

“Can I come in?” It was a weighted question, he knew, and judging on the silence that followed it you were aware of this as well. Your eventual reply was a soft affirmative noise, and Din found himself pushing the door open slowly. He’d keep all his movements slow. Din would give you every opportunity to push him away. The relationship between the two of you was a series of lines drawn in the sand, and Din knew he was blowing past every single one right now.

You stood at the bathroom counter, back to the mirror, and the shower off to the side was already running. His helmet’s sensor told him the water beating down was ice cold.

“I was thinking a, uh, shower,” You cleared your throat, eyes not leaving him, “might be the best thing for me right now.”

Din gave a small nod. Then took another step in your direction, “I can help with that.” Din said every word slowly, took every step slowly, in order to give you every opportunity to stop him. “If you’d like.”

The corner of your lips twitched up, a sight that made him ache, and you shrugged. “The buttons on this shirt were really tricky.”

It was the only invitation he needed to close the remaining space between the two of you. Din cupped your face with his bare hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks, and he tilted your head up just so he could look at you. Maker, you were gorgeous. The light in your eyes, the way you glowed when you smiled, it put the stars to shame.

“You’re a work of art, ner kar’ta.” He breathed.

“What does that one mean?” You asked softly. “Ner kar’ta.”

Din tilted his head with a chuckle, “If I told you, I’d have to come up with a new nickname to call you.”

His fingers trailed down your neck and found the buttons that started at your collar. Din continued to move slowly as he undid each button of your shirt, but this time it was for his own sake rather than yours. He wanted to savor every second of touch he had with you. He soaked in the soft gasps you made every time his cold fingers brushed against your warm torso.

“I like this look on you, by the way.” You whispered. Din hummed in response⏤ too busy admiring your bare skin to be decent at holding a real conversation. You leaned forward enough that he could pull the shirt down off your body leaving you in only a bra. “The t-shirt. With the beskar plated pants and boots⏤ plus that helmet. You’d have bounties quivering.”

Din ran his hands across your belly, over your sides, then up your back. So close now that his chest was pressed against yours. He kept his voice low and quiet. “Am I making you quiver?” The sharp breath you sucked in was a sound he’d have memorized for the rest of his life. Din let his hands explore your upper body determined to memorize that as well.

Eventually his hands made it back to your chest and he let his fingers brush against the scar on your collarbone. Briefly he felt you stiffen. “Mesh’la.” Din reassured, then followed it up in a language you’d understand. “Beautiful. You are so kriffing beautiful, ner kar’ta.”

Din traced his hands downward, pausing over your breasts, then continued to drag his palms over your abdomen⏤ his thumb dipped against your navel. When his hands reached the waistband of your pants, he undid the button and zipper then knelt down in front of you. Din helped you step out of the first pants’ leg and he held his hand behind your knee allowing his thumb to tenderly caress circles against your calf. Din stared up at you the entire time. The pupils of your eyes were blown wide with desire and your tempting lips were parted. It was a look that Din wouldn’t mind staring up at forever. He’d spend the rest of his life on his knees for you if it meant you’d continue to look at him in this way.

“Pretty girl.” Din hummed as he worked to get your other leg untangled from the rest of your pants. He focused his gaze back to eye level and took in a shaky breath. Your dark underwear was a shade darker at the center, a damp spot he could just barely see, but it was enough to tell him you were in the same state of being nearly undone by the other. It was a match to the near painful hard on he had pressed against the thickness of his flight suit’s pants.

It was absolute torture to be so close to what he wanted, but still be separated by so much. Din had never been so tempted to rip the helmet off his head just so he could press open mouthed kisses up your thigh to your damp center. He was an Apostate anyways according to the covert. That title just might be worth it for a taste of you.

“Din.” You breathed his name and he shuddered in response.

Maker, he wanted you to know how much you meant to him. Din wished he could string together paragraph after paragraph about how you made him feel. But, he was bad at talking. Din didn’t have the skills to voice how strong his thoughts were. Action though? Oh, Din was very good at action. And, he planned to reveal how strongly he felt for you with every touch he was allowed. You said Grogu would be asleep for another few hours. Din didn’t think that was near enough time, but it would be a good start to how he planned to worship your body.

He may not be able to use his mouth, but years of being bound by this barrier made him very, very good with his hands. Din hooked his fingers under the bands of your panties with full intention to rip them off of you, but your hands suddenly landed on his.

Worried, his head snapped up to gauge if you were alright. “Cyar’ika⏤”

“I’m okay. I’m more than okay, I’m⏤” You took a slow, shuddering breath. “But if you get started, I’m going to absolutely fall apart, Din.”

“That’s exactly what I want, pretty girl.” Din chuckled. As the other nickname left his lips, Din wished he knew your real name. Calling you Soran, knowing the little he did, felt wrong. Another chuckle escaped him. It wasn’t often he was on the curious end of this conundrum.

You ran your hands over his forearms, to his elbows, and you tried to pull him up to stand. Din, reluctantly, stood back up so he was towering over you once more. The bright smile that filled your features was enough to make it worth it. You reached out and set your hands on his shoulders. “It’s my turn to explore.” Din tilted his head, in genuine confusion, and you dragged your hands down to his abdomen. The tips of your fingers brushed against his bare skin and his entire body stiffened in response. “You’re wearing too much clothes.”

Din hesitated, only for a moment, before he reached back to grasp the collar of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. A nervous energy settled in his chest as he let the shirt fall to the bathroom floor. Din watched you as your small fingers ran across his abdomen, chest, and arms. Every scar you came across, you spent the time tracing it softly as he had yours.

“Mesh’la.” You said though the pronunciation was just slightly off. He chuckled and your smile widened. Your hands trailed to his back and he felt you lightly dragging your nails against his skin. Goosebumps formed on his skin. “I’m serious though, Din. I could spend all day staring at you⏤ touching you.”

Din couldn’t help but shake his head. “You don’t have to lie. I think I have more scars than normal skin, at this point.”

“I’m not lying.” You replied. He didn’t think he could be more surprised by your actions, but you leaned in and pressed your lips against a rather gnarly patch of scarred skin on the left side of his chest where a vibroblade had cut through the armor he had before his beskar. Honest to Maker, an actual whimper slipped from him as his eyes fluttered closed. You continued on. Taking the time to press your lips against every scar you could find while mumbling about how beautiful he was between each one.

Din had never been so intimate with a person before. He was no stranger to sex, to carnal desires, but up until now every encounter had been a means to an end. Quick and to the point. Nearly every time, he’d still have on every piece of his armor. The partners he found would be in various stages of undress, but Din never felt comfortable enough to match them in that state. Everything about this moment was starkly different. He felt safe and he treasured every single tender second that passed. He craved it. Din craved you. Another difference. Before now, his sex life had been a series of hit and runs. Never the same person twice. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious choice, but Din was always traveling and nothing tempted him enough to return and repeat.

You were not those other partners. Maker, he’d never get enough of you. Din knew that without a doubt and he technically hadn’t even fully touched you yet. That was the stranglehold you had on his mind, body, and soul.

When you pulled back, Din reopened his eyes to stare down at you. He cupped your face once more and for what had to be the thousandth time he wished he didn’t have a wall of beskar separating the two of you. Your hands lifted to hold over his then trailed down to his elbows. Without looking away from him, Din felt your hands on his abdomen. Tracing lower, lower, lower. You undid his belt then buried your hands into his pants to pull them down further. He could feel your hands against his thighs, and it was absolutely pathetic how close he came to falling apart just by having you near his cock.

The sudden loud banging of someone beating their fist against the front door of the house drifted down the hall into the bathroom, and it was just as jarring as if Din had stepped into the cold shower himself. Both of you froze, his hands cupping your face and your hands still buried in his pants. A beat of silence made Din hopeful, but it was followed by a now repeated banging that did not stop.

Din let out a groan and let his head fall forward to lightly rest against your forehead. His frustrated words came out in a near snarl. “I’m going to kill whoever is at the door.”

The sound of your quiet laugh loosened the tension in his shoulders but did nothing to the new level of frustration he had. You pulled your hands out of his pants, a loss that devastated Din, and placed them over his again.

“Well, you know what they say about anticipation.” You said.

“No.” Din shook his head. “I don’t. What do they say?”

Your smile turned sheepish as you shrugged. “I, uh, I don’t actually know.” Din’s lips curled into a smile of his own. “I didn’t think you’d call me on that. To be honest, words just sort of fall out of my mouth when I’m with you.” Din chuckled, and you squeezed his hands. “I don’t think my brain works right when my skin is touching yours.”

Din knew lust. He could recognize the hot, burning solar flare it tended to be. It was blinding. Like, a comet rushing by him leaving him spinning in the heated sparks of its tail end. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel that way with you⏤ Maker, knew that wasn’t the case⏤ but with you there was something else. It came on so slow that he didn’t even realize he felt the comforting warmth until it was nestled deep in his chest. The feeling planted roots in his soul and blossomed into something he couldn't live without. It was invigorating. It was life. It was standing in the sun on a warm day and soaking in every ray of warmth.

“I need to answer the door.” You mumbled. “Before the knocking wakes up Grogu.”

Din nodded with another sigh. You turned your head, pressing your lips to the palm of his hand, then stepped away from him. You leaned over to turn the shower off⏤ the shower neither of you ever made it to⏤ and he bent over to scoop up his shirt. Din held it out to you. A deliberate decision. You raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t hesitate to pull his too large shirt over your head. Din nodded at the sight of you, appeased at seeing you in his clothes.

“I’ll be right there.” Din said as you hurried away.

When he knew you were a safe distance away, he pulled his helmet off and rubbed his face with his hands. Anticipation. Din had been on the edge of anticipation for much too long. He was sliding straight into sexually frustrated now. At this rate, when he finally did get a taste of you it might just kill him.

“Mando!” Your voice called out. He had already gotten used to hearing you use his name after one day. Enough so that the moniker disappointed him. Still, Din felt a flash of pride that his trust had been rewarded. He didn’t even need to tell you not to use his real name in front of others. You just knew. “It’s Karga!”

“I’ll be right there.” He called back and grabbed his helmet. Din would have to step back into his room to dress back into his gear before meeting the High Magistrate. One thing was for certain, he would not be sending Karga a kriffing fruit basket anymore.

mando’a translations

Mesh’la: Beautiful /// Cyar’ika: Sweetheart /// Ner Kar’ta: My Heart

taglist

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner

#the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #protective din djarin #good dad din djarin #mando x reader #mando #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #Female reader #reader insert #slow burn #tension #all the tension

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paperweight91 · 9 months

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Like I’m Gonna Lose You

Part 2

Summary: After “ending” things with Andy your life takes an unexpected turn at a work function.

Warnings: fluff, Ransom being completely OOC

A/N: here is part 2. I’m letting the story take me where it goes. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

Characters: Andy Barber, Ransom Drysdale, mentions of Laurie Barber

Before you knew it it was February and your work was hosting a Gala in hopes of wooing some of Boston's most elite. The girls in the office were gossiping about who they were going to bring with them, when the spotlight suddenly shined on you.

“Are you bringing anyone to the gala tonight?” Tammy asked with a coy look. Did she know something?

“Uhh nope, we’re all working anyways, doesn’t seem right to drag someone there and not be able to see them.” It was true you were supposed to be “wooing” all night.

The other girls seem miffed at your lack of gossip contribution, and move on to their owns dates and what they are wearing. Effectively cutting you out of the conversation.

You were starting to look forward to the event, even if you were the only one from your office going alone. A night to get dressed up and rub elbows with some of the most influential people on the east coast was exciting. You rushed home from the office and made quick work of getting ready in your emerald green dress. It was a little prom-like, but cute and more importantly easy to move around in.

Arriving early, you greeted your boss Levi and his wife and started to make the rounds of the guests beginning to arrive.

What you didn’t realize was the entire DAs office had been invited as well. Seeing Andy laughing and talking with Laurie you knew. He was never going to leave his wife, and definitely not for you.

It was too much, you went to the bar and ordered a tequila shot. Your drink of choice when you wanted to get absolutely shitfaced.

“May want to slow down there Kitten, you’ll drink the whole bar at that pace.” You looked over at the smug stranger. Surprised at his boyish good looks. He was clearly arrogant, but there was a glint in his eye. Was it concern? He doesn’t even know you, it’s definitely not that.

You give him a confused look. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You ask.

“Hugh Drysdale, but you Kitten can call me Ramsom. I’m here in hopes of being, what was the term ‘woo’d’” you start giggling right away. “And what’s so funny about that Kitten?”

You introduce yourself as well, “well I’m supposed to be ‘wooing’ but too busy drinking I guess.” Ransom laughs at your half hearted joke.

“So what are we drinking about?” He looks at the bartender to ask for two more shots, “tequila?” You nod with a smile, “definitely about a guy. Want me to take your mind off him? You are supposed to be ‘wooing’ me after all.”

You playfully slap at his arm. Wow, are all men this muscular? Between Andy and Ransom they both seem ridiculously built for the lines of work they were in. Stop thinking about Andy! Your brain screams at you, “Wooing Ransom not flirting!” He laughs with you.

“Then at least let me have you on my arm tonight. It would be a waste for such a pretty girl to be here all alone.” Your face heats at his words, and you glance over at Andy. He’s dancing with Laurie. His wife. With that image burned in your mind you take Ransom's hand and let him lead you around the room.

Ransom true to his word keeps you on his arm all night. You don’t even notice the stolen glances Andy repeatedly sends your way. After your fourth time around the room you excuse yourself to the restroom.

