#at least like the direction it's going in

[b0amagination]

I have to admit, my absolute favorite whump experiences make me feel physically sick in some capacity. Usually that horrendous twisting in my gut, or lightheadedness and full body shivers or tingles. And if it can do that on a reread when I already know what's coming, that's the best.

the point of writing is to make your readers feel either sick or shattered. either make them feel so disgusted they taste bile in their throats, or make them feel so devastated and heartbroken they’ll never be the same again

[joonjuul]

hii, are u comfortable with writing teacher x student trope?

chalk dust. jjk

pairing: professor!jk x delinquent!reader

wc: 6.2k

warnings: englishteacher!jk, softdom!jk, strict!jk, badgirl!reader, obsessive!reader, reader is a crazy tease but goes soft for jk, reader is of age, dorm sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), head pushing, light fingering (f receiving), pet names, creampie, this is absolute filth

a/n: tysm anon for requesting !! not only am i comfortable, but i lowkey love this trope and can feel a series blossoming… chalk dust jk™ has a nice ring to it no?

╋━

professor jeon was a poised man.  he was intricate, careful, took pride in his control and restraint.  he was a man who showed no weakness — and you were a girl who had nothing to lose.

it was your first semester at your new college prior to transferring, due to let’s say… academic differences.  you were never the perfect student, far from it.  you skipped class, kicked cigarette butts out your dormitory window, and scrawled half-assed answers on nearly all your assignments.  all but your english assignments at least.  

english was always different to you though, more specifically; poetry.  you didn’t always try, but the moment your pen hit the paper, you found yourself peeling open like an onion, exposing sides to yourself you never even knew were there.  and the topics that fell from your ink were never those that were comfortable for a casual reader — they were deep, intimate, and often times inappropriate for even a college school setting… especially when you wrote about him.

you had never been attracted to a teacher before, so it caught you off guard the way you would purposefully linger after class was over just to breathe in his air a little longer.  but something about him was so compelling to you, especially the thought of making him lose control, break the rules just for once, just long enough for him to take you on his desk and leave ink stains on your skirt.

“what did you think, miss y/l/n?” his words cut you out of your daydream that isn’t entirely innocent as you realize you had been drifting longer than anticipated.  he looked too good today… too good for you to stay focused.

“i’m sorry?” you blink up at him slowly.  you should feel embarrassed that you were caught red handed, anyone else would’ve been, but not you.

“what do you think wilde meant when he wrote, ‘the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.’” his calloused hands with traces of chalk etch the sides of the book as his eyes thin out in front of you.  he was the greatest test of all, a test of how far you could truly go to get something you want.

“are you asking for a literary analysis, sir?” the way you speak isn’t particularly respectful, but it’s laced with something else, something only professor jeon is able to catch on to, as most of the other students in your incredibly small class were paying attention elsewhere.

“that is the expectation, yes.”

“expectation… right.” you huff as you lean back in your chair, your voice coming out in a way that’s confident… too knowing.  “well it’s just an excuse, isn’t it?  wilde isn’t talking about temptation as a fleeting thing, he’s saying that once the thought exists, once you’ve imagined it… you’re already lost.  the real choice left is whether you act on it or let it fester.”

the class is still, no one seeming to notice the change in atmosphere, the subtle weight of your words, except professor jeon.  his jaw tenses slightly as his eyes narrow in your direction, reading between the lines of your words, the distinct way you looked at him while speaking, the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

“that’s quite the interpretation.”

“maybe, but it’s the truth.  wilde knew that resisting something only gives it more power.  because the moment you tell yourself you shouldn’t think about something… it’s already all you can think about.” your head subconsciously cocks to the side as your smirk now turns into a devious smile.  your eyes rake his body language carefully as you admire the way he lets out a slow exhale at your words, his eyes never leaving yours.  he should move on, call on someone else, change the topic at least, but for a fraction of a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“moving on.” he turns away from you, his voice sharp as his attention falls onto the chalk board behind him, outlining a different subject that he deems more pressing than entertaining your obviously suspicious behavior.

but you, your work here is done, as you’ve already planted the seed.  in fact, you had been planting seeds for quite some time now, and the biggest one was going to come to fruition in about 21 minutes.  your eyes flick over to the clock on the wall, the smallest hand ticking painfully slow as you recall the previous night.  your hands fighting for breath as you wrote vigorously in your 3-ring notebook.  you purposely bought a red one so it would easier garner his attention, but what would really catch his eye were the words written throughout the pages.

because see, it wasn’t just a normal red notebook, it was a confession — of boredom, of frustration, of a sharp, all-consuming fascination with him.  your words were far from innocent, phrases and long run-on sentences describing the way he runs a finger over his mouth when he’s thinking, or the way his voice shifts when he’s discussing mature themes.  you wonder, in writing, what it would take to make him snap.  and you’re ready to plant it right where he can see, where his all too curious mind will force him to keep reading, even when he knows it’s wrong.

you feel your breath hitch in your throat as the bell rings abruptly, ripping you from your devious daydream of what only felt like a couple minutes.  you struggle to hide the growing smirk on your face as you hurriedly throw everything in your bag, everything except one simple red notebook, and quickly rush out the door.

normally you’d take your time, enjoy the scenery and take one final smell of the chalk infested air before retreating his classroom for the day, but not this time.  you couldn’t risk premature exposure, everything had to go according to plan, and you had a slight feeling it already was.

professor jeon’s eyes flick across the room before realizing how quickly it had emptied.  normally there were a few stragglers, at least just you, but today there was nothing.

he lets out a long sigh as he turns back to the chalkboard, bringing an eraser up to his already forgotten lecture and wiping it clean, ready for whatever tomorrow may bring.  his mind danced between a new topic within wilde’s book, and something slightly more intense — you.

you were always a question mark in his mind, a level of confusion he never quite knew how to decipher.  you were incredibly smart, and anyone with a brain could see that, but you weren’t nearly as dedicated as you could be.  you didn’t participate in any extracurricular activities that would distract you from your school work, nor did you get involved in any on-campus drama.  yet you were still completely, and purposefully disobedient.  it was almost as if you couldn’t care less about your education, nevermind the topics you always found a way to bring up in class.  it was almost as if you were trying to crawl under his skin, infest his mind with your out of control behavior.  it was nearly intolerable.

he turned away from the board and his eyes quickly fell on a notebook, a red one.  he felt a brow quirk on his face subconsciously and before he knew it he was already taking leaping strides towards your desk.

you always submitted such incredible work.  whether it could be considered inappropriate, or slightly out of range of what you had been discussing in class, it always found a way to linger in his mind, leave him questioning even his own class regimen.

before he was able to decide whether or not reading what could’ve been your personal work was an appropriate thing to do, he was already turning the pages to reveal your most intense inner thoughts.

his eyes widen as he finally realizes — the true extent to all your subtle innuendos, every time your eyes lingered on his longer during class, the way you would let out a gentle exhale of relief as he would call your name… it was all starting to make sense.

and not only that, but they were dated.  they weren’t simple mindless phrases or sexual references sprawled across the paper with no direction.  they were organized, almost like a collection of memories, of fleeting thoughts that you wanted to last longer.

september 14

Maybe he thinks restraint is noble. That if he denies it long enough, it will dissolve into nothing. But that’s the thing about hunger, isn’t it? It doesn’t go away. It just waits.

september 29

I started a new habit today—writing things just for him. Slipping them between the lines of my essays, curling them into the margins of books I know he’ll flip through. I wonder if, when he reads them, he feels it. That sharp, electric jolt of knowing something he shouldn’t.

October 25th

Tonight, I had a thought I shouldn’t have.

I imagined the moment—the exact moment—when he gives in. The silence before it. The way his breath would hitch, the way he’d close his eyes just for a second too long. The way his hands, always so careful, would finally stop hesitating.

he feels his blood thicken as he continues to read, the words rambling through his mind anxiously as if they’d have no ending.  his heart rate quickens, his hands gripping the notebook tighter as he flips through the pages at lightening speed, barely slow enough to properly digest the gravity of your writing — until he lands on the final page.

his mind stutters as he arrives at the final entry, your handwriting much clearer now and he can almost hear your voice speaking it with perfect confidence and dictation.

October 31st

I wasn’t going to write this down. I wasn’t going to let it exist anywhere but inside my head, but I need to let it out.

I want him.  Not in a way I should.

I want him in a way that sits heavy in my chest, in a way that makes it hard to breathe when he’s too close. In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.

And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?

I think I want to find out.

he feels a lump crawl at his throat as his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, meeting your perfect handwriting in a lighter, much smaller format.

If you’re reading this, then I already won.

after a few painfully long moments, he finally lets out the gasp of air he had been holding in the moment his finger tips met the notebook.  and for a second, just a second, he imagines it too — the feeling of losing control.  it’s just enough to scare him into putting your notebook back down, but not enough to shake away the tugging in his loins and the burning in his chest.

he finds himself pacing, more than he’s probably ever done before.  his feet driving him in circles with his hands in his air as he realizes what he’s done, the situation he’s put himself in.  someone who’s normally so controlled, prepared for nearly any situation, is suddenly doubting his lack of weakness.  and for just a moment, he’s afraid.

he needs to put an end to this.

—

you’re unable to hide your smile of premature victory knowing there’s no way he was able to keep his curious paws off your notebook.  your feet confidently carry you through the hallways, your mind littered with thoughts of how he’d try to tell you it’s wrong, try to deny how your words made him feel, maybe he’d even threaten to turn you in, but it was all apart of your plan.

see, confidence is key here.  whether or not he ever had any feelings for you, or any sexual desires towards you didn’t matter, because you had already planted the seeds.  so even if he felt like all your comments were merely innocent flirtations in the past, they gave him brief visions of what could be, maybe even more, and that guilt alone is enough to drive him to think about you further, especially after reading your notebook.

you feel your stomach tense as you approach his door, it wasn’t time for class yet and you knew he had a free period, so you timed your walk across campus to perfectly align so he’d be reminded of your presence again today, even though you knew he couldn’t think of anything else.

your breath hitches momentarily as he emerges from his door, nearly cutting you off in your tracks.  his eyes narrow in on yours as he signals for you to enter his classroom.

you hide your victory smile quickly before following him into his classroom, watching as he approaches his desk, the red notebook sitting perfectly centered between his ungraded papers, almost as if you were his first priority.

the air was thick with tension, and you were loving every second of it.

“close the door.” his voice is rough, almost sleepless but you don’t question it, only following his orders and taking deliberate steps forward until there’s only the desk between you.

“tell me what this is.” he wraps a cold calloused hand around the rings of the notebook, his eyes narrowing in on yours.

“you already know.” his jaw tenses at your words, and his eyes flicker down to the notebook, memories flashing through his mind of your sinful words.

“you think this is a game?”

“isn’t it?” his gaze lands back on yours, sharp, unreadable — but there’s something lying beneath the surface, almost close enough for you to touch.

“you don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“that’s a lie.”

“enough.” he warns, his grip on the notebook tightening.

“why?  are you afraid?” the question lands like a blow.  he inhales sharply, but he doesn’t answer, and that’s all the confirmation you need.  you take a slow step forward, your hands falling onto the desk as you tilt your head down at him.

“you read every word, didn’t you?”

“you crossed a line.” his voice is strained, almost as if he’s holding back.

“did i?  or did i just say what you wouldn’t?” your voice drops down softly, just above a whisper as you’re unable to hide the smirk tugging at your lips, but his expression quickly changes, something in him snaps.  

“this ends now.” his voice is firm as his grip tightens further on the notebook, his other hand pointing directly at you.

“sounds like you’re convincing yourself more than you’re convincing me.” your smirk turns into a smile as you watch his knuckles turn white, his silence deafening as he stares up at you coldly.

you lean off the desk carefully before turning back towards the door, walking away without any permission to leave.  your hand curls around the doorknob as you turn your head to catch his final reaction, one of confusion and a breaking resolve.

“you can keep the notebook, professor jeon.  i’ll just start a new one.” you smile at him before turning away completely, your feet carrying you to your next class in strides instead of steps.

this was going to be easier than you thought.

but for him, it was the most difficult.

his eyes stare at the door, wide and in shock as he feels the heavy air, still full of your presence glide over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its place.

he exhales sharply, his hand releasing the notebook like it’s something filthy, but he doesn’t walk away, he can’t.  his hands move before he can stop them, the notebook falling open and mindlessly flipping to the page he already knows is there — your confession.

“I want him.”

his breath catches in his throat as the words stare back at him, bold and unforgiving.

“Not in a way I should.”

“In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling.”

“Wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.”

“And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?”

“I think I want to find out.”

he quickly slams the notebook shut, his heart drumming restlessly against his chest as his jaw locks so tightly into place that it nearly aches.  he feels something strange brew inside him, the unbearable pull of something he refuses to name.

he should go to the principal, he should call your parents, he should put an end to this.  but instead, he presses his hands against the desk as he leans forward, his breathing unsteady as he allows his eyes to close.  and for one brief, damning second — he imagines it.  the moment you wrote about.  the moment you break.

he sees it too clearly, feels the heat of it curling in his stomach, the inevitability of it tightening within his throat.  but it isn’t disgust that makes his breath hitch, nor guilt that makes his fingers tremble, but the fleeting image in his mind of his hand wrapped gracefully around your throat as you breathlessly moan out his name.

he swears under his breath, low and sharp before shoving the notebook into a drawer and slamming it into the desk.

but it’s too late now, he can’t unread your words, and he can’t stop the temptation now that it’s started.

—

the night was colder than normal, the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window as your eyes mindlessly scan the pages of the book you thought you were once reading.  your mind stutters in its daydream at the sound of a knock at your door.  

you freeze for a moment.  no one comes here this late.

you feel your feet carry you out of bed as you slowly approach the door, the hardwood floors cold against your bare feet as your fingers curl around the doorknob, your mind going blank as you see him there.

his tie is gone, his shirt which is usually pristine is now rumpled like he’s been running his hands through his hair, through the fabric, like he’s spent hours fighting himself before landing here.

and now he’s standing at your door.  soaking wet.

you lean against the doorframe, allowing your head to tilt to the side just enough to tease him.

“you shouldn’t be here, professor jeon.”

he swallows, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

“i know.”

you consider teasing him further, maybe even making him feel a little guilty knowing it’ll only intensify his feelings further, but you decide not to, knowing it’ll only driving him crazier, only stepping back just enough to allow the door to swing open further — an invitation.

his eyes flicker across yours for a moment as he hesitates.  every expression questioning whether or not he should, or if he even dares.  but he finally let’s go, taking a step inside as the door closes behind him, almost like a surrender.

the air is thick, nearly electric as he stands still, something predatory in your gaze as your eyes drag over his wet figure, something about it almost made you feel sorry for him.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” his voice is hoarse as his tongue darts over his lips quickly, his eyes barely meeting yours as he desperately tries to keep his distance.

“i think i do.” you take a step closer.

“no you don’t.” he takes a step back.  “i shouldn’t be here.”

“but you are.” your voice is calm and controlled as you do your best to talk him down from his inner turmoil.

“but you don’t understand this is wrong.  it’s… it’s dangerous.” you watch as he takes another step back from you, his hands tightening by his sides as his knuckles turn white.

