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stardustquills · 3 months ago

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thinking about drunk husband!nanami and how handsy and needy he’d get with you- i’m not well. 18+ mdni.

cw; p in v (unprotected), creampie, mentions of alcohol, use of "sir"

wc; 1.7k

you’d be sending satoru an angry text later.

your husband was never a drinker. the man could hold his liquor, but it often went past that line of playfully tipsy and into drunk whenever he went out with satoru.

normally, you wouldn’t mind. you adored your husband. he’s always been a toucher, always needing to have some form of contact with you. maybe it’s a simple hand on your thigh, or twirling a strand of hair around his finger, or ever just standing close to you, shoulder to shoulder - he just needed to be with you. and when he gets drunk, that need is intensified tenfold.

you loved it when he got like this. your big, strong, doting husband reduced into a lovesick puddle when he’s drunk and around you. like a puppy needing attention.

except it’s 1am, he just got home, and he has an important event he needs to attend-

“that’s a problem for future kento,” he muttered into your neck, hands gripping helplessly at your sleep shirt. “you smell so good. ‘ve missed you,”

“ken-“

he tugged on your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer. his hands started to roam, now at the small of your back, pulling you still into him. “honey,” he whispered against the skin of your neck, his lips brushing against it. still at the front door, he hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet.

“mmh,” you hummed, tilting your head back to let him have more access.

he took the opportunity to start kissing you, soft, simple pecks, up your neck to your ears. “my wife,” he breathed, hot breath smelling like whiskey and gin. “my beautiful, sweet, amazing wife,”

“ken,” you giggled as he moved to kiss your cheek. his hands moved up to cup your face, and yours instantly came to rest on top of his. one of his thumbs brushed against your bottom lip, his eyes staring into your own.

he leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead, and then one on your lips. it was sweet, he poured all of his love for you into it.

you looked down, “you haven’t taken your shoes off yet,”

he whined like a child in response. begrudgingly, he let his hands fall from your body as he leaned down to untie the laces of his boots, slipping out of them, before standing up again an immediately placing his hands your waist.

he stepped towards your bedroom, matching bedroom eyes to go with it. he pouted ever so slightly, looking down at his wife.

and god you’d let him do whatever he wanted. kento was a fucking good-looking man - there’s never any denying it. but right now, his his hair all sweaty and sticking to his forehead, his face flushed a dusty pink, lips parted and eyes begging, how could you ever say no to that?

“wan’ show my wife how much i love her,” he practically purred, pulling on your shirt again to pull you towards him. you stumbled towards your husband, you hands falling into his broad chest.

you could feel his abs under the thin material of his button up. normally, he was so proper, ironed shirt fully done up with a tie around his neck. but now, he looked and smelled of sex - the top three buttons of his shirt undone, wrinkled fabric, tie hanging loosely around his neck. you grabbed his tie and tugged on it, bringing his face towards yours.

“you have that thing tomorrow,” you tried to stand your ground, “you’ll be hungover, too.”

“don’t care,”

“you will tomorrow.”

“yeah, tomorrow. not right now.”

he pulled you into your shared bedroom, easily throwing you onto the bed and crawling towards you. “right now,” he started, licking his lips as he leaned in close, “i want my wife,” his hands came up to your shirt again, grabbing fistfuls at the hem. he pulled the shirt up and over your head, discarding it on the floor before he leaned into you, lips attaching to yours.

“wanna show her how good i can make her feel,” his lips trailed down your neck, then collarbone, “gonna show her how much i love her,” his hand came up to squeeze a tit, his eyes flicking to yours as he placed a kiss on your hardened nipple, “how much i missed her,” he continued his trail downward, hand slipping onto your waist as he kissed your stomach, light and feathery.

before you knew it, you shorts and underwear was discarded onto the floor. your legs were thrown over his shoulders and you hand buried itself into his golden locks.

k-e-n-t-o, he spelt his name with his tongue in your clit, flicking and suckling on the poor bud. your back arched off the pillows, your thighs threatening to squeeze shut around his head.

“h-ahh, kentooo,” you dragged, lolling your head to the side as your eyes screwed shut.

his hands were on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, flat against the bed. “so, so sweet,” his voice was muffled by your cunt. sticky, sweet wetness coating his face. “absolutely delicious, mrs. nanami.”

n-a-n-a-m-i, his tongue spelt your shared last name, something that drove him mad. of course you recognized when he spelt something with that tongue of his.

“kento you filthy man-“

“but you love it.”

your giggles turned into moans once more when he interested a finger. long and thick, he pumped it in and out of you before adding a second and curling it against that spongy spot in your walls.

“nngh,” you couldn’t speak coherently anymore. your hand fisted the pillow behind your head, the other one still grabbing his hair, dragging his face into your cunt. his mouth attached to your clit, sucking like his life depended on it as his fingers curled and uncurled inside you.

married life treated you good.

“k-ken, gonna come!” you mewled, and he bucked his hips into the mattress.

his groan was muffled, but you heard it nonetheless. “gonna come, pretty girl?” his words slurred, he was still drunk. “i can feel it.”

your walls clenched around his fingers. you legs were shaking, toes curled and back arched as your breathed through your mouth. an endless string of noises and babbles left you, voice high pitched and airy.

and then he stopped. stopped sucking your clit and pulled his fingers out of you with a stupid grin on his face. “not yet, m’love,” he rushed to unbuckle his belt, getting out of his slacks.

you didn’t even have time to complain. he leaned down, hungrily kissing you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. you could taste yourself on him. sweet, just like he said.

he pulled back and stopped the kiss and quickly as it started. one hand went to his cock, idly pumping it as he looked down at you. “so pretty f’me,” he cooed, his free hand now flipping you over.

face in the pillows and ass in the air, kento’s hand traced a line from your neck to your waist.

smack! his hand landed a spank against your bum, immediately massaging the area and cooing. “so perfect, mrs. nanami. my beautiful wife.”

he dragged the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, gathering up the mixture of your slick and his spit.

“ken, ken please,” you attempted to push you ass back, wanting him in you already.

“greedy slut,” he spat, laughing at your futile attempt. another smack before he continued to drag hiimself between your folds. “i guess i can’t refuse my wife, can i? gotta give her what she wants,” he lined himself up with your entrance. “gotta make her happy,” and he pushed himself in, hard and fast, hitting your cervix already.

“oh!” you shriek was dampened by the pillow.

he didn’t give you a moment to adjust like he usually did. he started going right at it, hips snapping against yours like his life depended on it. “that’s it, take- hah, take it like a good girl. nngh, like the whore you are,”

your tried to push yourself onto your elbows, wanting to peak behind you to take a look, but Kento quickly put a stop to that. he reached forward, shoving your face back into the pillow as his hips continued their assault.

“mm-hmm, ken,”

another smack!

“sir!”

kento bit his lip as he watched your hips move back, matching his rhythm, a grin spreading across his face. his hands moved to grab them, pulling you back onto him, helping you move.

“that’s it, there you go,”

his sweet talking made your head spin.

“taking me so well, little slut.”

your walls fluttered around his dick. squeezing and clenching, a thick white ring forming at the bass of his shaft. balls smacking against your clit with each thrust, he made your see stars.

you snaked a dainty hand down between your legs, middle finger desperately rubbing circles against your swollen clit.

“wanna come, m’love?” he asked so sweetly, watching your hand work. he grabbed a fist full your hair and pulled you up, your back against his broad chest. “gonna come around my cock?”

“a-aah, ken, nngh!” you couldn’t even form a full sentence with how well he was ramming into you. this new position let him go even further in you, his entire length disappearing into you.

you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, tits bouncing as he helped you up and down.

“what’d the matter sweetheart? is this too much for you?” he cooed into your ear, his delicate tone a stark contrast from the way he abused your cunt.

you were almost tempted to nod, but he laughed instead. “you can take it.” his hand replaced yours on your clit, his other one on your hips, helping you up and down.

“you’re close,” he commented, voice breathless. “i- hahh, i can feel it. you squeezing so good ‘round me.”

one, two three more thrusts and you were coming. you body shook and spasmed, a cry of your husband’s name leaving your lips.

four, five, six more thrusts and he was spilling into you. he came with a pretty moan of your name, all breathy and high pitched. white, hot seed filled your cunt, into your womb as he stilled, collapsing forward onto to the bed as you were trapped under him.

he didn’t let go of you, didn’t pull out as he placed a kiss onto your shoulder.

“ken-“

“ah ah,” he thrusted.

“sir,” you panted, whimpers and whines still leaving you. “you need to rest,”

kento groaned, his hand rubbing a singular, lazy circle on your clit.

“kento, ��m sensitive!”

“that was only the beginning, sweetheart.”

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un-fwuit-un-fwog · 4 months ago

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Cards and Casts

Part five of The Rain series

Synopsis: Ace and Deuce's visits to The Prefect in the infirmary after Ramshackle's collapse

TW: Aftermath of Ramshackle collapsing on The Prefect, Ace is out of it, Deuce is (more) all over the place than usual (in a trying to process things kinda way)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (here), Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (coming soon), . . .

The next person to come and visit you was Ace.

The moment the news had been announced, Ace was already booking it to sign up to see you. At the time, it hadn't yet been announced that the further up on the list you were, the sooner you'd get to see The Prefect; Ace was just desperate to sign his name as soon as he could. It was almost as if he thought doing so would in a way prove that he did care. That it would redeem him for not being there when you needed him. That it would make him feel less guilty.

A knock was heard from the other side of the infirmary door. You had been told that your next visitor would be ace, but Ace never knocked.

You rand the little bell next to your bed to tell whoever it was to come in (you had a bell because you couldn't yet raise your voice much).

An unfamiliar boy walked through the door. His hair was a ruffled mess, his clothes were wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes. It took you a moment to realize it was actually Ace who stood before you. He looked like a mess. He didn't even have his signature red heart painted on his face.

The smile he gave you looked strained, but you didn't comment on it.

You ended up having to beckon the boy closer after he had been standing in the doorway for a good five minutes. He dropped his shoulders and basically hobbled to your bedside. He nearly toppled over as he tried to take a seat, but caught himself at the last moment.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

"I. . .I brought cards."

And so, that's how you ended up playing a few games of Rummy with him. But he was still off. He was playing like an absolute novice. He was letting you win. He NEVER lets you win.

Eventually, you had had enough, and you set down your cards with a scuffed huff. He didn't even notice!

You carefully reached up a hand and pushed his cards down onto the bed and he just let them tumble.

"Ace." Your voice was gruff, but still somehow airy.

"Oh, uh, yeah?" Ace seemed to snap out of a trance. . .well, more like slowly drift out of.

You tried to meet his eyes, but he refused to look directly at you. You thought about asking if he was okay, but the answer to that question was pretty obvious. You didn't ask him what was wrong for the same reason. Instead, you took a deep breath and held it as you painfully shifted over in the bed. You did your best not to make a noise as not to worry the already clearly upset boy.

Ignoring your screaming body, you mustered your best smile (your bandages kept it from reaching your eyes though) and gently patted the space next to you on the bed.

Ace gave you a hesitant look, but you just patted the space again to tell him it was okay. He wouldn't hurt you simply by sitting next to you.

When he finally did sit next to you, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Neither of you spoke

Tick Tick Tick Tick

When the silence was finally broken it was with a single mumbled word: "sorry."

"Hm?" you coughed.

". . .I-I'm sorry." His voice wasn't much louder, but you could hear it this time.

You slowly picked your head up and looked at him incredulously "What for?"

"I wasn't there."

"You knew Ramshackle would collapse?"

"No, I-"

"If you were there, you would have gotten hurt too."

"No! I could have helped. . .I could have-"

"No. No, you couldn't."

He went silent and his face fell before tightening slightly in the way it does only when someone is on the verge of tears.

"Nobody could have stopped it after it started. Nobody could have made it out in time either." Your voice reduced to a croak, but you continued. "You didn't know the dorm would collapse. It's not your fault-"

"Still!" His voice raised and a waver in his tone became apparent "If I was there, I-"

"Would have gotten hurt too. Then I would be too worried about you to do any healing myself." You could tell your voice wouldn't hold out much longer, so you said one more thing: "It's not your fault. You're doing all you can now by being here and being safe. Thank you."

Tears dripped steadily from the boy's face, but he didn't make a sound.

You lightly took his hand in yours, and you sat like that for hours. Together and safe.

Deuce walked in not long after Ace left.

He walked into the room silently and took a seat next to your bed.

"How are you doing?"

You were about to grab the notebook and pencil next to your bed to write a response as your voice was shot, but she spoke up again before you got the chance.

"Wait, no! That was a dumb question!"

Before he could start further rambling, you shook your head and began to write: 'I'm doing much better. I appreciate you asking.'

Deuce sighed and began fiddling with his hands. "Does. . .does it still hurt?"

You took a moment to think about whether or not you should answer his question truthfully, but ultimately decided not to lie. 'It still hurts, but not as much."

Deuce frowned, but nodded.

'I bet I'll get some cool scars! Like battle scars. We'll match!' You scribbled out sloppily as you weren't exactly able to properly hold a pen with your hands looking like a mummy's. It was meant as an attempt to cheer him up, but he only frowned further.

"You shouldn't have scars. You're a good person."

It was you're turn to frown. 'You're a bad one?'

Before Deuce could reply, you tapped the space next to you: telling him to sit.

Similarly to Ace, he hesitated, but you eventually got him to sit next to you on the bed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again. This time you did so by dragging his arm closest to you onto your lap and grabbing a marker off of the nightstand. You uncapped the marker and rolled up his sleeve.

Deuce was too stunned and confused to say a word as he watched you scribble little pictures on his arm. The pictures were cartoony renditions of various times he'd done kind things for you. When you were done he finally snapped out of his daze.

"Wait! I should be the one cheering you up! First I let you get hurt, and now I can't even comfort you properly! I-I can't do anything right!" Deuce's head falls into his hands and you watch as tears fall onto the sheets.

A marker slips into Deuce's hand and he looks over at you with confused, tear-filled eyes.

You point to the cast on your leg. A blank slate. 'A drawing from you on my cast would make me happy'

"But. . .I can't draw-"

You cut him off by basically shoving the notebook in his face. 'Doesn't matter. Anything you draw will remind me of you, and thinking of my friends will make me happy.'

He ends up doodling a flower and an endearingly poor depiction of him, Ace, Grim, and you together and signing his name.

For the rest of his visit, you take turns doodling different things in your notebook and adding funny little details to each other's drawings.

When Deuce finally leaves, you let out a breath you had been holding. Your face contorts in pain and a soft whimper leaves your throat.