“Don’t keep me waiting long kitten.” He winks at you as he watches you walk away.

You feel giddy as you reach the thankfully empty washroom. You select a stall to quickly do your business. Going over all the wonderful moments you’ve had with Ransom and all you’ve learned about him so far.

You hear the door open and shut - was that a lock clicking? Probably your imagination. You flush and open the stall door just to come face-to-face with Andy.

“Andy? What are you doing in here it’s the ladies room.” He locked the door, you’re trapped.

“Sweetheart, I’ve missed you. I just want to talk it will be quick I promise.”

You huff as you walk past him to wash your hands. Surveying your appearance in the mirror.

“Fine. Speak fast.” You cross your arms across your chest.

Andy runs his hands through his fluffy hair before he starts, “I’m sorry, I was an ass. You said…you said that you love me. And it scared me. And now I see you here with that trash Drysdale. Do you know anything about him by the way?”

You hum, you’re not going to dignify that with a response.

“Fine okay, I shouldn’t say anything with who I’m here with. But Sweetheart, I can’t say that to you yet. Not until I leave Laurie.” He’s giving you hope. You realize now you have to make a decision.

You open your mouth and are shocked with the response you come up with. “I’ll believe it when I see it Andy. For now you’re keeping me from working, and spending the evening with a man who is single. Good night”

You storm past Andy to the door to unlock it and leave. You’re so lost in your own head your walk face first into the person you were looking for.

“Woah there Kitten. Something happen?” He glances behind you and spies Andy leaving the ladies room. “Barber bothering you?”

You look up at Ransom, his blue green eyes staring straight at you. Not sure how to respond, you shrug.

He wraps both arms tightly around you, and you sigh at the warm safe feeling encapsulating you. “Why don’t we go somewhere more relaxed and talk. No funny business.”

Searching his eyes you see nothing but warmth and care. “Please Ransom.” Your voice is just above a whisper. But with those two words Ransom becomes a man on a mission. Grabbing both your coats from coat check and ordering an Uber on his phone.

The next thing you know you’re pulling up to Ransom's home. He gets a bit pink high in his cheeks and rubs the back of his neck, “I wasn’t sure where else to take you.”

You give him a warm smile and follow him to the front door. He takes your coat and offers to get you some clothes to change into. You gratefully accept and wander around his living room. You stop only at the floor to ceiling windows looking out into the woods. Eery, but strangely calming as well. The freshly fallen snow makes the trees look like something out of a fairy tale.

“I don’t have any girls clothes, I hope this will be okay?” He’s rubbing the back of his neck as he hands you one of his college hoodies and a pair of basketball shorts.

“It’s perfect, thank you Ransom. Where can I…?”

“Down the hall first door on your left.” He points.

You change quickly in the guest room, loving the scent of Ransom all around you. When you return Ransom is sitting on the couch with his foot propped against the coffee table. You admire him for a few moments, taking in his long legs, and perfectly placed hair. His large hands, one gripping what appears to be a scotch keep grabbing your attention. Before you can make a fool of yourself you head into the room.

Ransom’s face lights up as he sees you, and he gestures you to sit beside him. “So tell me about you and ADA Barber.”

He couldn’t start small could he?

“Ugh, where do I start?” He gives you an encouraging smile and it’s like it word vomits out if you. Your embarrassing crush, the too perfect ‘first date’, all the sex and finally your love confession.

“Huh,” Ransoms response leaves a lot to be desired.

“‘Huh?’ What do you mean?”

“Nothing! It’s just, it sounds like he has one foot in both relationships.” Ransom scowls. This isn’t at all what you expect from him. Of course you had heard about Ransom and his playboy lifestyle. But those rumours didn’t seem to match the man sitting beside you.

“I don’t know what I thought our relationship would be,” you look down as you play with the ties of his shorts that you wear. “I felt like, at first it was a harmless crush, but I knew I wanted more and when it seemed like he did too…”

“You got swept up.” He states, taking a long sip from his drink while he thinks. “I think I know a way to help you get over him.”

“I’m not sleeping with you Ransom.”

He gives a full bellied laugh at that. “That’s not at all what I was suggesting.”

“What then?” You have no idea where he’s going with this.

“Go on a date with me. Like a proper date, we had fun tonight before Barber came in and ruined everything, didn’t we?” He looks a little nervous now.

You’re shocked. The only thing you can think to say comes out before you can stop it, “Why?” At Ransom's pout you quickly follow up with, “Why me?”

He lets out a puff of air before he speaks. Clearly contemplating each word before he says them. “I think you’re pretty, you seem smart, funny and you have spent an entire evening with me without throwing a drink in my face.”

You feel yourself getting giddy at his words. Would it be the worst thing in the world? To go on a date with Ransom?

“That…that sounds lovely Ransom. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I-“ you huff. Why is it so hard to put your thoughts into words sometimes? “I want to take things slow, I don’t want to lose myself in someone else again.”

The smile that spreads across his face lights up the room. It’s like his eyes start to sparkle. “I expect nothing less Kitten. Now you have two options, you can grab your clothes and go home, or…”

“Or what?” You ask not wanting to leave Ransoms presence quite yet.

“Or I can get changed we can watch a movie, you can sleep in my guest room and tomorrow we’ll go on a breakfast date.” His eyes are full of mischief, but also something tender.

Meekly, you look up at him through your lashes and giggle as you say, “can I take option number 2 please?”

Ransom gives you another one of those warm smiles, and stands to cross to the TV stand. “Pick something while I go change. Please know I will be judging your choice.” He winks as he leaves you flustered on the couch.

You settle on a romantic comedy you’ve seen about a hundred times, but never fails to make you smile.

He snorts as he walks back into the room in a white t-shirt and flannel pants. “I did tell you I was judging you right?”

You laugh as you playfully push at his arm as he sits beside you. “This is a classic!” You say with mock outrage.

By the end of the movie your cuddled up against Ransom's side. Loving the feel and scent of him.

“C’mon Kitten,” he whispers to the top of your head. “Time for bed if we want that breakfast date to actually be breakfast.”

You both walk along the hall to your respective rooms. “Thanks Ransom - for everything tonight. Really.”

He smiles as he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “The pleasure is all mine Kitten.”

As you enter the guest room you smile softly to yourself. Are you already falling for Ransom? You push the thought out of your head and climb into the bed. Drifting off quickly.

You wake later than normal, feeling well rested. Disoriented by your surroundings, it takes you a moment to realize where you are. Suddenly, last night rushes back to you. The gala, Ransom, Andy cornering you. Ugh, what were you doing?

You get up and listen at the door to see if you hear movement. Nothing. Probably safe to go freshen up in the bathroom. You find Ransom has left you a spare toothbrush out and a fresh pair of joggers and sweatshirt in case you want to shower.

After freshening up, you walk out to the main living area to see it empty. Listening closely, you don’t hear any movement around the house. Should you look for him?

Before you can make a decision Ransom appears from down the hall. Dressed in slacks with a white sweatshirt he looks like he stepped right off of a photo shoot.

He sidles up beside you where you stand by the floor to ceiling windows. “Like the view Kitten?”

You give him a small smile and look back out towards the woods. “I love it.” You say, “It’s beautiful, but haunting at the same time. I didn’t know views like this existed outside of books, and maybe my imagination.”

Ransom just watches you intently while you speak, taking in all the small ticks in your facial expressions. He realizes then why Andy was able to lure you in. All of your feelings are bare on your face, even if you try and hide them, it’s still obvious how you are feeling.

“Yeah I like this view too.” He whispers, only looking straight at you. “Come on, let’s get over to your place so you can get dressed and I can take you for the most wonderful breakfast.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small, but you take the hand that Ransom offers and follow him out to his Beemer.

Ransom drops you at your apartment with a promise to be back in no more than 30 minutes. Once you get upstairs you breathe for a moment. Realizing your phone is almost dead you throw it on the charger, and go to look for an outfit for your breakfast date.

You realize that the feeling leading up to this date is so different from your “first date” with Andy. Ransom has clearly shown he’s interested in you, he’s not married, so why are you still thinking about Andy?

You pick out your favourite winter outfit, a brown wool skirt, black panty hose and black turtleneck. You do some light makeup, and feel happy with your look. Simple, but definitely date worthy. You decide to take your phone off of do not disturb and check the time. When you do you see there are a dozen notifications. All from Andy.

You decide to ignore them. He didn’t want you when you were available to him, then why would you want him now.

You grab your purse and stuff your phone in, before going downstairs to meet Ransom. Smiling as you see the Beemer parked right in front of your building waiting for you.

“You ready to go?” You ask as you slip into the passenger side of his car. He shoots you a cocky smirk and throws the car in gear.

“You look beautiful, Kitten.” He winks before pulling into traffic.

The ride to the restaurant is spent getting to know each other. Most of the things Ransom told you about himself you knew: his grandfathers empire, his mothers real estate business. What you didn’t know was he had been writing under a pen name for years, but of course wouldn’t tell you any of the books yet.

As Ransom guides you in, you realize this is one of the most expensive restaurants in town, and you stop short.

“Ransom, this is too much, I uh..” you trail off not quite sure how to tell him this is way out of your budget.

“Don’t worry Kitten, I chose the place so I’ll pay. Besides, I have been craving their French omelette.” He guides you over to your table where the hostess is waiting. She takes your drink orders, coffee for you, tea for Ransom, and leaves you two.

“So Kitten, tell me that movie you put on last night is not your favourite. Because if that’s the case I’m going to have to seriously re-evaluate you as dating material.” He gives you a sly wink as he puts his tea together.

The laugh that bubbles out of your throat is one of pure joy. “Of course not! But it’s definitely my go to if I just need to chill out, or do some house work.”

The date with Ransom is completely different from your date with Andy. There is a connection, beyond his good looks. Something inside is telling you to take this slow and see where it goes.

After you both finish your meals you decide to take a walk in the nearby park. Ransom surprises you by grabbing your hand as you both walk and talk. Once the silence settles between you both, you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder and just enjoying his presence. After a couple rounds of the park Ransom leads you back to his car.

“As much as I hate to say this Kitten, I have to take you home. Because if I don’t, I may just bring you back to my place and keep you forever.”

You smile as you drop into the passenger side. “Thank you Ransom, this has been the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

Once back at your apartment Ransom walks you to your door. “I know you want to take things slow, but how about a kiss to end our first date?”

You nod up at him and he slowly moves closer. You let your eyes flutter shut as he presses your lips together. There’s heat there, but something sweet and almost tender about the way his lips move against yours. By the time he draws away, you’re left breathless. He slowly slides his hands up and down your arms, “Please say we can do this again Kitten…”

The answer for you is simple, and you don’t have to think twice before you’re responding.

“Yes Ransom, I can’t wait to do this again.”

#like i’m gonna lose you #andy barber #andy barber x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #chris evans

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julieverne · 8 months

Text

"Lie to me!" Jane demanded.

Maura eyed her uneasily, aware that her inappropriate histamine response to dishonesty might simply be psychosomatic. But psychosomatic illnesses were real illnesses; the automic functions of the body were more complicated than previous studies had been able to ascertain, and she wasn't willing to have a potentially life-threatening histamine event in the middle of her work day.

"I love your new jacket," Maura said sweetly. "Especially the fringe." No hives. She was safe.

Jane gasped in horror, then chuckled.

"Just messin' with ya," Jane said, the casual way she operated driving Maura nuts. The way Jane felt the consistency of their relationship was never at stake, the way she trusted that Maura would put up with her.

"I find myself overwhelmingly attracted to you, especially when you test the boundaries of our relationship," Maura said, and Jane chuckled again.

"Good one."

Even though Maura could lie now, it was a truth that had slipped out, and it was relief she felt, the weight off her chest almost more than telling Arthur how hurt she'd been, how stuck and lost she'd been, keeping his secret.

She'd kept her own for far too long.

"I've been considering bending you over my desk and giving you a good spanking every time you prank me."

Jane's eyebrows shot up. "Violence, Doctor Isles? Very unseemly."

Jane got a text and headed out.

"I'm not in love with Jane Rizzoli." Maura checked her chest in her purse mirror. No hives. And Jane's shocked face behind her.

"I, uh. I left my..." Jane pointed at her badge, which had fallen off her belt when she flipped down in Mauras chair. "You were - you were done with the lies, weren't you?" Carefully Jane slid her badge back into her belt, paying more attention than was necessary for the simple task.

"Do you want me to lie to you?" Maura asked, and Jane didn't look up from her belt.

"It'd be easier if you did," Jane admitted, all her bravado gone.

"Then - sure. I was done with lying." Maura's chest ached. She'd as much as told her truth, but Jane didn't want to hear it.

"Hives. Maura, hives." Jane sounded panicked and Maura looked down at her chest. Oh. Apparently that sort of lie would set her off. Jane came to the desk and pulled out the antihistamines Maura took when she had a flare, pouring her some water.

Jane handed both over and watched anxiously as Maura drank, one hand already rubbing her chest and throat against the rising itch.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to lie. Not about that. Not at all. Not after everything you've already been through." Jane pulled the calamine lotion from the drawer Maura kept it in and loaded up a cotton bud for her. Maura dabbed gently at her skin. Jane watched her carefully, hovering close in case she was needed, aware she'd caused this.

"And I'm sorry my feelings are so inconvenient to you," Maura said stiffly, monitoring herself carefully for signs of respiratory distress.

"They're not. I mean, they are right now, I have a case to work, but they're not inconvenient. You're not inconvenient. I was just hoping I could get away with fooling myself a bit longer."