“i’m your teacher.  i have responsibilities.  i’m supposed to protect you, not let… this happen.”  his voice cracks as he speaks and you can almost feel a trace of guilt within your chest knowing he really does care about his students.  but you simply couldn’t take it any longer, you were both consenting adults, it shouldn’t matter, and you were determined to show him that.

you take a step forward and slowly bring a hand up to his arm, the feeling of the wet fabric against your fingertips sparks something inside of you, a heat blooming within your stomach.

“let… this happen?” you feel him flinch slightly under your touch, his eyes landing on yours, a warning sign flickering between them.

“y/n, stop.” you hear a tinge of desperation behind his voice despite his warning tone.

you take a step closer to him, a dark smile on your face as your hand draws up his arm, your finger tips set ablaze above his body heat, your stomach twisting at the thought of him finally giving in.

“i said stop.” your shocked at his sudden movement, his hands going up to grab your wrist, holding it in place in a way that’s firm but not rough.  

“i’m not a boy you can tease until i break.  i’m a man, and if i break — i won’t be gentle.” you nearly have to hold yourself up, your knees becoming weak from his words alone.  you take a breath, stabilizing yourself before taking another step closer, your faces merely inches apart as you breathe in his air, his closeness becoming intoxicating, like a high you can’t get enough of.

“i don’t want gentle.” your voice is soft, but his features are furthest from that, his eyes holding every last bit of restraint he has as you watch them darken by the second.

silence closes the gap between your bodies as you watch his control slowly slip away.  every thought, every image that ever crossed his mind, all playing at full speed, and it’s completely overwhelming.

he lets out a slow, shaky exhale.  his eyes shutting carefully, almost like he’s preparing himself, before he tightens his grip on your wrist, the feeling of your pulse quickening under his touch only fueling him further as he pulls you into him, closing the gap between your bodies completely.

“god can you shut that pretty mouth for once?” you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, his demeanor quickly changing at he looks down at you, his eyes half lidded and full of lusted, sinful thoughts.

“what—“

“you wanted me to lose control?  fine.  but don’t say i didn’t warn you.” his voice is deep as it reverberates through your chest, your mouth slowly opening to make a response until he quickly cuts you off with his lips fully encasing yours.

you tense into his mouth, your eyes widening until you’re finally able to melt into his touch.  his hands lowering to your waist to pull you taught against his abdomen, his belt rubbing roughly against your stomach, nearly hard enough to leave marks even through your shirt.

you moan into the kiss, your hands falling to the back of his neck at your fingers quickly find his hair, tugging it in multiple directions as your mouths fight for dominance.

you feel his grip on your waist tighten, his knuckles white as he uses your shirt to pull you closer, his feet frantically walking you backwards as you feel your back collapse against your bed, breaking the kiss just long enough to see his perfectly swollen lips and broad shoulders cradling above you.

“this is what you’ve been begging for, huh?” he shoots you a sly smirk before bringing his body to hover over you completely, his knees settling between yours as he uses them to guide your legs apart.

you subtly swallow a gulp, feeling more intimidated than you originally anticipated.

his smirk deepens at your silence, his head dipping down to your ear carefully as he brings his hands up to the hem of your shirt, his cold fingertips slowly running up the skin of your lower abdomen.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?  thought you could handle it?” you can nearly hear his smile through his voice, his large stature on top of yours making you feel almost completely helpless.

“i can.” you internally curse yourself for sounding so meek, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by professor jeon as a deep, low chuckle emits from his throat and directly into your ear, his hands slowly dragging up further as he begins to lift up your shirt.

“tsk, don’t lie to me baby, you’re already in enough trouble.” his voice is dark and hoarse, his fingers cold from rain as his movements pause just below your breasts, your cheeks heating up softly as you realize you weren’t wearing a bra.

he leans further into the crook of your neck, placing a gentle kiss on your supple skin, your back unconsciously arching into him as you let out a breathless moan.

“is this okay?” his fingers carefully tracing just below your mounds.

you quickly nod, your eyes rolling back as you relish in the feeling of his body against yours.

“words, sweetheart.”

“yes.  this is more than okay.” you say softly, earning a small smile from him as his hands slowly run up your shirt before cupping your breasts fully, his large hands encasing them like they’re his own.

“so perfect.  all for me.” he mutters before diving back into the crook of your neck, his lips dancing along your skin, carefully tracing every patch your body had to offer, the speed and neediness from before being replaced with something more tender and sweet.

you can’t help the moans that leave your mouth as his fingers begin to trace your nipples, examining them with the pads of his fingers as he drags his tongue to the base of your collarbone.

he pulls away from you momentarily to fully lift your shirt off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the cold.

“so beautiful.” his hushed praises go straight to your core, your body responding to his every calculated praise.

he leans down, his face eye level with your chest as he takes each nipple in his mouth one at a time, taking care of them with ease, lapping over the buds and leaving you feeling desperate for more.

you feel worn, your breath quickening as you press your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the heat bubbling within your core, only to quickly be denied by the strength of his knees keeping you pried open for him.

after feeling satisfied with his ministrations, he pulls away, his eyes landing on yours — dark and lustful.

“do you know what you are?” he husks, bringing a hand down to your sides to soothe them gently.

you tilt your head to the side, leaning it against your pillow softly, a small smile creeping onto your face, your eyes hooded, nearly enough to look high.

“what am i?”

“you’re my biggest lesson.”

you quirk a brow at his response, feeling slightly confused and he notices your change in demeanor, his touch becoming slightly more rough as he grips at your sides, pulling you down so your closer to his pelvis.

“i stand in front of that classroom every day, teaching restraint, structure, rules.  but you — you’re pure temptation written between the lines.  you’re like the forbidden fruit.  i should’ve closed the book long ago, but instead, i’m here, crumbling before you.”

his hands grip your sides tighter, his eyes traveling down your body as he speaks, taking a momentary pause to relish in your beauty, everything laid out so perfectly for him.

“you’re the forbidden fruit i can’t put down.  the bad thought i can’t shake from my head.  the red notebook i should’ve never picked up.  and now I want to ruin every page.”

you can almost hear your heart rate increase at his words, every breath more tempting than the last, threatening to leave you laying beneath him for an eternity.

he brings a hand down to the band of your sweatpants, his fingers ducking beneath them just enough to tease you beyond repair.

“let me ruin you.” you nearly let out a moan from his words, only able to respond with the slight shake of a head before he starts undressing you like his favorite book — the cover, the sleeves, tracing each page along the way.

you feel like his muse, a piece of artwork laying beneath him, his eyes scanning you ravenously, taking in every curve and dimple on your body, his hands following suit, you almost didn’t notice when he had undressed as well, too distracted at his hushed praises as he hovers over you on the bed, a hand cupping your hair gently as his eyes gaze into yours.

“i need to hear you say yes, sweetheart.” his voice is a hushed whisper, his hair messily hanging over his forehead as he brings a hand beneath your bodies, his cock nudging at your entrance slowly.

“yes… i want this.” your voice is soft as it fills the air, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he brings a hand up to your mouth, cupping it gently, his head ducking into the crook of your neck.

you close your eyes tightly as he slowly pushes forward, his cock nearly splitting you in two as you let out a sharp gasp into his hand.

“shhh.  good girl.  that’s it.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice knowing you would struggle with his size, but his hushed praises are appreciated nonetheless.

his girth was unexplainable, spreading you apart in ways you never knew were possible.  you certainly weren’t inexperienced, but it somehow didn’t matter.  it felt like an eternity before he bottomed out in you, his hips stalling to give you time to adjust, but you’re nearly shaking when you finally come to, the sound of his breathless panting in your ear bringing you back to reality, his hand slipping away from your mouth and down to your hip.

“jungkook?” you whimper, not even realizing that you’ve never called him by his first name before.

“you feel… heavenly.” he groans, his hips stuttering forward sending shockwaves through your core, a small moan slipping past your lips at the sudden jerk.

“so goddamn tight.” he rolls his hips forward slowly, his cock grinding against your walls with ease.

“ahh — jungkook.  please.” you didn’t mean to beg, but his teasing was making it nearly impossible for you to control yourself.

“fuck, you have to be quiet for me, sweetheart.  can you do that?” he continued to slowly roll his hips forward, your body shuddering with every small movement.  you’re only able to nod at him, gentle whimpers falling past your lips as you bite them tightly in an attempt to stay quiet.

he shoots you a glare, but decides not to tease you too much before he sets in on a quicker pace, his cock driving into you with intensity, but not too fast where you’re fighting for your life.

every stretch of his cock was delicious, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you down to meet his thrusts, occasional groans leaving his mouth and falling into the air as you stifle back desperate screams.

“fuck.  you’re perfect.” he grumbles, his voice low with need as he dives back into the crook of your neck, licking it ravenously and you’re unable to suppress a moan, coming out much louder than you had intended.

jungkook slowly pulls away, his eyes meeting yours with a glare as he quirks a brow at you, watching as your face contorts with both pleasure, and discomfort at his size and the inability to be heard.

“sweet girl, you can be quiet, right?” he smirks, his voice teasing as he brings a hand up to grab yours at the wrist, pinning them above your head gently, as if he thought you would break from any more force.

you whimper again, your voice shaky as you let out a meek, “y-yes.”

he tsks at your response, unbelieving as he dives back down into the crook of your neck, his hips picking up their pace as he places gentle kisses on your skin, a deep contrast to the way he was fucking you now, pinned up like a doll.

“wouldn’t want anyone to catch us now would we?  a cute little girl and her teacher, that wouldn’t blow over well i’m sure.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks in between kisses, trailing them down to your collarbone as your fingers wiggle under his hold.

“n-no.  i’ll be quiet.”

he chuckles lowly, pulling away from you momentarily to appreciate your fucked out state — your forehead slick with sweat, lips puffy and swollen and eyes bloodshot.

“good.  because i have ways to keep you quiet if you’re not sure how.” he drives into you forcefully, a squeal leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion, your stomach feeling like it’s being prodded with every thrust.

he quirks a brow at your noise, his demeanor changing to one slightly stricter as his eyes zero in on yours, almost like a warning.

you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you feel his thrusts quicken once more, the feeling of his cock driving into you was almost too much, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that left you with every movement of his hips.

he lets go of your wrists gently, his hands going down to your hips as he quickly flips you onto your stomach, a loud gasp from you easily being muffled as he places a hand on the back of your head, pressing it deeper into the confines of your pillow.  you let out a moan of relief knowing you can at least make some time of noise now.

his thrusts quicken now, his other hand going under your stomach to angle your ass up for him, giving him the perfect view as he smirks to himself at how easily you respond to him.

“that’s a girl.  feel better?” his cock prods your g-spot with every flick of his hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge till it was nearly unbearable.

you shove your head further into the pillow as you moan loudly, your impending orgasm sneaking up on you quickly with the change of positions, making it nearly impossible for you to respond to him.

he feels the way you’re tightening around him, and he can’t help but throw his head back at the sensation of your walls closing in — it was heavenly.

“f-fuck why are you so tight?” his voice gets huskier with every word, his grip on your side tightening as his thrusts become messy, the feeling of your cunt wrapped so deliciously around him driving him to insanity.

you felt euphoric, teetering on the edge of your orgasm and every stroke of his cock only pushed you closer to the brink, it was almost enough to make you dizzy.

“p-please.” you moan, muffled into your pillow but you can tell he can hear you by the way his hand snakes in between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit with perfect accuracy.

you’re barely able to comprehend what’s happening before you’re sent spiraling over the edge, your legs shaking aggressively as you feel a wave of warmth run over your body.

“holy shit.” jungkook curses as he feels you cream over his cock, your cunt tightening so hard it makes it difficult for him to move, his hips stuttering as he does his best to continue his pace.

you’re a moaning mess, your head shoved deep into the pillow by his hand as you feel his cock continue to plow into you, your mind going blank as your body recovers from your orgasm.

“that’s it, baby.  good girl.  shh, i’m right here.” he mumbles barely understandable praises as he messily drives his dick into you, the tension on your g-spot quickly becoming all you can think about as your pleasure suddenly turns into overstimulation.

you’re writhing, unable to respond properly or tell him it’s too much due to his hold on the back of your head, your legs trembling harshly as you feel his hand settle back on your hip, his fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises.

“so perfect, fuck.” he breathes out before bottoming out into you, his cock twitching as he spills his seed deep into your cunt, your walls drinking up every last ounce he has to offer, not letting even a drop go to waste.

he lets out a deep moan, his head collapsing against your chest, his breathing unsteady as he rolls into you one last time, your walls milking him for every thing he has left to give.

you bring a hand up to the back of his head, the feeling of his hair between your fingers as you settle into his locks soothing you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

he slowly pulls away from you, your eyes meeting as he smiles at you softly, a hand going down to your hair as he tucks a strand behind your ear peacefully.

“you’re a lot to handle, you know that right?” he chuckles looking down at you.

“i think you did a pretty good job.” 

he smiles softly, “now i just have to learn how to handle you in class.”

[sakuraszn]

﹒♡ CONFESSION ft. katsuki bakugo

cw: lots of fluff, flustered bakugo. he’s such a cutie

The ramen shop was packed, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the rich aroma of broth and grilled meat. The entire Class 1-A had squeezed into the cozy little restaurant to celebrate Todoroki’s recent jump in the hero rankings.

Bowls clinked, chopsticks clashed, and the energy was electric as the group indulged in warm food and lively conversation.

And at the center of it all—Katsuki Bakugo sat stiffly, arms crossed, scowling into his half-finished bowl of ramen like it had personally offended him.

Not because he wasn’t happy for Todoroki.

Not because the food was bad.

But because of you.

You, sitting just a few seats down, laughing at something uraraka had said, your eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking.

And it was driving him insane.

For weeks—no, months—Bakugo had been dealing with this… feeling. This stupid, irritating, suffocating feeling every time you were near him. It was different from the rivalry-fueled adrenaline he felt in battle, different from the pride he carried when he improved as a hero.

It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t control.

And he hated that.

But tonight… tonight was the night he was going to do something about it.

Or at least, that’s what Kirishima and Sero had forced into his thick skull before they even walked into the restaurant.

“Dude, you’ve been acting weird around them for weeks.”

“Just tell them! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, idiots, maybe they laugh in my face and never talk to me again?!”

“Oh please, she would never—”

“Shut up. I’ll do it when I damn well feel like it.”

But now that he was here, surrounded by people, nerves bubbling in his gut like an active volcano, feeling like it was a lot harder than he expected.

“Bakugo,” Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts, low enough that only he could hear. “You good, bro?”

“I’m fine,” Bakugo growled, barely glancing up as he stabbed at his noodles with his chopsticks.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? ‘Cause you haven’t insulted Kaminari in like ten minutes. I’m starting to get worried.”

Sero snickered. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Kirishima and Sero exchanged glances before the redhead leaned in again. “Are you actually gonna do it?”

Bakugo exhaled sharply, gripping his chopsticks so tight they nearly snapped.

“After this.” His voice was firm. Final.

Kirishima grinned, nudging Sero. “Told ya he’d do it.”

“Hey, I had faith,” Sero said, shrugging. “Just not a lot of faith.”

Bakugo shot them both a murderous glare, but before he could verbally rip them apart, Iida clapped his hands together, signaling for attention.