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knowledgekart · 2 years ago

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Top Ayurvedic Clinic for Wrinkles in Gurgaon

Table of contents

• Introduction • Understanding Ayurveda • The Root Causes of Wrinkles • Ayurvedic Approach to Fighting Wrinkles • Simple Ayurvedic Home Remedies for Wrinkles • Lifestyle Changes for Wrinkle Prevention • Conclusion

Introduction

Welcome to the world of Ayurveda where healing is wholesome. With age, wrinkles start appearing, and Ayurveda has natural ways to tackle them. Ayurvedic approach focuses on healing the skin from within to achieve beauty on the outside. Ready to unveil the secrets of Ayurvedic approach to fighting wrinkles? Let's dive in!

Understanding Ayurveda

Ayurveda, an ancient Indian healing system, has been used for thousands of years to promote overall wellness, including in regards to skin health. Ayurveda is based on the principle that the mind, body, and spirit are interconnected, and when in balance, can lead to optimal health. When it comes to the skin, Ayurveda considers it as the manifestation of the body's inner health. The skin is seen as an organ that reflects the imbalances of the doshas, which are the basic energy patterns that make up the body. There are three doshas: Vata, Pitta, and Kapha, and each one has a unique effect on the skin. Vata skin tends to be dry, Pitta skin is sensitive and prone to inflammation, and Kapha skin is oily and prone to congestion. Ayurveda works to balance the doshas and treat the root cause of any skin concerns by using a combination of diet, herbs, and lifestyle practices. In terms of skin health, Ayurveda emphasizes nourishing the skin from the inside out. Ayurveda also uses topical treatments such as herbal oils and masks to support skin health. Certain foods are considered beneficial for skin health, such as leafy greens, nuts, and fruits. In addition, lifestyle practices like yoga, meditation, and stress management can contribute to maintaining healthy skin. In summary, Ayurveda is a comprehensive approach to skin health that considers the whole person and emphasizes the importance of balance in wellness. By nourishing the skin from within with wholesome foods and herbs, and using external treatments, Ayurveda can provide a holistic approach to fighting wrinkles and achieving healthy, glowing skin.

ALSO READ: Best Ayurvedic Treatment for Hair Loss in Gurgaon

The Root Causes of Wrinkles

Wrinkles are as natural a part of life as breathing. While aging is the major reason for wrinkles, there are other contributing factors one has to take into account. A sedentary lifestyle, overexposure to sunlight and pollution, and unhealthy diets are some of the reasons why wrinkles appear prematurely. One can blame the genes too, but that only takes the pleasure out of complaining. One thing's for sure, Ayurveda can help fight wrinkles. But we'll come to that later. For now, let's look at the root cause of wrinkles - aging, lifestyle, and environmental factors. So, are you aging poorly, living poorly, or living poor?

Ayurvedic Approach to Fighting Wrinkles

Ayurveda, the ancient system of medicine from India, has been revered for its holistic approach towards healing the body. Did you know that Ayurveda can also offer a comprehensive solution to combat wrinkles? If you're done with excessively expensive anti-aging treatments that don't work all that much, it's time to give Ayurvedic remedies a try. The Ayurvedic approach to fighting wrinkles involves two-fold therapy - nourishing the skin from the inside and using herbs and oils for external application. It also focuses on eating a healthy diet that is suitable for the skin. Firstly, nourishing the skin from the inside means that you need to maintain a healthy lifestyle by incorporating a balanced, nutritious diet and consuming enough water to hydrate your skin. Ayurveda believes that the key to good skin is by maintaining a healthy dosha, and this is where the right food comes in. Consuming foods that increase collagen production, such as fruits and vegetables, and avoiding processed foods can do wonders for your skin. So, say goodbye to junk food and say a big hello to fresh produce! Secondly, external application of herbs and oils has been a vital part of Ayurveda for centuries. Ayurveda boasts an array of natural ingredients that can work wonders for your skin. Herbs like turmeric, neem, and ashwagandha, which have anti-inflammatory and anti-aging properties, can be used in skincare products. Along with this, oils like coconut and almond oil can be used to moisturize and protect the skin. Lastly, let's talk about eating the right foods suitable for healthy skin. Ayurveda lays down certain dietary guidelines for a healthy body and mind, and these guidelines also apply to the skin. Ayurveda recommends incorporating aloe vera, pomegranate, and ghee in your diet to promote healthy skin. This will not only help in preventing wrinkles but will also promote overall skin health. To sum it up, Ayurveda's two-fold therapy, combined with the right foods, can help fight wrinkles naturally, leaving your skin feeling healthy and radiant. So, let's embrace Ayurveda and show wrinkles who the boss is!

ALSO READ: Best Ayurvedic Treatment for Dark Circles in Gurgaon

Simple Ayurvedic Home Remedies for Wrinkles

When it comes to wrinkles, Ayurveda offers natural home remedies that can help combat the signs of aging. A turmeric and honey mask can work wonders for softening fine lines on the face. Simply mix one tablespoon of turmeric with one tablespoon of honey to form a paste, and apply it to your face. Let it sit for 20 minutes before rinsing with warm water. Amla powder mixed with rose water is another helpful paste for wrinkles. Amla is a powerful antioxidant that can help prevent damage from free radicals, which can contribute to premature aging. Mix a tablespoon of Amla powder with enough rose water to form a paste, and then apply it to your face. Rinse it off after 15 minutes. If you're dealing with crow's feet around your eyes, try an eye pack made with cucumber juice and rose water. Simply mix equal parts of the two liquids and apply with a cotton pad under your eyes. Allow the pack to sit for 10 to 15 minutes before removing it. You'll love how refreshed and youthful your skin looks after using these simple Ayurvedic remedies!

Lifestyle Changes for Wrinkle Prevention

Let's face it, no one wants wrinkles. And while it's impossible to stop the aging process, we can definitely slow it down. So, what can we do to prevent wrinkles? We can make some lifestyle changes! Yes, you heard that right. We're not talking about some fancy treatment or expensive products, but simple changes in our day-to-day lives that can make a world of a difference. To begin with, incorporate Yoga and meditation into your daily routine. Not only will it reduce stress, but it also contributes to increased blood flow, thereby nourishing the skin. And let's admit it, who doesn't want to be more Zen? Next up, ensuring that you're getting enough sleep and managing your stress levels are crucial, because let's face it, dark circles aren't as attractive as they're made out to be. Oh and we're not talking about that beauty sleep that lasts for hours on end, but maintaining a consistent sleep schedule. Lastly, avoiding or at least reducing habits like smoking, alcohol consumption and unhealthy eating, will only prove beneficial to your skin. So, maybe it's time to re-evaluate a few things we do in our daily routine, and let's aim at having wrinkle-free and healthy skin- the Ayurvedic way!

ALSO READ: Best Ayurvedic Clinic for Anti Aging in Gurgaon

Conclusion

So, there you have it - an Ayurvedic approach to fighting wrinkles that is easy to understand and follow. Remember to nourish your skin from the inside, use herbs and oils for external application, and eat foods that are suitable for healthy skin. Don't forget to try out some simple Ayurvedic home remedies too and make some lifestyle changes like yoga, meditation, and stress management. Happy wrinkle-fighting! Best Ayurvedic Treatment for Wrinkles in Gurgaon

Referral Link: https://medium.com/@im_freelancer/top-ayurvedic-doctors-for-wrinkles-in-gurgaon-960b8933f97b

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shinig6mis · 1 month ago

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sukuna had been watching you for longer than you knew.

you were just a civilian, another nameless face in the village he terrorized, yet he found himself drawn to you in a way that should have been beneath him. it started with an interest in your unshaken demeanor when everyone else cowered before him.

you never flinched when he threw open the restaurant door, never trembled when his crimson gaze landed on you, never begged for your life like the fools who thought they could buy their safety with empty words.

even when a group of drunk men once laid hands on you, their filthy fingers grabbing at your arm, you barely reacted. but sukuna did. he tore them apart before they even realized death was upon them, their blood splattering across the wooden floor of the shop.

and you? you simply sighed, grabbed a rag, and wiped the counter as if nothing had happened.

the men who touched you, the ones who cornered you in the alley behind the shop when you threw out the trash one night, the ones who whispered filth into your ear when you passed them in the market. they would all disappear without a trace. butchered and reduced to unrecognizable carnage. the other civilians around you would whisper rumours of bandits, wild animals, or something crazier like divine punishment. but you don’t ask questions. you never question anything.

and that only makes sukuna all the more unhinged.

he’s sick with it, fascinated in a way that he hasn’t been in centuries. he wants to see how far he can push you, wants to unravel that eerie stillness you maintain, wants to rip you open just to see what’s underneath. he thinks about it constantly, mulling over it as he watches from the trees and he wonders what your expression would look like twisted in something other than apathy.

it fascinated him more than it should have. he only came down the mountain for you. his visits were unpredictable, yet you never failed to serve him, taking his orders with that same lack of fear.

so as usual, when he enters the restaurant, the air shifts, thickening with something primal. the few remaining customers flee immediately abandoning their meals in favor of escape. he doesn’t spare them a glance. his eyes are only on you. you barely acknowledge him, already moving to clear the table he’s chosen, just as you always do. the clink of ceramics against wood is the only sound between you as you wipe away the remnants of the last customer. you don’t flinch when he stretches, arms draping over the back of the chair, muscles flexing beneath his robes.

when you finally ask, “what will you be ordering this time?” in that same monotonous tone, he smiles.

“you.”

for the first time since sukuna’s met you, you finally eact. it’s subtle, but he didn’t fail to notice the way your eyes widened and lips part.

“what?” your voice is quiet.

he tilts his head, feigning impatience. “do i really need to repeat myself?”

and just like that, he’s got you where he wants you.

it’s almost frustrating, how easy it was. he wanted resistance, wanted an excuse to break you in, to drag you kicking and screaming to his domain. but unsurprsingly, you simply followed him without a single glance back at the village that never once spared you a second thought.

when he brings you to his temple, he watches you carefully and waits for the inevitable crack in your composure. but you don’t even hesitate when uraume places a bowl of human liver soup in front of you. you don’t wrinkle your nose in disgust. you even took a sip and it pisses him off.

sukuna thinks there is no way you don’t know what you’re eating, not with the way it smells and the way the rumors have undoubtedly spread through the village about his tastes.

“from now on, you’ll be living here permanently.” his voice is rough, edged with something close to frustration.

you don’t respond or even look up.

his fingers twitch against the table. his patience is razor-thin at this point. “you’re not allowed to go back to the village unless i say so. not even one foot out of this temple.”

nothing. not a single sound, not a single glance.

from then on, he makes it his mission to tear you apart.

he wants to pry you open, peel back your skin and sink his teeth into whatever it is that keeps you so eerily composed. he wants to hear you gasp, wants to see your breath hitch, wants to know the faces you’ll make when he has you squirming beneath him.

now, days had passed since he first brought you in, and you had become his. not in the way most would expect. no, you weren’t fighting or even plotting your escape. instead, you served him and obediently fulfilled every request he made. when he ordered you to bring him sake, you did. when he demanded you sit at his feet while he lounged in his temple, you did.

“more,” he ordered lazily, watching as you poured him another cup of sake. the sleeves of your simple robe slipped down your wrists as you did, and he found himself staring at the delicate skin revealed to him. he smirked, reaching out to trace a clawed finger along your arm. “you’re so obedient. almost makes me think you like serving me.”

you remained silent, but he could see the way your fingers clenched slightly against the porcelain jug. he chuckled. “what? still playing the quiet little doll?” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “i’ve torn men apart for merely breathing in my direction, yet here you sit, perfectly intact. tell me, do you not fear me at all?”

your lips parted slightly as if you were considering his words, but you said nothing. sukuna growled, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. “speak.”

“i’ve never feared what i’ve already accepted,” you finally murmured.

his smirk widened. “accepted what, exactly?”

“that you’ll do whatever you want to me whenever you want.”

sukuna laughed, “smart girl.” his thumb traced your lower lip, his eyes drinking in every flicker of emotion that passed through yours. “and tell me… if i wanted to do this?”

he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, his lips barely brushing against yours before dragging down to your throat. he didn’t miss the way your pulse quickened beneath his tongue, how your breath hitched when his teeth grazed over sensitive flesh.

“will you stay silent and let me devour you whole?”

you said nothing.

sukuna let out a dark chuckle, his fingers wrapping around your waist as he pulled you onto his lap, trapping you against the hard planes of his body. his touch was searing and possessive. his claws lightly trailed down your back, teasing the fabric of your robe loose. he let the silence stretch between you, savoring the way your breathing grew shallow and the way your body reacted despite your stubborn composure.

“i wonder how long you can keep this up.” he mused, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

his hands moved, rough and impatient, tugging at the fabric pooling around your shoulders, exposing more of your skin to the flickering candlelight of the temple. his tongue traced the line of your throat before his teeth scraped against it, not enough to break you skin, but enough to make you shudder. he smirked against your flesh, relishing in every reaction he drew from you.

“look at you,” he muttered, his hands sliding lower, gripping your hips hard enough to leave a bruise. “so fucking perfect.”

his lips found yours then, stealing the last remnants of your composure. it was anything but gentle. his tongue pressed past your lips, tasting you, devouring every muffled sound you made. he wanted more. he wanted to unravel you entirely.

his grip tightened as he ground your hips against his, letting you feel the evidence of his need for you. a low groan rumbled in his chest at the contact, his patience hanging by a fraying thread. he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with lust and something far more dangerous.

“are you finally going to admit how much you fucking want this?”

author’s note ♪ 　 ͙ㅤ 　(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) been gone for so long but holyyy i’m so happy to see that sm people love my bakubro fics >_< i’ll def be posting more soon once my semester ends but thank u to all of u sososos much !!! <3

#𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ꩜ .ᐟ #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna #yandere sukuna #yandere x reader #yandere fic #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff

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mariasont · 4 months ago

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Strictly Medical Reasons - S.R

it started as concern. a few check-ins, a handful of visits, just to make sure you were healing. but somewhere along the way, the line between duty and something deeper blurred, and spencer wasn't sure he wanted to redraw it.

pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: gn!reader, flirting, mention of some undescribed rescue (imagining it wasn't too much trauma because there is too much flirting going on lol), reader has stitches, pre-relationship pining, definitely blurring some unhealthy attachments, mild codependency?, injury/wound care, but this is all fluffity fluff wc: 1.9k request: here

It was supposed to be procedural.

Another life salvaged, another story neatly archived. He had done this before, so many times, in so many places, that the specifics bled together, watercolors smudged by the passage of time. Their faces softened into abstraction, names reduced to reference, tucked away for when necessity dictated. That was the nature of it, the job. He helps, he leaves. They move on, and so does he.

Except this time, he hadn’t.

It didn’t hit him in the moment. Not when the case wrapped up, not when he boarded the jet, not even when he returned to his apartment. It wasn’t until much later — until he was supposed to be focused on a book he had read three times before, until he was staring blankly at his own notes without processing a single word — that he realized he hadn’t moved on.

He could still remember the exact shade of your shirt, the way the material had wrinkled when you crossed your arms, the way you had cracked a joke, not forced, not out of shock, but because humor was your instinct, the same way facts were his.