"Fooling yourself how?"

"Fooling myself into thinking there was anyone else for me."

"Jane. If you're pranking me again, I swear to God..."

"As much as I absolutely wouldn't mind letting you spank me, we're at work, and I have a case. Maura. Don't lie to me."

"I'm attracted to you in a way you don't want me to be."

"There's still a lie in there. It's not the whole truth."

"Where?" Maura was confused. She'd told the truth.

Jane closed the door to Maura's office, then checked that the morgue was empty.

"What if I wanted you to be?"

"Be what?"

"Attracted to me the way I am to you?" Jane's eyes were still on Maura's chest, and Maura checked the mirror. The hives had faded away.

"Lie to me, Jane."

"I've never once thought about marrying you. I definitely didn't feel anything awaken in me when you talked about spanking me. I'm not in love with you." Jane let out a deep breath. "Whoof. Been holding that in for a while."

"How do I know you're lying?" Maura narrowed her eyes; Jane didn't have an easy tell like Maura did. "How do I know this isn't another prank?"

Jane stepped forward, cupping Maura's chin, searching her eyes as she leaned in. Maura didn't stop her or pull away, wanting it to be true too much. Jane's pranks weren't this cruel. They weren't this brave. They weren't Jane's surprisingly soft lips against Maura's mouth, they weren't Jane's hands holding her like she mattered if she didn't.

"Okay?" Jane asked, pulling away slowly, her eyes lidded with residual longing.

There were many things Maura could say. A simple no would put Jane in her place. A yes would set them on a new course. There was so much tension between them now, where their bodies stiffly held each other apart, aware that they were at work and to give any quarter would be to give a mile and end up dry humping up against the door behind Jane.

"Okay?" There was a mild panic in Jane's eyes now. "No lies. I'm into you."

"Not right now you're not, but if you finish up this case early enough, you could be tonight."

With that Maura opened the door behind Jane and released her back into the precinct, watching as she stumbled, bemused, on unsteady legs to the elevator.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzoli & isles #maura isles #rizzles #jane rizzoli #rizzles fanfic

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keelywolfe · 1 month

Note

I have to ask: what is your writing/editing process like? You have absolutely spoiled me rotten with the frequency of your updates. Just about every 2-4 days, I get that ping on my inbox from you. That sort of frequency would lead me to suspect short chaps or maybe disjointed and riddled with errors but you are posting QUALITY, LENGTHY installments consistently, and I'm just in awe. Do you just word vomit onto an empty page in one sitting? Do you break it up? Do you edit as you go or at the end, all together? Just anything about your process, if you don't mind sharing, would be great to hear!

Oh, huh, no one has ever asked me that before. This is about how it goes:

First, I use a note-taking software to organize all my ideas and plot threads. I use MS OneNote because I already use it for work so I'm used to it, and I can have it synced between my phone and my laptop (I write on both), but I highly recommend using something like it. I say this not because I am an organized person, but because I am very disorganized and things will quickly descend into chaos without something to maintain order. I have about 50 tabs right now for 'Lucifer' and they contain everything from a single cool line that hit me at 3am (write it DOWN, you will not remember it in the morning, that's the devil talking) to complete outlines of upcoming stories. When I’m finished with a tab I dump it into another folder because I am allergic to deleting anything.

It looks like this:

When I go to use whatever is in a tab, I copy and paste it into a document, and then I write what I guess is the first draft. Just go at it like a monkey on crack trying to get everything that needs to be in the chapter on paper. It doesn’t need to be perfect, I'm just trying to get the shape of it down, with the occasional runaway tangent.

After the basic bones of the story are down, next is the second draft or as I mentally call it ‘jazzing it up.’ That's when I go back and fix things like the ten paragraphs of dialogue with no indication of who is speaking. Depending on how it's going, I might go through the jazz routine once or several times. I was struggling with the last chapter, it took a few attempts before I finally deleted a segment and then it clicked and I was able to get it where I wanted it to go.

Once I'm happy with the story, I use the Read function in my writing program to read the entire thing to me. It's seriously the best way to catch mistakes or odd phrasing, eyes miss things after reading it so many times, ears are a fresh sense and they catch the missing words and strange turns.

That's about it. I sound weird when it's all down like this. 😂

#radioapple asks #asks #Lucifer and his THNGVBR

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cuddlepilefics · 4 months

Text

Sleepy sickie + post-adrenaline puke

Fandom: P1Harmony

Sickie: Intak

Caregivers: hyung-line

@monthofsick

TW: emeto, fainting, real person fiction

No one’s POV.:

Comebacks were always rough but now that P1Harmony actually won on a show, the members were motivated to work even harder to get more wins under their belt. It didn’t matter how tired they were, the feeling of being cheered on by their fans made the exhaustion absolutely worth it. “What’s on your mind?”, Keeho asked softly, catching Intak’s attention. Furrowing his brows at the leader, Intak muttered: “You talking to me, hyung?” – “Who else would I be talking to? We’re the only two here”, Keeho retorted and the younger frantically looked around the room. He hadn’t noticed their friends leaving. Had he really been that spaced out? “So?”, the leader repeated, “What’s on your mind? You seem really deep in thought, especially if you didn’t even notice the others heading out.”

There was a moment of silence before Intak asked: “Can I be honest with you? There’s nothing on my mind. No thoughts, head empty. ‘m just so tired.” – “So you’ve been more or less asleep with your eyes open, huh?”, Keeho chuckled, passing the younger a bottle of water, “I get that. None of us has gotten nearly enough sleep lately. Try to stay hydrated and we’ll see if we can fit in a nap at any point of the day.” Obediently sipping half of the water, Intak closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He hadn’t been able to kick this headache for the past two days and it only seemed to be getting worse. Noticing his dongsaeng’s discomfort, Keeho hummed: “Headache?” The younger nodded and closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. “Don’t worry, the others will bring back lunch when they return and I’m sure Taeyang will have some painkillers for you once you got something in your stomach”, the leader smiled, massaging Intak’s neck.

Grimacing, the boy slipped one hand under his shirt and weakly palmed at his middle. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to have something in his stomach. It had been a little unsettled for a while now but he knew how stress could lead to digestive problems, so he wasn’t too concerned. “Are you feeling okay?”, Taeyang asked as he placed the takeout bag onto the table. “Huh?”, Intak sleepily blinked up at the eldest, “Wha’?” – “I asked if you’re feeling okay”, Taeyang repeated, “You look pretty pale.” Sitting up, the rapper sighed: “Need sleep.” His words still came out a little slurred and he sluggishly scrubbed at his swollen eyes. “We all do”, Keeho muttered under his breath as he glanced at their maknaes tiredly piling onto a seat together.

After making sure their two youngest were eating, Jiung joined his hyungs in fussing over Intak. “Eat something”, Jiung hummed, placing a takeout box in front of the younger, “You’ll need the energy for the performance.” Though his appetite was almost non-existent but feeling pressured by his hyungs, he forced himself to eat, partly hoping he’d feel more alive once he had something in his system. Intak missed the hushed conversation between the two eldest but quietly thanked Taeyang when the older handed him a painkiller. Once the headache improved, he should be more functional.

That plan backfired badly and Intak found himself with a bad stomachache barely half an hour after his meal. He had already gotten his hair and makeup done, so he curled up on the couch and closed his eyes for a while. There was no way, he’d be able to take a nap though, the pain so intense he could barely breathe. His stomach groaned lowly, catching Jiung’s attention. “You good?”, the older whispered, heart breaking when the other shook his head. Releasing a slow breath, Intak mumbled: “The food isn’t settling at all.” – “No? What’s going on?”, Jiung worried, scooting over to feel his dongsaeng’s forehead, “You don’t have a fever, do you feel sick at all?” The younger slipped his hand under his shirt and rubbed his churning stomach, breathing: “It hurts like hell and I feel like I’m gonna puke.” – “Should we go to the bathroom?”, Jiung cooed, offering Intak a hand, “Come on, maybe you’ll feel better if you get it out.”

Intak panted as he bent over the toilet bowl, spitting into the undisturbed waters and watching the ripples. Standing behind his dongsaeng, Jiung rubbed the other’s back and winced when he felt his spine ripple. Intak’s eyes watered as he pitched forward with a harsh retch. Breaking into a strained coughing fit, the rapper hugged his middle tight as the pain increased tenfold. Intak sank into a crouch and heaved forcefully but couldn't bring anything up. Kneading the back of the rapper’s neck, Jiung offered: “Do you want me to get you some water? Might soothe your stomach or help you throw up.” – “Stay, please?”, Intak whimpered and shook his head, a fresh tear spilling down his pale cheek.

Jiung did stay, patiently rubbing Intak’s back as the younger heaved painfully. The rapper didn’t bring anything up though, only shredding his throat with unproductive retches as his stomach kept turning. Realizing that nothing would come from his attempts, Intak straightened back up and winced when his ears rang. With his vision darkening, he grabbed Jiung’s arms to steady himself, grateful when the older grabbed him to keep him from toppling over.

“You should have a couple of minutes to lay down and rest before we need to get on stage”, Jiung mused, walking Intak back to the couch, where the rapper promptly curled up, “Here, have some water first.” – “Hyung, I’m not sure that’s a good idea”, Intak moaned, palming his still upset stomach. He doubted it’d stay down. Turning to the younger, Keeho gasped in shock: “Woah, shit! What happened to your voice?!” Since the rapper looked so uncomfortable talking about it, Jiung replied softly: “Lunch wasn’t sitting so well and he’s feeling really sick to his stomach. He didn’t throw up yet but the dry heaves strained his throat badly.” – “You’re sick?”, Keeho frowned, feeling Intak’s forehead but he couldn’t detect a fever either. The younger didn’t reply, already knocked out.

“Poor kid”, Jiung whispered as he glanced at his sleeping dongsaeng, “He’s so exhausted, I think his body is lacking the energy to digest his meal. That might be why it's hurting him so much.” – “I’ll make sure he’ll be cleared from schedules for the remainder of the day”, Keeho promised, “Not sure I’ll be able to her him out of this performance though, since he didn’t throw up nor does he have a fever.” Jiung nodded grateful and went to find Taeyang to see if the older also had nausea medication, still praying his dongsaeng would have to perform. He couldn’t help beating himself up for saying that Intak hadn’t gotten sick yet. Though the rapper had tried so hard to be quiet, Jiung was sure at least some of the staff had heard him, so they could’ve easily lied but it was too late for that now.

Intak had a hard time waking up when Taeyang shook him just in time to quickly get his makeup retouched before having to go on stage. “You should drink a little more than that”, the eldest commented when Intak swallow the pill with only one tiny sip if water, “We wouldn’t want you passing out on stage.” – “No’ gonna pass ou’”, the rapper slurred, pushing the bottle away. Watching the interaction, Keeho wondered how the boy was going to rap his lines if he was too sleepy to pronounce such a simple sentence. Fighting down a sickly burp, Intak muttered under his breath: “More worried ‘bout pukin’ in front of everyone.” – “That’s not very reassuring”, Jiung chuckled sadly, also encouraging the other to have a few more sips.

They only had a few minutes left and Intak weakly slumped into Jiung’s side. “I cleared your schedule for the rest of the day, so you can catch up on some sleep soon. Your voice sounds wrecked, that’s why we’ll have you lipsync, just focus on dacing”, Keeho informed him quietly, “We’ll need you to stay awake a little longer though. Just get this performance over with and then you can rest.” The words barely made sense in Intak’s muddled brain but hearing their fans’ cheers already, the adrenaline woke him up just in time. Though he still felt incredibly shaky, he managed to put on a smile for their fans and forced his sore body to dance his heart out, temporarily forgetting the nausea licking at the back of his throat.

The members were stunned as they watched Intak dance. They wouldn’t have noticed him being unwell at all if they didn’t know. That was also why they startled when their friend crumpled, barely striking the ending pose before losing consciousness. With the camera focusing on their two maknaes as ending fairies, Keeho and Jiung quickly hoisted Intak off the floor and carried him backstage. Placing the rapper on the couch with a stack of cushions to elevate his legs, Jiung anxiously patted his dongsaeng’s pale cheeks, while a staff member fanned the boy with a stack of papers.

Intak was so unbelievably dizzy when he came to, his eyes still out of focus. With the adrenaline wearing off, the nausea returned with a vengeance, making him roll onto his side. Keeho managed to snatch a towel and hold it under Intak’s chin just in time for the rapper to gag up his nausea medicine. “You’re okay”, Jiung cooed and replaced the towel with a trash can, patting his dongsaeng’s back as he choked. Hurriedly removing the cushions, Keeho sat Intak up to help him breathe while the younger kept coughing. The leader placed the trash can between the rapper’s legs and winced when he threw up again. Intak barely managed to get a breath in before another large wave spilled from his lips. Rubbing slow, comforting circles on the rapper’s back, Jiung whispered: “Get it all out, your stomach will feel better afterwards.” – “You did so well”, Keeho praised, getting another towel that he wet with some cold water, draping ut across the back of his dongsaeng’s neck to ease his headache a little.

The rest of the members, joined them not much later, hearts aching when they found Intak sleepily curled up against Jiung’s side. It had taken a bit for the heaves to die down, his throat now burning from the strain. He couldn’t bring himself to drink anything, merely rinsing his mouth a couple of times to get rid of the vile taste. Now that the adrenaline was gone, Intak was zapped of all energy, finally breaking into tears after fighting so hard to keep it together. Seeing that he was probably done throwing up, Jiung opened his arms and inviting the rapper to cuddle into him. “It’s okay, you’re truly exhausted, huh?”, the older smiled sadly, scratching Intak’s scalp to soothe him. “Come on, put on your sweater”, Taeyang coaxed, “Sitting around in your sweaty stage outfit isn’t going to do you any good.”