“If I may have everyone’s focus for a moment!” Iida said, standing up. “I’d like to propose a final toast to Todoroki!”

Todoroki, who had been quietly enjoying his meal, blinked as everyone raised their glasses. “Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“To Todoroki climbing the ranks!” Iida declared.

“To Todoroki!” the class cheered, clinking their glasses together.

You turned, smiling at the dual-haired hero. “You really deserve it, Todoroki. We all knew you’d make it far.”

Todoroki’s lips curled into a small smile. “I appreciate that, Y/N.”

Bakugo scowled.

It wasn’t Todoroki’s fault, but hearing you say his name like that, so softly, so encouragingly—yeah, it bothered him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

As the night wound down, people started finishing up their food, settling their bills, and stretching lazily before making their way out.

“Damn, that was good,” Kaminari sighed, rubbing his stomach. “I think I ate too much.”

Mina laughed. “You definitely ate too much.”

One by one, people began saying their goodbyes, heading off in different directions toward the dorms or home.

And that’s when Bakugo knew—this was his moment.

You were slipping on your jacket, adjusting your scarf when he finally forced himself to move.

Kirishima shot him a thumbs-up from across the room, and Sero winked.

Bakugo rolled his eyes before stomping over to you, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“Oi.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Oh, hey, Bakugo! What’s up?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. Okay. Just say it. Say it, dumbass.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, fists clenched at his sides, staring at you.

You tilted your head, confused. “Uh… you okay?”

His jaw tensed. This was already going horribly.

And then—because frustration was the only thing that ever helped him push past his nerves—he blurted out:

“Are you really so oblivious?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair before pointing at you aggressively. “You! You’re oblivious! Have you seriously not noticed?!”

Your confusion deepened. “Noticed what?”

He exhaled sharply, cheeks burning. His whole body felt like it was about to explode.

He had two options: Keep making a fool of himself or just say it and get it over with.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, and then—

“I like you, dumbass!”

Silence.

Bakugo cracked one eye open, stomach twisting into knots.

You were staring at him.

Not laughing. Not recoiling. Just… staring.

Then—

“You… like me?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s what I just said, idiot.”

A slow smile crept onto your lips. “You like me?”

His face turned an even darker shade of red. “Yes! Stop making me say it, damn it!”

You let out a laugh—light, airy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Wow,” you said, grinning. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy.” His voice was gruff, but his hands were twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to do something—anything—with them.

You stepped closer, peering up at him. “You know… I like you too.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

You laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Bakugo. Have for a while now.”

His heart stopped.

Then jump-started at triple speed.

“What?”

You shrugged, smirking. “What? Are you oblivious?”

His eye twitched. “You—you little—”

You poked his cheek and laughed. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed kat’ I’m just messin with ya.”

He exploded.

Not literally. But his entire soul combusted.

“Shut the hell up!” he barked, face practically glowing red.

But you just laughed again, softer this time. Fond. “So… now what?”

He swallowed, heart still racing. “Now… now you let me walk you home, dumbass.”

You beamed. “That sounds nice.”

And as you started walking together, Bakugo felt something strange settle in his chest.

Warm. Light.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⏦ﾟ♡︎ Best Friends, Right?

Short Summary: Mattheo’s been distant for a while. Your best friend now doesn’t even bother speaking to you. Perhaps a party and a little bit of alcohol can change that.

Warnings: 18+ only! drunk sex, begging, unprotected p in v, creampie, Mattheo and reader both are oblivious fucks, make-up sex

A/N: change of scenery—Mattheo Riddle. (Going back to Tom as we speak)

wordcount: 2,4k

You weren’t entirely fond of the idea of going out tonight. You have never been.

But today, after your exam week had just ended—you couldn’t come up with any more excuses which you were certain your friends knew to be blatant lies.

You have gone through your entire closet. Twice. Even three times. Haven’t found anything fitting. Until—you spot something you were given for your 18th birthday which has since been collecting dust at the very back of the closet. A glittery red mini dress, outrageously short, probably too short for a Slytherin house party.

A deep sigh falls over your lips. You don’t have anything else, not here at Hogwarts at least. So you put it on. As you look at your reflection in the mirror, finishing off by applying mascara and some blush, you hesitate. It most likely wasn’t a good idea to walk around like this.

You aren’t given much of a choice, though, because just a split second later, the door to your dorm falls open, three of your friends—already somewhat tipsy—entering while singing a muggle song picked up last time you snuck out to visit London.

You are immediately dragged out of your bathroom, showered with compliments on your appearance. And when you do try to voice your concerns—they are cut off right away. They insist on you coming along, not giving you much of a choice before they hand you a matching purse to your dress and pull you after them in the direction of the Slytherin common room.

You shiver. It’s quite chilly in the dungeons, so you are somewhat relieved when you finally enter the party, already crowded with people. They ask what drink you want, and initially you tell them you would just take something non-alcoholic, but again they insist you finally “have some fun” after spending days on end in your dorm, always studying and never giving yourself a break.

You really aren’t a person to give into peer pressure, but for some reason today, you agree without much further complaint. They are probably right that you do need some time off. Turn your brain off for the night, just let yourself go.

So when they come back and hand you a pink cocktail, you take your first sip. The alcohol instantly floods your senses. You haven’t drunk in so long.

Rationing it as much as you can, you briefly slip away from your friends at some point, which they, in their state, don’t even seem to notice.

You take a few deep breaths as you lean against the railing of the balcony, staring into the distance of the night sky. Earlier, years ago, you used to sit here with Mattheo when both of you snuck out to meet at your favourite spot. He always made time for you.

You exhale deeply, the cloud of your breath dissolving into the crisp winter air.

Once inseparable, you two now rarely spend time. You’ve been dying to ask why, why he avoids you. Answering in short, clipped sentences, never even looking at you when you initiate a conversation. It’s been tiring. Seeing your childhood best friend change, replacing you with someone else. Replace might be the wrong word for it—because you did love Theo and the others too. Just—less. It wasn’t as special. And up until recently—you had thought he felt the same.

You decide to not let these thoughts impact your mood any further, returning to the party soon after. It’s almost too dark and crowded to spot anyone in particular, your friends long gone from the spot you left them in. It would be quite difficult to find them again, so you decide to make your way through the crowd, into a corner where you’d have a better overview of the situation.

Just having made your way halfway through, your eyes lock onto someone familiar. Too familiar.

Mattheo stands there, calm and collected as always, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Theo stands next to him, whispering something in his ear, subtly nodding towards a girl. But Mattheo doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention as his eyes drift elsewhere—to you.

In this moment you wish you could have just evaporated into thin air. You don’t want to see him, not right now, you don’t need another reminder. And as much as you want to move away, keep looking for your friends—you find yourself rooted in place. Your legs are not cooperating with your brain.

He just stares at you for what feels like an eternity, his hot gaze steadily dropping lower, skimming over your exposed cleavage down to the curve of your hips, wandering over your bare thighs before they travel back up. And then that bastard grins. Subtly at that, but just enough for you to see it.

At this point your entire body feels like it’s on fire—and you don’t know why. The way he looks at you shouldn’t matter this much, it shouldn’t make you feel this way. Like he wants you equally as much as you want him. You’ve been thinking that this might be the reason as to why he doesn’t talk to you—he might have caught on. Realised you have somewhere along the way developed feelings for him. Of course he wouldn’t reciprocate.

Only when Theo elbows his side does he avert his attention, eyebrows furrowing as he rubs his ribs, quickly followed by being dragged into the crowd, supposedly to the bar. Or to find a girl to fuck.

They used to do it that way—when you were still close.

To your relief, you don’t see him anymore after this encounter.

And you down one or two more cocktails.

Just in case.

For the—you hope unlikely—event you would see him again. Which turns out to be a good decision after all.

Slightly after 1 am, when the crowd thins out as people start leaving—you sense someone walking up to you from behind.

“You here?” A familiar voice whispers in your ear, and when you turn around, you are met with your once favourite brown eyes. “Thought you didn’t like parties.”

You huff slightly. “I guess I wanted to confirm it once more.”

His eyes wander again, and you instinctively pull at your dress. It really is short.

“You look gorgeous today,” he drawls, and suddenly he is so close you can smell the alcohol in the air. Too fucking close. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in every detail of his oh-so-familiar face, the scar on his nose you have traced your finger over countless times, his beautiful, long eyelashes, his dark, messy curls you used to twirl around your finger as he lay on your lap…

But he is drunk. That’s why he is talking to you. Not because he wants to. Sober Mattheo would have ignored you the entire night, you think to yourself.

“You are drunk, Mattheo.” You point out coolly, and he goes silent for a second as though he were reconsidering ever talking to you in the first place. You fully expect him to leave at that point, but instead, his lips curl into a smirk.

“So? Can I not tell my best friend she is pretty?”

A scoff leaves your lips faster than you’d have liked.

“Best friends usually talk to each other more often than just at parties, Mattheo.”

He nods. “I see. So, let’s talk.”

His hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pulling you after him. Exiting the Slytherin common room. Heading in the direction of his dorm.

Mattheo almost trips over his own feet on the way multiple times, and if it wasn’t for you, he would have earned some bruises from his clumsiness. He is more drunk than you thought he was.

As soon as you enter the dorm, you disappear into his bathroom and reemerge with a glass of water, handing it to him. He looks at you with a raised brow but drinks it nonetheless.

You don’t intend on sitting down. You want this to be over with as quickly as possible. You’d have preferred if he had just told you back at the party. You could have had faster access to alcohol that way.

After a minute of gathering his thoughts, he finally speaks up, getting up from his bed and carefully stalking towards you.

“You know why I’ve been distant? He asks, stopping right in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Because you do something to me. You make me feel something I haven’t quite been able to place.”

He pauses briefly. Studying your facial expressions.

“Until a few hours ago.”

You tilt your head slightly, cocking an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“That I am— in love with you. Fucking hell, I love you, alright?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away, striding back towards the bed.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck, you two are idiots.

“Mattheo.”

He just rambles on. “If you don’t, it’s fine. I expected you wou—“

“Mattheo.”

You quickly follow after him, spinning him around to crash your lips onto his. He doesn’t kiss you back at first—simply because he hadn’t expected it. He expected anything but this.

But when he does—it quickly grows hungry, passionate, his hands finding their way to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he keeps you in place, keeps you from pulling away. And both of you savour this moment. Fuck, you had missed his touch. Missed him. Missed your Mattheo.

“I love you too,” you confess, drawing in a deep breath as you finally part.

His lips are puffy and red, and although it’s hard to believe—he looks even better like this. Mouth slightly parted, dark curls a mess, eyes darkened with lust.

Lust.

If you weren’t drunk right now, your brain would try to rationalise, stop to think, think about the consequences of what was about to happen—but you aren’t used to alcohol clouding your mind. You can’t rationalise, much less even want to.

So when his hands wander up your back, finding the zipper to your dress—you don’t complain. Fuck, you wanted this.

Mattheo’s quick, tugging the zipper down, leaving your dress to pool at your ankles, sucking a mark into the skin of your neck before he takes a step back, appraising you.

Something flashes in his eyes. Dark, dangerous.

“Best friends, right?” He mutters under his breath, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s quick to rid you of the lace still adorning your curves, your hands in the meanwhile working at his trousers.

“Best friends.” You nod, breathless.

As soon as the fabric drops to the floor, his lips are back on yours, having you walk backwards until you lay on his bed, positioning yourself in the middle of the soft mattress.

He’s hovering over you mere seconds later, carelessly discarding his shirt somewhere on the other side of the bed.

You can’t help but moan softly when his lips trail kisses from your jawline all the way to your clavicle, fingers gently tugging on his brunette curls.

“Are you sure?” Mattheo asks then, meeting your eyes to find any hint of uncertainty.

You nod eagerly. “Yes.”

You barely get the word out before you feel him slip between your folds, gathering your arousal before he aligns himself with your entrance, thick and hot, and all of a sudden you weren’t so sure if you could even take him.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this pussy for too fucking long,” he slurs, and then, with one singular, sharp thrust, he buries himself in your cunt, momentarily knocking the breath from your lungs at the sudden intrusion. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the rather painful stretch on your walls as he feels you tense beneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls as you clench around his cock, and then he starts to move, slowly at first, dragging his length out of you before pushing back inside. It’s slow, torturously slow, as though he was scared to hurt you.

Your nails dig into his back, hips bucking to meet his thrusts. “Please, Mattheo, I need you.”

That’s all it takes. He speeds up, angles his thrusts just right, brushing over a particularly sensitive spot inside of you that makes your head spin in pleasure. He groans and whimpers, praises you for how well you are doing for him.

His hips snap against yours like he’s got a point to prove, making up for the time you two had lost. You feel something building in the pit of your lower stomach, a pressure that grows with every thrust, until it’s there, on the verge of exploding.

“Yeah, want to come?” He pants, his breath hot and ragged. “Show me how bad you need to come.”

“God, Mattheo, please. I need to come—“ you whimper, cut off by his lips meeting yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Sound so pretty when you beg for me.”

Mattheo seems to know exactly what you need because he reaches between the both of you, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit, and you moan in response. He’s pushing into you mercilessly, walls clamping down around him, your entire body tensing when your orgasm crashes over you in tidal waves, legs trembling as they are wrapped around him.

“Princess, fuck, can I come inside? Mattheo groans against your neck, thrusts growing ragged. “Please let me come inside.”

You manage a shaky yes for an answer, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills himself deep inside of you, coating your walls with his release.

He collapses on top of you then, breathing heavily.

It takes several minutes for him to regain his composure. He lifts himself off you, cradling you in his arms afterwards and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I will make it right, darling. Treat you the way you deserve.”

“I know you will,” you whisper, placing a kiss on his exposed chest before you drift off to sleep.

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3

—

masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[identityarchitect]

[ID1: A post in the Trader Joes subreddit titled "Lentils Question", with the body reading:

"Quick Q' for fans of Trader Joe, how are the steamed lentils? I've been a bit hesitant to bring them home to my wife to try, and I really want to get her into lentils. What path do you recommend me to take? Are there other lentil options at the store that you believe would be the superior choice? I'm getting extremely frustrated about it, thank you.

EDIT: Interesting that I'm being made the villain in all this. Maybe you should all consider the fact that you are thin-skinned and not helpful with your advice. I am now considering leaving to join another Trader Joe's community, hopefully one that isn't full of complete ignoramuses. Au Revoir!

EDIT 2: I am outraged at the indignity of this subreddit. Horrid behaviour by so many people directing their hate towards me for reasons I can't even begin to understand. Horrid!"

The post has no upvotes and 45 comments.

ID2: A comment thread on the post.

Raincitycatlady: "I had them for the first time today for lunch actually! I warmed them up according to the package and added the bruschetta sauce and feta cheese, because that's what I was told to do by a friend, and it was SO DELICIOUS!

I made lentils for my SO a while back and he didn't like them, but I'm going to have him try these because I think they will change his mind!" (this comment has 82 upvotes).

OP: "For my response, let me just open with the fact that I'm going to be extremely critical of what you've just written. It's the truth, and there's no way to get around it. Some things are better to face as directly as possible in order to get them over with.