The logical part of him knew this was excessive. Maybe even bordering on inappropriate. Checking in once? Reasonable. Twice? Understandable. But five times? Six? He wasn’t even sure anymore. Somewhere between the habitual morning texts and the I was just in the area visits that were only technically lies, he had lost count.

Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just about your well-being and started becoming something else entirely, something he didn’t want to analyze too closely. Because even if he did, the compulsion remained the same, his fingers hovering over his phone, rereading messages for subtext that probably wasn’t there, scanning your voice for micro-inflections, subtle hesitations, anything.

It was crazy. For someone who spent his life dissecting human behavior down to its most fundamental parts, Spencer found himself struggling with the most basic equation of all: what was it about you that had rewired every rational impulse he had?

“Dr. Reid?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I can take these stitches out myself?”

Spencer’s response time dragged as he attempted to process whether or not you were joking. There was no sound reason for you to even consider that,removing sutures too early could lead to dehiscence, increased risk of infection, and possible hypertrophic scarring. He ran through a dozen potential responses, none of which adequately conveyed the "are you out of your mind" sentiment currently flooding his system.

“What?”

“My stitches. They itch like crazy,” you complain. There’s a rustling sound, a shuffle of movement, then a sharp inhale, like you’ve pressed too hard. He stiffens. “I know they said to wait, but it’s been — what? A week? That’s long enough, right?”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s not long enough. And unless you’ve recently acquired a medical degree I don’t know about, you should absolutely not remove them yourself.”

A small, defeated sigh. He didn’t have to be there to know what you were doing, absently picking the edges of the injury, mind already debating whether to listen to him or your own impatience. He knew exactly how your brain worked. Possibly too well.

“Okay, okay, doctor.” Your voice now had a teasing lilt, dissolving his irritation like sugar in tea. “I’ll keep them in. For now.”

He should have told you to go to urgent care. It was exactly the kind of advice he would give to anyone else. He even opened his mouth to say it.

But urgent care meant you’d be sitting in a cold, sterile room, and Spencer already had all the proof he needed that you did not handle pain well, so he could only imagine the absolute scene you would cause the second the doctor so much as touched you.

You had made it through an entire armed standoff without a scratch. You had been fine. Perfectly fine. And then, the second you were safe, you tripped over your own feet on the gravel, went down hard, and immediately announced, “I think I’m dying.”

(You weren’t. It was a two-stitch injury. He knew that. You knew that. But that hadn’t stopped you from squeezing his arm like you were bracing for war.)

So yeah, he wasn’t about to subject an innocent nurse to that level of unnecessary suffering.

“...I can come by and take a look.”

He hadn’t told anyone he was leaving and hadn’t bothered with excuses of half-hearted justifications. You had agreed without hesitation, voice light, pleased, and before he could even process what that meant, what it meant that you wanted him there, the call had ended and his coat was already on, his body moving as if his mind had no say in the matter at all.

Which was how he ended up here.

At your door, eyes drawn, as always, to the welcome mat. Stay Awhile. Too sentimental. A little too on-the-nose. The kind of thing he would generally dismiss with a passing thought, another surface-level attempt at warmth, mass-produced and impersonal. Except lately, it was starting to feel like a directive.

Before he even knocked, the door swung open. He froze, fingers still half-curled into a fist, blinking as if he had somehow miscalculated the timing of reality itself.

“Hi.” You stepped back without hesitation, the invitation clear. “Come in.”

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, thrown by the fluidity of it all.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you added, pushing the door behind him. “I had to work online today, and, uh, turns out, when you don’t have to leave the house, basic organization becomes more of a suggestion than a rule.”

His eyes skimmed the room, cataloging the so-called mess. A blanket, half-draped over the couch, slumped like a figure in mid-collapse. The pillows sat uneven, as if they had been rearranged in restless indecision. A coffee mug, streaked with the last remnants of caffeine, stood beside an open laptop. A pair of socks had been cast aside in the corner.

Mess, you had called it. He fought the urge to tell you that, statistically, people who lived in slightly cluttered spaces tended to be more creative. Somehow, he figured you already knew that.

His gaze tracked downward, instinct eclipsing intention.

The stitches were still in place, neatly spaced, and there were no signs of infection. So far, so good. But the skin surrounding them was angry, irritation blooming in uneven splotches where your fingers had worried the flesh.

“You’ve been scratching them.”

Your eyes flickered toward your arm, then back at him, guilt tucked behind a small, lopsided smile. “Not badly.”

Spencer sighed as he set his bag down with a thump. “Sit on the counter.”

“What?”

“The lighting’s better,” he muttered, already making his way toward the kitchen. “And I’d rather not crouch on your floor to assess how much damage you’ve done.”

You hopped up without argument, legs swinging as you grinned at him. “Do I get a lollipop after this check-up?”

Spencer stepped between your legs, hands settling lightly on your knee for balance. He hadn’t really thought this through, how close he’d have to be, how your leg would brush his hip, how he would be able to smell faint traces of your shampoo.

He exhaled a dry laugh. “I don’t know. Do you think you deserve a reward for actively making my life harder?”

“Sounds like a you problem, Dr. Reid. If you weren’t so obsessed with checking up on me, you wouldn’t even know I was doing anything questionable.”

Spencer sighed, tugging on his gloves, the latex snapping against his wrist like punctuation.

“You make an excellent point.” He pulled out the disinfectant next, carefully flipping the cap open. “An annoying one, but an excellent point nonetheless.”

Because if he didn’t check up on you, he wouldn’t even know about the irritated stitches. He also wouldn’t know that you never make it through a full cup of coffee before it gets cold, or that you always read the last page of a book first, just in case, or that you leave the bathroom light on when you get up in the middle of the night because you hate walking through the dark.

He wouldn’t know you, not in all these strange, fascinating, tangled ways. And for some reason, that thought startled him more than it should.

When you started, Spencer barely had the cotton pad against your skin, “So I was reading this article about how — ow!” You flinched, shooting him a glare. “That stings!”

Spencer pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a laugh. “I did bring a numbing agent, but I figured you’d want to tough it out. For, you know, bragging rights.”

You huffed, lips turning into a tiny, reluctant pout. “Yeah, okay, I’m fine.”

Spencer’s grip on the cotton pad faltered just slightly before he recovered. He shouldn’t find that cute. He shouldn’t. But he absolutely did.

He continued cleaning, carefully blotting at the wound. Another wince. Another barely-contained reaction.

“Tell me about the article.”

“So, I read this study about how humans actually need physical touch to regulate their nervous systems.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgement. “I’ve read about that. Social bonding releases oxytocin.”

“Right!” you winced, inhaling sharply through your teeth before continuing. “And it’s not just romantic, like, even casual touch can lower stress levels. They did a study with people holding hands and — ow — measuring their cortisol levels. Turns out, human contact makes everything more tolerable.”

Spencer’s brain decided right then to process every point of contact between you.

Statistically, you weren’t wrong. Scientifically, it was a well-documented phenomenon.

“Interesting,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sounds useful.”

He could cite three separate studies off the top of his head, break down the neurochemical pathways, and explain in excruciating detail why humans physically needed each other. But he liked the way you described it better.

“You saying you wanna hold my hand, Spencer?”

The antiseptic pad definitely didn’t need as much pressure as he just applied. “You’re very chatty for someone in pain.”

“You act all put out, but you keep showing up. What does that say, Dr. Reid?”

“That I’m too intelligent to believe in lost causes, but not intelligent enough to avoid them” Spencer rolled his eyes as he pulled off his glove. He patted your thigh lightly before stepping back. “Alright, all done. Try to behave so I don’t have to do this again.”

You clutched your chest theatrically. “Are you saying you don’t enjoy our little quality time sessions? That hurts, Spencer.”

He busied himself with picking up his bag. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

You hopped down from the counter, and Spencer instinctively reached out, like he thought you might be unsteady, like it was his job to ensure you didn't wobble. His hand brushed your arm for a half a second before he caught himself and pulled away.

“Text me if anything looks worse.”

“What, so you can rush over again?”

His ears tinged slightly pink. “Just… let me know if you need anything.

You softened, nodding. “I will.”

As he stepped outside, Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket, half-expecting, half hoping, to see a message from you before he even made it to his car. He shook his head at the thought, at himself. This was becoming a problem. A habit. An inevitability.

And despite knowing this, here he was, already running through excuses in his head for why it would be perfectly reasonable to check in again tomorrow. Strictly for medical reasons, of course.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fluff #🌺 maria writes

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ariestrxsh · 4 months ago

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sub!chris x dom!reader

ᯓ★ content warning: smut, mommy kink, teasing, humiliation, use of vibrator (on chris), strap sucking, gagging, pegging, making a sex tape

ᯓ★ summary: chris begs you to make him go dumb on your strap while on camera

If you don't like the content, don't read !!! I know pegging isn't for everyone, and that's totally fine.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

Sextape

"C'mon, Chris. Hold the camera still. Or else I won't let you cum," you sweetly cooed to the blue-eyed boy sitting in front of you. A series of soft whines cascaded from his pouty lips as you drew circles on his swollen, pink tip that you were relentlessly teasing with your vibrator.

His sweaty palms gripped the camera a bit more tightly as he directed the lens at his lap and what you were doing to him, but he couldn't keep it from shaking. You reduced the intensity of the vibrations as Chris struggled to listen to your directions. "Chris," you said more sternly this time, raising your eyebrows.

"I'm trying, mommy. It just feel so good," he purred. "Please. Turn it back up. I'll be a good boy. I'll hold it steady," Chris begged, peering down at the way you expertly stimulated his cock through the view finder.

You loved how pathetic he sounded when he pleaded with you. How could you say no? You gave in, giving him what he wanted and switching it back to a more intense setting as you watched him squirm around.

One of the things you loved most about Chris was how confident and assertive he was in his every day life, but the second it was just the two of you behind closed doors, his submissive side would come out to play. All of a sudden, his cool, calm, and collected facade would crumble, and he'd turn in a whiny, needy, and desperate little thing.

He'd never admit to his brothers or his friends the activities the two of you did in secret, but he loved them. He adored the way you'd take your bullet vibrator and gently run it up and down his length. He couldn't get enough of the way you tugged on his pretty, brown hair or the things you'd whisper into his ear. He loved when you'd get out the strap and have your way with him.

He savored it all so much, in fact, that he'd asked you if the two of you could film it. He'd practically begged for it. Of course, you obliged, unable to say no to him anytime he turned on his submissive charm. You loved the idea of making a video with him, one he'd watch back during his solo activities when you were unavailable.

You were surprised, though. "Aren't you worried Matt or Nick might find it? Or one of your friends?" You'd asked, wrinkling your brow with a puzzled expression on your face. "I'll keep it somewhere safe. No one will ever know," he'd responded, more focused on the reward of filming it and less focused on the possible consequences.

That's how the two of you ended up here - with your favorite toy resting against the sweet boy's tip while he practically dug his fingernails into the sides of the camera as he struggled to keep it stable. You took the vibrating object and started slowly running it up and down a prominent vein on the backside of his shaft.

When you returned to his sensitive head, a sharp whine slipped from his lips as his cock twitched. His big, round eyes flicked up to meet yours, and he gave you the most precious look with tinted pink cheeks, slightly parted lips, and his expression steeped in desire.

"Give me that," you ordered, taking the camcorder from his trembling hands. You pointed it at the blue-eyed boy, not wanting his gorgeous, fucked out features to go undocumented. "Look at you. Such a pretty boy," you cooed, peering down at him through the view finder as he screwed his eyes shut and formed his lips into a perfect o shape. "You look so handsome on camera."

You tilted the lens down at the pearly liquid gathering at his perfect slit. You could tell he was getting close, but you weren't ready to let him cum just yet. You slowed the speed of the vibrations, watching Chris' expression fall as you withdrew the sensation. "Mommy, why are you always so mean to me?" He pouted.

You took the toy and set it off to the side, ignoring his question. "Get on your knees," you directed him as you stood to your feet, pointing the lens of the camera at the blue strap you had harnessed to your body. "Suck it for me, baby," you purred, tilting his chin up with your free hand. He parted his lips to take you in, but he hesitated for a second.

"What's wrong, baby? You love this part," you sweetly asked him, running your manicured nails along his jawline. "Can I please touch myself while I suck on it, mommy?" He wondered. "Sure, you can, but you're not allowed to cum, baby," you replied in a serious voice, and he eagerly nodded. His tongue darted out and he flitted it across the tip.

"Good boy," you murmured, slipping the end of the strap into his mouth as he wrapped his lips around it. His fingers snaked around his shaft, and he started slowly stroking it as he bobbed his head up and down. "Wow. Look at you. You're doing such a good job. You might even suck cock better than I do," you whispered.

He slipped you out of his mouth for a moment and shook his head. "No way, mommy. Not even close," he replied before popping you back into his mouth, knowing that if he had agreed with your original comment, he'd most definitely be punished.

You let out a chuckle, adoring how much control you had over him in these moments. He'd do and say anything to please you. "You take it so well, though, pretty boy," you sweetly answered him, placing your free hand on his head as you drove your hips forward at a rougher pace, eliciting a soft gagging sound from the boy on his knees in front of you.

His hand stroked his cock more fervently as he choked on you, a look of pleasure written on his face as he opened his throat, graciously taking you deeper. You smirked down at him, tightening your grip on his hair and tugging on it as you fucked his pretty mouth, a bit of drool gathering in the corners of his lips.

"Oh, my god, Chris. You were made for this," you commented, looking into his teary bedroom eyes that were fixed on the lens of the camcorder. Your gaze flickering between the real life vision that was playing out in front of you and the perspective through the view finder. "You could be a star."

He sucked on it for a few more minutes, moans escaping him as he tried to keep himself from finishing too early. He switched off between peering up at you and the camera lens as he hollowed out his cheeks, sliding his lips up and down your length.

"Okay, pretty boy. Get on the bed and get on all fours," you demanded, tapping the tip of his nose with your pointer finger in a teasing manner. "Yes, mommy," he replied, his eyes growing wider and his face beaming as he realized you were finally going to give him what he so desperately craved. He turned around and crawled onto the bed.

You opened a bottle of lube with one hand, applied it to your strap, and positioned yourself at his opening. "I made sure I was ready for you, mommy," Chris mumbled, gazing back at the camera. You knew that meant that he must have had some fun with his dildo before he'd come over, and imagining it was enough to have your arousal slowly dripping down the inside of your thigh.

Your lips curled into a smile, and you made sure to capture Chris' reaction as you entered him from the back, his eyes screwing shut and his face contorting in a look of pleasure. His expression softened after the initial stretch and after you'd started gently rocking your hips.

Soft whimpers filled the air as he threw himself back into you, arching his back and tipping back his head at the sensation. His right hand reached up to soothe his aching cock, beginning to move his closed fist up and down his shaft.