It did need some convincing for Intak to move, unable to hold back a hoarse whimper at the pounding pain in his head. Taeyang stood in front of his dongsaeng, smoothing the shirt down his back while the younger sleepily rested his head against the other’s tummy. Cradling Intak’s head against his middle, the eldest promised: “We’ll get you to bed soon. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Hyungs will handle everything.” The rapper trembled, silent tears soaking into Taeyang’s shirt. It had been a while since he had last felt this miserable. The room seemed to be spinning at irregular speeds but his hyung’s arms kept him grounded. “Hyung, we grabbed you some tea”, Jongseob hummed, carrying a paper cup. Seeing that Intak wasn’t yet able to stomach anything and his hands were too shake, the maknae gave it to Taeyang to hold onto for the time being.

Intak was slowly drifting off against Taeyang, while the others got ready to leave. Before he could fall asleep though, the eldest had him sip some of the tea and they were relieved that it soothed both, his throat and his stomach. Shota came to remove Intak’s smeared makeup, while Taeyang freshened up too and the they were off. The rapper fell asleep against Jiung as they drove him back to the dorm, so he could rest. “Fee’ sick ‘gain”, Intak slurred when they pulled up to the building, only half awake. Cursing under his breath, Keeho got out and opened the door for the younger who didn’t even get to unbuckle his seatbelt before leaning out of the car, retching onto the pavement. Since Intak didn’t have much left in him, the spell was over once he heaved up a few mouthful of acid and Jiung unbuckled his seatbelt for him.

With how dizzy he was, it was hard to get Intak out of the car without him falling over but they eventually had him stumbling along between Keeho and Jiung, who prayed their dongsaeng would make it up to his room without anymore incidents because he already looked about to faint again. Taeyang rushed to removed the boy’s shoes but by the time they sat him down on his bed, he was ghostly pale anyway. Resting his hands on his dongsaeng’s shoulders, Keeho eased the boy down and shushed: “Breathe through the dizziness. We’re here now, you won’t have to move anytime soon.” – “Hyung, ‘m so tired”, Intak whimpered, draping his arm over his face as he waited for the dark spots to fade. “We know”, the leader sighed, running his hand through the rapper’s hair, “You did so well though. I’m really proud of you.”

Sadly, they could only get Intak cleared of his schedule, so there was no one who could stay with him. That’s why Jiung set him up with a bucket next to his bed, while Shota and Jongseob went through their snack cabinet and picked out some saltine crackers and pretzels. Taeyang brought a bottle of water and a sports drink, placing them on Intak’s nightstand next to the snacks their maknaes brought. “We’ll have to leave soon but you should try to get some fluids and electrolytes in as soon as your stomach settles down. There’s some stuff on your nightstand, anything particular you want us to get you before we leave?”, the eldest hummed, receiving a shake of the head, “You got your phone, so if you need anything, give us a call. Try to catch up on some sleep, okay? See you tonight.”

Finally having permission to rest, Intak was out before the door had even closed behind his friends.

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #emeto #tw emeto #tw rpf #p1harmony #novemetober

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herofics · 10 months

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Can't trust myself

Some comfort yet again, because I've been having a hard week, and Geto is a comfort character for me. I’ve been having some trouble with my psychosis symptoms, and it’s fucking scary so I decided to write some fluff. I know this probably won’t be a very popular post or won’t resonate with many people, but sometimes I’ve gotta just write for myself

You hadn’t been out of the house a single time during the last five days. Geto had been busy and he had barely been home other than to sleep. You woke up multiple times during the night, so you knew he was there beside you, but you didn’t want to bother him, so you just let him sleep. You spent the minutes you were awake looking at him and listening to him breathe. Every now and then you reached your hand to move his hair off his face, but each time you pulled your hand away in fear that you would wake him.

You’d barely been eating and you’d gotten out of bed only when you absolutely had to. You were so anxious you could barely function. Every little noise around the house made you jump, and you felt like crying all the time. You weren’t even sure if the sounds were real or if your mind was conjuring them up.

You were laying in bed for the fifth day in a row. Since Geto hadn’t needed your help with his little cult, you hadn’t had a reason to leave the house. The fridge was starting to look pretty empty and you were almost out of food, but you couldn’t care less. Maybe you would just stop eating too. You weren’t really sleeping, so what was a little hunger on top of that. You’d stop feeling it eventually, right?

Geto had noticed you hadn’t been dropping in to see him for multiple days now. He decided to ditch his responsibilities for a few hours and go check on you. He knew you had been tired and anxious, but he didn’t really grasp how bad it had gotten.

“I’m home love” he greeted as he closed the front door.

“Suguru, what are you doing here?” you asked, as you wobbled out of the bedroom, stopping in the doorframe.

“I came to see you, I was worried” Geto said and walked over to you, placing his hand on your cheek.

“Worried about what exactly?” you yawned and rubbed the back of your neck, before leaning your head into his hand.

“You of course” Geto said, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“It’s probably just a momentary slump, I’ll be fine in a week, hopefully…” you sighed.

“I hope so too, but I’m still going to be here for you, since you’re not fine now”

“Thank you” you sniffled, before hugging him so hard and suddenly he almost fell over.

“It’s okay, I’m here” he said, hugging you close.

You’d always felt safe with him. You’d always felt like you could tell him anything, so why was this so hard? He knew about your previous troubles with psychosis, so why was it so hard to tell him you were having a more active episode again. It had been a few years since the really bad phase, but it’s not like the symptoms had ever completely gone away. Your mind was starting to act up again, and it was scary as hell. Not being able to trust your own brain was scarier than any curse.

“I’m having trouble again Suguru. I keep hearing sounds and seeing things. I’m scared and paranoid constantly and I don’t know what to do” you muttered into his shoulder.

“That explains why you’ve been so anxious and stressed lately. How long has this been going on?” he asked

“About a month” you admitted as you took a step back from him, grabbing his hand and holding onto it.

“A month? Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I was hoping it would go away, but it seems that’s not the case” you looked down at his hand and squeezed it.

“Oh love” Geto sighed. He didn’t sound angry, more like a bit disappointed that you hadn’t come to him about this.

“I didn’t want to burden you. I know there’s big things coming up that you have to prepare for, and I really was hoping this was just a fluke” you sighed and looked back up at him.

“I’m gonna stay home the rest of the day. We can talk about what’s been going on with you” Geto said, squeezing your hand back.

“I know you have a lot to do, so thank you for staying with me” you smiled tiredly.

“I need you to be well, that’s also a big priority of mine. I hope you know that” Geto smiled that gentle close eyed smile of his.

“I appreciate the reminder” you chuckled.

Your stomach started to rumble, which made you realize you hadn’t eaten since last night.

“Hungry?” Geto smirked.

“Yes, but the fridge is pretty much empty” you noted motioning towards the kitchen.

“I’ll tell one of the monkeys to go get us some things from the store. What would you like?”

“Food. I don’t really have any particular cravings right now, so pretty much anything will do” you shrugged.

“While I take care of that, you look like you could use a shower” Geto suggested.

“You’re probably right, I’m gonna go do that” you yawned and stretched your arms towards the ceiling, before disappearing around the corner.

After a couple of minutes, Geto heard the shower turn on. He leaned on the kitchen counter and hung his head back. He could finally relax and exhale the breath he felt like he’d been holding in for days. He wasn’t happy that you were having trouble, but he was glad you had finally told him what was going on. Now he didn’t have to guess anymore. He just wasn’t sure what he could do for you. He was going to be there for you the best he could, that was a given, but he couldn’t be with you 24/7. He just had to believe you would be okay. The bad times had always passed before, so surely this would as well.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen comfort #jjk comfort #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #psychosis tw

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cannibal-nightmares · 3 months

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sharing this with you all for perspective and also as a processing method for myself

being schizophrenic can be described by the time I bought a small air dehumidifier for my bathroom. the appliance in the box was fine and normal, it wasn't until I tried to take it out was something Wrong, something was Bad--the thing felt like it was living somehow and that was supremely Not Good; the logic part of my brain (and, truly, god bless I still have any semblance of logic still thriving and kicking) thought annoyedly, "Ugh, not this again, it's an inanimate object," but it will never ever be enough to override the inherent paranoid delusion completely. So they fought, the two sides, and when logic stands a fighting chance, the only way I can get through something is by shouting over the noise... and in this case, it was at a dehumidifier. I managed to get it out of the box all while yelling at it--which may sound like absolutely nothing, but this circumstance was actually huge for me--put it on the floor, and... Walked away. Backed away. I was too scared to plug it in, and this isn't telling the whole of the story: If remember correctly, I think I ended up crying because my hands felt "tainted" after touching the thing, and I was getting so worked up and annoyed because the only self-soothing that helps is your stereotyped incoherent rambling, and I often mitigate the shouting by forcing stressed out laughter which just makes it all seem worse, frankly. I left the dehumidifier on the floor until the next morning when I was able to plug it in and use it; I still to this day struggle to empty out the water carafe and I can't directly look at it, but at the very least I can use it for its functionality.

never thought I'd admit to this story, but I just woke up to my smoke detector beeping because the battery must be dying. the beeping bothers me way less than I would have othewise imagined, but instead of removing and replacing the battery myself, I have to call the landlord to do it for me. I have to. I set up a stool to do it myself, and my head just started swarming. And that shit is louder than any fire alarm chirping. it feels like a swarming, like pressure, like someone shouting at you to get out of the way of an oncoming car fifty times over. it's like standing next to a blaring firetruck at a parade. it feels like There Is No Worse Consequence Than This, like somehow my consciousness will be overridden if I touch the smoke detector, if I get too close to it, if I think about it at a specific angle for too long.

and I try to talk to people about my paranoia, but they don't understand there is no reason to be had. "You're right, the beeping is very loud and kind of scary," they might say. "You don't have to worry about electrocution," they might consider, "it's just a battery." It's like the instance I was having a hard time at work and asked my co-worker if a customer's service dog was real and I was replied to with, "I hope so! A robot dog would be spooky!" it has nothing to do with the physical logic at all, but absurdity like "if I fix the fire alarm myself, magically the next door neighbor will be able to read my mind" and etc beyond etc. And it may sound silly, but that's the point, that's the problem, and it's just as real as the sky is blue.

anyways im not telling this tale for pity, but, again, to offer perspective. This ish robs you of your autonomy in the most jarring and absurd ways and all I can do is laugh through it. What makes it such a monster to deal with--at least for me--is that working through the logic doesn't seem to do a damn thing. So I really do have to force myself to rely on others in times like this, and it's infinitely more difficult when your brain decides that others are the enemy, as well, even when they never had been before.

#cannibal-nightmares rambles #actually schizophrenic #actually schizospec #schizoaffective #actually neurodivergent

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cdyssey · 1 year

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Trust Me, Pt. 1/2

Summary: Melissa had to put someone down as her emergency contact.

CW: Car Accident; Medical Procedures; Hospitalization

A/N: Pt. 1 of my gift for @straperine for the Secret Santa exchange! Michael, ily!! I wrote more in the AO3 A/N, but the gist is that I adore you, and I’m so glad that we’re friends!

AO3 Link | Part Two

“Last time I trusted someone else to shuffle, I lost a kidney.” - Melissa Schemmenti

It’s a perfectly normal Saturday night.

Standing barefoot in her kitchen, listening to an old Sam Cooke vinyl on her grandmother’s still-functioning record player, Barbara hums to herself as she cards her fingers through her recipe box, looking for her poppyseed chicken recipe. Taylor is coming over for dinner tomorrow evening with her new boyfriend—a young gentleman named Marcus, who apparently works on Wall Street.

Barbara hates that.

Just a little.

Thinks she knows the type from the books she’s read and the movies she’s seen.

Tie-wearing, cocaine-snorting, fast-talking hooligans.

Mm.

When she told Gerald of her suspicions during one of their occasional calls a week or so ago, he only laughed and said that she should give the boul a chance. Her ex-husband had caught a glimpse of him once on a FaceTime chat with Taylor and said that he seemed nice enough. A little bit of an egghead, maybe, but that’s only to be expected from a broker. When she told Melissa the exact same thing in the teacher’s lounge the next day—(dissatisfied with that perfectly reasonable answer)—to her chagrin, her best friend only doubled over in laughter too, briefly holding on to her shoulder for support.

“God, Barb,” she shook her head, her green eyes twinkling with amusement, “I do love the way you see the world, hon.”

So, with these humbling reactions in mind, she grudgingly supposes she’s going to give Mr. Marcus Wall Street a singular shot.

He had better not waste it either.

She eventually finds the recipe, props it up against a half-empty bottle of Merlot, and starts rooting around her kitchen to ensure that she has everything. She’ll need to go to the store and grab the chicken, definitely… a box of Ritz Crackers for the crust too… and maybe a few other necessities besides.

More TV dinners to neatly stack in her freezer. (It’s hard to cook for precisely one person.) Another half-pint of milk. (That she won’t be able to drink by herself anyway.) A fresh bottle of wine that she will slowly and methodically desiccate to its dregs throughout two weeks, allowing herself a singular half-glass when the home she has lived in for twenty-one years feels like a total stranger.