First, you said you warmed it - but how? Try to be more descriptive. If I'm making it for my wife, who I'll note is very particular, I'll need to know exactly how to prepare the food.

Second, why even mention the bruschetta or the feta? Am I going to have to purchase other products in order for my wife to enjoy her meal? You need to be more clear. At least, you should have expanded on it so I know exactly what I'm going to be preparing. Just a general lack of focus that doesn't sit right for me. Plus, how am I to know whether your "friend" is either Mario Batali or god forbid some street rat with a coy smile? Now the responsibility of your recommendation rests on the shoulders of someone who I have no idea what to expect from. Not good.

Third, why mention your unsatisfied significant others opinion if you're trying to get my wife to try it in the first place? It doesn't leave me with any confidence for the product after you haven't had any prior success with it. Am I just supposed to recreate your "Dinner of ill Repute" with my wife? Because I can't afford that. Absolutely not.

Next time please do not comment on my post. I'm under a considerable amount of pressure, and you've made me feel even more wretched than normal.

Good riddance". This comment has 87 downvotes, and a handful of awards.

ID3: OP: "I am not the Villain".

ID4 through 7: OP's comments, reading in order:

"Those who live in glass houses should withhold from throwing stones"

"Those who live amid glass houses should not throw stones at me"

"Those who live amongst the glass houses should think twice about being the one who throws stones"

"Those who live amongst houses of glass should refuse to partake in the throwing of stones". /end ID]

for people who haven't been exposed to trader joes lentils for my wife guy, you're welcome

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Initiate

This is a follow up to FML: Fraternize as selected by you for my 2,500 subscriber special. It took longer than expected and had a few rewrites, but I promised you all this would be the next story released. Hopefully it is worth the wait.

In all my years at this university I had never seen anything like it. Week after week students were seeming to disappear. You expect to see some flux in enrollment as students change schedules and drop classes. But these students weren’t removing themselves from classes. It was as though they were never enrolled at all. Initially within the department we all had our pet theories on the matter. But in a few weeks it was clear where they were going. It isn’t hard to notice a lot more students milling around the business campus, or the sudden discussion within administration of expanding the personal training and physiology tracts. We were all just left wondering why.

I finally hit my breaking point near the end of the semester when one of my more promising students disappeared from my roster. I asked the other pre-law professors and sure enough, they couldn’t find a trace of him ever taking a class in the department. However, I did find one lead. One of my students must have heard me discussing it with the TA’s and said that he was a member of a fraternity on campus. I groaned at the thought of having to trek out there, but I knew it was the quickest way to get some closure. Against my better judgment, I headed to the Eta Psi Rho house.

Every step there filled me with dread. I hate to confess it, but I had once attended this same university, and yes, even tried to join a fraternity. It had been such a long time ago, but I could still remember the cruel ways that my brothers had mocked, berated, and punished pledges. Fraternities we’re nothing but a blight on this campus that produced people like… well people like the man who greeted me out front.

Honestly. Back in our days at least we had the good sense to drag our brothers inside. It’s a shock campus police had not raided the place yet. I knelt down. He reeked of booze and sweat. His snore was almost deafening. Even if his brothers wouldn’t help him, I couldn’t leave him out here. I pestered the young man awake. Groggily, he rose to his feet, stumbling over his feet and his words. Immediately he clapped me on the back, thanking his ‘bro’ for the help. I tried to brush him aside, but his firm grip ushered me inside as he muttered about being late for class. I’m surprised he was still enrolled. Regardless, he helped me get inside and one of his ‘bruhs’ tried pointing me in the right direction where I could find my lost student. I began wandering the halls, looking for any sign of the young man, but they were eerily empty inside. What was I saying, the young men were all in their classes surely. Still, when from down the hall I suddenly heard, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood,” chanted in unison, I was a bit shocked. I walked up to the door and peered in, hoping to get better directions. I was met with a group of young men, glassy eyed, staring deep into a static filled television.

I walked in front of one young man, trying to get his attention. It was like I wasn't there as he stared right through me. It was no use, and the sound and light in the room was giving me a headache. I was about to leave when suddenly, from the TV, a clear command:

Brothers are lean and muscular.

Brothers are lean and muscular, the men all repeated. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the young man before me changed. His skin rippled for a moment, as though a chill went down his spine. Then, he began to swell. It came in bubbles, uneven and tumorous. But each patch began to combine and normalize with those around it until it suddenly stopped and a different man sat before me. At least, that's what I told myself as I bolted from the room.

Lost in the maze of corridors, I was just following the signs to the nearest emergency exit. Something was wrong here. Young men don't just- just GROW. The sign directed me rounded the corner into the laundry room and more pressingly, into a stranger. I started apologizing before I paused. I assumed there had to be a mistake.

The stranger had a familiar air to him. When he had been my student, the young man I knew was clean shaven, a bit shy and reserved in class, but smart as a whip and friendly. The man in front of me was confident. He shot me a smirk as he greeted me, ‘dabbing me up’ and calling me his bro. Up close he was overwhelming. I had known a brother to miss showers but it smelled like he hadn’t rinsed off in a week. The smell of cologne did nothing to hide the alcohol on his breath and the funk emanating from him. And while I could tell he used to be fit this was absurd. He looked chiseled from a magazine cover! The vacant expression was a far cry from the law student I knew. If it weren’t for his face and eyes, I doubt I would have even recognized him.

Regardless of his appearance, I started talking, pleading with him to tell me what was happening. What was happening in this house? Who was responsible for the poor boys in that room? Why did he throw away a bright future for this? But my words never seemed to get through. He pleasantly smiled and nodded, but gave canned answers about ‘brotherhood’. I really should have made for the exit in front of me but I was past the point of logic.

I finally shouted, “I just don’t understand why you would throw your life away for this!”

“This is my life,” he droned, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.”

That same mantra as those young men. I took a breath before continuing. God this place was rank. “Listen son, I know about the brotherhood and this fraternity. But you have to see something wrong is going on here. What were those boys doing in that room?"

"Oh the pledgies? Yeah, initiation is next week, got to make sure they stay in line over the finish line, ya know what I'm saying?"

"Someone's got to stop this. I'm going to the Dean, he'll be able to do something. This fraternity can't operate like this!"

The toothy smile fell, “You’ve got to be loyal to your bros. After all, we are made to be loyal to the frat.” His tone was suddenly flat as he began inching closer. In one swift motion he removed his tank top, flashing all his muscles. In one more, his shorts were on the ground. As he got closer, the heat in the room intensified.

It was getting hard to think, I was feeling so woozy. This bizarre display had gotten far beyond my scope as an educator. I tried to excuse myself, “I think I’d better go, this was a waste of- ” but he was suddenly upon me. I hadn’t realized I had backed myself into a corner.

"Pledge, come here!" and my mind froze.

As much as I wanted to scream and run, I could feel an unnamed power he held over me as his command to stop burrowed into my brain.

"You sound like you were in there for a bit. Let's see how much you got trained. What's a good punishment... ah. Pledge, sniff."

I felt so aroused and so scared as I was forced to closer to the source of his musk. I tried to resist, but something primal drove my nose in and gave a hesitant huff of pure frat bro. I was loosing any… any restraint… left. I couldn’t… resist… my… my…

He smirked, "Bro, what was that? Come on, Pledge, sniff!"

“Yes bruh.” It slipped so easily out, almost as easily as the drool from my mouth. My face crinkled as I shoved my face in his nasty pit. I couldn’t think about it. I sniffed and while I knew it was gross, it all felt fuzzy and warm in my head.

“Oh, you must have been in with them a while. Dude, we can't have you sharing fraternity secrets. Don't worry though, we may be able to save you yet. Come with me.”

My brain only processed the command as I stumbled after him back through the halls. We turned into a familiar room. I stood, head spinning, as he fiddled with a TV for a second and sat himself down.

“I think that the guys won't mind a double dose. Sit next to me.”

“Yeaaah, surrre thing,” I slurred, stumbling into my seat. His firm arm felt nice around me. He held me firmly as he pressed play on the remote and a VHS tape whirred to life. There was a disorientating strobe of colors that left me a bit dazed before starting up into an intro. I was confused at first what the tape was talking about. I wasn’t here to join the fraternity and learn more about a life of brotherhood. The opposite almost. I tried to stand, but his arm held me firmly in place. I started to protest, but the voice sounded so insistent, and it was so confusing to watch. It reminded me of something, some tape I had seen long ago. It was like slipping back into an old pair of pants, something just fit. Maybe I hear him out? Then, the tone switched.

Welcome to the first day of your new life. You have been selected to become one of the few. One of the elite. You feel honored to have been selected.

“I feel honored to be one of the elite,” every voice in the room rang out in unison.

An old pride rose in my chest. I was selected. I was better. I would be in Eta Psi Rho.

This important decision has been made for you. You must accept our guidance. The frat knows best.

“The frat knows best,” we all repeated.

You will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.

“I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.” It felt good as it slipped out.

Good. Brothers, step out. We have it from here.

My former student brother released my shoulder, stood quickly and left the room. But I didn’t want to leave anymore. I was to watch the tape.

Let’s start with an attitude adjustment. It is important for bros to be bros. Bros are relaxed and carefree.

“Bros are relaxed and carefree.”

I hadn’t realized how much tension I had been holding in. But as I repeated the words, a wave of relaxation rolled down from my neck, through my shoulders, rippling through my arms and torso, all the way through my legs. I let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back into my seat.

Bros eat, sleep, workout, and hang together. Bros just want to spend time with their bros.

“Bros just want to spend time with their bro.”

All sense of time and obligation suddenly felt swirled in my head. I remembered that I was supposed to go, but it felt so distant. Instead, my mind filled with a schedule of work outs, parties, meals, and frat events. I couldn’t give my lecture tonight, I would miss chapter!

In a few short weeks you will be ready for brotherhood. But first, a reminder. You want to complete your pledge. You want to be a brother.

“I want to complete my pledge. I want to be a brother.”

That almost made sense. I wasn’t a pledge, I was too old. Or, I think I am? But quickly that logic was suppressed by something else. I wanted it. I wanted so badly to be a pledge.

The commands were starting to pick up speed.

A pledge does not think for himself. He follows his brothers’ orders and fits in.

“I follow my brothers’ orders and fit in. ”

Yeah, life is so much easier when I can just listen and follow. Let others make the decisions bro.

A pledge will do anything to become a brother.

“I will do anything to become a brother.”

God it felt so good to have it all sorted out.

Now, it is important to not just act like a brother. You need to look like a brother. Feel your body. Focus on it. Every frat bro's body is a temple. A temple prime for trashing. These next four years are the prime of your life. You will enjoy your college years.

That short phrase rushed through my body. An icy chill ran down my spine that froze me in place. My body felt tight as it slowly rewound itself. I felt young blood pulsing through my body as my muscles swelled, releasing the tension of muscle aches and cranky joints. Skin pulled tight against my muscles as years of work and stress smoothed over my body. Not a wrinkle, not a sag, not a follicle of body hair was left behind as I shed my 50’s for my 20’s. Then, all at once, a wave of testosterone washed over me. It was like puberty all over, as I broke out in a cold sweat that carried that young, masculine funk. My voice cracked and softened as I moaned, my cock was flush with hunger. The brain was in no state to resist as years of history were washed away under twenty-something hormones. Bruh, I could feel my brain unfurl and smooth out a bit too. For the first time in decades, I felt young, dumb, and so full of cum.

Brothers' muscles ache from years pushing it too hard in the gym. It feels good to push your body beyond its limits. Protein powder and energy drinks are the fuel that keep you lit. Bros are swole.

“Bros are swole.”

Any twink-ish hopes I had just developed were quickly dashed against pumping iron. I felt the ice melt as my body twisted under my skin and slowly began to sweat. My stomach began to fill as a familiar chalky taste crept up the back of my throat. Protein. A deep aching filled my body, yet it continued to pulse. The more it hurt, the more I wanted it. I watched as each muscle melted inside of me and reformed out of hardened steel.

Brothers know the power of their masculinity. They are not afraid to show off their bodies. It shows others who is in charge. Let weaker men worship you. Use them for your satisfaction. You will be dominant.

I will be dominant.

I rushed to take off my clothes. They suddenly felt so restricting. I thought back to my bro as he made me sniff his rank pits. The way I just complied to his commands. The gravity of his words. I wanted that. No, I deserved that. My brain filled with a rush of new desires. To walk into a room and see people turn. To be loud, to be seen, to be heard, to be felt. I wanted the thrill of the approach as I singled out the hottest body in the room and commanded them around like my bitch. I wanted to feel their desire flush as I roughly tossed them on my bed and pried my jeans off. I deserved their mouth, open and begging for my perfect cock. I earned their hole, clenched tight as they rode for dear life until I berried my seed deep in them. I claimed the cold wind on my skin, proud of a night of conquest as I stood nude at the window, hitting my vape. I could almost feel it. I could almost... smell it? I had lifted my arms above my head, and a smell rolled off my pits. Fuck, that was the smell he had. The smell of dominance. It was mine now. I took a victorious huff.

Finally, let's ensure you can always find what you need in Eta Psi Rho. Look around you at the bros in this room. You will stay together. You will serve each other. You love your bros.

I felt a swell of kinship in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of the brotherhood. To fucking dominate this school together. But suddenly there was a tension in the air. God, why were my bros so... hot? We had all been factory made to conquer but, something more held us together. There were a few seconds as we all waited for something to happen when, suddenly, the two bros next to me made the first move.

As the room devolved into chaos, the commands kept coming. We recited back diligently between sloppy kisses, deep moans, and grunts as we slid against each other's bodies. We listened but all waited for the command that would get us to cross the finish line.

You will keep it simple, keep it stupid.

“I will keep it simple, keep it stupid.”

My head felt like it was filled with fluff. No thoughts, just instinct.

You will listen to your pledge master, follow all he says.

“I will listen to my pledge master, follow all he says.”

It was so much easier to just trust my bros. Whatever they said went.

You will live for and serve your bros, live for and serve the frat.

“I will live for and serve my bros and the frat.”

I would do anything for my bros. Gotta keep ‘em happy.

What happens in the frat house stays in the frat house. No homo, bro.

I spit out the cock in my mouth as I kept railing the bro below me,

"No homo, bro!"

The frat is life.

“The frat is life.”

Perfect. We anticipate your full initiation. Cum.

Moans echoed through the halls as the tape ended.

A while passed before a door slamming shook me awake. An ache passed through me as I reached for the jug of water next to my bed. The buzz of pre-workout shook me awake. I was in my bedroom of the frat house. I was where I belonged. My big stood over my bed.

“Look at me,” my big said. My body turned to him and hit him with my cockiest smile. It felt good to obey my alpha bro.

The new man spoke, “Shit, that tape did a number on you. I don't know if we've ever inducted someone so old. How do you feel?”

“I feel relaxed and carefree, bruh,” I responded.

My bro slapped me upside the head, “Is that how you respond to your pledge master?”

Of course, how could I forget. I was so dumb sometimes, “Sorry. Good, Sir.”

His face lit up with glee, "Never get over that. Let’s see. Pledge, I brought home a twink for after the party tonight. Warm him up for me."