You'd bent Chris over many times, but there was something about this particular time that escalated the whole experience. You weren't sure if it was just the way Chris looked on film in the soft lighting, all his features enhanced by the clearness of the image, or if it was the fact that he was really leaning into his desperation, almost putting on a show, and really exaggerating his body movements and the sounds he made.

"You fucking love this, don't you, baby?" You mumbled, admiring the perfect curve of his spine and the way his ass jiggled with every thrust. "I do, mommy. I love being used by you," he whimpered, peering back at you and the technology in your hand.

"I know you love that, sweet boy, but I was talking about being on camera. You just love it, don't you?" He slowly nodded, gripping the sheets beneath him with his free hand. "Good boy. You look so fucking good getting fucked on video," you replied, knowing how much he was getting off on it.

There was something about being recorded - being in the spotlight and being so vulnerable - that drove him wild and made him even more daring. "Give it to me harder, mommy. You know I can take it," he begged in a subservient voice.

You raised your eyebrows at him, knowing this was usually the roughest he could stand, but you couldn't say no to him, looking back at you with his submissive eyes. You nodded as you railed him harder, driving your strap deeper and hitting his pleasure spot over and over. It felt good for you as well, pressure being put on your clit every time you snapped your hips forward.

You could tell Chris was nearing the edge, moans and profanities pouring from him as he went dumb on your silicone cock. "Come on, baby. Smile for Nick and Matt when they find this," you teased him. He snapped his head around, glaring in your direction.

"Hey! That's - that's not - " Chris struggled through his sentence, every thrust of your hips jolting his body forward. "That's not funny," he finally managed to say, making eye contact with the camera before his jaw dropped, and a pretty sound escaped his lips.

You tilted the camcorder back down at Chris' perfectly shaped ass as you delivered a harsh smack, leaving behind a red hand print. He yelped in delight as you slammed into him over and over, his palm brushing against the tip of his dick as his strokes became faster and messier.

"Mommy, I'm gonna cum!" He exclaimed, throwing his head back, arching his spine, and sending his hips back onto you. "Cum for mommy," you softly cooed in response. "Cum for the camera." A smirk tugged at the edge of you lip as Chris came undone for you, his cum spilling from his tip and soaking the sheets beneath the two of you as he finished.

"Good boy. That's it," you gently purred, slowing down your thrusts as Chris slumped over, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as he came down from the whole experience. He rolled over after you'd pulled out of him, a satisfied smile plastered on his face as he tried to look into the camera, fucked out of his mind.

"You did so good, baby," you aimed the camera at his spent cock and the mess he'd made on his abdomen as well as the spot on the bed next to him. He chuckled, covering himself with his hands and becoming a bit embarrassed about how into it he had been, being the star of the video.

"Okay. Kiss the camera, pretty boy," you teased him, shoving the lens into his face, very clearly poking fun at him and his brothers and their early YouTube days when Matt would kiss the camera as their outro. He chuckled and rolled his eyes, still catching his breath. He finally did as you said, raising his head, pressing his lips to the lens, and making a dramatic kissing sound before you ended the scene.

After you and Chris cleaned up and got dressed, the two of you sat at the edge of your bed and played it back. It was a cinematic masterpiece. The lighting was perfect. Chris' moans came through so distinctly, the microphone even picking up his soft pants and subtle tonality changes as he got closer. "Fuck. I know this was your idea, but I kind of want a copy," you smirked, staring down at the video and how pathetic Chris looked and sounded.

"Ah, I think having two of these floating around in existence is a little too risky for my taste," Chris responded, his cheeks turning pink as he grabbed the camera from you. "You can borrow it whenever you want, though," he teased you. "Oh, is that right?" You asked, raising your eyebrows at him before playfully tackling him and taking the camera back.

"Maybe I'll hold onto it, but you can borrow it whenever you want, though," you mocked him, repeating it in the same patronizing voice he'd used when he'd said it to you.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #sub chris sturniolo #sub!chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo smut #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴛ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

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malfoysanctuary · 1 month ago

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For You, I Burn

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred Weasley has always been laughter and mischief, until someone crosses the line with you. And when he finally snaps, the entire room learns what happens when you touch what’s his.

The Burrow always smelled like cinnamon and sun-warmed wood, like safety and the childhood you didn’t know you were missing until you stepped through its crooked door.

You were barefoot in the kitchen that morning, tea mug in hand, wearing one of Fred’s jumpers that hung off your shoulder. The sleeves swallowed your hands, and the worn Weasley crest over your heart felt like armor stitched from love.

Fred came in, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, that sleepy smirk on his face—the one that made your stomach tighten in all the best ways.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.” He kissed your cheek before stealing your mug for a sip. “Mmm. You really do make the best tea.”

“That was my cup,” you huffed, but your lips were already tugging into a smile.

“Exactly,” he said, cradling it in his hands like it belonged to him. Like you did.

And you did.

Fred Weasley was a walking contradiction.

He lived loud—always the first to laugh, the last to leave a party, the one who lit up any room with a spark in his eye and trouble on his tongue. He was chaos wrapped in kindness, sharp wit hidden beneath mischief.

But anger?

Fred wasn’t angry.

Not truly. Not the way some people snapped or fumed. His fuse was long. He shrugged off insults. Rolled with punches. He could be mocked, cursed at, even shoved—and he’d still grin like it was all a game.

There was only one thing that ever set Fred Weasley on fire.

You.

The thought of you hurt or afraid? It undid him. Peeled back something primal. Something furious.

It started at the Ministry gala—a sleek, post-war event meant to show peace had returned, though it still echoed with tension no one wanted to name.

You wore a midnight-blue dress that shimmered when you moved. Fred had stared the moment you stepped out of your room, blinking like he forgot how words worked.

“You… You’re going to kill me,” he’d said.

“Just for looking like this?”

He grinned. “No. For making it impossible not to.”

At the gala, Fred stuck close. Fingers brushing yours. Elbow bumping yours. Protective in the way a man is when he wants to keep you close, but still let you shine.

You’d just been talking to Angelina and George when it happened. Fred had ducked away to get drinks, trusting you were safe.

And for a while, you were.

Until a man in deep purple robes—older, smug, the kind of Ministry lifer who thought charm and cruelty were the same—wandered over. He smiled too widely, his eyes too sharp.

“I see the Weasley boy brought his… little project tonight.”

You stiffened.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play coy. Pretty thing like you? I’m just saying, the war made desperate men settle early. Can’t imagine you bring much else to the table besides a pretty face.”

George moved first. “Hey. Back off.”

But the man only chuckled and turned toward you again. “Unless that’s the charm, of course. Is that it? A bit of fun before something better comes along?”

You opened your mouth—burning to respond—but you didn’t need to.

Fred was already there.

You didn’t see him coming, but you felt it.

Like heat. Like a lightning storm behind your back.

Fred’s voice came low and lethal:

“Say that again.”

The man turned, startled—but still smirking. “Weasley—don’t get yourself worked up. It’s just—”

CRACK.

Fred’s hand slammed the edge of the table beside them. Glass shattered. Conversations halted. The music stuttered and dropped into silence.

Fred didn’t shout. He didn’t even raise his voice.

But the look in his eyes was enough to make the entire room hold its breath.

“You want to insult me?” he said. “Do it. Take your best shot. I’ve heard worse.”

His voice dropped, dangerous and still. “But the second you talk about her like that? The second you reduce her to something small? We’ve got a problem.”

The man’s face paled.

Fred stepped closer, each movement coiled, his frame radiating restraint just barely holding.

“You don’t know a single thing about her,” Fred growled. “You don’t know how she held me together when I couldn’t breathe. How she wakes up from nightmares with a whisper instead of a scream. How she fits into my arms like magic, like she was built to fix every broken thing in me. So you’ll keep her name out of your filthy mouth—or you’ll find out how far I’m willing to go for the woman I love.”

No wand. No joke.

Just rage.

Quiet and shaking and terrifying.

You gently wrapped your fingers around his hand. “Fred.”

His head snapped toward you—and his expression cracked. The fury drained from his face in a slow, pained collapse.

His eyes roamed over you like he had to check—make sure you were whole. Safe. Breathing.

“Did he—did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No. Just made me feel… small.”

Fred turned back to the man. “Be grateful that’s all she said.”

He took your hand and led you away, not looking back.

It was nearly one in the morning by the time you made it back to the Burrow. The party dress was long gone, replaced by one of Fred’s shirts. He sat on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched, fists tight in his lap.

“I scared you,” he said.

“No.”

His voice cracked. “I scared me.”

You knelt between his legs, holding his hands, thumb stroking the freckled skin. “You were protecting me.”

“I’ve never felt like that before,” he whispered. “That kind of fury. Like I’d rip the world apart if it even looked at you wrong.”

“Fred…”

His gaze finally met yours. “I don’t want to become someone who reacts like that. Someone people fear.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re not. You didn’t do that for power or pride. You did it for love.”

He exhaled sharply. “That man… the way he looked at you. Like you were something cheap. Like he could take what wasn’t his.”

“He didn’t. He couldn’t.”

Fred’s arms wrapped around you then, pulling you into his lap, his face tucked into your neck.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than I ever knew I could love anything.”

You held his face in your hands. “And I love every part of you. Even the fire.”

That night, you fell asleep tangled together under the quilt, limbs twined like ivy. And before you drifted off, you whispered:

“Still angry?”

Fred kissed your shoulder. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

He shifted closer, voice warm against your skin.

“Because you’re here,” he murmured. “And he’s not.”

And that was all that mattered.

Because Fred Weasley wasn’t known for his temper.

But he’d burn the world down for you.

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #shifting to hogwarts #hogwarts houses #gryffindor #slytherin #hogwarts oc #x reader #female reader #reader insert #fem reader

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aspenmissing · 4 months ago

Note

If I may request... something something about reader who really likes Silco's nose? I find it really pretty... and fascinating... (I'm really open to other characters too haaaaa thank you thank you 🫶🏻💕)

ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5818 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀꜱᴄɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! ʜɪꜱ ɴᴏꜱᴇ ɪꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛɪɴɢᴜɪꜱʜᴇᴅ <3. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ! (ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ)

SILCO

There was something about Silco’s nose that you adored—obsessed over, really. Maybe it was the sharp slope of it, the way it framed his gaunt yet commanding face. Or perhaps it was how it wrinkled in distaste when someone displeased him, how it crinkled ever so slightly when he smirked at his own dark wit.

You couldn’t help yourself. Every time he was near, your fingers itched to touch it, to trace the elegant ridge down to his lips.

You weren’t quite sure when your obsession had begun, but you did remember the first time you gave in to the temptation to touch it.

It had been late. The kind of late where the world outside was quiet, even the usual hum of the Lanes reduced to nothing more than the occasional distant murmur.

Silco’s office was dimly lit, a handful of candles flickering atop his desk, their wax pooling and dripping slowly down their bases. The air was thick with the scent of ink, aged parchment, and the distinct bite of pipe smoke curling lazily from the half-burned tobacco resting in the nearby ashtray. It was a rare moment of stillness—one you had grown to cherish.

He sat behind his desk, utterly absorbed in his work. His mismatched eyes flicked back and forth across the pages in front of him, the furrow in his brow deepening as he read. His gloved fingers moved with precision, flipping through the documents in a slow, methodical manner, only pausing to tap against his chin in thought.

You were lounging on the worn leather couch across the room, a book open in your lap, though you had long since stopped reading.

Your attention had drifted—to him.

To the elegant cut of his profile, the sharp lines of his face cast in shadow. To the way his lips pursed slightly in thought, the low hum in his throat as he considered whatever ruthless schemes were currently filling his mind. But mostly, to his nose.

You had always admired it—obsessed over it, really. The proud slope of it, the way it framed the rest of his features so perfectly. Sometimes, when he was displeased, it wrinkled ever so slightly, or when he was amused, the slightest crinkle would appear near the bridge. It was a part of him you found endlessly fascinating, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you wanted to touch it.

No, scratch that—you needed to. You hadn’t even thought about it. Not really. You just… reached out.

Soft, hesitant fingers brushed over the bridge of his nose, tracing the elegant line as if committing it to memory.

The moment you made contact, Silco froze.

His breath caught mid-inhale, and for a single, excruciating second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

Oh. Oh no.

Your stomach flipped violently. Why did I do that?

Panic shot through your veins as you quickly withdrew your hand, fingers twitching uselessly in your lap. You hadn’t exactly thought this through, had you? It had been impulse. A deeply ingrained fascination that had, for the first time, crossed over into action.

Silco exhaled—slowly. Deliberately. Then, with the same methodical precision he handled everything in life with, he lowered the page he had been reading.

And stared at you.

Not his usual lazy, half-lidded stare. No. This was something else. His sharp gaze pinned you in place like a dagger through silk, mismatched eyes unreadable.

“Did you just…” His voice was quiet, dangerously even. “Touch my nose?”

Your throat went dry. “I… might have.”

His expression didn’t change, but his gaze flicked between your face and your guilty hands, still clenched tightly in your lap. His silence stretched unbearably long, his stare unrelenting.

You swallowed.

Oh God, I broke him.

“… It was an accident,” you blurted. A slow blink.

“Oh?” His tone was mild, but you didn’t miss the razor-thin amusement beneath it. “Your hand… accidentally found its way onto my face?”

“… Yes?”

Silco’s lips parted just slightly, his tongue running over his teeth as he considered you with quiet, almost clinical scrutiny. His brow twitched, not quite in annoyance but in that signature Silco-exasperation that you were all too familiar with.

Your body tensed, waiting for some kind of punishment—some remark that would undoubtedly put you back in your place.

But instead, he let out a long, suffering sigh.

Then—he shook his head.

“You’re lucky,” he muttered, voice laced with dry amusement, “that I’m too tired to deal with your nonsense.”

And just like that, he went back to his work.

You sat there, completely still, your pulse hammering in your ears. You had touched his nose. You had touched his nose, and he let you live.

Your lips twitched as you finally exhaled. He had gone back to reading, yes—but you saw it. That tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. You had caught him off guard. And deep down, he was amused. It was the first time you touched his nose.

But it would not be the last.

JAYCE

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the sleek marble of Jayce’s penthouse. It painted soft lines across the bed, illuminating the tousled sheets and the faint imprint of last night’s warmth still lingering between them. The air smelled of warm linen, a hint of coffee drifting from the kitchen below, but most intoxicating was the familiar scent of him—rich and woodsy, with faint traces of steel and cologne clinging to his skin.

You stirred under the plush covers, shifting slightly against the warmth wrapped around you. Not just the warmth of the sunlight, but the solid, steady presence beside you.

Jayce.

His arm was lazily draped over your waist, his bare chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His face was turned toward you, relaxed, serene, lips slightly parted, framed by that ever-present stubble you adored so much. The golden light kissed the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the roughness that made your heart stutter every time you looked at him.