(So quiet. It used to never be quiet in the Howard residence. Once filled with the pealing laughter of her two beautiful girls. Once filled with the ambient noise of Gerald flicking on the TV after a long day at work. Once filled with their shared laughter as they gossiped together about some neighbor or another. But this had been well before the disagreements had begun. They never had fights, her and Gerald. Just polite disagreements in slightly raised voices. And she’d go to school the next day, attempting to plaster on a beatific smile that would crumble as soon as Melissa saw her, clocking her on the spot, seeing her. Oh, how naked she was beneath that verdant gaze, so exposed, like the carefully layered outfits that she meticulously put together disguised absolutely nothing. And the younger teacher would rush to her in an instant, dropping everything, and in the embrace of her friend’s arms, Barbara would finally let the mask drop too—if only for a few seconds, a minute at most, her face buried against the crook of that warm neck like it was her own personal Bible.)

As Sam Cooke’s soulful voice continues to warble through her empty kitchen, she harmonizes with him as she makes her grocery list.

And idly pours herself a half-glass of Merlot.

It’s a perfectly normal Saturday night.

After she heats up a bowl of leftover tomato soup for herself, she settles in her favorite recliner in the living room and prepares to watch Jeopardy!, which’ll be on in about ten minutes.

She tries to call Melissa twice to see if she wants to get on the phone and watch it together—as they sometimes do these days—but to no avail. She gets hit by Melissa’s vaguely threatening voicemail twice.

“Melissa.” A slight pause, wary, like her dear friend thinks that even giving her first name might backfire on her. “Schemmenti. If ya need me, you know where to find me. If you’re tryin’ to sell me somethin’, don’t.”

She leaves a message on the second call, just a general no worries if you’re busy.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

And so, Barbara eats dinner in silence too, occasionally calling out the answers to clues. Hamlet. The Grand Canyon. Ghosts. Jennifer Coolidge, though the correct answer is actually Jennifer Hudson, which seems incorrect to Barbara but alright.

She gets tired of doing that by Double Jeopardy, though, and sits the rest of the program in silence, idly stirring the dregs of her soup. The grandfather clock in the corner slowly drags her into seven, the toll echoing solemnly through the darkened room.

Melissa never calls her back.

And it’s fine, of course.

She’s well-aware her friend has a life of her own… but Barbara admittedly likes it—much more than she rationally should—when the two of them share their evenings together, even when it’s just over the phone.

Melissa’s been her saving grace in all of these endless months since the divorce, coming over on so many weekends—and now that school’s out for the summer, much more often than that. They’ve chatted and cut-up and talked about new art projects they want to try with their kids in the fall, shoulders lightly brushing, their curving hips, their thighs. Melissa has unfailingly cooked for her, always lamenting the deplorable state of Barbara’s fridge or else complaining about her depleted spice cabinet.

Perpetually making sure that she has enough to eat.

She made the tomato soup that Barbara is currently picking at, having popped over for dinner just two nights ago with a foot-long baguette, a bunch of vegetables, and assorted spices that she dragged from her own kitchen.

“You gotta know I love you, hon,” Melissa had huffed as she dropped her haul onto the pristine island in Barbara’s kitchen. “I haven’t cooked for someone this much since Joe.”

At first, Barbara had easily smiled at the fact that she was loved by Melissa, warmth radiating through her chest and all the way down to her perfectly manicured fingertips, but then, she had been less pleased by the casual comparison to Melissa’s idiotic ex-husband, blinking in a manner that she hoped wasn’t too revealing.

“Joseph was hardly as good-looking as I am, though, right?” She had asked, trying to play it all off as a joke.

Of course it was a joke to her.

This jealousy that she was pretending to affect.

Melissa only chuckled, though, and lightly swatted her on the ass with a dish towel, which did something unpleasantly delightful to her insides too.

“Damn straight,” she winked, and Barbara hasn’t been able to let go of the moment since. She rubs the emptiness on her ring finger almost subconsciously, as though she can still feel where it had cuffed her.

(The inlaid diamonds had almost been as heavy as her guilt.)

She gets Final Jeopardy right.

Derrida.

It’s a perfectly normal Saturday night.

After taking her makeup off, showering, and slipping into her favorite silky pajama set, she finally crawls into the king-sized bed that she had once shared with Gerald and tries to settle her mind by reading. She and the ladies at her Bible Club have been making their way through a pretty hefty devotional lately—(in-between a little light gossiping about Brother Carlton Sanders’ possible mistress, of course)—and Barbara tries to stay on top of the weekly readings as much as she can with her busy schedule.

But tonight, the words of God are falling on glassy eyes. She can only get through a few pages before she’s distracted, disconcerted, discontent—staring at the empty space next to her, gently biting her tongue between her teeth.

It’s been eleven months since she and Gerald divorced, their thirty-seven year marriage ending as it had so beautifully begun—with a moment of quiet intimacy. They laced their hands together in their attorney’s office and both quietly shed tears at what they were about to do.

She almost changed her mind then, right as her shaking pen was poised above the dotted line with her name neatly printed beneath it.

Almost conceded to everything that would be required of her to not let him go.

Almost gave that crucial piece of herself away.

Here, take it—I can’t do this.

I don’t know how to be alone.

I don’t know how to be without you.

But Gerald, still holding her other hand, squeezed it and silently reminded her it was okay.

They had done everything right in a desperate attempt to preserve their marriage.

They had talked to their dear pastor first, Brother Hank, who told them that God knew the plans He had for them, plans for them to prosper and not be harmed, plans for them to have hope and a future.

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean that your future is together,” he had added kindly, peering between both of them with keen eyes. He had known them for well over twenty years now and had been their friend through most of them.

It was time, he implicitly said without ever saying the words, but neither Barbara nor Gerald had been ready to hear it then, both stubborn to the last.

They had gone to at least five months worth of couple’s counseling after that, Gerald an unstoppable force and Barbara an immovable object on the subject of her husband’s possible transfer. He was an excellent welder, and his company wanted to send him down to New Orleans to work on the cruise ships that docked and departed from the Big Easy. The pay was handsome—far more money than Barbara had ever seen in her entirety of a career as an public school educator—but the emotional toil was steep.

Gerald wanted to move back to Louisiana—where she’d been raised and where they had initially met when he temporarily located there for a job. It clearly made more sense than him traveling back-and-forth between contracts, but Barbara had been adamant about staying in Philadelphia. She was too old to start anew at a different elementary school in a now foreign place. And she didn’t want to leave Abbott, having invested nearly half of her life there, with so much more left to give yet.

Ava surely needed her. Though the once thoroughly incompetent principal had grown leaps and bounds over the past few years of her tenure, she still relied upon Barbara for some help with the budget and other administrative duties.

Her young mentees too—Janine, Jacob, and Gregory—all coming into their own as fine, young teachers, of course… but still, whenever they encountered some hard problem or another, they unfailingly continued to consult Barbara. They called her their work mom and she fondly (if a little exasperatedly) claimed them as her own.

And then there was the problem, the possibility, and the exquisite pain of surely losing Melissa Schemmenti.

Melissa—her dear, sweet Mel—independent and self-sufficient, bold and thoroughly capable and so full of life… probably didn’t need her.

But Barbara did.

Barbara needed her best friend.

She would never admit it aloud—not even to herself, much less to Gerald—but even the mere thought of parting with Melissa fueled an almost ungodly amount of her hesitation. She had been inseparable from the younger woman for nearly as long as she had been teaching at Abbott, then new to Philadelphia, lacking a community and a context beyond her nuclear family and the Baptist church they went to every Sunday.

But then there had been Melissa, whom she had instantly clicked with despite the thousands of differences between them: their ages, their upbringings, their overall demeanors and almost every last habit in-between. But before three months had passed since Mel had become a teacher at the school, the two of them had already claimed the round table closest to the fridge in the teacher’s lounge as their own.

A South Philly native, born and raised, Melissa took her under her wing and made her feel at ease in the city, something that even her husband hadn’t been able to accomplish. She would never forget this initial kindness, even though she has long since striven to repay it.

She would always remember that Melissa had been the first person who made her feel at home.

But there was something about this particular truth that felt like it was unsavory—a confession of sin weighing upon her otherwise stainless soul.

So they argued about thousands of different things.

But never once about Melissa.

She wouldn’t dare probe that tender wound for Gerald to see, somehow finding it much more tenable to let it fester beneath her carefully buttoned shirt and become an abscess, a maw, dark and desolate, devouring her from the inside out.

It gnawed on her that her husband of three decades had to beg her to leave, but she innately knew that her friend of nearly the same amount of time didn’t have to so much as lift a finger to convince her to stay.

What was wrong with her?

How had her kind and loving marriage arrived at this terminal end?

(And what, pray tell, had her relationship with Melissa become in all the intervening years?)

(Friend was starting to feel insufficient, lacking the gravitas to encapsulate the fact that the two women had spent nearly thirty years together, teaching side-by-side in the unchanging hallways of Abbott Elementary. Partner felt closer—maybe comfortable even—but partner was dangerous too, laden with some of the same connotations that encircled the diamond encrusted band on her fourth finger.)

(So friend would have to fit. She would make it fit, damn it. She was Barbara Howard, by God, and if anyone could maneuver a square through a circular hole, it was surely her.)

“You could retire.” If Gerald had brought this suggestion up once, he had done it a hundred times. “My salary would finally be more than enough to support us, Barb, and you wouldn’t have to work anymore! You could finally have time for all the hobbies you’ve wanted to do!”

Barbara had intimately known that he was just trying to be considerate when he made remarks such as these, but it had simply devastated her, with each occasion, to know that he had thoroughly misunderstood her life’s project. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life pursuing hobbies; she wanted to be in Classroom 1A, teaching the next generation how to read.

Their marital counselor, a kindly lady named Mrs. Russell, emphasized honest communication, encouraging them to voice their wants, needs, and fears to each other—something which they increasingly found they could only do with her in the room, and even then, in front of the counselor and God Himself, Barbara could not be completely vulnerable.

“We’ve raised our daughters here,” she once said, deflecting.

“And our daughters are grown now,” Gerald replied gently—always gentle, her Ger. She loved that about him. Sitting across from him in a hard-backed chair, she had never hated that trait of his more, how it cast the weakness of her protestations in clear and ungainly light.

“But what about your family?” She grasped at straws. “Your stepfather?”

“My brother can finally step up to the plate to help with him, and we can always come back to visit.”

“Taylor’s only an hour or so away from us now.”

“Taylor can fly out to see us anytime she wants to.”

“Gerald,” she had only pleaded at the end, during the last fifteen minutes of their final appointment with the marriage counselor. Their careful budgeting wouldn’t allow them another, not if they wanted to make next month’s mortgage payment on time. “I’m not finished yet.”

Finished.

Barbara Howard used all her words very carefully, and this particular verb was no different. On her desperate tongue, it implied an end, a conclusion, a vital depletion.

She’d be passively destroyed, hollowed out, chipped away piece-by-sordid-piece, weathered with the patina of time until nothing was left but the ruins of herself still standing miraculously tall. She’d be the pillar of salt, perpetually looking back at the homeland she had made for herself as she slowly eroded to the grains.

I’m not finished yet.

And I’d be finished if I went to New Orleans.

If I retired in a city I was unfamiliar with.

A ghost well before my time.

She begged him with her eyes, with the tears that were traitorously starting to leak from them, to read between the lines, to understand the magnitude of what she was still incapable of fully saying.

Gerald digested it quietly, agony straining every weathered line in his face. He stared at the ground and sat like a man carved from stone for what felt like minutes, hours, days—forever in a microscopic moment.

“Me neither, Barb,” he eventually croaked, finally looking up at her, with desolation in the darks of his eyes, and she knew at once that he wasn’t talking about leaving Philadelphia.

His own ghosthood was staying in it.

“I’m not finished either.”

Together, they had arrived at an untenable conclusion.

The only one that remained.

It was time.

They had been married for thirty-seven years, in love for perhaps forty.

Even still.

It was over.

Finished.

It was an amicable split, a no-fault divorce, and the two of them have done everything in their power to remain on good terms with each other since then—not just for their girls’ sakes, but very much for their own. Their one irreconcilable difference has done nothing to change the fact that they still care for each other deeply, that they will always have thirty-seven wonderful years between them, that they will always be family. They chat on the phone at least once a month and send texts even more often than that. She forwards him mail all the way in Louisiana. He sends her pictures of weird birds he sees when he’s out on a job. She usually smiles and responds, LOL.

Barbara most definitely isn’t in love with him anymore—the entire year they had spent fighting and ten months of separation besides has firmly put the nail in that coffin—but admittedly, she does miss him from time-to-time all the same.

The companionship he offered.

The safety.

The peace.

She places her devotional on top of her blanket-covered lap and stares off into the middle distance for what feels like an hour, though when she checks her phone, it’s only been three minutes. Her lockscreen is a selfie of her and Melissa from when they had gone on a road trip together this past spring.

It’d been the younger woman’s unsubtle way of saying, Hon, I’m dragging your mopey ass outta the house if it kills me.

Melissa’s chin is nestled against Barbara’s shoulder in the unsteadily taken picture, the sun glinting off the scarlet vividness of her hair, and Barbara herself is smiling down at her friend, visible affection in her eyes.

Love.

She is smiling even now, at this very minute, always heartened by the reminder that she exists at the same time as Melissa Schemmenti.

Oh, how she adores this woman.

It vaguely bothers her, though, that Melissa hasn’t returned her call or even sent a text to show that she's received it. It’s a bit unusual for her; she’s always been fairly quick about replying to Barbara…

She supposes that she’s just being a little clingy, though.