I felt my cock suddenly swell, rigid at attention. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

My pledge master whistled, “Dang, you know how to pick ‘em Skunk. He's no Long Leg, but he's up there. You picked out his pledge name yet?” I didn’t know his pledge name was skunk. But catching a whiff of myself as I scratched my head, guess it ran in the family.

“Well, if he’s going to keep acting like a smart ass, I’m thinking Prof.”

“Pfft, that’s hilarious,” my pledge master turned back to me, “One last question little bro. How do you feel about Eta Psi Rho?”

In an instant, an old mantra filled my mind, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood,” I droned.

[meazalykov]

soft place to land

catarina macario x chelsea!reader with features of platonic!sam kerr x reader

warnings: cancer, recovery, angst

you haven’t been to any major doctor’s appointments since the ankle injury a few months ago. nothing urgent, nothing scary. it was just routine physio after a tackle during that game against west ham. there was light rehab, and a return to full training before the season picked up again. 

everything healed the way it was supposed to. 

or at least, that’s what you told everyone.  

now it’s something else.  

it started slow. a tingle at the base of your neck, creeping up your throat, like a subtle warning that didn’t feel worth mentioning at first. your voice would crack during post-training banter, or disappear altogether when you tried to call for the ball. you blamed it on overuse, maybe dehydration. you figured it would go away but it didn’t.  

you live with it now.  

you train, you play, and you act like nothing’s wrong, but every day it gets harder to pretend.  

you do not want to cause worry, especially not for cat. she has enough on her plate… coming back after recovering from her own serious acl injury, easing back into match fitness, proving herself all over again. but she notices. she always notices.  

"you didn’t say anything all session," she murmurs as you collapse beside her on the pitch after training one day. the black and pink training shirt clings to your back with sweat. your lungs burn. your throat aches.  

you give her a tight smile and a shrug, but it feels forced.  

"just tired," you say, even though the words come out hoarse and strained.  

cat’s brows pull together, concern flickering in her expression. she reaches over, fingers brushing gently under your jaw. 

"it’s your throat again?"  

you nod.  

"you need to tell sonia," she says quietly.  

"i’m fine," you lie, and she hears it. she always does.  

catarina doesn’t push. she just sighs and leans into you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder like it’ll ground you, knowing her love will hold the pieces of you together. the next day, you feel it again…worse this time. the pressure sits like a stone lodged in your throat. you can barely speak. your hands shake. your vision swims mid-sprint. when lauren passes you the ball, you miss the trap completely.  

"y/n, you good?" millie calls from across the pitch, jogging toward you.  

you wave her off and bend over, hands on your knees, willing your body to behave. you hear hannah whistle, then sonia’s voice from the sideline, sharp and direct.  

you straighten and pretend you’re okay because that’s what you do. you’ve always kept things to yourself until they become impossible to ignore.  

after training, you sit in the locker room with your boots still on, half-zoned out as the chatter around you continues.  

"she didn’t say a word again," erin whispers to lucy, trying to be subtle but failing miserably.  

"it’s not just her throat," ashley adds, brushing a towel over her head. 

"she’s slower and her passes are off. that is not normal for a player like y/n."  

you feel their eyes on you, but you keep your head down.  

when you finally glance up, it’s catarina who’s kneeling in front of you. your girlfriend’s hands rest lightly on your knees, her eyes searching yours. she doesn’t say anything. she doesn’t need to.  

later that night, when you’re curled into her on the couch, her arms around your waist and your face tucked into her neck, you let yourself exhale.  

"i don’t know what’s happening to me," you whisper, voice thin and trembling. 

"i feel like my body’s shutting down."  

"then let’s find out what it is," she says. 

you feel her hand over your heart. steady. warm. you nod.  

however, the fear lingers because it’s not just the throat thing anymore. it’s everything and the rest of the team knows. you see it in how guro always walks beside you now, keeping pace even when you fall behind.  

how mayra offers to cover your runs without being asked.  

how millie wraps an arm around your shoulders before matches and leans in close, like she’s trying to carry some of your weight.  

no one says anything directly but it’s there, all of it, aka the silent dread none of you know how to voice.  

a week later, you are more than aware that the champions league match against real madrid was days away. everything was intense for this group stage match. training, tactics, focus. every player was locked in, especially with how competitive this season had been. 

the club enforced mandatory monthly clinicals, making sure everyone was in top condition before important matches. it was routine. you had done it plenty of times before.

you stepped into the medical room like it was just another checkbox to tick off. same nurse, same hallway, same small talk about the weather. you were calm. casual, even.

things were fine until you stepped on the weight scale.

you stood still, the machine humming quietly beneath your feet. the doctor glanced at the screen, then back down to the scale, brows pulling together in a confused frown. the doctor’s mouth opened slightly like she was going to say something, but didn’t. instead, she stepped forward and checked the scale again, typing something into her computer with more urgency than before.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice scratchy and hoarse…same as it had been lately.

the doctor looked up at you, professional, but concerned.  

“have you noticed the weight loss?”  

you blinked, “huh?”  

she took a careful breath, “you’ve lost eighteen pounds in the last three months.”  

your chest tightened, “i haven’t changed anything,” you said quickly. 

“my diet’s the same and i sleep all nine to ten hours.”  

she nodded once but didn’t look reassured. 

“that’s what concerns me. unexplained weight loss like this, paired with other symptoms, it’s not something we can overlook.”  

you were in there longer than expected. one by one, you started listing what had been happening. you did not want to draw attention to yourself, but because it suddenly felt like all of it was connected.  

your throat…the discomfort, the inability to speak sometimes.  

your periods…completely off schedule, skipping whole months.  

your hair…thinner in the shower, on your pillow, in your brush.  

your sleep…ten hours felt like three.  

the doctor listened closely, then gently reached out, fingers pressing along the sides of your neck. you winced slightly. she nodded again, like something in your body confirmed what she had already started suspecting.

“i want to send you in for a full body scan,” she said, still using that calm, practiced voice that somehow made everything feel more real. 

“your symptoms and physical indicators suggest we may be dealing with something involving your thyroid. it’s best we know for sure.”  

you waited for hours after that and the scans felt surreal. the cold machines, dim lights, the hum of technology that had nothing to do with football.  

when it was over, you were told to wait in a small private room. you waited for about an hour before the door finally opened with a soft knock.  

the club’s main doctor returned, this time with sonia, your coach, by her side.

sonia offered a gentle smile and stepped forward, “are you alright?”  

you swallowed. your throat ached again, “i don’t know.”  

the doctor explained it carefully, like she had done it a thousand times before. her tone was level. informative. precise.  

“the scans revealed abnormalities in your thyroid. after consulting the images and your recent symptoms… i’m sorry… but we’ve confirmed you’re in the early stages of thyroid cancer.”

your heart didn’t drop. it froze since everything inside you went cold and quiet. you didn’t react right away. all you did was just stared ahead, blank. your vision blurred at the edges, the words thyroid cancer echoing in your mind like a far-off siren.

the doctor kept talking…mentioning how it was the easiest form of cancer to recover from, how it was caught early, how treatment options were promising…but the words barely registered.

you weren’t thinking about recovery.  

you were thinking about football or about training or about your place in the squad or about the champions league or about the call up to the national team.

all you thought about was how everything was about to stop, and you had no idea how long the recovery process will take.  

sonia rested her arm around your shoulders, a comforting gesture. you didn’t lean into it. you looked at her instead, tears building in your eyes.

“where’s catarina?” your voice cracked. 

“please… can you get her?”  

“of course,” she said softly, “anyone else?”  

“sam,” you whispered, “please get sam too if she is in the recovery area today.”  

sam, your closest friend on the team. it was not just because of football, but because of kristie. kristie and you had grown up through the national team system together. she had been your person, your steady support. sam is too thanks to her.  

minutes later, the door opened again. cat walked in first, her face immediately searching for yours. sam followed close behind, her smile gone the second she saw the drained look on your face.  

sonia closed the door quietly behind them, giving you space.  

the doctor repeated the explanation, this time for them. you didn’t look at either of them. you couldn’t. you just stared at the floor, shoulders slumped, hands trembling in your lap.

your chest hurt…not from the diagnosis, but from the heartbreak. you weren’t stupid. your career would stall. you wouldn’t be able to train or to play. you were scared, no…terrified, actually.  

sam knelt in front of you and took your hands, already teary. 

“you’re gonna be okay. we’ve got you, yeah?” she said softly. 

“you’re gonna fight through this, and we’ll all be right here.”  

it was cat who saw the fear in your eyes. it was not the surface-level sadness, but the deep, soul-crushing fear in your eyes. the ’what if?’ fear.  

she moved beside you quickly, arms wrapping around your body, anchoring you against her. your cheek pressed into her chest, your hands fisting the front of her hoodie.  

“i’m here,” she whispered into your hair, “i’ve got you, baby. i’m not going anywhere.”  

you started to cry…finally. heavy, silent tears. your throat felt too tight to sob, but she felt your body shake against hers.  

“you were there for me every single day of my acl recovery,” she said, her voice thick. 

“you never left me. you pushed me through it. and now i’m going to do the same for you. every step. every appointment. i’m not letting you face this alone.”  

you nodded against her, barely, because it was all you could do. your girlfriend’s arms were holding you, and your best friend was sitting beside you but you didn’t feel like a footballer. you didn’t feel like someone strong or unstoppable. you felt like a woman who was scared out of her mind.  

“how could i be so stupid?” you whisper, voice breaking as you cling to the sleeves of catarina’s hoodie, the sterile walls of the room closing in around you.

cat pulls back just enough to cup your face, her thumbs wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks, her brows pulling together with quiet urgency.

“no. don’t do that,” she says firmly, “don’t start blaming yourself for this. you didn’t know. there’s no way you could’ve known.”

you try to look away, but she gently guides your face back to hers.

“you’re not stupid. you’re sick. and now we’re going to deal with it. together.”

sam nods beside her, sitting on the edge of the chair near your hospital bed, eyes glassy, “cat’s right,” she adds, “you’re not a doctor and none of us on the team are either. don’t be so hard on yourself, y/n. you did what you always do…you kept pushing. that doesn’t make you stupid.” 

you don’t say anything for a while, just sit there with both of them, the weight of it all slowly sinking in. it doesn’t matter how early it is or how “treatable” the doctor says it is. the word cancer sticks to your ribs like cement. you feel your career pause. you feel time pause. everything shifts in your world with no warning, and now all you can do is hold on.

a few days after the announcement is made, chelsea posts an official update on the matter. you don’t check social media at first. you think it’ll make you feel worse. when you finally do, you see hundreds…no, thousands of comments. people from everywhere. your national teammates. old teammates from your time in france. fans who remember your debut. strangers who just want to wish you well.

your chelsea teammates post pictures with you. sam writes a long message calling you “one of the strongest people i’ve ever met.” erin tags you in a throwback clip of one of your goals that she assisted, writing, “we’ll be here waiting, don’t rush. we need you whole.”  

even with all the love, you feel… weak like nothing inside you matches the strength people are seeing.  

you need cat more than you’re willing to admit.  

she's there every chance she gets. when she’s not training, or playing, or traveling, she’s with you—helping you with picking up your prescriptions, driving you to hospital visits, cooking when you’re too exhausted to lift your head. 

she’s become your steady presence, even when you feel like dead weight.

you hate relying on her so much, afraid of pushing her away somehow.  

one night, you break down while brushing your hair…a lot of it falling out in your hands. you throw the brush down, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. you don’t even hear her come in until her arms are around you again.

“stop it! i don’t want to be a burden to you,” you say softly, “you have your own career. your own recovery. you don’t need to babysit me if you do not want to.”

she looks at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

“you’re not a burden, y/n,” she says seriously, “you’re dealing with cancer. of course you’re not in top condition. of course you’re going to need help. and i want to help. just like you helped me. remember those two years when i didn’t feel like myself? when you sat with me through every painful stretch and every lonely rehab session? you never left and i’m not going to either.”

you try to protest, but she just presses a kiss to your forehead.

“i’m not doing this out of obligation,” she whispers, “i’m doing this because i love you.”

after your thyroidectomy, the healing begins slowly, but noticeably.

your strength doesn’t return all at once. your voice feels hoarse some mornings, and the hormone fluctuations leave you with bouts of exhaustion, but you can tell things are improving. the doctors at the hospital chelsea partnered with are kind, attentive, and thorough. your hormone levels are being monitored carefully. you’re told you’ll need daily thyroid hormone replacement therapy, but the prognosis is good.

you mainly stay home resting, taking meds, watching cat’s games when she’s away. the couch becomes your new recovery base. the one place where cat can return after training and just hold you without a single word needing to be said.

when naomi, yes naomi girma your national teammate, signs for chelsea a couple weeks later. she surprises you at your flat with coffee and snacks, giving you the biggest hug. you cry in her arms for ten minutes without saying anything. she doesn’t let go once.

your world is smaller now, but the love in it feels infinite.

a month later…just one month, though it feels like a lifetime…you’re back in light recovery training with the other injured players. you jog lightly. you stretch. you do basic ball work. everything feels harder than it used to, but you’re doing it. you’re moving again.

catarina watches from a distance during her cooldowns, waving at you every time you look her way. sam throws an arm around your shoulders at the end of each session, joking that she missed your chaos on the pitch.

“you’re getting there with me,” sam says, “we need to go slow and steady like a little comeback queens.”

you grin at her, then glance at cat, who’s already walking toward you with a water bottle and a towel in hand.

“you’re not my physio, you know,” you tease as she reaches you.

she smirks, brushing your hair out of your eyes. 

“no,” she says, “but i am your girlfriend.”

you laugh quietly, “your love might actually be part of the recovery process.”

“then i’ll keep it coming,” she says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “as much as you need. for as long as you need.”

honestly, right now, you need it more than anything. for the first time in weeks you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re gonna be okay again.

masterlist

authors note: I took some inspiration off of this post. you should check it out as well, its amazing writing!

[vbecker10]

Hi Neighbor (Part 1)

Part 2 / Part 3 (in progress)

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Bucky decides he wants to try living on his own for the first time, moving out of the Avengers Tower and into your apartment complex. You can't believe your eyes as you watch the super soldier move into the apartment above you.

A/N: This is going to be a multi-part series with a bit of a slow burn between you and your hot new neighbor. I'm not sure how many parts yet but I already have the ending all figured out 💚 I hope you all like it!

You take a sip of your coffee then place the mug next to you, turning the page of your book. This is the perfect weather for reading outside on the stoop you share with the empty apartment above you. It has nothing to do with the fact that your new neighbor is moving in today because that would be weird.

You finish your coffee just as a small moving van pulls up in front of your apartment, idling for a moment before parking in the spot that belongs to your new neighbor.

This is it, you think then take a deep breath. Calm down, it's not like the love of my life is going to move in upstairs. I've been reading too many romance books, that kind of thing doesn't happen in real life. With my luck, it'll be someone who barely even says hi when they see me like that last guy who lived there.

You sigh then look back down at your book, pretending to focus on the pages but you've lost your place. The sound of a motorcycle driving down the quiet street makes you lift your head again quickly.

Oh my god, he's got a motorcycle! your mind screams excitedly as he pulls in front of the van and turns off the bike. Okay, okay, that doesn't necessarily mean he's hot, you remind yourself. Although technically all guys with bikes are at least a little bit hot, it's like a law or something.