You swore you could stare at him like this forever.

Carefully, you reached out, your fingers tracing lightly along the line of his jaw, feeling the rough texture beneath your fingertips. The sensation sent a small thrill through you. That perfect balance of softness and ruggedness—just enough to tickle your skin when he kissed you, just enough to remind you of him.

A quiet sigh rumbled from his throat, low and content, and a small smile tugged at your lips. You did love this. More than you probably should.

Then, before you could pull away, his lips parted, voice thick with sleep and amusement.

"You really like that, don't you?" Your fingers froze against his jaw, caught red-handed.

Jayce cracked one eye open, brown softened by the morning light, his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk.

You huffed, trailing your finger along his chin with feigned nonchalance. "Maybe. Maybe not."

His arm tightened around your waist, his warmth pressing into you as he let out a low chuckle. "Oh, you definitely do." His voice was smug, still heavy with sleep, but there was an affection behind it—a teasing fondness that made your heart stutter.

Before you could protest, he pulled you closer, his stubble brushing against your cheek as he pressed a lazy, half-awake kiss to your temple. The scratch of it sent a tingling warmth through you. Then another kiss, slow and teasing, trailing down your jaw.

"You do this on purpose," you muttered, barely managing to keep your voice even.

Jayce hummed, the sound deep and rich in his chest. "Maybe. Maybe not." He mimicked your words, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, the playful scrape of his stubble sending another delicious shiver through you.

You sighed, fingers curling against his bare shoulder, warmth settling into your bones. "Never shave it off."

Jayce let out a soft laugh, lips ghosting over your skin. "Oh? That much of a fan?"

"You have no idea," you murmured, tilting your head to capture his lips in a kiss—one that started soft, sweet, but quickly deepened into something slower, more indulgent.

His lips molded against yours, warm and inviting, his hand sliding over your back, fingers trailing in lazy circles along your spine. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like this moment was something to be savored. And you did—every part of it. The way his stubble grazed against your skin, the heat of him pressed against you, the way he tasted of sleep and something distinctly Jayce.

The kiss stretched between you, languid and unhurried, like the golden morning light spilling across the room. He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, voice low, teasing, "So, I guess shaving's off the table, then?"

You grinned, running your fingers along his jaw again. "If you ever shave it, I’m leaving you."

Jayce let out a deep laugh, full and warm, the sound vibrating against your chest. "Noted."

With a lazy smirk, he shifted, flipping the both of you over so you were pinned beneath him, his weight deliciously warm. His arms caged you in, his body pressed against yours as he looked down at you, eyes still sleepy, hair deliciously messy from sleep.

"Alright, so… what do I get in return for keeping the stubble?" he teased, voice still rough with sleep, but undeniably playful.

You scoffed. "The pleasure of keeping me in your bed, obviously."

Jayce chuckled, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. "Mmm, sounds like a fair deal."

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, a slow drag of his mouth against yours, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin as he kissed you slow and deliberate. His hands roamed lazily, fingertips tracing patterns over your exposed skin, and you sighed against his lips, completely melting into him.

"Jayce," you murmured between kisses, voice barely above a whisper.

"Mm?"

"You know what would make this moment even better?"

He pulled back slightly, raising a brow. "Let me guess—more stubble appreciation?"

You laughed, swatting at his chest before slipping your arms around his neck. "No, you dork. Breakfast."

Jayce groaned, burying his face against your neck in mock defeat. "You really know how to kill a mood."

"You love me anyway."

A hum of agreement vibrated against your skin, followed by a soft, lingering kiss against your collarbone. "Yeah," he murmured, pressing another kiss against your shoulder. "I really do."

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through your chest.

He finally pulled back with a grin, his fingers brushing over your cheek. "Alright, alright. Breakfast first, then back to bed?"

You smirked. "If you're good."

Jayce huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he finally rolled off of you, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. "You are so lucky I love you."

You grinned, reaching up to run your fingers along his jaw one last time, enjoying the familiar scratch of his stubble. "I know."

He shot you a playful look before leaning down for one last lingering kiss. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright, what are we having?"

You hummed thoughtfully, curling back into the sheets with a smirk. "Well… pancakes sound good. Or maybe waffles."

Jayce stood, stretching, completely unbothered by his state of undress as he padded toward the kitchen. "You just want an excuse to pour syrup all over me, don’t you?"

You gasped, feigning offense. "I would never."

Jayce shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. "Mmhmm. Sure."

You simply smiled, watching him disappear into the kitchen, his voice carrying down the hall. "Just so you know, if you’re eating breakfast in bed, I expect full cuddling rights after."

You grinned, stretching lazily under the covers.

"Deal." Maybe you’d stay in bed a little longer today. Actually, scratch that.

You definitely would.

VIKTOR

The soft glow of Piltover’s evening light streamed through the window of Viktor’s lab, bathing the room in hues of amber and gold. Outside, the city buzzed with distant life—faint voices, the hum of hextech energy, the occasional chime of an airship passing overhead. But inside this room, there was only the quiet symphony of Viktor’s mind at work.

The desk before him was cluttered with blueprints, ink-stained notes, and complex diagrams, all stacked haphazardly as if they had been abandoned mid-thought. A cup of coffee—long cold and untouched—rested precariously near the edge of a thick book on bioengineering. The only thing moving with precision was Viktor himself, his fingers twirling a pen as he murmured calculations under his breath, eyes sharp and lost in deep concentration.

His cane rested beside him, leaned against the desk within easy reach, though he hardly noticed it now. He was too focused, too enraptured by whatever theory or experiment he was trying to perfect.

And you? You were watching him from your usual perch on his desk, legs lazily swinging, your fingers absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns into the wood.

He was beautiful like this.

Not in a grand, obvious way, but in the way of something carefully crafted—sharp angles and delicate lines, warm golden eyes that burned with intellect. He carried his exhaustion in the soft shadows beneath his eyes, his determination in the stubborn furrow of his brow.

But your focus, as always, drifted to the two distinct marks on his face.

The first, a small, dark mole sitting just above the left corner of his lips. The second, resting on his right cheekbone, contrasting against his pale skin like a tiny ink blot on parchment.

You loved them.

Viktor never seemed to think much of them—he was far too occupied with matters of invention and progress to consider something so small, so insignificant. But you disagreed. Those moles were part of him, little marks of uniqueness, and you found yourself drawn to them over and over again.

So, without much thought, your hand lifted, fingers grazing softly over his cheek.

The scratching of his pen halted.

Viktor didn’t flinch—he was used to your touch by now—but his head tilted slightly, a faint flicker of amusement appearing in his eyes as he turned toward you. His lips quirked at the corners, not quite a smile, but something close.

“Something on my face?” he asked, his voice carrying the usual dry humor.

You hummed in thought, tilting your head as if examining him. “Mhm… several things, actually.”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, setting his pen down with a quiet clatter. “Oh? Do enlighten me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his skin. He didn’t pull away—he never did—but you noticed the way his fingers flexed against the armrest of his chair, as if grounding himself.

Then, ever so softly, you pressed a kiss to the mole on his right cheekbone.

Viktor’s breath hitched, though he remained perfectly still.

“This one,” you murmured against his skin.

Then, your lips trailed lower, your fingers delicately tracing his jawline as you moved to your next target. You took your time, savouring the warmth of him, the way his skin reacted to your touch.

Another kiss—this time just above the left corner of his lips, where the second mole rested.

“And this one,” you whispered.

Viktor let out a breathy chuckle, but there was something unsteady about it, like he was trying not to react too much. His cane shifted slightly as he adjusted his weight, his body tense despite the easy smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you mapping out constellations on my face, milý?” he mused, his voice lower now, quieter. (Dear)

You grinned, pressing another featherlight kiss to his jaw before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

Viktor regarded you carefully, his golden eyes glimmering with something unreadable. His hands, which had remained idle for most of this interaction, finally moved—one rising to gently rest over yours, his fingers curling lightly around them.

“And where do these constellations lead?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his face fully now, your thumbs stroking the delicate hollows beneath his eyes. He leaned into your touch, the tension in his posture melting, his breathing slower, more measured.

“They lead me to you,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against his. “Always.”

A quiet hum of satisfaction left Viktor’s lips as he closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if committing this sensation to memory. When he opened them again, the warmth in his gaze had melted into something softer, something vulnerable in a way few people ever got to see.

His fingers laced through yours, holding them against his face, as if reluctant to let you pull away. “Then I suppose I am fortunate to be your chosen destination.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against his in the lightest of touches. “You are.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside continued on, Piltover’s hum never ceasing, but in this space—this small, intimate space—you were both still.

Then, to your surprise, Viktor shifted slightly, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. His lips brushed yours—not quite a kiss, just the promise of one. Testing.

And then, with a deep, quiet sigh, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that stole breath or demanded more. It was slow, gentle, like the ticking of a clock when time no longer mattered.

When you parted, Viktor exhaled against your lips, his hand still holding yours against his cheek. “You are rather distracting, you know,” he murmured.

You grinned, brushing another kiss to the mole just above his lip. “And you love it.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let his forehead rest against yours once more, the warmth of you anchoring him in a way that no theorem or blueprint ever could.

For once, he allowed himself to stop.

For once, he let himself enjoy the sensation of being loved in every breath, in every touch, in every kiss.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

JAYVIK

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the intricate details of Viktor’s workshop. Tools, papers, and blueprints were scattered across the desk, but your attention was elsewhere. Specifically, on the two men who had thoroughly stolen your heart.

Jayce was reclined on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the fabric. His hands—the hands you adored so much—were strong, calloused from years of labor, and yet impossibly gentle when they traced along your skin. It was those very hands that built the Hextech you now marveled at, the same hands that held yours so protectively when you walked together through the streets of Piltover.

“You’re staring,” Jayce teased, his lips curving into a cocky grin as he flexed his fingers, stretching them before clenching into a fist. “See something you like?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could muster a response, Viktor, who was perched on his stool near the workbench, let out a soft chuckle. He leaned on his cane, tilting his head to the side, amber eyes filled with amusement.

“It is hardly a secret that our dear Y/N has an…appreciation for your hands, Jayce.”

You shot Viktor a playful glare, crossing your arms. “Oh? And what about you, then?”

Jayce, catching on quickly, smirked and turned his gaze toward Viktor. “Yeah, Y/N. What do you like most about Viktor?”

Your gaze softened as you took in the sight of him—the sharp angles of his face, the determined glint in his eyes, the way his lips, perpetually bowed into a natural pout, seemed almost unfairly perfect.

“Your lips,” you confessed, voice tinged with warmth. “They’re beautiful.”

Viktor, for all his wit, faltered for a second, his fingers curling around the handle of his cane as if to ground himself. His mouth parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his lips curved in thought. It was entirely unfair how effortlessly captivating he was.

Jayce burst into laughter, his chest rumbling as he clapped a hand against his knee. “See, Vik? You’re not the only one with admirers.”

Viktor huffed, rolling his eyes, though the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks. “I never claimed otherwise.”

Feeling bold, you moved closer to Viktor, cupping his face with both hands as you ran your thumb gently over his lower lip. His breath hitched, and for a moment, the world outside the workshop seemed to vanish. Then, just as smoothly, you turned and slid yourself into Jayce’s lap, grabbing one of his hands and threading your fingers through his own.

“Two geniuses, and both of you are completely at my mercy,” you teased, grinning as Jayce hummed in approval and Viktor simply sighed, though his eyes gleamed with affection.

Jayce squeezed your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. “Hopelessly so.”

Viktor merely shook his head, the smirk returning to his lips. “Utterly.”

As the night stretched on, the three of you remained close, enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence. Viktor eventually stood, cane tapping lightly against the wooden floor as he stretched. “I suppose I should get back to work,” he murmured, though he made no move to leave.

Jayce, still holding your hand, scoffed. “Come on, Vik. You’ve been at it all day. Take a break.” He tugged you both closer, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place. “Y/N and I demand your presence.”

Viktor arched a brow but didn’t resist as you reached for him, coaxing him to sit beside you on the couch. With a soft sigh, he relented, resting his cane against the side before allowing himself to settle into the cushions.

You curled against him, content between the two of them, feeling the warmth of Jayce’s hand against your own and the occasional brush of Viktor’s lips against your temple as he relaxed into the rare moment of peace.

Jayce played idly with your fingers, occasionally tracing patterns into your palm, while Viktor hummed quietly, the vibrations of his voice soothing against your skin. It was rare to have them both like this—completely at ease, caught in a moment of tenderness.

“I could get used to this,” Jayce murmured after a while, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Viktor chuckled. “Yes, well, do not get too comfortable. The work is still waiting.”

You sighed dramatically. “Can’t we just stay like this forever?”

Viktor gave you a knowing smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Perhaps for a little while longer.”

And with that, you melted further into their embrace, knowing this was exactly where you were meant to be.

VANDER

The warm scent of hops and smoke lingered in the Last Drop, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. But no matter how many times you walked through these doors, there was only one thing in this entire bar that made you feel truly safe—Vander.

And more specifically, his arms.

They were a fortress of strength, rough and calloused from years of fighting and providing, yet they held you as if you were made of the most fragile porcelain. It was intoxicating, the way his presence alone was enough to make you feel secure, but the moment his arms wrapped around you? That was when you truly melted.

“Y’know, you’re like a little shadow sometimes,” Vander chuckled as you pressed against his side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over the thick muscle of his forearm. His voice was laced with amusement, but the warmth in his tone betrayed how much he enjoyed it.

“Not my fault you’re so comfortable,” you murmured, barely looking up from where you were playing with the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. The fabric was stretched over his biceps, and you bit your lip, resisting the urge to squeeze just a little harder.

Vander hummed in thought before shifting in his chair. The next thing you knew, he was pulling you onto his lap, his arms effortlessly circling your waist as he leaned back against the worn wooden seat.

“There,” he rumbled, his chin resting against the top of your head. “This better?”

You sighed happily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as his arms tightened just enough to make you feel utterly caged in by warmth and safety. “Much better.”

The bar continued on around you—clinking mugs, boisterous laughter, the occasional outburst—but in Vander’s arms, none of it mattered. His thumb rubbed lazy circles against your side, and his chest rumbled with contentment.

“You really do like my arms, don’t ya?” he teased, the smirk evident in his voice.

You huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to meet his knowing gaze. “Can you blame me? They’re strong, warm, and they make me feel safe. I think I might be addicted.”

Vander let out a deep laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “If that’s the case, guess I better keep ‘em around you at all times, huh?”

Your grin widened as you pulled his arm tighter around you. “Now that,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Vander only chuckled, but the way he held you closer told you everything you needed to know.

You were right where you belonged.

As the night wore on, you stayed nestled in his embrace, his arms never loosening their hold. Occasionally, he would brush a kiss against your temple, his beard tickling your skin, sending shivers down your spine. It was little things like that—those small, affectionate gestures—that made you fall for him all over again.