Mel had mentioned something about going out this weekend after all. She likes to frequent bars occasionally and shoot pool with strangers.

Sometimes, she even takes them home.

Barbara crinkles her nose at the thought, distantly irritated by the image of Melissa swapping spit with some man who always ends up resembling Joseph in her head or trading lipstick with some woman who is devastatingly beautiful.

The women Melissa dates are always devastatingly beautiful.

That crucial fact always makes Barbara feel some type of way. She can deal with the Joseph substitutes—the slobs, the drunkards, the sleazes. After all, using Joseph as the paradigm and the example, she knows they’ll never last.

She cannot say the same of her own gender.

Indeed, she cannot say anything at all about the way that she has to repress an inexplicable urge to compete with Melissa’s inamoratas for her attention.

Even though she knows she maybe shouldn’t, Barbara wings one last text her friend’s way.

Girlfriend, call me back in the morning!

Let’s grab brunch.

Perhaps they can go to Over Easy—that breakfast café up the road from Melissa’s house—and inappropriately sip mimosas at eleven in the morning and share a stack of waffles as they talk about their week. And perhaps, like the last time they did as much, Barbara will have the opportunity to reach over and thumb away the little bit of whipped cream that somehow gets on Melissa’s cherry-red nose…

It'd been so lovely, sharing that domestic intimacy with her.

It doesn't strike her as odd at all that she wants to do it all over again.

It’s a perfectly normal Saturday night.

And then, Barbara’s phone rings precisely six minutes after midnight, startling her upright in that big, empty bed.

Groaning, moaning, fumbling a little in the coagulated darkness, she flicks the latch on her bedside lamp and snatches her phone up from where it had been laying facedown on her devotional.

Her first thought, seeing the unregistered number, is that it’s just another one of those damn robocalls, interrupting what had been a very good sleep, but the area code seems to suggest that it’s local.

She tentatively decides to answer—perhaps solely to chew the midnight caller out—pulling the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?” She asks crossly.

“Hello, yes,” comes a tired voice—gruff but not necessarily unkind. Clinical, practiced even. This person is a professional. “Is this… Barbara Howard?”

He says her name like he’s reading it from a document, and sudden terror carves through her like a knife.

“Yes, this is she,” Barbara grips her phone so tightly that her arthritic wrist starts to ache. “May I ask whom I’m speaking to?”

All of the sleepiness has been sieved from her in an instant, shed like a decaying skin. She palms her stomach, suddenly and completely nauseous.

“My name is Dr. Alex McGill, and I’m in charge of the emergency room at St. Vincent’s tonight,” the voice identifies itself, nearly doing her in right then and there. St. Vincent’s. The hospital about twenty minutes away. She’d given birth to Gina there, and the association immediately makes her think of her girls, even though one is certainly in New York and the other is all the way in California. But then she comes to her senses—remembers that it’s highly likely that she’s still listed on Gerald's medical forms—and that terrifies her just as powerfully. “I’m calling to inform you about—”

“Who is it?” She interrupts sharply, incapable of enduring polite decorum, not now, not when every muscle in her body is clenched with unbearable anxiety.

There is only one type of phone call that this can possibly be.

A short pause.

And in that infinitesimal moment, that tenth of a second before the entirety of her world is irrevocably shaken at its foundation, Barbara suddenly realizes the awful answer before Dr. Alex McGill ever articulates it.

“I’m calling because you’re listed as Melissa Schemmenti’s emergency contact,” he says, so gently, but even still, Barbara lets out a strangled cry that she barely registers as coming from herself. “A driver in a truck rear ended her around eleven this evening and caused her to skid off the road.”

The proclamation is simply ruinous.

And its hypotheticals violently assault her, seizing across her mind’s eye in a whirl of vicious colors.

Melissa in a pool of crimson blood.

Melissa slumped over against the wheel, turning blue.

Melissa, cold, laid out beneath a white sheet.

They force Barbara Howard on her knees, these horrible visions, these phantasmagorias; she feels the cold metal of their possibility against her goosebump knotted skin. She waits for the inevitable pull of the trigger.

Melissa! She wants to yell. She wants to scream. She wants to shake the world with her primal grief and tear it all asunder until someone, anyone, feels an ounce of the horror that is currently rearranging her central nervous system.

Melissa.

Please, God. Not now, not yet—not ever.

“Is she—“ She can’t quite get out, choked and choking.

“She’s still alive,” Dr. McGill quickly assures her, his voice steady where hers is not. “She’s in surgery now with one of St. Vincent’s finest.”

And Barbara, holding the phone against her ear like it’s a lifeline, begins to weep with visceral relief.

She’s alive.

The doctor tries to console her further, she thinks—perhaps even giving her specifics—but she barely registers that he's speaking; her head only has room enough for one recurring refrain.

She's alive.

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #abbott elementary #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #straperine

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muzzleroars · 11 months

Note

oughhg. this is a little out there but its a fun scenario imo. my gabe and v2 eventually also face that hardware deterioration problem as well (after a LONG ass time at least) and since those two hang out on the surface, it's a little more difficult to deal with but i like to imagine v2 goes the more proactive route. over time v2 started studying the corpses of angels (mostly consisting of council-sympathizers or individuals with something to gain from trying to go after gabriel) and uses what it learns from that to engineer some kind of esoteric replacement for its failing processors derived from how angels seem to function. its like less a life extention or revival and more like creating a whole new replacement ai that carries some of its old memories and archived information which also has its own distinct quirks that set it apart from the original v2. the whole reason it does this is because once it noticed its systems beginning to deteriorate its objective basically became 'make sure my friend wont be alone in an otherwise empty world' and it drives me fucking crazy thinking about it

THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS BC I GENUINELY WANTED TO ASK YOU ABOUT THIS....and i can absolutely see the parallels between this version of v2 and v1 as it is resurrected in heaven. i do really like v2 taking a practical approach and deconstructing the anatomy of angels in order to reverse-engineer something that may preserve it (SUCH a neat idea, absolutely in love with it), as well as this being an interesting way that it may emotionally and mentally deal with its decay - work on it, fix it, remember why it's doing it in the first place. and it's a good contrast to me because v1 is acutely aware that its death means a distinct loss and isolation for gabriel, yet its mind has so thoroughly protected against it as a way to prevent locking it into an existential dread it could loop on indefinitely, to the point where every processor it has is consumed by it...and that would be leaving gabriel too. so ultimately it does die, the half-measures they were able to discuss before v1's mind had to detach from the conversation proving to not be enough to save it, and gabriel instead must put into motion a plan he couldn't previously articulate.

BUT either through looting god or his own light (MAN....i like both too much), v1 is brought back to honestly be in much the same position as v2 is for you - both mechanical and divine, it now inhabits a life state nothing before it has achieved. i haven't fully determined what this means for v1, but the transition is an uneasy one as code rewrites into esoteric languages and divine mathematics command its logic to impossibilities. additionally, i can't pass up on the idea of quantum ghosts and v1's consciousness coming back from vast, unfathomable reaches that registered only as strange impressions it can barely call senses or even now memories. it gets fucked up basically!! and now gabriel essentially needs to return the favor it gave him eons ago when it helped him through his fall. SO i am curious how it compares with this v2, since like you mentioned, v2 is more creating something entirely new to be carried over into while v1 is essentially god being shoved into the machine. also need to know gabriel's thoughts on v2's plans as it executes them and the results that come of it....ouuuughhh wait hold on a minute let me formulate thoughts for an ask.........

#again whatever the case....i need them to meet so bad #VERY much enjoy this as the end extreme of v2's ability to modify #it really said it's just gonna construct an entirely new being #while v1 dies and comes back like I SAW MACHINE HELL!!!!#neither of them are ok. i think.#cake answers #v1 #v2 #ask queue: 25

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loving-t-gal · 5 months

Text

I am thinking about a writing project that I have in mind, and here is a sample of what it would look like. DM if you have any suggestions or questions about what I am planning.

SAMPLE IS BELOW:

==================================

As I lay relaxing on the sofa in the living room still dolled up from the office and watching some really hot trans flicks, trying to forget about the stressors of the day that just went on today. I have a shorter commute to work than my husband does, so I have a little bit more decompression time before Daddy arrives and needs to be tended to.

The movie that has my rapt attention is named “Candi Kisses gets her Wedding Bells rung”, and it is most definitely putting me in a particular needy type of a mood. Watching a cis girl seduce the Bride-to-be and trying to convince her to not get married because her husband will never be able to please her sexually like she does along with the extremely hot love play keeps me from getting into the shower and getting dressed for when Daddy finally gets home.

Because I have seen this particular flick about 20 times already, my mind starts to wander. I think about our marriage and our romps in the bedroom. My mind turns to happily married women, whether they are cis gendered, trans, or any other variety. I wonder if they get to learn early enough many of the skills that are absolutely critical for maintaining domestic bliss.

Some of the things that I was taught by the significant female teachers in my life were almost too simplistic. Things such as: “keep your significant other's stomach full and their balls empty”, “Dress up for Daddy, even if it's not date night”, stuff like that. It demonstrates my gratitude for having a husband that helps take care of the home. As my daydreaming continues, I realize that it’s getting late, and Daddy is going to be home soon. I rush off to the bedroom and start to set out this evening's attire.

Purple is the color for the evening, a purple sequin dress along with a matching foundation along with stockings. Even the Christian Louboutin Vampanodos have matching color back bows and ribbons. As I see myself and what I am wearing for Daddy this evening as I am getting bedded down, I roll over on my stomach and I present my ample ass to Daddy with my legs and heels on the bed with their ribbons and bows because of my legs being splayed and spread ready for love. I cross my hands on the pillow in front of me as I wiggle my ass at Daddy with those pleading glimpses, longing for that burning desire to overwhelm us both. A quiver of desire ripples through my soul.

My husband always expects me to be in panties, nylons a garter, bra and heels, otherwise I can count on getting a spanking for being a naughty little girl. While I occasionally enjoy a little masochistic love play, I generally tend to honor Daddy's rules and dress appropriately and ladylike. I also enjoy taking a short shower to wash off the sweat and objectionable odors from the days’ necessary toilet trips and other functions. I like to smell and taste like my namesake indicates, “Candi”.

As I step out of the shower, drying off and lotioning my feet and putting on perfume and makeup. I prepare to don the evenings wardrobe of purple lingerie and heels as I feel my Clit Gock sliding around inside her cage. Flavia alternately throbbing to get out and then surrendering by shrinking back into prim and proper submissiveness, leaving me to try and wipe pretty sissy cummies with tissues and repeatedly washing Her and Her cage in the wash basin to keep her fresh and perfumed for Daddy.

Flavia Gigi Darling has been locked up in solitary confinement for 60 days now, living within the confines of her chastity cage and getting her exercise any way she is able to. Daddy has the key and will only let Flavia out when he permits her to. At times Flavia embraces the exhilarating feeling of bouncing around freely inside her cage that comes from being caged for such a long time.

As I continue to get dressed, my mind is obsessed with poor Flavia’s plight. If some stimulus contact has made her excited, she sometimes feels the aftereffects of precum oozing out and making really pretty stickies inside of my panties. I notice this as I am out and about walking to and fro, wondering if anyone else around me is wise to the horrible prison sentence being served by one of the most out of control Clit Gocks named Flavia Gigi Darling...

My daydreaming lingers on the previous evening. I think about Daddy and the mood he was in.

As I fell asleep, hands wrapped around my chastity cage, my fingers are constantly probing, stroking and jiggling desperately trying to make intimate contact with the sweet love starved prisoner within. Finally, I locate a spot on the cage where if I press it just the right way, I can at least hit some of the nerves on Flavia's Glans. As I feverishly stroke, my fingers are constantly pressing into Flavia's testicles and She starts reacting with those old familiar pre orgasmic pleas, the ones that turn my entire body into a wanton writhing wreck, almost amusing to observe.

I feel the small familiar tensions beginning to build within, my brain disengaged as the sweet chemical effects of pre orgasmic bliss kicks in. Dopamine rushing through my feminine body. Instinctively curling up under the sheets I am savoring every second and sensation that goes with a love deprived Clit Gock. I engage in behavior and thought patterns which if they were brought out into public view would be absolutely considered totally unladylike and humiliating.

However, the chemical effects raging through my body have me licking my pillow feverishly, my husband taking the full force of a trans woman with her passions unbridled. My lover is taking me while my Clit Gock is in chastity, refusing to let Flavia free for even 15 minutes of freedom.

I push my buttocks towards him, my hand clasping his as I pleadingly gaze at him, begging him not to stop this incredible journey we are taking. “Oh Lord, Mmmmm... Ohhh!!”, my moaning is both titillating and amusing my lover simultaneously, encouraging him to keep woman fucking me with long, lingering strokes. My sissygasms are petite orgasms and only allow Flavia to drool pre cummies onto the satin bedding as Daddy's balls slap against my ass cheeks.

I feel grateful for being small, having my husband embracing me in his arms and wrapping his legs around me. With globes of breast and buttock, I have the ability to comfort this beautiful creature in my bed. I reach between our legs and gently clutch his by now firm balls, sweetly encouraging them to empty inside me. I quietly coo out "Give it to me! Mmmmm..." while my mouth is seeking his, my tongue licks and tastes everywhere it touches. Finally, our mouths meet, my head buried in his chest as I lovingly kiss him and make primitive feminine moans that I save only for his ears to hear. The sounds of submissive, eager and tender surrender urge him towards his inevitable climax.