The doors on the van open and from where you are sitting you can only see the driver as he gets out. You close your book slowly as you stare at the tall, muscular blonde. Is that Captain Rogers? Your mouth falls open as he walks over to the man on the motorcycle who you realize is Sargent Barnes. What are the two of them doing here, you wonder as their brief conversation ends with Rogers patting his friend on the back.

The sound of the van doors opening again brings your attention to a third man. That's the God of Thunder! What is happening right now?

"You're sure you want to do this Buck? You don't have to move out," you overhear the tall, blonde super soldier say as they meet Thor at the back of the van.

"It's not forever," he replies as he reaches into the back of the van and grabs a box, putting it on the sidewalk. "I just need a little space to be on my own."

"Don't listen to him. He's just upset cause he's going to miss you," Thor laughs heartily as he grabs three boxes at once and takes a step onto the sidewalk in front of your apartment. "Where am I going with these?"

"That one," he points over his shoulder in your direction. When he turns to face his new temporary home, he smiles at you. "Hi neighbor," he waves, holding the large box easily with one hand.

You blush and awkwardly catch the book that nearly falls off your lap when you wave back. "Hi," you giggle nervously when the three of them come closer.

"Hello there," the large Asgardian greets you warmly. "I'm Thor, this is Steve and Bucky," he puts the boxes down to gesture at both men then takes another step towards you.

"Yeah, I know who you guys are," you laugh and get up when you realize he wants to shake hands. Wow, he's massive, you think when he takes your hand in his, shaking it vigorously.

"Okay big guy, try not to break her," your new neighbor laughs.

"No worries, I'm all good," you reassure them then realize you should introduce yourself, "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you Y/N," Bucky smiles as he walks up the steps and unlocks his front door.

"Umm... do you guys need any help?" you ask him. Thor picks up his three boxes again and you realize Steve is holding two large ones as well.

"I think we've got it," Bucky answers. "I don't have very much and I think Thor could probably do it all in one trip if I wasn't worried about him breaking everything."

"It was one lamp," Thor mumbles as he walks past you both into the apartment.

You laugh at his reaction, "Well I'm here if you need anything."

"Be careful, I might take you up on that," he smirks as he holds the door open for Steve.

You open your book and force yourself to pretend to read again, hoping to hide the blush that creeps into your cheeks. You hear him chuckle as he disappears into his apartment.

You remain on the stoop becoming lost in your book when a deep voice startles you, causing you to jump and drop it.

"I'm sorry," Bucky laughs lightly as he bends down to pick up the hardcover. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You laugh, embarrassed by your reaction, "I get a little focused when I read."

"Good book then?" he turns the book over in his metal hand and reads the cover.

You get up quickly to take the dark mafia romance novel from him. "A friend gave it to me," you lie.

"Shame," he smirks. "Guess I can't borrow it from you then."

You stare at him trying to decide if he's joking or not but before the conversation can continue his friends come outside again. As soon as he is distracted by Thor and Steve, you take the opportunity to vanish into your apartment.

(The next morning)

Making him a little welcome gift isn't weird, it's the neighborly thing to do, you try to convince yourself for the fifth time since you first had the idea. It doesn't matter that people don't actually do this in real life. You sigh then pick up the small gift bag. Okay, fine, I'm going to do it.

You open your front door, standing at the threshold while your internal debate continues. He's going to think I'm insane, you turn back around. Maybe I am, do people argue with themselves this much? You rub your face with your free hand, then mumble, "Okay, here goes."

You walk the few steps to his front door and bend down to place the small bag against it. The bag falls over so you kneel down the readjust it, making sure everything stays inside. Before you can make an escape, his door opens and for the first time in your life you have not a single thought in your brain.

You stare up at him, unable to move from where you are kneeling on the stoop. The aptly named super soldier is wearing a pair of light gray sweat pants hung dangerously low on his hips and absolutely nothing else. His damp hair drips down onto his bare chest and it takes you way too long to notice the smirk on his face.

You quickly stand up straight and take a step backwards, nearly slipping off the narrow stoop. His expression changes to concern in an instant and he reaches out for your wrist with his metal hand, keeping you from losing your footing.

You giggle nervously and blush a deep red, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet and not his muscular chest or the way his sweatpants hug his body. "Thanks," you mumble when he lets you go.

He chuckles, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you nod but you have no idea if you are. You're heart pounds in your chest as you watch him bend to pick up your gift bag. This was a stupid idea.

"Oh, is this yours?" he asks, holding it towards you curiously.

"No... It's for you," you shrug.

A smile spreads across his face as he pulls out a stack of takeout menus. He shuffles through them, examining each briefly then he looks up at you.

"When I first moved here, I ordered a lot of takeout cause I was super busy with work and it was easier than learning how to cook," you try to explain the idea behind the random stack of flyers. "There are some really great places around here and some absolutely awful ones."

He laughs, "These are all the absolutely awful ones I assume?"

You giggle, "Of course, all the places that are super gross."

"I honestly have no idea how to cook so this is going to be really helpful," he says genuinely and you smile as your anxiety over the gift fades.

"I'm still not a great cook but I could show you the basics if you ever wanted," you offer.

"I'd actually really like that, thank you Y/N," he says then his attention shifts to a small ball of white fluff that squeezes out of the partially open door.

"Cute cat," you both look down and smile as his pet comes slowly towards you.

"Alpine, go back inside," he orders gently but the cat ignores him, rubbing against your ankle until you bend down to scratch behind his ears.

"Alpine?" you ask. "That's an interesting name."

"Thats what they called him at the shelter," he answers. The moment Bucky takes his eyes off his cat to look at you, Alpine takes off down the steps towards the sidewalk.

"Alpine!" Bucky calls as he runs barefoot down the sidewalk after him.

"Oh shit," you swear, following Bucky to see if you can help.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did ❤️❤️ Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[goaskangel]

drunk sex with your sexy co-worker nanami!

cw : drunk sex, dubcon, mentions of breeding, toxxxiicc, suicide mention

mmm, you want nanami so fucking badly. 

you thought this new, high-end job was going to be good for you, get you on the right track for the stability you’ve been craving. sugar daddies or plain suicide crossed your mind an awful lot but fortunately,(?) that wasn’t the case. 

so easily distracted, you should’ve seen it coming. when overworked yet diligent personified passed you during work hours. oh, fuck me running through your crowded head as you squeezed your skirted thighs. 

maybe it was a good thing because you certainly cleaned up your act. got to work on time so he wouldn’t think you were slacking, ironed your new work clothes so he wouldn’t frown at the wrinkles of your button-up, or god forbid scoff. you already got the job so now you just needed some recognition from an older man. that you work with. that’s never looked in your direction. 

but god, he’s such delectable eye candy. 

you’re hesitant to attend your company’s 10 year anniversary. at a bar of all places, guess the work really gets to everybody. but you’re a lightweight and would probably sit all alone, trying to make crappy small talk to the bartender. probably hot too, but you think about nanami.

you know he drinks—past all his clean habits of combed hair and tailored suits, his breath fails to conceal his habits the night before. 

coworkers constantly joke about it and you finally got the treat of looking through his pristine behavior with the thick whiskey lingering on his tongue. 

if you were worse, you would’ve leaned in, arms around his neck and sucked all the alcohol right off his mouth. 

but the best you can get right now is sitting across all your colleagues, sipping on a cocktail whilst they laugh and enjoy themselves.

until nanami’s sitting right before you, getting away from his work “buddies” to finally relax in what seems to be his happy place. you can’t help but stop drinking, your eyes glued right on how he fixes to untighten his tie a bit. thick and nice arms revealed when he scrunches his blue sleeves up. the golden hair of his forearm makes your mouth dry enough for you to start sipping again.

your dummy brain resorts to more, harder alcohol to ease the anxiety, or lust, in your body. the way he just unfolds on the velvet furniture is enough to make you throb dully. asking the server for another drink while sitting back, his meaty thighs perfectly molded by his khakis. 

poor you, all drunk for nothing. nothing but to stare at just how sexy he is. you could’ve made a move on his tipsy self now that you had the confidence. woozy confidence that could be ignored the monday after if it didn’t go right—but it’s too late. you might as well just call a friend to come and pick your-drunk-for-nothing-self. 

you wobble to the exit, holding onto any spiraling furniture or fixture you can get a hold of. at least you got a good look at him, was it worth the expensive drinks? is it worth the hangover tomorrow morning? whatever, you’re going. leaving and flopping onto bed with your slippery cunt and dull heart. 

“hey, hon. leaving so soon?” thick whiskey from a pristine mouth. sharp and tall, somehow you’re standing right beside nanami without seeing him even get up.

calling you hon, leaning against the burgundy painted walls and obviously tipsy. 

“mmh, don’t know, i guess i…jus’ got bored.” you clutch your purse and lean on the wall out of clumsiness. 

“bored, hmm? new and nobody’s bothered you, yet?” he chuckles and you swear it feels like you’ve taken another shot. “lucky girl.” 

he gets closer to you, “you weren’t going to drive all by yourself, yeah? here, how about you stay for a little longer and i promise you won’t be bored.” hefty fingers coming by your face to twirl your hair. he’s drunk, god knows how many cups it took but even then, he’s much more tolerant than you. you can’t object, and why would you? he’s the perfect man at not such a perfect time but when else would this happen? nodding with a dazed expression, he just leads you.

big arm guiding you with his palm on the small of your back. his heat and touch getting to you. you lean into it so hard that when he’s got you pushed up to the powder table of a single women’s bathroom, you don’t notice until he’s going back to lock the door. 

you sit in a small, little, glazed wooden space with a mirror behind you, crammed in slightly. a sudden throb to the side of your skull as he walks back up to you, the alcohol hitting back at you with waves of headaches causing you to moan and whine. 

“hey, hey–shh, nanami’s gonna make it all better, okay?” slurring his words slightly, possibly getting drunk off of you. pretty, new girl all to himself, finally. even if you are half gone, with your squinting, tired eyes and whines. 

he runs his hands all over you, drunk and lustful eyes watching every wince and twitch that your heightened body makes, throwing your head back when he thumbs at your clothed pussy, your skirt pushed up. slowly undressing you; your tits exposed with hastily unbuttoned buttons and a rip of the middle of your bra. your skirt pushed past your pelvis to tear your little panties off. contorting your smaller body to rest your limp legs up so he can have his way with you. 

“mmmpgh—augh, please. fuck, ohh!—” your back arching when he wiggles his hips to meet yours. nanami’s cock, much bigger than you ever imagined, burying inside of your little cunt. 

“just take it, baby. mhmm, let it happen.” he coos at you, a much bigger difference considering how he’s fucking himself into you throughly. your head spins at the impact, unable to even understand what’s going on around you but holy shit does it feel good. the way his cock is completely hugged by your pussy, throbbing around him while spilling arousal down your ass to the marbled floor. 

you feel an instant yet hidden orgasm come on when he tells you just how much he’s been waiting for this. for a time where he can take you out of nowhere, where you’re so pliable and perfect just for him. he knows you're a good girl, just for him. all for him. and maybe you’d be an even better girl for him by letting him come right inside you. deep enough where you couldn’t possibly finger his seed out even if you tried. maybe he could finally get you out of this boring job and take care of you for good! ^o^

[sh4rkkks]

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜!𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 ༒

𝐓𝐰: 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝-𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 | 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 ’𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭’ 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

the terrifying Ghost, large hulking lieutenant of the tf141. you’ve known him for a while now, the regular appeal of his character a striking blow to your personality. he never speaks, never dares to look you in the eye as he walks by. the few glances you swipe at him are passing stares, watching from afar as Price drones on about missions. you watch him, just watch as he lives his life.

you’ve offered your assistance when he looks like he needs it, only to be shot down by a stern grunt—or if you’re lucky, a sharp no. he’s a peculiar figure, one who you’ve wanted to dig inside for so long now. you can’t lie to yourself, you’re utterly amazed by him. the way he carries himself at such a tall standard is as inspiring as it is attractive.

“good work with the sweep, i’m going to need the paperwork from each of you by tomorrow and…” Prices voice drones on, a practiced speech he gives after every successful mission. it’s the same spiel every time, a metaphoric pat on the back if you will. you pay no mind to him, alert in case of a change to routine, but your head is elsewhere. you’re sitting across the table from Ghost, watching. watching like you always do.

it’s an analytical approach, one you use on many people in interrogation when you want to read their body language. but with Ghost it’s different. his face is hidden behind the dark balaclava he wears. the worn skull pattern mocks you, almost taunting the ideas of what may lie beneath it. his dark eyes are focused on Price, eyebrows drawn together as if this is the first time hearing the script before. he shifts back in his chair as if he can feel your eyes on him, though he never dares to look at you.

his eyes are a dark hazel, sticking out against the dark eye grease he’s so clearly half assed onto his skin. you wonder what the grease feels like. is it a stale paste that is a burden to rub on? must not be if he wares it so frequently. his lashes flutter against the dark grease, and if you look hard enough you can see the blonde coloring closer to his eyelid. you’ve observed the small amounts of skin he’s let be shown so much you’ve created an image of him in your mind.

he shifts again, almost startling you by the movement of crossing his arms. what really gets your heart going is when his eyes find yours. his brows pull even further together, like he’s insulted you would dare look at him. but you can’t take your eyes off him. he blinks slowly, a subtle shift to his pupils as he narrows his eyes in your direction, the hazel of his irises disappearing behind the cold look.

“dismissed.” that’s all you register before Ghost is out the meeting room door.

the gym is quiet, the soft hum of the overhead fans filling the room with an almost eerie atmosphere. you don’t mind though, too enamored by the day to care. you cant sleep, your mind consumed by a single pressurized thought. one that you refuse to admit to yourself.

the sweat trickles down your back, the sports bra clinging to your skin in a nauseatingly uncomfortable manner. you sink down from your last hip thrust, body aching as you sit against one of the hard mats. the process of cleaning of the weights is exhausting to say the least, your body in need of any sort of hot compress.

the shower rooms are a nightmare during the daytime, the night providing a much nicer contrast to the usual lines or chaos. as you step into the large room, a faint steam surrounds you, the hiss of one of the showers echoing through the empty spaces. you look around the corner into the main shower room. one of the curtains are closed, a pair of feet visible from under the expanse of the showers before it. the long bench in the middle of the tiled room is currently housing one set of clothes. Ghost.

the familiar skull balaclava he was wearing earlier today is resting right on top of his discarded clothes, placed deliberately on top of the neatly folded black fabrics. you dare not speak, unable to even fathom what might happen if he knew you were just standing here. you’re torn with your choices, debating wether to just ignore him and shower, or run with your tail tucked between your legs.

a groan.

it pulls you from your own head, ricocheting off the tiled walls of the empty rooms. his breathing is labored above the spray of the water, his lips tightened as he seemingly conceals something. he sounds pained, like he’s wounded and forcing himself to shower through the pain. you move without realizing, footsteps silent as you walk past the empty stalls. you don’t even regulate that you’re not breathing, too focused on making sure that your lieutenant isn’t injured.

you almost feel your heart stop. the shower curtain is foggy but still clear, giving you a good view of his large back as it faces you. one of his arms is planted on the wall in front of him, the other seemingly gripping his stomach from what you can see. his back muscles ripple as he sucks in another breath, head tipping back so his face is facing the ceiling. he’s blonde. from what you can see at least, his hair darkened from being wet.

his hand rubs over his stomach, bicep flexing with the movement as he moves it faster. a realization dawns on you, everything going blank in your mind. “Ghost-“ you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know why you’re calling out to him as you watch him unfold.