“I swear, you’re worse than the kids,” Vander teased as you traced idle patterns along his forearm, your fingers enjoying the feel of his skin.

You smirked, resting your chin against his chest so you could meet his gaze. “Oh? And here I thought you liked it.”

Vander shook his head with a good-natured chuckle, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, his eyes dark with something deeper—something that made warmth spread through your entire being. “I do. More than you know.”

A blush crept up your neck at the sincerity in his voice. No matter how strong and formidable Vander was to others, with you, he was something softer. Something safer. And you cherished that side of him more than anything.

The bar had started to quiet down, the patrons either leaving or lost in their own conversations, but neither of you moved from your spot. Eventually, Vander sighed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. “C’mon, love. Let’s head upstairs. Can’t have you fallin’ asleep on me.”

You pouted, reluctant to leave the warmth of his embrace, but as he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, you had no complaints. You curled into his chest, your arms draping over his shoulders as he carried you up the stairs to your shared room above the bar.

Once inside, Vander sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding you close. You buried your face against his neck, inhaling deeply, relishing the way he smelled—earthy, warm, like home.

“You’re never gettin’ tired of this, are ya?” he murmured, amusement dancing in his voice.

You shook your head, tightening your arms around him. “Never.”

Vander sighed, but it was a happy one. “Guess I’ll just have to hold ya forever then.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and as he leaned back against the bed, pulling you down with him, you had no doubt that he meant every word.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lying there, you listened to the steady beat of his heart, matching your breathing with his. His fingers trailed lazily over your back, tracing small circles, the motion lulling you into an easy state of peace.

“Y’know,” you murmured, half-asleep, “I think you were made to hold me.”

Vander let out a deep chuckle, his grip tightening slightly. “Yeah? That so?”

“Mhm.” You nuzzled against him, sighing in content. “Big arms, strong hands… meant for keeping me safe.”

Vander pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice softer now, filled with a quiet kind of love. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t ever plan on letting go.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, and with one last deep breath of his scent, you let sleep take you, safe and sound in the arms you loved most.

MEL

The glow of the Piltover skyline barely held a candle to the warmth in Mel’s eyes. No matter how many golden trinkets adorned her fingers, no matter the lavish silks that draped over her body, nothing compared to the glimmer in those greenish-gold pools that seemed to hold the world itself.

And Y/N could never look away.

Mel had long since noticed. The way Y/N’s gaze lingered when they talked, how their fingers would trace along Mel’s cheek under the guise of pushing back an errant curl—anything to keep her looking back. It was an unspoken devotion, quiet yet persistent, like a secret worship that didn’t need words. Mel would often catch the way Y/N’s breath hitched when she turned to face them fully, the way they seemed utterly captivated, as though the rest of the world faded into irrelevance.

Tonight was no different. They lay together in the golden embrace of candlelight, the flickering light casting long shadows over the plush bedding. The air was warm, filled with the lingering scent of jasmine and the faint traces of Mel’s perfume. She leaned against the headboard, her posture effortlessly elegant despite the intimacy of the moment. One of her hands idly played with Y/N’s fingers, tracing each knuckle, the lines of their palm, as if memorizing them, while her other hand moved lazily across their bare skin, drawing invisible patterns that sent shivers down their spine.

Y/N, however, did nothing but look at her, gaze locked onto those mesmerizing greenish-gold eyes, as if trying to etch every flicker of light and depth into memory. Every time Mel blinked, her long lashes cast the faintest shadow over her high cheekbones, a fleeting moment of mystery before her eyes found Y/N’s again, anchoring them with something that felt both powerful and impossibly gentle all at once.

“You never tire of staring, do you?” Mel’s voice was soft, amused, the faintest trace of fond exasperation lacing her words. There was a knowing lilt to her tone, as if she had asked this question many times before, already expecting the answer.

Y/N hummed, tilting their head as if considering. “No. Never.”

Mel chuckled, shaking her head, the corners of her lips curving in that signature smirk of hers. Her free hand drifted from Y/N’s palm up their arm, barely touching, just enough to leave a trail of warmth in its wake. “And why is that?” she asked, though she already knew.

Y/N let their hand cup her cheek, thumb grazing just beneath the lower lash line, drinking in every hue of gold and green that shimmered beneath the dim lighting. “Because your eyes make everything else seem… dull.”

Mel blinked, something shifting in her expression—softer now, contemplative. She had been the subject of admiration before. Compliments, honeyed words, rehearsed flattery—she had heard them all, yet none of them felt quite like this. There was no hidden agenda behind Y/N’s words, no game, no expectation—only a quiet, consuming sincerity that made Mel’s breath catch in her throat. It was rare, this kind of devotion, the kind that expected nothing in return and yet made her want to give everything she had.

She let out a slow exhale, studying Y/N as if they were the one draped in gold, the one adorned in the kind of beauty that made the stars themselves seem dim.

A rare flicker of vulnerability softened Mel’s features as she searched Y/N’s face. “You are insufferable.”

Y/N only smiled, thumb brushing along the curve of her cheek. “But you love me anyway.”

Mel sighed, a small smile curving her lips as she let her forehead rest against Y/N’s. “Yes,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered, a gentle ache blooming in their chest. Love, when spoken from Mel’s lips, felt like a promise wrapped in velvet—soft but unbreakable, tender but resolute. They could feel her breath against their lips, warm and steady, grounding them in the present, in the quiet intimacy of this moment.

Before they could respond, Mel closed the small space between them, sealing her answer with a kiss. It was slow, unhurried, her lips moving against theirs with a kind of deliberation that made Y/N feel as though time itself had ceased to matter. Her fingers curled into Y/N’s hair, a silent plea to stay close, to never look away.

As their lips parted, Y/N whispered, “Say it again.”

Mel let out a soft hum of amusement, tilting her head. “Say what?”

Y/N ran their fingers gently through Mel’s curls, eyes still locked onto hers. “That you love me.”

Mel traced her fingers along Y/N’s jaw, her voice carrying a warmth that rivalled the candlelight. “I love you,” she murmured, and then again, softer, as if sealing the words into Y/N’s skin. “I love you.”

Y/N let their eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, a contented sigh escaping their lips. “Good,” they murmured. “Because I plan to spend the rest of my life getting lost in your eyes.”

Mel smirked, shaking her head as she brushed her thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. “You really are hopeless.”

Y/N chuckled, nuzzling closer. “Hopelessly in love with you.”

Mel let out a quiet laugh, pulling them closer, her fingers splaying across their back in a way that was both protective and claiming. “Then don’t ever look away.”

And Y/N, ever mesmerized, kept their eyes open until the last possible second, committing the golden-green warmth to memory once more. Because in Mel’s eyes, they saw more than beauty. They saw home. They saw the quiet vulnerability beneath the grandeur, the depth behind the carefully woven façade. They saw love—not spoken in words alone, but in the way Mel looked at them, in the way she held them close as if they were the only thing that truly mattered.

And Y/N would never, ever look away.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #mel x reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce x y/n #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #vander x reader #vander x y/n #vander x you #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #jayvik x reader #jayce x reader x viktor

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midnightloversmusic · 1 month ago

Note

please write more sombr fics!!!! i absolutely love your writing! literally making me blush just from reading your stuff!

Thank youuuu <33

Cw: a little suggestive at the end, not smut but kind of alluding to it?

sombr x g!nreader 550 words

—--------------

“You’re staring again.”

Shane states as his eyes meet yours through the mirror in your shared bedroom

You immediately protest, even though you definitely were.

Shane just smirks because he knows you were too.

It's really not your fault. How could you not stare when he’s getting ready to go out? His usually unruly curls are now slightly more refined, his hands are quickly moving to set his tie around his neck, and his smile is downright blinding.

He looks good, and he's your boyfriend, and you only have so much strength.

You sigh and push yourself off your bed, making your way over to him. You keep your eyes locked in the mirror as you wrap your hands around his waist.

You feel him sigh as you do so, relaxing into your touch.

His smile is goofy and off-kilter as he greets you in a flirtatious tone,

“Hey, babe.”

“Hi”

You murmur it quietly with your face pressed into his shirt.

He continues to smile dopily at you through the mirror.

He notices you continuing to stare and tilts his head,

“What? Do I have something on my face or something? And don’t say you aren’t staring because you definitely are.”

You giggle and untangle yourself from him,

“No, your face is beautiful. Am I not allowed to look at my boyfriend?”

He smirks

“Oh, you're definitely allowed to look at your boyfriend. Actually, it's encouraged. Maybe if you’re feeling generous, you'd touch him too. He’d probably like that.”

You snort,

“Yeah, he probably would.”

You roll your eyes at him, but melt when his hand comes to cup your cheek. His eyes are soft when they meet yours, but they have a slight hint of mischief in them.

“You feeling generous, Baby?”

“No, but you must be considering you’re the one who’s touching me.”

He hums in return

“Fair argument.”

He steps closer toward you, removing his hand from your face and moving them down to your waist to pull you in. Once you're pressed up against him, he kisses you. Your hand grasps his bicep, and the other makes its way to his hair.

As he slowly pulls his lips away from yours and he whispers

“Feeling generous now?”

You push him away,

“You're insatiable!”

He cackles and grabs you just as you turn to leave,

“I’m sorry! I had to!” he laughs as he pulls you into his front, wrapping his long arms around you.

You don’t give in and keep your arms firmly locked to your sides and your head pressed into his chest.

“Touch me!”

“No,” you reply.

“Please?”

“Reduced to begging now?”

“Does it turn you on?”

You scoff at him, but end up hugging him back.

“It could”

He stares down at you with a hungry expression just as a timer on his phone goes off, signaling he has to leave soon.

You laugh wickedly at his disappointed expression.

You take your hands up to his collar and tighten his tie, then move them down his chest to clear any wrinkles from his shirt, but also to work him up. Actually, you did it mostly to work him up.

“Tease.”

“Only for you”

You lean up and give him a quick peck before pulling away and pushing him toward the door, prompting him to leave.

#sombr #sombr fanfiction #sombr x reader #sombr fic #shane boose #shane boose x reader #Shane boose fanfiction #x reader

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year ago

Text

Hard & Soft: An Explanation of Light

I was watching a video from one of my favorite tech YouTubers, Mr. Whose the Boss. He was showing off some of his favorite tech and pulled out this tiny LED light.

And then he placed a diffuser on the front and said this...

"You can equip a softbox on the front which *massively* softens the light on your face."

Sorry, Arun.

No it doesn't.

I sometimes wish I could get a job as a YouTube lighting advisor. So many creators have to set up and use professional lighting but very few actually have an understanding of how their lighting works. And with just a little knowledge they could up their lighting game big time.

If nothing else, I could stop the plague of ring lights.

Ring lights are my nemesis.

*shakes fist at ring lights*

Arun repeated a classic myth. Diffusing a light does *not* make it softer. And despite the name, a softbox is fully capable of producing hard light. Especially if it is only the size of your granddad's wallet.

I'm afraid softboxes are a bit misnamed—much like how the tremolo system on a guitar is technically a vibrato mechanism. Tremolo is a fluctuation of volume, not pitch. Personally, I just stick to calling it a whammy bar because that is more fun anyway. And, like, what does "whammy" even mean in the context of a guitar? I'd rather call something by a nonsensical name than an inaccurate one, ya know?

What the hell was I saying?

SOFTBOXES!

They should probably be called "light homogenizers." Which is a mouthful, but more accurate.

Or, hear me out... WHAMMY BOXES.

Froggie Note: I am trying a color coding technique to help make the most important information stand out. Red means PAY ATTENTION and blue means "do your best to remember this." Let me know if this is helpful or annoying or if a different color combo is preferred.

Hard Light vs. Soft Light

Hard light is a less flattering light source that creates high contrast, sharp shadows, and accentuates texture.

Soft light is a more flattering light source that creates soft shadows and reduces texture like pores, blemishes, and wrinkles.

You can *only* get hard or soft light by changing the apparent size of a light source from the subject's point of view.

If you remember only three things about light, they should be...

Bright light = sharp photos, less noise Hard light = small light source Soft light = large light source

Now, it's important to remember that hard light is not *bad* and soft light is not *good*. In photography, the oft-used parlance "flattering" just refers to the rendering of facial features and blemishes. So you might use a more flattering lens to make sure faces do not distort or a more flattering light modifier to reduce wrinkles.

But there are situations where soft light can be very boring and hard light can be much more dynamic and interesting. But if you have someone who is insecure about their skin or has a lot of blemishes, you can mitigate that by making the light softer. But if you have someone with great skin and a lot of angular facial features, you might use a hard light to show that off.

Which of these do you prefer?

The one on the left was taken with a 7 foot diameter light source and is *very* soft. But the other had a 1 foot diameter and I think it is more dynamic and interesting.

You can also mix hard and soft light. And with something like a parabolic reflector or a beauty dish, you can even modify a light source to be hard and soft at the same time.

This technological terror of a light modifier is sort of like having 24 individual small lights around the edges but the entire surface of the reflector also acts as a single large light source.

And when it isn't atomizing Alderaan, it is taking photos like this...

This creates a falloff of light around the edges of her face, nose, and arms while also reducing the intensity of the shadows. Lenses with longer focal lengths prevent distortion of facial features but also flatten our faces. So a modifier like this can bring back dimensionality.

Neat!

Now I just need $8,000 to buy the Death Star light.

There are a ton of possibilities when it comes to modifying light sources, but most people typically want the main light on the subject to be in the realm of soft and use hard light sources as edge lights.

Also, everything is a spectrum and light is no different. There is a giant space in between hard and soft to play with. In fact, the hardest light possible would be cast on a subject floating in space.

And the softest light possible would be on a planet that has 100% cloud coverage that still allows sunlight to scatter through.

So, I have determined the surface of Venus to be the most flattering light in the universe.

Look at how dark and sharp that astronaut shadow is! And I'm sure Venusian photography would be quite popular if you wouldn't burst into flames.

On planet Earth, noon on a clear day would be the hardest light and a very overcast day would be the softest light.

How can the sun be both hard and soft light?

Well, the sun is quite large, but it is very small in the sky and very far away. It is the only thing humans can observe that is close to a "point" light source—the smallest light source possible that shines light equally in all directions.

But on an overcast day, sunlight scatters through all of the clouds and becomes a HUGE homogenous light source. The clouds become a singular giant light above us. And as you can see, the light is so soft the woman does not have a hint of shadow on her face. And shadows can draw attention to pores, wrinkles, blemishes, and other textures.

But wouldn't the smallest light source be a laser or something?

When photographers refer to a small light source we mean from the perspective of the subject being lit. This is referred to as apparent or angular size.

But you also have to account for the size of the area the light source can illuminate.

This is the area a laser can light up.

And this is the area the sun is able to cats cast light upon.