I know that Daddy is really close now, as he clutches me and wraps me tightly and clings to me. His swollen member aching to release his seed deep within my innards. I clamp down as hard as I can, clinching onto his cock refusing to let him go. I start talking him home, with sweet pillow language only he understands. One final gentle thrust, eyes clamped shut like he was experiencing the worst pain in his life, and then moaning and release!

The spurts come in waves as he freezes in the bliss. His cock contracting with each spurt of seed that gets pumped into me. I cling tightly to him, not wanting the feeling to end. Before I realize it, his grip on me has softened and he lies there motionless, unable to move or think coherently.

The look on his face says it all, total satisfaction. I have succeeded in totally pleasing Daddy again today! I curl up in his arms, letting his hot, sticky spend ooze from me and into my lingerie and onto the sheets. They will be put into the laundry tomorrow morning after Daddy is through with using my body for his pleasure. I am here for my baby and to take care of what he needs right now, that is what I was created for as I think to myself - Daddy’s pleasure.

Really wanting to have a successful Transexual marriage, I really put forth an extra effort to be everything that my husband expects me to be - especially in bed. During my daydreaming, my thoughts turn to when how and when we first met. It was a normal day at the gym, I was wrapping up my usual routine of using the machines and doing some cardio, and then off to the sauna and then shower to freshen up. It was 11:00 pm and the gym is empty, slow and closes at 12:00 am. There would be no one else in the locker room for the rest of the evening.

Well, apparently, I unwittingly caught the attention of my admirer which I didn't realize yet. I went to a toilet stall, and there he was, buck naked and his entire front on display for me to gaze upon. I tried acting nonchalantly as I blushed a little bit and scurried past him to get to the showers. I really don't like having sweat, urine and dirty poo smears on me.

So there I am, rubbing shampoo and conditioner into my scalp and my admirer just can't take his eyes off of me. I thought nothing about it, as I reached for my shaver and really started going after any stubble appearing anywhere on my smooth silky body except for a tiny little patch in the shape of a triangle just above my Clit Gock.

I really went after that section of my nether regions as I lathered up stroked with the shaving razor and rinsed. I did this about 10 times making sure that zero unwanted hair remained. I ALWAYS want to be date-night-ready at all times. I was taught to be a proper little lady deep down inside, and that includes not having a hairy crotch.

He approaches me in the shower and asks if he can wash my back, a small smile playing across his lips. I hand him the shower pouf and he gently rubs me down. My Clit Gock betraying my signals of getting aroused uncontrollably at his touch. As I turn to face him, he approvingly looks me up and down, searching my face for some type of sign to continue.

I rinse my hair out raising my arms into the air as I shave my underarms, sort of a pseudo sign of sweet surrender. His hands make their way across my chest and down my belly. His confidence growing as I do not protest to this, his hands wandering off of my back and to other areas of my now soaped up and silky-smooth body. I really don’t put up much objection or fuss to these hands roaming over my body, although I think that I am not exactly behaving very ladylike. My Clit Gock becomes swollen and aroused, belying my attempts to be shy and demure.

I soak in the warmth and heat from the shower spraying over us, as I quietly stifle a moan as it escapes my throat. Taking that as a cue, my lover gently grasps my Clit, very gently rubbing it and then abandoning it. Leaving me literally wet and frustrated, I don’t want the rubbing to stop although I won’t admit it. I stare at him as his washing continues down my body, across my hips and down my thighs. Taking his sweet time, he continues down the rest of my legs washing and soaping every inch of my smooth hairless body.

Instinctively he kneels in front of me in the group shower, becoming intimately introduced to my Clit Gock. Staring it down face to face, I am partially aroused and needing more than just a quick wash and rub a dub dub... Without realizing it, I begin to thrust my hips at his face and tilting my pelvis attempting to keep my Clit in his face. He looks up at me with a slight grin, which agitates me to no end. I need what he has, and I don’t want to openly admit it. Finally, he takes me into his mouth, eagerly tending to what I want and need to have.

I am so worked up that it doesn’t take very long for him to bring me to a quick climax. I let out a little cry and I start to lose my balance from the waves of pleasure that overtake me. Staggering, I have to hold onto his shoulders for dear life to steady myself otherwise I would be laid out on the shower floor. Gently he holds me, tenderly allowing me to enjoy the release that I am so desperate to experience.

After I have enjoyed the last spasms of my climax, I invite my lover to follow me to the locker room gently leading him by his penis as I lead him to the benches. Being so grateful for being blown so tenderly, I am on a mission to reciprocate this loving act.

I take him in my hands, and I am mesmerized by the smoothness of his member. Not terribly long, but his cock had girth and was thick and cut, with nice balls that were shaved clean. I wanted to taste him, his essence, his seed.

I couldn’t wait to take him in my mouth and let this beautiful man throat fuck me. Here was a chance to change my up to now sexless love life. I want this, I want this man’s cock in my mouth. I need the taste of male baby batter on my tongue. I wanted to make this as memorable as possible, so I brought out every feminine cock sucking trick in my toolbox to use in taking this man over the edge.

As I take one hand and rub from one nipple to the other, my other hand is reaching around to his ass and grabbing his cheeks pulling him into my face. I urge him to fuck my face, stroke yourself relentlessly in my throat and my mouth. I taste precum oozing and know that he’s close.

I switch from his shaft to gently suckling on his beautiful ball sack. My head is between his legs, and I am getting seriously dizzy as I suck away on his sweet male essence. They warm up in my mouth and start to mush together, I know this is going to happen from so many discussions about cock sucking that I have had with other women over the years.

His precum is really oozing out now, as his moans and breathing become even more vocal. His response is egging me on, I am really enjoying the effect of what I am doing is having on him. I gaze into his eyes as he stares down at me, almost begging me not to stop.

Such a sweet and polite lover, my eyes flutter closed as he lets out one long drawn-out moan as he tells me that he’s ready to blow. I pull off for a second and tell him “come on honey” as his cock pumps his spend into my mouth. My swallows and gulps are synchronized with his cock’s contractions. I keep him firmly in my mouth ever so gently swirling my tongue around his head, making sure all of his seed is in my mouth. A little cum escapes my mouth and drools down my cheek and chin, my tongue snakes out to scoop it up along with my fingers.

Being that it’s now 10 minutes to closing at the gym, we realize that we need to continue our meeting outside of the locker room. We agreed to meetup at a nearby 24-hour diner for a quick cup of coffee to exchange phone numbers and continue our “conversation” that we had started. This was the beginning of our marriage and of a love affair that continues to this day.

My husband always treats me like a lady, with respect and affectionate love. I am so lucky, I think to myself, to have been taken a prisoner of love the way that I am. I am always on the lookout for ways to improve our bedroom romps and experiences.

I remembered reading some articles in Cosmopolitan about the fantasies that your husband is reluctant to tell you about. I love my husband and I enjoy bringing him complete satisfaction and bliss. I think that I am going to try and open him up about his sexual fantasies by telling him about one of mine. My fantasy is to get 3 or 4 different males in our bed alternately taking turns getting their release inside of me. I can't pick them out, only Daddy gets to approve of who can participate in the fun.

Part of me is a little scared though, because I don't want Daddy to think that I am insatiable or that he's not enough for me. I just love men and I really get off on sucking cock. I want a video of me wandering around in a dick forest, my face about to be covered in jizz, making pretty smears on my makeup and mascara. As I think about the details, that familiar feminine itch begins in my nether regions as my hands delicately try to scratch away the irritation.

To be continued...

#girls with a little extra #transgenderwoman #cross dressing #trans woman #transisbeautiful #girlslikeus #dress bulge #transfem #transgirl

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charmixpower · 2 years

Note

What about the Winx girls getting hurt in front of the guys during a fight?

I'm assuming the injury is really bad, bc they've definitely seen eachother injured on screen lol

Sky is internally screaming, probably extremally screaming. He's over protective AF of Bloom so his reaction is pretty, very, extreme. Remember his single minded rage when he was mind controlled in s3? That's just how he is when he's in over protective mode (which Diaspro forced him into), he's officially a man on a mission to protect Bloom. Fuck ANYTHING that tries to stop him. Somehow manages to get things done via pure force of will and making shit up on the fly. The guys are all like "Ohhhh THIS is why he's a top student, I understand now" while Sky is just 90% spite now

Brandon is um panicking. Brandon prides himself on being able to roll with punches, bc lord know he wouldn't of been able to keep with the Eraklyon Royal family if he wasn't able to but this breaks most of his carefully designed composure. There's is a lot of freaking the fuck out and trying to get Stella to safety because this wasn't supposed to happen he wasn't prepared for this. It's even worse bc Stella has the most combat experience/skill so she's one of the least likely to be gravely injured. Freaking tf out

Timmy is so freaked the fuck out. Apparently according to s1 Timmy?? Isn't Strong enough?? To pick Tecna up?? He just kinda covers her with his on body and can't do anything?? (Feel my rage at the writers) Anyways I think he'd take over Tecna's role as a tactician long enough for everyone to save and heal Tecna and she can take it back over. It's a very functional reaction, still freaked out tho

If Musa got hurt in front of Riven while their dating that just means it was physically impossible for him to jump in front of her...or he was restrained from doing so because he would die (no magic protecting him) and she wouldn't (really powerful fairy). He's so fucking pissed at himself it isn't even funny. Musa was right there!! And he couldn't do shit!!! Practically inconsolable. This is the fun space when he gets to angry that it becomes sadness again. Depression rears its ugly head and he he goes between really angry at himself and moping around

Helia has forgotten everyone else exists, his only thought is protecting Flora. Helia is protective as FUCK (ex. Helia growling Valtor's name when he appeared, like Helia was gonna throw down with the man that killed a planet). Helia is very skilled so he would absolutely be able to remove Flora easily, uncaring or really anything else. However after Flora is safe he really doesn't know what to do with himself? He had the most medical training out of the guys so he'll try to help Flora but he's kinda just floundering

Mirta is now using her magic to distract whatever hurt Flora so she can save Flora. Does she have a plan? Fuck no. She's functioning off of pure emotion, not thoughts head empty. Once she saves Flora she starts trying to murder the thing that did that to Flora lmao

Nabu has already teleported to Aisha and started healing her. He has the situation mostly under control. Now isn't the time to freak out. He has both the power and the skill to help Aisha and help prevent more injures. He can freak out later

#winx club #winx riven #winx sky #winx brandon #winx helia #winx nabu #winx timmy #winx mirta #flora x mirta #tecna x timmy #bloom x sky #stella x brandon #aisha x nabu #rus chatters #asks #winx headcanons

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yeehawbvby · 2 years

Text

Falling Away With You | Ch. 2

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: After a long day of meeting and greeting, you run into an interesting trio.

Author’s Note: n/a

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

I’m woken up by something tapping on the windows. Shit, is it raining? That’s just my luck.

According to the small, crusty lookin’ clock on my nightstand, it’s 6 AM. I take a mental note to pick up a new alarm clock sometime soon. This is a good time to get up, I guess. Since the rain will make it hard to do any important yard work, I can try and bang out some more of that list today than I’d planned to originally. Fingers crossed I don’t melt away at just the sight of a few strangers.

I make my way out of bed after laying there for a while – I was too cozy to get up, okay? – and discover that the door on the left does, in fact, lead to a kitchen and bathroom. Fuck yes.

The kitchen is literally just a fridge and a small stove. The rest is just cabinets and empty space. It isn’t much, but it’ll do. Maybe I can move the table in the living room? main room? whatever it is, into here, to accomodate for a couch out there. At least the bathroom is fully functional (knock on wood) and complete with a clothing washer and dryer combo.

I take a shower, not bothering to dry or style my hair afterwards, and get dressed, doing my best to look okay while knowing I’m going to get wet out there. I curse myself for not having an umbrella. I never thought I’d need one, I don’t get out much.

I rummage through my suitcase and pull out an oversized, black sweater, with a white collar and small daisies stitched onto the bottom of each sleeve; my favorite light pink, pleated skirt; and some white thigh highs. I’ll toss on my black combat boots with this before I go. They’ll give my little gremlin ass some much needed height.

I quickly brush on some waterproof mascara to finish things off. Should I bring a jacket? That’s in a whole other suitcase… I look out the window, and it’s gone from a medium rain to a full blown downpour. Ugh, I should bring a jacket.

Right as I spot what I’ve been looking for, I hear knocking on the door. I guess I’ll have to get used to having visitors, especially so early, living out here.

“Coming!” I yell, quickly using my locked phone screen to make sure my hair looks as neat as it can in its dampened state. I flip it around a bit, trying to bring my waves to life.

I open the door to a lady holding a scruffy, gray and white kitten. She looks like she’s in her late 30’s or early 40’s, with thick auburn hair braided to one side. Her smile is soothing and motherly, and she smells cozy. I don’t know what cozy smells like, but she’s it.

“Hello, (y/n)!” How does she know my name already? “I’m Marnie, I live down the road by that forest over there,” she says, pointing south.

“Nice to meet you!” I do my best to seem enthusiastic, hoping she can’t tell how nervous I am. The last thing I was expecting right now was company.

“You see this cat here?” I nod in response. “I found it sitting outside the entrance to your farm! I think it’s a stray… poor thing.”

Oooh, please tell me this is going where I think it is.

“Don’t you think this farm could use a good cat?” Marnie asks. She has a hopeful glimmer in her eyes – even if I wanted to say ‘“no,” which I absolutely don’t, I would never be able to.