“mm, fuck-“ he reels over slightly, body shaking as he moans. you’re stricken by your own horror as you feel the spot between your legs pulse. “fuck fuck fuck…” his head dips between his shoulders, arm flexing as it slows movement. his shoulders rise and fall as he pants, his mind clearly too clouded to recognize that it was your actual voice, not just imagination.

you swallow, hand reached out like you’re trying to hold him from the other side of the shower curtain. “Ghost,” you repeat, voice timid as if not to scare him. his head whips around, side profile sticking as he hides behind his outstretched arm.

“get the fuck out.” his voice is chilling as he practically yells at you. he spins around, clearly not realizing what he’s just done. his face is fueled by anger but your heart pounds at the tortured beauty of it. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. there’s a large gash in his right cheek. his eyes fit so well with the rest of his rugged features you don’t even realize how heavily you’re staring until he tugs the shower curtain back. “you hear me?” he snaps. “get out of the goddamn showers.” it’s an eager bite to you, voice low and truly terrifying to an average person.

it would be terrifying if you weren’t so focused on his body. he’s absolutely built, his muscles carved into his scarred and pale skin like it’s never been any other way. it would be terrifying if you weren’t so focused on the way his biceps bulged with each tense and hardened breath. it would be terrifying if you weren’t so focused on the way his cock hangs between his legs. fuck.

he’s semi-hard you assume, only judging on the way it twitches with his movement. you feel lightheaded, your mind consumed by the imprinted picture of the man standing before you. he’s a bit bigger than average, you decide. jesus christ. you can feel your jaw slack as you watch a bead of his cum roll down the base of him. “shit- get-“ he growls in frustration, realizing a moment too late where you’re looking. “stop looking.” he snaps at you. he’s covered himself with a towel before you can begin foaming at the mouth unfortunately, your eyes wandering back up to his face.

“what the fuck are you doing in here?” he runs a hand through his hair, turning away so you can’t see his full face. “showering.” you answer simply, eyes tracing over his side profile. “jesus, fuck.” he scoffs humorously, his laugh hollow as if he can’t believe himself right now. “i-i’’ sorry i didn’t realize you were in here and when i heard you, you sounded like you were hurt, so i came to check on you to make sure everything was okay but-“ he cuts your rambling off by holding up his hand. “found me fucking wanking.” he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he continues looking away.

“you don’t have to cover up, i saw everything just now.” you’re not sure how those words slip from your mouth, but they’re met with a glare from the corner of his eye. “this is not an ‘i showed you mine, so you show me yours,” type situation. he snaps. you blink slowly, as if you don’t understand. “it can be,” everything seems to move at lighting speed as the words spill form your tongue. the confidence of your tone isn’t lost on Ghost, his eyes widening in a way only someone who analyzed him every day could notice.

he scrubs a hand down his face, muttering something into the palm. your eyes drift down to where the towel covers his cock, you can see the imprint of it now. so your words did have an effect on him. “Ghost,” your voice is breathy as you stare at the way the towel visibly tents. “don’t-”his voice is gravely, a shiver rolling through his body. “are you embarrassed?” you feel more timid now, trying to hide the amusement in your voice at the flush that creeps up his neck.

“yes i’m fucking embarrassed,” he snaps. “j’st heard me fuckin’…” he makes a grotesque movement with his hand, mimicking a stroke of his cock. he drops his hand, scoffing at himself. “why am i even- the fuck are you doing?”

you’re stripping, that’s what. you’ve got the workout shorts you were wearing gone, left in the sports bra and panties covered in sweat. “you showed me yours, so i show you mine.” you say like it’s the simplest thing on earth. he swallows, unable to speak or move as you take off your underwear, stepping out of the fabric and kicking it aside. your sports bra comes next, arms working to peel the material over your head. you’re breathing heavily as you eyes find his again.

“you..” he’s at a loss for words, his eyes averting your body as whole. you huff with frustration, walking forward until you’re able to take his hand in yours, guiding it to rest on your stomach. “touch,” you tell him simply. his eyes drift down to where you’ve placed his hand, immediately moving closer like its muscle memory. his eyes follow the movement of his own hand as he drags it down your skin. his palm runs down your stomach, shifting to the left before he comes in contact with the soft pussy he’s been dreaming of.

his fingers squeeze at the flesh of your hip, his eyes moving their own path around your body. he grunts in response when you let out a pleased hum, his eyes never leaving your skin as he lifts his other hand. the towel covering him drops to his feet instantly, giving you a clear view of him. his tip is now a puffy pink, drooling at the slit just from touching you. he stumbles forward as his hand reaches up to your chest, palming at the soft globe of your tit. he crowds you against the tile wall in the shower, dragging the curtain closed like someone would walk in at this hour. you hiss as your back comes in contact with the cold wall, immediately warmed by his body pressing against yours.

“can i touch your pussy?” his voice is a quiet huff, eyes still moving over the way his hand gropes your chest. you nod, smiling to yourself at the embarrassment he feels. “you want to?” you can’t help the amusement that seeps from your voice. his eyes snap to yours, glaring but then softening at the look on your face. he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. “please.” his head tilts, nose brushing against your cheek bone as he pushes his hips against your thigh. you can feel the precome running down your skin, as he shifts. a soft sound leaves your lips as his hand on your hip trails over to your pubic mound. the heel of his hand rests against your lower stomach as two fingers dip between your thighs. he gently touches your lower lips, parting them with a hitched inhale.

you feel as his head moves from yours, his eyes moving down to where he fiddles with your flesh. his breathing is heavy, shoulders moving with each passing second as he practically pants. his fingers spread your pussy lips, granting himself access to run them through the soaked slit. he swears under his breath as he brushes his fingers over your puffy clit, tugging his hand away to push his fingers into his mouth. his eyes close as he sucks, entranced by you and your sweet taste.

“j’st wanna-“ he grabs at your hips, tugging them against his as he shifts. his cock rubs against your clit, sliding through the puffy folds. he groans at the feeling, chest constricting with urge to hold his sounds back. “oh fuck-“ his head dips to press his forehead against yours. you moan at the pressure against your clit, sound swallowed by the spray of the shower still running.

his hips rub against yours, soft pants coming from his lips as he practically humps you. “Ghost..” your arms wrap around his neck, tugging at the strands of his wet hair. “don’t do that- don’t say my name in that voice.” he warns. “g’nna cum too fast.” you almost laugh at his words, but your mind is cut off by pure ecstasy as his tip rubs against your entrance. “j’st wanna put it in-” one of his hands move to grip the base of his cock, rubbing it against your hole. “can i? i promise i wont cum inside ya-“ he shifts forward a bit, not even waiting for your response as he presses fully against you. “just- oh fuck yeah-”

you feel the almost painful stretch as he sinks the tip of himself inside you, his hand strangling the flesh of your hip as he holds himself back. his head moves to rest against your shoulder, biting down on your skin to stop his whines threatening to escape. you feel as your legs begin to tremble, the ache subsiding as you’re filled with pure desire. “c’mon,” he’s talking to himself, his hips bucking forward in sloppy desperation. “tight fuckin’ pussy.” he grumbles, a string of drool collecting on the skin of your shoulder as he sheathes himself further inside you. it’s like he’s in a trance, his whole body shaking as he sloppily grinds against you. “you touch her? late at night,”

“yeah, Ghost. think of you when i do.” your head tips back against the tile wall, body shivering as he sinks even deeper. “yeah, yeah you do. good fuckin’ cunt.” he nods, slurring his words. he thrusts forward, fully sitting himself inside you with one single groan. he holds there for a beat, holding his breath as he collects himself. his lips find the skin of your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth as he moves his hips. they’re rough thrusts, his swollen tip kissing your cervix as he fucks himself into your pussy.

you run your hand down his back, soothing him as he ruts into you. “so good,” you whisper into his ear, your lips grazing the shell. “mhm.” he nods. “yeah, m’making y’r pussy feel good.” his words are a jumbled mess, access growing thicker as he loses himself in you. “please lemme make you feel good.”

god he’s pathetic

“you are making me feel good,” you assure him. “m’k j’st wanna fuck you good.” he mumbles into your skin. one of his hands move to where you’re joined, two of his fingers searching for your clit. you reach down, guiding him to the small bundle of nerves with a soft chuckle. you guide him as he rubs at you, adjusting him to how you like your pussy played with. he moans, thrusts growing sloppy as he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers. “please come-“ he begs. you’re swallowing thickly, unable to get words out as your legs tremble with pleasure.

the moment you come undone he’s a goner, his hands braced on the wall beside your head as he fucks into you at a frankly painful pace. “yeah fuck…fuck…fuck..” he pants, snapping his hips against yours at every swear. you feel as he spills inside of you, clearly forgetting about what he said about ‘not cumming inside you’.

and at that moment you realize how big of a slut your lieutenant is for you.

[rockwoodchevy]

Cold

Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: after an attack by raiders, you end up lost in the dead of winter. Joel doesn't take the news very well.

Word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of death (no actual death though), some swear words

a/n: hi all! this is my first piece of Joel workings so please let me know what you think! i have some WIPs that i am excited for as well so look forward to those as well! thanks for reading!

_________________________________________________

You’re smart enough to know that the fact that you no longer feel the cold isn’t a good thing.

The shaking has stopped, so have the pins and needles in your body. Your breathing is shallow and little puffs of what seems like fog come from your mouth as you exhale. The ripped up puffer jacket on your body is no longer keeping your body heat in, the thick leggings barely helped in the first place but now helping even less with the rips. In all honesty, you’re slightly surprised that you’re still alive or at least conscious. You know that you’ve probably lost quite a bit of blood from the stab wound in your upper thigh and maybe the laceration on your head. You can’t feel if the beanie you were wearing hours ago is still there but that thing was pretty itchy anyways so you don’t necessarily mind. The only thing you can feel right now is the pressure of your body pressed against the ground, your eyes locked on the sky. What seems like thousands of stars staring back at you almost taunting you, waiting for you to join them. You can’t feel it in the slightest, but a tear rolls down your temple. It’s a beautiful way to go, numb and looking at the galaxy above your head. 

You aren’t completely positive what happened, all you know is there was a yell from one of the others on patrol behind you and suddenly you were on the ground, head ricocheting off of something, what it was you aren’t sure. It took a second to come to, but everyone was a blur. The only person you could really recognize was Jesse who was fighting off some raider. In your attempt to help him, one of them stabbed you deep in your thigh. The last thing you remember is Jesse telling you to run and you didn’t second guess his words. You took off in the first direction that you saw, running until your leg could no longer hold you up anymore. You were losing too much blood and the cold was no help. You had no idea where you were or what your surroundings were. No idea how far away Jackson was. All you knew was that you were going to die here. No warmth. No pain. 

No Joel.

God, you almost want to pray to whatever deity was listening that your body would rot away out here after you die and nobody, at least nobody from Jackson, would ever find it. You would hate for Joel to have to see you like this. You know that he isn’t a very emotional man, but good God, does he love you. You’ve heard it from multiple people in Jackson; Ellie, Tommy, Maria, even people that you have never even talked to before. You can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch. You’ve never had to worry with him, knowing that you were safe, appreciated and loved every second of every day. You couldn’t bear the thought of him having to see you like this; broken down and dying if that is what this is. Knowing that he’ll be in pain once you go, that is the worst part of all of this.

What you don’t know is that Jesse spent the better part of an hour searching for you. He began panicking once the sun went down and decided he had to make his way back to the town and gather a search party. He feared having to explain to Joel and Tommy why he was alone. As he rode up to the gates on one of the horses that was spared in the fight, he could hear one of the gatekeepers yell out ‘lone rider!’ and his heart dropped. He knew that Joel waited for you after every patrol shift that you had and that he most likely heard the keeper yell. As the gate opened, he could see multiple people, including both Joel and Tommy, run out to him. While a couple of the people including Tommy helped tend to Jesse’s wounds, Joel immediately started questioning him about your whereabouts. Jesse could only babble out what he could about the raid as he broke down into tears, explaining the attack and him telling you to run so you wouldn’t get more hurt all the way up to his search for you in the surrounding wooded area. Joel’s heart fell completely out of his body, freezing as it landed in the soft pile of frosted grass beneath his feet. He didn’t hesitate to help drag Jesse back inside the safety of Jackson’s walls, not to ensure their protection but to question the hell out of him as to where he looked. Jesse told him everything he could. After Jesse was brought to the infirmary, Joel looked to Tommy who was already looking at him wearily. 

“Joel-“ Tommy began, but Joel didn’t let him finish his sentence.

”I’m going whether ya like it or not. With or without ya.” 

In 20 minutes time, a search party of about 10 people, including Tommy, Maria and Ellie, had gathered together to search for you. Joel’s heart couldn’t stop its rapid beating in his chest. Jesse told him about your hit to the head and injury to your thigh. They didn’t know the severity of them both. The party headed off in the general direction of where both you and Jesse were attacked and spread out from there. Joel started to yell out your name in hopes that you would be able to respond to it. Tommy immediately began to shush him.

”Joel, we can’t just start screaming her name out here, there could be more raiders in the area-“

”I don’t give a fuck who else is out here,” Joel interrupted Tommy. “My girl is out here and we are gonna find her tonight.”

They agreed, much to both Joel and Ellie’s dismay, that an hour-long search would happen before they would all have to retire until the next day. They all separated in 5 groups of 2. Each with weapons to defend themselves, whistles around their necks and first aid in the hopes that they could find you.

But you had already given up mentally and almost physically. You couldn't ask for better company in death than the stars. The crickets. The wind. The trees. Death would be peaceful, painless, easy. The only thing you wished was that you could say goodbye to Joel. Kiss him one last time. Hold him one last time. The only heat you’ve had in a while bursts in your chest at the thought of him. You close your eyes, the heat dissipating. 

Maybe you’re dreaming or maybe you’re just hallucinating, but you think you can hear someone calling your name. You think it could be an angel calling you home or some religious shit like that, but no, you know that voice. You open your eyes, looking back at the stars. You hear it again and another familiar voice echoes behind it. 

Tommy and Maria are here.

You could cry, out of happiness or sadness you don’t know. Happy that you could be rescued and brought back to your home, regardless of either it was Jackson or Joel. Sadness because you know that there is a bigger chance of you not making it than there is that you will, and either they or Joel will have to watch it happen. But regardless, you’re happy it was them and not Joel. 

Your name is called again, slightly closer than it was before. You know that you won’t be able to speak, to call out that you’re here, so close yet so far away it seems. You worry that if you don’t make noise soon, they’ll turn the other way and your fate will be sealed. You think fast, remembering that small handgun Joel likes to shove into your pack. You muster up all the strength that you can and search for the pack without turning your head. Feeling the zipper, you undo it and slip your hand in, feeling around until you grasp the handle of the gun. Pulling it out, achingly slow since the burn in your muscles is agonizing. Tears fall down your temples again as you hear your name once more, now further away. Using all the strength you can, you aim the gun away, cock it and shoot. The sound of it is almost deafening, the shot making your arm fly back some. That shot is all it takes.