It doesn't matter if a laser is close or far away, it focuses light onto a very small area. But the sun lights up half the planet. So look at imagine the apparent size of the sun in the sky and compare its size to half of the Earth. In that relative circumstance, the sun is a super tiny light source.

And the sun becomes an even tinier light source on the moon because there is no atmosphere or clouds to scatter and enlarge it.

You can change the apparent size of a light source in two ways...

The physical dimensions of the light and the distance from the subject.

A light with small dimensions can be a large light source if it is close enough and if the subject is small enough. So a flashlight could be a large light source for an ant if that flashlight is directly next to said ant. But a flashlight could never be a large light source to a human.

However, we can enlarge small light sources with modifiers.

A modifier can be a softbox. It can be a piece of paper. A large poster board. A wall or a ceiling. Anything that changes the nature of a light source can be a modifier. But not all modifiers increase the size of a light source.

So, you can take that flashlight, shine it on a wall, and reflect the light to make a giant light source capable of producing softer light.

But what you cannot do is put diffusion material directly in front of a flashlight and make the light it produces softer.

When Arun put that diffuser on the front of that tiny light, he was not making the light any bigger. He was only making the light more diffused.

What does diffusion *actually* do?

Diffusion scatters light. It makes light bounce in all directions and keeps it from being focused. And while this is an important aspect to making a light source larger, it does not change the apparent size of a light source on its own.

Diffused light is homogenous.

A homogenous light source has the same intensity across its entire surface area. And that homogenization is the key to creating a better soft light source. It can *assist* in making a light source larger, but only if you know how to wield that diffusion properly.

When you shine a flashlight toward a wall, you increase the apparent size of the light source.

Fantastic! You now have a softer light. Mission accomplished.

But if you do not diffuse it, you will create a hotspot.

That bright hotspot will reflect more light than all of the other light reflecting off the wall. That reflected light has different intensities across its surface area and you end up creating TWO distinct light sources—one hard and one soft.

This can sometimes be desired if you want to create graduated light that falls off like I showed earlier. But if it is not controlled well with a specialized modifier a hotspot can cause more problems than benefits.

This can reveal unwanted texture, double shadows, cause harsh glare, and it may not achieve the desired amount of soft, flattering light you were hoping for.

However, if you diffuse the light from the flashlight before it hits the wall, the light will scatter and reflect off the wall more evenly. You will create a more *homogenous* light source that acts as a single entity of light.

Diffusion does reduce the overall intensity of the light, but that is usually a worthy trade off for the increased homogeny.

These pesky hotspots are actually a big problem with those cheap softboxes you can buy off Amazon.

Many of them do not have enough diffusion to create a single homogenous light source. So they end up with a hotspot that gives you that double light source effect.

I was able to fix this with my friend Katrina's softbox by adding a layer of tracing paper in front.

You can see the chip clip holding the tracing paper in place on the right side.

Photography is just problem solving all the way down.

A higher quality softbox will have a second layer of diffusion already built in to prevent this, so make sure the softbox has this feature before buying.

Or invest in a roll of tracing paper and some chip clips.

Softboxes are an ingenious light modifier when built properly. They take a small light, diffuse it, enlarge it, and then focus it toward your subject. It's essentially a paradox of scattered & focused light. And since all of the scattering only happens *inside* the softbox, it gives you great control over how that light hits your subject. And you can focus it even more by putting a grid on the front.

This keeps light from "spilling" off to the sides though it can reduce intensity a bit and create unusual looking catchlights in the eyes.

Whereas a cheap shoot-through umbrella kinda "shoots" scattered light all over the place and causes a ton of extra reflections off the walls and ceilings. That may end up giving you unwanted second, third, and fourth light sources contributing to your exposure.

You can see light hitting the left and right walls and the ceiling—those pesky photons are going everywhere! And while it is giving a soft, flattering result due to that umbrella being so freaking big, you have almost no control over the light and how it affects your background.

So, yes, a softbox can make a small light source bigger, but that doesn't always mean you will get "soft" light.

This softbox takes a 10 inch LED panel and creates a 12 inch light source. This is mostly a scam product.

The marketing says it makes the light softer.

And while that is *technically* true, I'm afraid people are going to be disappointed if they think this thing is going to dramatically soften their light. A small increase in surface area like that would only be dramatically different if you were lighting a little toy car or the hypothetical ant friend I mentioned earlier. Something the size of a person is not going to see a difference in softness. Not to mention you are going to decrease the power of your light by adding diffusion and have no softening benefits.

Photography gear companies love taking advantage of new photographers because the desire to buy more gear to improve the quality of photos is quite strong. This is jokingly referred to as G.A.S. or "Gear Acquisition Syndrome." And while there is absolutely gear you can buy to improve your photos (lights, lenses, tripods), knowledge trumps any piece of gear at any time.

So, no, this scam softbox will not make the light appreciably softer. The only way to make this light softer is to find a softbox that enlarges it more than 2 friggin' inches, bounce it off something larger, or bring it closer to the subject. Move your light as close as possible and you will enlarge its apparent size.

Or, conversely, you can move your light farther away to make it hard.

Meaning you can technically make a softbox a hardbox.

Seriously, can we just do the whammy box thing?

So, what have we learned?

Soft light is more flattering to skin and reduces texture and harsh shadows.

Hard light increases contrast, sharpens shadows, and highlights texture.

Neither is good or bad. Soft light can be boring. Hard light can be interesting. A mixture of the two often produces the best result.

The only way to make light softer is to enlarge the light source.

You can enlarge a light source by...

Increasing the physical dimensions with a modifier.

Moving the light closer.

Reflecting the light off a larger surface.

Diffusion alone does not make a light softer.

Diffusion makes a light source more homogenous by mitigating hotspots.

Softboxes create homogenous light that you can direct and focus.

A softbox can still produce hard light if it is really small or really far away.

We should call it a whammy box.

How can you use this knowledge?

Well, the first thing you can do is...

DON'T BUY A RING LIGHT.

YES, I AM RANTING ABOUT RING LIGHTS AGAIN!

That giant hole in the middle of your light is a great spot for extra light.

And as we just learned, a larger light source is softer. So unless you specifically need a ring light and know how to use it (facial close-ups, camera goes in the hole), you are better off getting the biggest light you can fit in your space.

Look at how much bigger this light is than if it were a ring light.

It's like all of these influencers are throwing perfectly good light into the garbage.

Sorry, let's try this again.

Once you avoid ring lights, how can you use this knowledge?

I know a lot of you reading this are not influencers or YouTubers or photographers. And you may be thinking all of this knowledge I just shoved in your dome is useless.

But here's the thing...

We all take photos.

And I think we all want our photos to look their best.

If you start thinking more about light when you take photos, I promise you will be able to improve their quality.

If you are taking a selfie, think about where you can go that has a larger light source. Perhaps you have a large window. Or you have a big overhead light or floor lamp that shines up into the ceiling.

I actually had this idea to create a mega light that could blend in with a house's decor, but secretly be a photography light for taking pictures of people and pets indoors at night.

Secret Photography Light Ingredients Cheap Floorlamp Dual Light Socket Adapter 9000 Lumen LED Bulbs

(Seriously, if you put that together, stick it in a corner, and turn it on when your kids or pets are playing, you will never have another blurry photo from inside your house unless they are going full zoomies.)

If you are outside on a sunny day, don't stand in direct sunlight.

Remember, THE SUN IS ACTUALLY SMALL, angularly speaking. Find a shady spot under a tree. Or put the sun behind you and face a big white wall so the reflected light smacks you in the face.

Walls are light sources!

The ground is a light source!

Remember that moon photo?

You were looking at the sharp shadow earlier because I drew your attention to the sun being a small light source.

But the surface of the moon... HUGE LIGHT SOURCE.

How do you think the front of that space suit is lit when the sun is behind him? Either Stanley Kubrick has a big reflector offscreen or the ground is a soft second light source.

If you can't make it to the moon, just wait to take that selfie on a cloudy day. I think overcast light is a little boring, but your skin will look buttery smooth without using those stupid Facetune apps.

You can also wait for good light. Sometimes sunset has some nice, soft directional light because it has more atmosphere to scatter, diffuse, and enlarge it.

If you are indoors, don't use direct flash on your phone. Never ever use direct flash if you can avoid it. But perhaps you are with friends and they all have phones too. Use one or more phones to bounce the flashlight off a nearby wall. Or open up a paper napkin and hold it just out of frame and shine light through it and diffuse it.

A piece of paper can even work!

Flashlight 3 feet away shining directly onto my face...

Flashlight shining through a piece of paper a few inches in front of it...

Flashlight shining through a piece of paper 2 feet away that is just out of frame...

I started with a small light source.

I then made the light source a little bigger with the paper, but the diffusion was too close and it created the dreaded hotspot of doom.

And then I made the light source as big as I could by moving the paper as close to my face as possible without being in the shot. This also gave the light more room to scatter and diffuse making it homogenous.

Froggie Tip: I was using a pretty powerful flashlight, so with a phone you might get better results *bouncing* the light off the paper rather than shining the light through the paper.

So, before you take a photo, just think about how you can make your light source bigger, brighter, and more homogenous and you might be surprised how much better you look.

ANYONE CAN DO THIS!

#photography #photography education #hard light #soft light #long post

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esote-rika · 5 months ago

Note

reader giving chip a blowjob as a reward after a successful robery

Lover, my darling I see you and your Chip Taylor agenda and I fully support it. Went a little off the rails, but I’m ovulating so sfjegerlk

Contents: fem!reader, mentions of burglary, blowjobs, MDNI

Here’s the thing. Neither of you expected for the plan to work. Chip certainly seemed anxious the entire time, and you would have been offended about that if you didn’t have the same, very slight hint of doubt in the back of your mind. After all, this plan to rob a rich asshole’s house could very easily blow up in your faces.

Trespassing, breaking and entering, attempted robbery. The list of crimes whirls in your head, taunting you with the promise of prison, of being away from Chip, and the very thought of separation from your boyfriend is enough to make you completely locked in. A hundred and ten percent focus.

When you leave with thousands of dollars in cash, you wait until you’re both on the highway, on your way to leave the state before you let out the loudest, happiest laugh.

He’s laughing too, forehead still sweaty from a combination of the adrenaline and the hot summer air. Skin wrinkling around his eyes from how big he’s smiling. The most beautiful burglar to ever exist. “I can’t believe we pulled that off.” he’s saying, voice high with elation.

“I told you to trust me.” You’re all cocky satisfaction as you head into the closest exit. He looks around confused, but he’s long since learned not to question you. You hold his very being in the palm of your rough, calloused hands, and it’s a fact you never take for granted. He deserves love, and care, and after tonight, the best damn head he’s ever experienced in his entire life.

You drive past empty fields, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over and palming him through his jeans.

He jerks, eyes wide as he looks at you, “God, baby—”

“You’ve been so, so good tonight, Chip.”

“Yeah?” he rocks his hips up to your palm, and you can feel him growing hard beneath the rough denim.

“Yeah, baby, I think you deserve a little treat.” You remove your hand from him, trying to focus on driving.

He whines, the shameless man.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, baby.”

The sound of his zipper fills the air, and you laugh as he takes his cock, quickly working his large hand up and down its length. Slack jawed and unblinking, he strokes himself in the passenger seat, head leaning heavily on the head rest.

“That’s it, baby.” You coo, watching him out of the corner of your eye. God, he’s so pretty, soft brown curls pasted to his forehead as he jerks himself off. Finally finding a clearing that’s empty and secluded enough to your liking, you pull over and quickly unbuckle your seatbelt.

He watches you with stars in his eyes as you maneuver yourself over the console. He leans his chair back, freeing more room for you. Always so thoughtful, even when he’s near desperate.

You smile, kissing the tip of his throbbing cock, “Can’t believe we pulled that off, baby,” you say, running your tongue and letting the taste of his precum flood your mouth, “And all because you were so good and followed my directions.”

“Of - of course, baby, I did say I’ll do anything to make you happy.” His adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, hands gently threading through your hair and gathering them at the crown of your head. So fucking thoughtful. Your heart could burst.

“I know,” you whisper, wrapping your mouth around the tip and sucking. He lets out a strangled sound, and all of your original plans to tease him fly out the window. You take more of him down, carelessly letting him hit the back of your throat. It barely makes you gag anymore. After months of dating, you can easily push through his impressive girth and length. You hollow out your cheeks and suck, before pulling back.

It’s always such a thrill to give him head. He’s already gasping, making the prettiest sounds and you’ve barely even begun. A man of his height reduced to a stuttering, mindless mess all because of your mouth. It’s the best and easiest power trip you can have.

You settle on a rhythm then, bobbing your head up and down his cock, hands on his thighs to balance you. It’s a sloppy affair, your body draped across the console, ass up in the air, your knees digging into the driver’s seat.

Threads of saliva drip down your chin, making everything so much warmer and slicker as you take him deep into your throat.

You can feel his muscles tensing, fighting against the urge to thrust in, and since he’s been so good, you pull away and give him permission. “Fuck my mouth, Chip.”

“You sure?”

The breathiness of his voice has you rubbing your thighs together, but you remind yourself this is his turn. All about him. So instead, you look at him, eyes peeking up sweetly from beneath your lashes, “Yeah, baby, you’ve earned it.”

He lets out a strangled sound, and the force with which he thrusts does have you gagging. You hadn’t expected so much force, but god, it’s the hottest thing ever. So rarely does he take, always so eager to give, to make you feel good, that when the roles are reversed, it always takes you by surprise. He has a hidden strength that he tempers in order to be gentle with you, but at this moment, it’s all forgotten. He’s fucking up into your warm mouth like there’s no tomorrow, your throat swelling from how deeply he’s buried himself into you.

“Fuck,” he whines. Fingers tightly gripping your hair, he holds your head in place as he ruts. You barely manage to hold back the choked sounds, knowing that if he hears them, he’ll slow down. You don’t want him to slow down, you want him to take and be selfish after such a job well down. “Baby—gonna—oh god!”

He’s babbling, though you probably wouldn’t be able to make out his words anyway, what with how focused you are in taking his thick cock in your mouth. Your nails dig into his thighs as he moves your head to meet his thrusts, a vain attempt to anchor yourself to something.

“Just a little more, baby,” he gasps, and you wish you could see him clearly, immortalizing the look of pleasure on his face. But your eyes are blurry from tears, and his hold on your hair is so tight you couldn’t angle your head up to look at him if you tried.

He pumps once, twice, and then he’s crying out and you feel ropes of his release overflowing your mouth. You swallow what you can, but strings of his cum and your saliva still trickle from your lips and over your chin. He pulls you up gingerly, brown eyes half open.

“God, baby, that was—are you okay?”

You laugh, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. “I’m perfect, baby, are you?”