“Yeah, of course!”

I take the little guy from her, inspecting him a bit before realizing that poor Marnie is just standing out in the rain. Don't invite her in. Don’t do it, (y/n). It’ll be uncomfy and you know you’ll regret it and –

“Would you like to come in? You’re getting soaked out there!”

Fuck me.

“Oh, what a sweetheart! Thank you, but I’ll have to decline. I’ve got a shop to run.” Thank Yoba. “If you ever need any hay, feel free to stop by!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, “Thank you!”

We say our goodbyes and I take the cat inside. He’s a cute little thing, a bit on the skinny side, and he doesn’t seem to have any fleas or ticks. His left ear has a notch in it, which means he was caught, neutered, and released back into the wild. That’s super helpful. After letting the boy explore his surroundings a bit, I pick him back up and hold him in front of me to get a better look.

“What to name you…”

He meows.

“You’re a vocal one, aren’t you?”

Meow.

Despite how frail he is, he’s got personality, I'll give him that. Maybe I could name him after a mythical figure, or an infamous deity of some sort. Something powerful… inspirational, wise…

“Old Master Cannoli.”

Another meow.

“Cannoli for short?”

He purrs, sealing the deal. This suits him, somehow. Now, I hate to leave Cannoli alone so soon, but I have people to meet and things to buy.

__________________

I made my way to the general store for some supplies and food, where I met Pierre – the shop owner – and his wife, Caroline. That’s two people ticked off the list! Another was then checked off for Gus, who I bumped into in one of the aisles. He said he owns the Stardrop Saloon, so I’ll definitely have to scope that out sometime.

After getting some human food, cat food, and a few other things I need, I went for a stroll around town. I showed up at the doorstep to two houses. I was going to stop after the first, but thought maybe the nerves would subside enough by the second — big surprise, they didn’t. At least I tried.

Each time I was greeted, I meekly explained my mission and introduced myself. One building was occupied by two sisters, Emily and Haley – the former a bit eclectic, and the latter very preppy. They seem nice, albeit a little nuts, but I don’t necessarily mind that.

The sisters live next door to a total MILF, Jodi, who I visited afterwards. Once we introduced ourselves, she invited me in for coffee, and almost immediately started venting about housework. That, and how lonely she is with her husband away at war, fighting against the Gotoro Empire.

I could keep you company, I cheekily thought, before mentally slapping the horny out of myself and giving her a much-needed shoulder to cry on.

There were a few villagers walking outside, which made it easier to complete more of my quest. They didn’t seem very eager to be stopped in the rain, but eased up when they realized I just wanted to meet and greet them.

Well, most of them did. That absolute bitch Shane told me to go away.

I decided to stop home for a break, and to drop off my groceries and whatnot, which brings me to where I am now. I suppose I should unpack my luggage, maybe look for a cheap dresser I can grab off Craigslist or something, seeing that there’s nothing better to do... I’ll check out that Gus guy’s saloon tonight, too. I’m sure a drink or two could unleash my social skills a bit.

__________________

I finally got my chores done, so I’m able to start my trek to Stardrop. As soon as the gravel road passing the bus stop turns to the stone plaza entrance, I see three shadowy figures heading towards me. With all this rain and fog, I can’t tell if they’re humans or if I’m just seeing shit. Fuck, what if they’re shadow people? Aren’t those dangerous?

“Hey, is that the new farm girl?!”

Oh, ok. They’re human.

I slow my pace to a halt. “Uh,” I mutter, squinting my eyes to try and get a better look, while nervously fiddling with my oversized sleeve. “It is, yeah.”

One of the figures jogs up to me, while the others take their time. He’s revealed to be a handsome dude, with spiky, blonde, anime-looking hair. A real life super saiyan . He seems friendly, but radiates chaotic energy for sure.

“Oh let’s gooo!” he exclaims as he slows up to me. The guy puts his hands on his hips. “What’re you doing out here, farmer?!”

He looks me up and down. Can’t tell if he’s checking me out, or if he’s just getting a better look at me. Maybe both? I dunno.

“Lewis wants me to meet new people, or whatever. Figured the saloon is a good place to do that...”

“Ooooh, we’re headed there right now!” He flings his left arm around my shoulders. I’m finally able to see our height difference up close, and oh my goodness, this guy is tall. “You should come hang with us!”

I look up at him, unsure of what to say. He’s looking at me so expectantly. Damnit.

“Fuck it, why not.”

He throws a fist in the air – the right one, as his left arm is still dangled across me – as I hear a feminine voice tsk and say, “You poor thing.”

Looking away, I see the girl this voice came from. Wow, that’s some very purple hair. It’s beautiful, glowing like a silken amethyst under the haze of the street lamps. She’s just as shrimpy as me, might be an inch or two taller at most , but she sure looks more intimidating.

“Sorry, Sam does this to all the newcomers,” she says while crossing her arms. Sam? Sam, Sam… oh, is this guy Jodi’s son? “It’s probably the reason they always leave so soon.”

I look up at Sam, who takes mock offense before playfully sticking his tongue out at his friend.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s kind of refreshing actually.”

She scoffs, but I hear a low hum of approval coming from beside her. Was that a laugh, or just an acknowledgement? Either way, I look to the source and it’s another tall and handsome man. He’s wearing all black, and his asymmetrical dark hair is falling into his eyes a bit. An overall angsty demeanor. I try to get a better look at his face, deciphering what it looks like in more detail under the hair.

Yoba, he’s like, really hot.

The more I look, the more I realize I stared for too long. He looks confused, he’s probably expecting me to say something, oh god oh fuck just say something, idiot!

“Are you Robin’s son?”

Wow, way to be a creep.

The purple-haired girl wraps an arm around his and gives me a curt glare. Maybe they’re dating, or something. Is she jealous that I asked him a question? She tries tugging him closer, but he doesn’t really budge. Oof. Tough luck, lady.

He opens his mouth to answer, but instead the girl answers for him, “He is.”

“Abbyyy,” Sam reaches down and flicks her on the nose. “Let Seb speak for himself!”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, he was taking too long and we’re getting soaked out here. Come on!”

She turns the opposite way, reluctantly unlatching herself from Sebastian, and heads towards the saloon. Sebastian stays put. I’m about to start following Abby, but soon realize Sam is straight up leaning on me. If I were to move right now, he’d fall and bring me down with him. I look up at him, and he looks down at me, tilting his head.

“Er..” I try to shimmy him off a bit.

“Oh, shit, my bad! Sorry, uh…” he points at me with his free hand.

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!” he pipes.

He gives me a fucking head pat before running to catch up with Abby. Sebastian and I trail behind.

“He’s like a giant puppy,” I mutter, mostly to myself. I hear another hum, and look up at Sebastian to see a small smirk formed on his face.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Whoa, that’s… a voice. It sounds a bit raw and raspy, maybe from underuse? But it’s got a certain smoothness to it. It’s kinda nice.

“Your mom helped me move in yesterday,” I ramble after a beat. “She mentioned you aren’t much of a people person so I’m kinda surprised to have met you, um…” I vaguely gesture around, “in the wild.”

Why am I still talking to him if I just acknowledged that he isn’t a people person? Why’d I even say it out loud? I know from my own experience how uncomfy that can be. Luckily, he doesn’t seem mad.

“I do this every Friday with them. I’m not super into it, but it makes them happy.”

I nod and hum in response. After a short moment, I can feel eyes on me. Is he looking at me? I blush at the thought. Should I check? Wait, what if he thinks I’m staring at him, then? Once we’re within a few feet of the door, I will myself to glance at him, and see his eyes dart in another direction.

“Dude, come on!” Abby peeks out the door with an eye roll, scurries down the steps, and ushers Sebastian inside. He doesn’t look very happy to be manhandled, but what do I know? I just met the guy. Maybe he’s into that sort of shit.

“Jeez, leaving (y/n) hanging?! That’s harsh!” Sam waits in the doorway for me to come in. I thank him as we follow the others, his arm finding its way over my shoulders again.

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thepaintedlady00 · 2 years

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Oh my god y'all we're at 400 followers! 😭

As a thank you and a welcome to all of you guys for just being the absolute best here's a little peek into chapter 9 (which should be coming on Monday) 😊🙏🥰

Death sat down beside him with a sigh, watching him closely. “What are you doin’?”

“I’m feeding the pigeons.” It was a simple answer, one that Dream knew would not keep her from digging up what was truly on his mind. His older sister was wise and had a talent for getting the truth out of people.

“‘You do that too much, you know what you get?’” She asked with a grin. “‘Fat pigeons.’” When he didn’t react she laughed quietly to herself. “That’s from Mary Poppins. Did you ever see it?”

“No.”

She watched a child run through the group of birds that had gathered in front of them, her joy among the humans was something he found odd, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he envied her. She saw them, truly saw them, for all that they were and she loved them. “Okay, so what’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. I mean look at you. Sittin’ here, moping, pigeon-feeding. It’s not like you.”

He sighed. “No. Perhaps it isn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re right. Something is the matter.” He paused as she got comfortable on the bench beside him. “When they captured me, I just had one thought. Vengeance. And then…” His eyes found Penelope, mind racing with all the memories of her being chained and beaten in front of him. Death seemed to understand. “Then it wasn’t just about me, and my hunger for that vengeance grew.” With another sigh he shook his head. “It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected. Meanwhile, my kingdom had fallen apart. My tools long since stolen and scattered. And so I embarked upon a journey to find them. Which I did, along with the girl I’d spent eighty years mourning. She’s here, healthy and happy and I’m more powerful than I have been in eons. And yet…”

“Here you are feeding the pigeons.” She finished for him, gently clapping her hands together.

“You see, until then, I’d had a true quest. A purpose beyond my function and then suddenly, it was over, and…” He made a face. “I felt disappointed. Let down. Empty. Does that make sense? I was so sure that once I got everything back, I’d feel good… that I’d be able to let her go and move on. But in some ways I feel worse than when I started. I feel like… Nothing.” He tore his eyes away from Penelope. “You asked.”

Death put a comforting hand on top of his knee and smiled at him. “You could have called me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She rolled her eyes and stood quickly. “Oh, I don’t believe it. Let me tell you something, Dream.” Taking the bread out of his hands she pointed it at him accusingly. “And I’m only gonna say this once, so you better pay attention. You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centered, pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification on this or any other plane. Feeling sorry for yourself because your little game is over and you haven’t got the balls to go out and find a new one.” Her bread wielding hand gestured over to Penelope. An obvious message. “You’re as bad as Desire. No worse.” She threw the bread at him with an exasperated sigh. “Did it never occur to you that I would be worried about you?”

“I didn’t think-”

“Exactly! You didn’t think.”

The white ball flew through the air toward the back of Deaths head. She whirled around and caught it right before it could connect and with a sigh she handed it back to its owner. “Wow. You’re as good as you… friend there.”

Looking back at him she shrugged. “He’s not my friend. He’s my brother. And he’s an idiot.”

He returned to his curled up position, tossing more crumbs down into the grass. “I’m just feeding the birds.”

“Look, I can’t stay here all day. I’ve got work to do. You can come with me if you want, or you can stay here and sulk.”

His eyes flickered back to Penelope. “What about her?”

“Is she not allowed to be alone all of a sudden?” Death joked.

“There are people after her,” he said, watching his sister's face grow more concerned as she looked over at her. “I do not want to be far, just in case…”

“She can come with, if she’s comfortable with that. She's good for you, by the way," Death said, following his eyes to where she was.

Penelope sat under the shade of a large tree, tossing bits of hot dog up to Matthew who swooped down making attempts to catch them before they hit the ground. She'd made a sarcastic comment about his eyesight, resulting in Matthew dropping the hot dog into her hair. He made playful attempts to get it, pecking her head and tugging on her hair lightly. They chased each other around the tree, her laugh lighting up the whole park.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, though he didn’t really need an answer.

She pointed to him. "You get that look when you see her, even when you’re sulking."

"I don't have a look."

"You do. It's cute!"

"Dream!" Penelope shrieked, running over to him and ducked behind him so he was in between her and the raven. "Control your pigeon!"

"Pigeon?!" Matthew hollered. "Low blow!"

She peeked out from behind his shoulder and flipped the bird off. The two bickered with him between them, yet all he could do was smile. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister's knowing grin and immediately forced his lips down. "Settle down you two."

Finally the two relaxed and Penelope turned to his sister and asked her about work, as if it was nothing to her, speaking to Death. After a minute he realized she still hung onto his shoulders, using him as a perch, not unlike the raven she bickered with. "Is there a reason you're hanging off of me?"

"Not particularly, why am I weighing you down, mighty Dream Lord?” She teased in his ear.

"Not physically. Mentally you are quite the weight to carry." Though his tone hadn’t changed Penelope caught onto his playful meaning instantly.

She gasped and groaned, slumping forward, now fully hanging off him, acting as if she’d been struck. "You wound me, my lord! Oh! I fear I’ll never recover!”

“I wish to accompany my sister for a while.” He said, looking at her from over his shoulder. “Will you join us?”

“I don’t want to impose,” she said, nervousness flaring in him.

Death smiled. “You won’t be. I’ll tell you when to stay put and we’ll be fine.”

“Alright then,” she replied, squeezing his shoulder and moving to stand beside him as he rose to follow his sister. She moved further in front of them and he immediately reached out to her. She gave him a comforting smile.

“You can stand with us.”

“You two have a lot to talk about,” she said. “I don’t want to intrude.”

He let his hand return to his side. “Stay within my sight.”

“I know, I know.”

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