“Of course I am,” he says breathlessly, pulling you up his lap and tucking your head beneath his chin, “That was amazing. I can’t believe I get to have you.” he’s more quiet now, lips grazing the crown of your head. You hum, smiling as you imagine what the future holds with the stolen money, and your sweet, perfect boyfriend by your side.

#chip taylor 68 kill #chip taylor smut #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor #chip taylor 68 kill fan fiction #matthew gray gubler #mgg #chip taylor x you #chip taylor x self insert #chip taylor x y/n #erika after midnight #chip taylor x reader smut #68 kill

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mellowsadistic · 1 year ago

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Birthday Party - Part 3

One Year Later

Sarah’s soaking wet diaper squelched between her thighs as she toddled into the kitchen where her aunt was making breakfast.

“Good morning, baby girl,” Helen cooed at her twenty-one-year-old niece, reaching out to cup a hand to the front of Sarah’s nappy through her baby duck patterned onesie. “What a soggy girl! But I don’t smell any poo-poos just yet. Go take a seat, little one. Auntie will have your num-nums ready in just a second.”

Sarah blushed furiously, but even though much of the hypnotist’s conditioning had been undone and control of her body had been returned, her resistance had long since disappeared. She clambered obediently into to her highchair, her breasts wobbling freely in her loose onesie, and sat down on her pissy diapered bottom, wrinkling her nose in disgust as her bum pressed heavily against the sodden padding.

A few moments later, the microwave tinged, and her aunt took out an enormous bottle of warm milk and plonked it down in front of her. Sarah looked at it with distaste. It was breastmilk, she knew. One of Helen’s friends was producing too much of it for her own baby to take, but she was more than happy to deliver a regular supply of bottles to Helen’s house to make sure it didn’t go to waste.

Fighting her revulsion, Sarah took the bottle with both hands and lifted the rubber nipple to her lips. Her mouth latched on instinctively and she began to suckle, feeling the warm, creamy breastmilk squirt across her tongue and flow down her throat. She sucked quickly, but the bottle seemed endless – even after fifteen minutes, she was barely halfway through the enormous thing, and she already felt full to bursting!

Sarah let out a feeble whimper as she thought about her once-tight, sexy tummy. Her mother and aunt were careful not to make her gain too much weight, but her formerly trim stomach was gone. Her belly had a cute layer of what Helen called her ‘baby fat’, perfect for tickles and tummy raspberries. Even her face had a slightly rounder, ‘cuter’ look to it. But Sarah knew better than to throw a fit over her baba. Her aunt was quick with a spanking, and looming over everything was the threat of being reduced back to being a helpless prisoner inside a baby-brained body.

After a few more minutes of mindless suckling, Penny joined Sarah at the table, flashing her babified older cousin a bright smile before tucking into a bowl of cereal with milk.

Sarah couldn’t help but notice how her little cousin’s table manners had improved. It wasn’t long ago that she’d ended every breakfast with soggy cornflakes and milk on her chin, but now she didn’t spill a drop. Straight away, Sarah felt something clunk into place inside her head. She let out a quiet little moan around her bottle, but there was nothing she could do – not all of the hypnosis had been removed, and when a compulsion hit her, she was powerless to stop it. Penny had done something mature, and that meant Sarah had to do something immature.

Immediately, she popped the bottle out of her mouth, blew a spit bubble, and dribbled breastmilk down her chin. She could feel it soaking into the collar of her onesie. Messy girl, a voice echoed in her head. Mucky tot. Dribbly, soggy, wet little baby. Penny giggled at her, and Sarah shoved her bottle back into her mouth to resume her sucking, her face as red as a tomato. No matter how much time passed, it never got less humiliating. She was a grown woman for goodness sake! She didn’t deserve this! Just because she’d been a little rude one time, it wasn’t fair to turn her into some kind of overgrown baby! She’d been taken out of university of course, and there was no chance of going back – her auntie said that if she was lucky, maybe one day she’d be allowed to grow up a little bit more and get a job pushing shopping trolleys at the local discount supermarket. But that was it. No more ambitions. No more dreams. Just minimum wage, and well-used nappies hanging off her hips.

Tears started welling up in Sarah’s eyes, but before a tantrum could really get started, she was distracted by another feeling. There was a sudden fullness in her bottom. Her bladder control was totally gone, and Sarah found herself helplessly dribbling pee-pee into her diapers on a near constant basis, but even after months as little more than an adult-sized toddler, she still had at least some control over her bowels.

With a hiss of air, she finished her bottle. Feeling almost nauseous at the amount of breastmilk now sloshing about in her tummy, Sarah gently lowered herself out of her highchair, clenching her bottom tightly.

“Um… Auntie…” she said, waddling up to Helen and putting on her best pleading look, “I really need to go poo-poo. Do you think maybe I could use the potty?”

“Sarah,” Helen said sternly, turning to look at her niece, “you know the rules. You get to have control over your body again, but you are not an adult anymore. Your mother convinced me not to make you act like a total baby all the time, but when it comes to your potty training, I’m putting my foot down. You will never use a toilet again, young lady. You wear nappies now, and nappies are for pooping in. Now squat down and make a messy in your pants right this instant, or I’ll call the hypnotist and have you cooing and gurgling in your crib by tomorrow!”

Her lower lib trembling pathetically, Sarah fell into a squat, all traces of the formerly proud, snarky young woman gone for good. With a loud fart, she started pooping her diaper. She could sense the smiles of her aunt and cousin above her as she grunted and strained to make yuck-yuck in her pants right in front of them. As the heavy, disgusting load dropped into the back of her nappy, Sarah burst into tears.

“That’s a good girl,” Helen cooed, her face alive with malicious delight, savouring the sight of her niece packing her adult Pampers like the ridiculous baby-woman she’d been turned into. “Get it all out. Right in your pants like a silly little baby.”

Sarah’s vision was blurred by her tears, but she felt her aunt take hold of her hand once she’d finished pooping. Helen led her into the living room and positioned her in front of the television, where some inane children’s program was showing.

“Be a good girl and watch your kiddie shows, Sarah,” said Helen, smirking. “I need to take your older cousin to kindergarten now, so I want you to stay right here. I’ll change your diaper when I get back.”

Sarah only sobbed.

“And your baby monitor will be recording,” Helen went on. Sarah felt her stomach plummet. “I’ll be reviewing the footage later,” her aunt continued warningly, “and if I don’t see a happy big baby girl dancing along to her silly programs, you’ll be getting a very nasty spanking when I get back. Is that clear, little miss?”

“Yes, auntie Helen,” Sarah whimpered, as the embarrassing, babyish music began to play. Helen and her daughter turned to leave, and Sarah started to dance. This was her life now, and she had no choice but to get used to it.

The End

#mellowsadistic

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csuitebitches · 11 months ago

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The Charisma Myth: things that I liked

Three quick tips to gain an instant charisma boost in conversation:

Lower the intonation of your voice at the end of your sentences. Reduce how quickly and how often you nod.

Pause for two full seconds before you speak.

The very next time you’re in a conversation, try to regularly check whether your mind is fully engaged or whether it is wandering elsewhere (including preparing your next sentence).

Expensive clothing leads us to assume wealth, friendly body language leads us to assume good intentions, a confident posture leads us to assume the person has something to be confident about. In essence, people will tend to accept whatever you project.

when you can project both power and warmth together, you really maximize your personal charisma potential.

charismatic behaviors must originate in your mind. Knowing how to skillfully handle mental discomfort is even more important than knowing how to handle physical discomfort. Anxiety is a serious drawback to charisma. First, it impacts our internal state: quite obviously, it’s hard to be fully present while you’re feeling anxious. Anxiety can also lower our confidence. Anxiety, low presence, and low confidence can show up directly in our body language, as well as reduce our ability to emanate warmth.

The single most effective technique I’ve found to alleviate the discomfort of uncertainty is the responsibility transfer. Pick an entity—God, Fate, the Universe, whatever may best suit your beliefs—that you could imagine as benevolent. Imagine lifting the weight of everything you’re concerned about—this meeting, this interaction, this day—off your shoulders and placing it on the shoulders of whichever entity you’ve chosen. They’re in charge now. Visually lift everything off your shoulders and feel the difference as you are now no longer responsible for the outcome of any of these things. Everything is taken care of. You can sit back, relax, and enjoy whatever good you can find along the way.

Golfer Jack Nicklaus said that he never hit a shot, even during practice, without visualizing it first. For decades, professional athletes have considered visualization an essential tool, often spending hours visualizing their victory, telling their mind just what they want their body to achieve.

“There is good evidence that imagining oneself performing an activity activates parts of the brain that are used in actually performing the activity,” Professor Stephen Kosslyn, director of Stanford’s Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, wrote me. Visualization can even physically alter the brain structure: repeated experiments have shown that simply imagining yourself playing the piano with sufficient repetition leads to a detectable and measurable change in the motor cortex of the brain.

Silvia recently confided that visualization is one of the secrets to her success. Before key meetings, she’ll imagine “the smiles on their faces because they liked me and they are confident about the value I’m bringing them. I’ll imagine as much detail as I can, even seeing the wrinkles around their eyes as they’re smiling.” She visualizes the whole interaction, all the way through to the firm handshakes that close the meeting, sealing the deal.

A twenty-second hug is enough to send oxytocin coursing through your veins, and that you can achieve the same effect just by imagining the hug. So the next time you’re feeling anxious, you might want to imagine being wrapped up in a great big hug from someone you care about.

Self-confidence is our belief in our ability to do or to learn how to do something.

Self-esteem is how much we approve of or value ourselves. It’s often a comparison-based evaluation (whether measured against other people or against our own internal standards for approval).

Self-compassion is how much warmth we can have for ourselves, especially when we’re going through a difficult experience.

It’s quite possible for people to have high self-confidence but low self-esteem and very low self-compassion.

Types of charisma:

Focus: Focus charisma requires, of course, the ability to focus and be truly present. Good listening skills are nonnegotiable, as is a certain degree of patience. To develop focus charisma, cultivate your ability to be present.

Visionary charisma makes others feel inspired; it makes us believe. It can be remarkably effective even though it won’t necessarily make people like you. We assess visionary charisma primarily through demeanor, which includes body language and behavior. Due to the fact that people tend to accept whatever you project, if you seem inspired, they will assume you have something to be inspired about.

kindness charisma comes entirely from body language—specifically your face, and even more specifically your eyes. Kindness charisma is primarily based on warmth. It connects with people’s hearts, and makes them feel welcomed, cherished, embraced, and, most of all, completely accepted.

Authority charisma is primarily based on a perception of power: the belief that this person has the power to affect our world. We evaluate someone’s authority charisma through four indicators: body language, appearance, title, and the reactions of others. you’ll need to learn how to “take up space” with your posture, reduce nonverbal reassurances (such as excessive nodding), and avoid fidgeting. You may need to speak less, to speak more slowly, to know how and when to pause your sentences, or how to modulate your intonation. Look expensive.

Avoid holding a drink in your right hand, especially if it’s a cold drink, as the condensation will make your hand feel cold and clammy. Before shaking someone’s hand, whether you are a man or a woman, rise if you’re seated. And keep your hands out of your pockets: visible hands make you look more open and honest. Make sure to use plenty of eye contact, and smile warmly but briefly: too much smiling could make you appear overeager. Keep your head straight, without tilting it in any way, and face the person.

Ask people open ended questions, focus on questions that will likely elicit positive emotions. With your questions, you have the power to lead the conversation in the direction you want. In fact, even when you’re speaking, the one word that should pop up most often in your conversation is not I but you. Instead of saying “I read a great article on that subject in the New York Times,” try “You might enjoy the recent New York Times article on the subject.” Or simply insert “You know...” before any sentence to make them instantly perk up and pay attention.

Another way to exit a conversation with grace is to offer something of value:

Information: an article, book, or Web site you think might be of use to them A connection: someone they ought to meet whom you know and can introduce them to

Visibility: an organization you belong to, where you could invite them to speak

Recognition: an award you think they should be nominated for

When someone has spoken, see if you can let your facial expression react first, showing that you’re absorbing what they’ve just said and giving their brilliant statement the consideration it deserves. Only then, after about two seconds, do you answer. The sequence goes like this:

They finish their sentence

Your face absorbs

Your face reacts

Then, and only then, you answer

The next time you’re given a compliment, the following steps will help you skillfully handle the moment:

1. Stop.

2. Absorb the compliment.

3. Let that second of absorption show on your face. Show the person that they’ve had an impact.

4. Thank them. Saying “Thank you very much” is enough, but you can take it a step further by thanking them for their thoughtfulness or telling them that they’ve made your day.

It’s not just metaphors that can paint the wrong picture. Some common phrases can have the same effect. When you tell someone, “No problem,” “Don’t worry,” or “Don’t hesitate to call,” for example, there’s a chance their brain will remember “problem,” “worry,” or “hesitate” instead of your desire to support them. To counter this negative effect, use phrases like “We’ll take care of it” or “Please feel free to call anytime.”

You can deliver value to others in multiple ways:

Entertainment: Make your e-mail or meeting enjoyable.

Information: Give interesting or informative content that they can use.

Good feelings: Find ways to make them feel important or good about themselves.

The longer you speak, the higher the price you’re making them pay, so the higher the value ought to be.

If your goal is to communicate power, set the pitch, tone, volume, and tempo of your voice in the following ways:

Pitch and tone: The lower, more resonant, and more baritone your voice, the more impact it will have.

Volume: One of the first things an actor learns to do on stage is to project his voice, which means gaining the ability to modulate its volume and aim it in such a targeted way that specific portions of the audience can hear it, even from afar. One classic exercise to hone your projection skills is to imagine that your words are arrows. As you speak, aim them at different groups of listeners.

Tempo: A slow, measured tempo with frequent pauses conveys confidence.

To emanate vocal warmth, you need to do only one thing: smile, or even just imagine smiling.

Charismatic people are known to be more “contagious”; they have a strong ability to transmit their emotions to others.

The most effective and credible compliments are those that are both personal and specific. For instance, instead of “Great job,” you could say, “You did a great job,” or, better yet, “The way you kept your calm when that client became obnoxious was impressive.”

Here’s one specific—and surprisingly effective—recommendation for phone charisma, courtesy of author Leil Lowndes: Do not answer the phone in a warm or friendly manner. Instead, answer crisply and professionally. Then, only after you hear who is calling, let warmth or even enthusiasm pour forth in your voice. This simple technique is an easy and effective way to make people feel special. I recommend it to all my business clients whose companies have a strong customer service component. The gains in customer satisfaction are impressive.

Charisma takes practice. Steve Jobs, who appeared so masterful on stage, was known to rehearse important presentations relentlessly.

Retain at least a certain measure of equanimity. Most charismatic leaders are known for their ability to remain (or appear) calm even in the midst of turbulent circumstances.

#Book review #charisma #challenge #c suite #powerful woman #ceo aesthetic #productivity #that girl #balance #getting your life together #personal growth #strong women

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