Tommy and Maria both turn towards the sound of the shot, both of them reaching for their weapons. They’re confused when they don’t see another raider but continue towards the area. Maria gets there first, gasping and throwing herself off of her horse and falling to her knees at your side. She touches your face a few times and says something to you, but you can’t hear it through the relief that floods your brain. More tears fall as Tommy slips off his thick jacket, laying it on top of you. Maria rubs her hands along your arms to attempt to warm you as much as she can. 

“We gotta get her back to town. She’ll die out here.” Tommy says hastily. 

They both aid each other in helping to lift you up and onto Tommy’s horse. He straddles it behind you, praying Joel will forgive him for doing what he has to in order to keep you both warm and alive. He pressed his front to your back, resting his head on your shoulder and immediately began to ride back towards Jackson as fast as he could. He was speaking to you, telling you that you had to hold on, that you had to fight because he didn’t know if Joel could take another heartbreak like this. He had one hand on the reigns of the horse, the other one rubbing against your thigh to try and help you gain your heat back. His hand felt wet and he pulled it back to see it covered in crimson. His stomach churned and he attempted to get his horse to ride faster. He couldn’t let you die, Joel wouldn’t be able to come back from this. He barely came back from Sarah, he couldn’t imagine what this would do to him. 

Maria rode back towards where the party originally separated and blew her whistle as loud as she could. She did it for a few moments before turning back towards the town while still blowing it. As she left the wooded area, she could see a few of the other riding back towards Jackson as well. Mostly, she could see both Joel and Ellie riding as hard as they could back to their little sanctuary. They all reached their within the same small time frame. Maria, Joel and Ellie all stormed towards the infirmary and saw Tommy’s horse abandoned outside. Maria could see the fear in Joel’s eyes as they stormed inside, pushing past the doors and into the main room. 

Joel pushed past a few people to get to the back room that they usually keep unoccupied for emergencies. When he pushed the door open, the doctor was hovering over Tommy who had her huddled in his lap, hands gliding up and down whatever inch of skin he could reach. Joel promised himself that this was the one time he would let that slide, especially since her life depended on it. Tommy made eye contact with Joel as he stormed over to them, subtly sliding her over to Joel as he sat next to them. Joel could feel her weight press down on him and first the first time that night, the tightening in his chest loosened just a little bit. He immediately started to run his hands up and down your body through the two blankets that were tucked around you. The doctor was speaking to him, but he wasn’t listening. He called your name a few times, hoping that you could hear him. 

“C’mon, honey,” he begged, “I need you to open those pretty eyes for me. Lemme see them.”

He was practically talking to a statue, the cold almost becoming you. Joel didn’t cry very often but he figured now would be an exception. They ran down his cheeks rapidly as he held back a small sob; he couldn’t care less that Ellie, Tommy and Maria were there to see it.

”Please, baby. I need you to look at me.” He sniffled some. “I can’t do this without you. I’m so sorry; I should have been there. I should have protected you. You… you’re everythin’ to me. Please don’t go. I promise I’ll do anything as long as you stay. I won’t… I won’t make it through this.” Joel shook his head, pulling you closer to him. “I need you to stay with me. I’m beggin’ you.”

Ellie had to turn and leave, she thought she was going to be sick. Maria left with her, not wanting to interrupt this moment, whether it ended good or bad. Tommy stayed with Joel, assisting in trying to get your body heat back to somewhat normal. 

You, on the other hand, felt like you were floating. You could hear Joel’s words, the pleading in his voice, the urgency in his and whoever else’s hands were brushing up and down your skin. You thought that the stars were the perfect company in death but now, you realize that if there was something you’d want to look at as you go, it would be Joel. You wanted so badly to let him know that you were here with him, that you could hear him but your muscles were so tight, so tired. All you could get out was a deep hum from the back of your throat that you weren't sure was even your voice, you couldn’t recognize it. But Joel did, pulling you tighter against him. 

Joel turned to Tommy quickly with an urgent look in his eyes.

“You gotta leave.” He told him.

Tommy looked at him oddly. Joel shook his head.

“Body heat. She needs body heat.”

Tommy finally understood, standing and exiting the room to go and find both Maria and Ellie. The doctor excused himself as well, standing outside the room in case there was some sort of emergency. Joel wasted no time in stripping off any layer of clothing that he could get to. It didn’t take much to rip off what was left of the leggings that you wore but he struggled a bit with your jacket. He laid you down on the small bed, taking off his clothes as fast as he could; he didn’t want you away from him, worried that even a second not near you could do more harm. He laid himself on top of your body, both of you now only covered in your undergarments. He knew that you would most likely complain about the fact that we were practically naked in a public place but at this point, he couldn’t give a shit. All he cared about was making sure you stayed alive. He covered as much of your body as he could while still whispering sweet nothings into your ear, trying to get some sort of reaction from you.

It took about half an hour but your body temperature was coming up slowly. You almost wished you were still numb because the pins and needles were returning, causing some discomfort. You found your voice a little while later, moaning out of pain. The dull throbbing in both your thigh, now stitched and covered up, and your head (which surprisingly wasn’t busted open like you thought it was) was hurting. Tears developed in your eyes and for the first time that night, you could feel them running down your face. You could feel a sob rising in your chest quickly before it came out of your mouth. And though it was a sign that you were in pain, Joel was ecstatic. Because it meant that you were warm enough to feel again. 

“I know, I know honey. I know it hurts. I’ll get you taken care of.” Tears rose in his eyes. He never thought he would be excited to hear you crying, but here he was. He continued to warm your body as he held you while you cried. You genuinely thought that you were going to die out there, alone with the stars and sounds of nature. You never realized how you had taken being held by Joel for granted and boy, did he know how to hold you. 

Once you could feel your limbs again and had full control over them, you slowly lifted an arm to warm around Joel’s middle, holding you to him as tight as you could. Joel released a sob at the touch of your skin on his. Like you, Joel started to realize how he had taken holding you for granted. The world was a scary, uncertain place. Every day, people walked a thin line between life and death and today, you almost crossed it. You were both so close to never being held by each other again and Joel couldn’t handle the thought of that. 

“It’s alright, honey. I gotcha. I always have ya.”

And you believed him. Because he saved your life. 

And unbeknownst to you, you had saved his too.

[lyricwritesprose]

At least the screaming Easter hating skull knows how to properly utilize a tantrum hole! You go, you scream a bit, you're better. This is a skill that all children and evil skulls should be taught, because sometimes our feelings get too big for us (I am including, like, the human race in "us," I am not just slipping into Mom talk) and sometimes you just gotta scream, and it is important to learn to direct those outbursts in a way that won't hurt anyone. (Next time we will talk about using the tantrum hole before we regurgitate spiders.)

Meanwhile we have an administration that directs its screaming into actual policy. Damn straight I'd prefer the skull.

This counts as vent art.

[anotheroceanid]

I'm writing that Athenide lore fic like it's a myth book. I mean, it's more like a Athenide page on a greek mythology website, because I'm not fully sure about my approach to it yet, but the idea is keeping it very open... If that makes sense? Idk. It's 5pm, I need some sleep. But here it go. (Now I'll sleep)

PERSE was the goddess of loyalty, seafarers, sea warfare, demigods, olive oil and destruction¹, among other debated domains². She is depicted as a girl in marriageable age, sometimes in a bridal attire or wearing a laurel wreath, carrying an olive branch in her right hand and a sword in her left hand. She is associated with the Roman goddess, Fides. She is the daughter of Poseidon and Athena, conceived without sex, during their contest for the city of Athens. While her mother was a patron, Perse was the living representation of the city, though her cult was successfully exported around the Mediterranean through sailors. Being the only child of Athena³, she was more commonly referred to as Athenide, for her actual name was rarely invoked vainly. Very much like swearing to Styx, speaking upon Perse’s names was taken very seriously. Once she was mentioned, no lie could be told. Willing or not, whatever said before or after the goddess’ name became a promise—breaking it would be the same as cursing oneself. Athenide’s cult had five main branches that can be easily traced—Athenide of the City (Polias), the Athenide of the Children (Kourotrophos), the Bride Athenide (Nymphia), Warlike Athenide (Areia), Athenide of Good Sailing (Euploia). Other cults(4) have been identified, but their practices are unknown due to lack of sources or the secrecy of their rites. The Polias aspect was exclusive to Athens, for there was her birthplace. Athenide was, for all that matters, the first citizen of Athens, she could not be stolen from the city. Other regions could venerate her, but the city and the goddess were conjoined. The festivals and rituals to Athenide Polias were all tied to the city, they could not be replicated anywhere else. Another important cult was of Athenide Kourotrophos, associated with parenting. Athenide famously raised two gods when they were still mortals—Dionysus and Asclepius—but also participated direct or indirectly in the upbringing of other heroes, so she was believed to protect kids from great dangers. Besides, her cult often crossed Apollo’s and Artemis’, both protectors of children, to honour Athenide was considered a way to please the twins. Though Athenide herself never married, her most widespread and represented version of her is Nymphia: Athenide, the eternal bride—waiting for a betrothed. The matter of Athenide’s hand in marriage is recurrent theme in myths, though no man was ever proven worthy of her. Her bridal aspect was revered as the ideal bride. Mothers would pray for her to help their daughters marry gentle man, families would asks for virtuous brides for their sons, her name was invoked in wedding ceremonies, and a part of the bride’s dowry should be offered to her. Athenide Areia was represented following her mother to war—Wisdom brings Loyalty into battle. She represented the pact every warrior had with their land, that their loyalty would be repaid with victory and a safe return to home. The Romans became particularly fond of this concept, and Perse Athenide became Fides, who represented absolute loyalty to Rome above all else, and they invoked her name before every battle. Desertion was a crime punishable by death and after death, as one could not lie upon the name of Fides. In her aspect of Athenide Euploia, she protected anyone who was in the sea. Before travels, long or not, a offering for Athenide was expected in exchange for a safe journey—one in each port where the ship docked. Despite the exigence, this seemed to be the least “expensive” of the cults, as the sailors would gift the goddess with self-made crafts and trinkets from their travels. It is unknown why, but this is the most “child-like” aspect of the goddess. Euploia is often represented as a young girl, usually with her father, leading to the conclusion that the sailors were gifting her with the same toys they’d give to their own kids, should they ever return home. While other aspects existed, their cults are mysteries, as extensive literature about Athenide was mysteriously lost across the centuries.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a shopping mall. l Joel Miller

Summary: after the loss you tried to rebuild your life together

Warnings: fluff; Joel and Reader are anxious but keep trying; Ellie is embarrassed; childbirth; emotional concerns; remembering loss; some hope

A/N: you know what? I like this story. writing these chapters gives me a lot of comfort and pleasure. I know I've been mean to them lately, but I'm trying to fix that. I'm happy when I have the opportunity to read your opinions, it gives me strength and support. thank you for being here and reading.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

It was like walking on thin ice together. Slowly, carefully taking steps to avoid cracks and get to the other side as quickly and safely as possible. The icy water could kill you, and if one of you fell in, it was certain that the other would do everything to save him, and then he would go down.

That's how it was with you and Joel for the next few days. Or at least that's how you both saw it and felt it.

Everything happened slowly - small gestures, conversation, allowing yourself to feel. You, in moments when darkness consumes your mind, prefer to withdraw, isolate yourself from others. Now you were overcoming your fears.

And Joel saw how you fought it every time you approached him and told him that this day was not one of your best. You also allowed him to do what he did best, take care of you, without irritation or saying "I'll manage on my own." Because you were no longer alone.

Joel tried too. He had never been familiar with emotions, and now they were overwhelming him from every side. And there was you, he wanted to be able to support you and help you, so he came out of his safe cocoon every time you sat next to him and talked. He also held back not to wrap you in the protective blanket of his concern. And that was really hard.

This time was really fruitful for you. Soon he heard your laughter, quiet and really sincere. He felt your embrace, even when in his sleep you were the one who was snuggling up to his back, kissing him lightly.

You both knew that what you were building this time was really strong, and you both wanted it.

"Damn, that's embarrassing."

Dina looked in the direction Ellie was pointing and giggled. "I think it's really cute."

Ellie frowned and looked at her friend. "Do you think Joel is cute?"

Dina rolled her eyes and shoved a few fries in her mouth. It wasn't until she swallowed that she decided to speak. "They're cute together." She explained, watching you and Joel dance across the room. "Think about it. We all have our own backgrounds, and they're just enjoying each other's company. Maybe they're a little embarrassing..." At that moment, Joel spun you around a few times, when he wanted to he could be a really good dancer. "But that's cute."

Ellie snorted and shook her head. She had a feeling Dina might have been right, and she was actually glad to see you at the Tipsy Bison dance. Things were going really well between you both, and Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, a really short one, she was afraid that what happened would be the end of you, and she didn't want that. Joel could be grumpy, and you could be a bit bossy sometimes, but she knew that you both cared and truly loved her.

She often thought back to one night, when your eyes were so sad and glassy, you looked at her and said quietly "I really love you, Ellie... You're perfect just the way you are.", and Ellie really felt it.

"Naaah!" she sighed, taking a couple of fries from Dina and stuffing them into her mouth "I still think they're embarrassing."

Dina burst out laughing.

You plopped down on a chair at the bar, wishing you could just grab a cold drink. Joel had disappeared with Tommy for a moment, and you were trying to catch your breath. It was a warm and pleasant evening, and you were really glad that Joel had suggested you come here.

"We're bumping into each other again!" a nice male voice rang out to your left, and someone sat down in the empty chair.

"Oh! Hi, Elliot." You greeted the man, smiling, "I didn't know you'd be here."

"It's a nice evening, why would I be home alone." he replied, "Can I get you a drink? Don't make me beg."

You glanced toward the entrance, but Joel was still talking to Tommy, so you figured you could use Elliot's company. You'd met a few days earlier when he'd shown up in Jackson, and you'd bumped into each other at the store.

"Shane said you two went on patrol together."

"Mhm." you nodded, taking a sip of your cold drink "And you? Would you like to take part in this too?"

"And could I be your partner?" he asked, winking at you and chuckling "Just kidding!" he added, seeing that he had caught you off guard "But I'd gladly take some advice from you, to be honest. You've been in Jackson much longer than I have and people know you, respect you..."

"Thank you." you felt warmth creep up your neck "You'd have to talk to Tommy about it, I'm not the one making decisions."

"Sure! I'll talk to him. Or maybe you'd like to..."

You felt someone wrap their arms around your waist tightly, and then familiar lips brushed your temple. "Sorry it took so long."

"Don't worry. I ordered you a beer." you replied, smiling at Joel "And this is Elliot."

The man greeted Joel, who responded pleasantly, but you clearly felt his hand find yours and your fingers intertwined tightly. You all talked for a while longer, about patrols, about life in Jackson, until Elliot finally said goodbye and disappeared among the people.

"What?" you asked, feeling Joel's gaze on you.

He shrugged. "I don't know. You tell me."

You finished your drink and rested your chin on your hand. Brown eyes stared at you, slightly shining from the beer Joel had drunk. "I won't believe you if you say you're jealous." you said finally.

He shook his head, smiling broadly. "I'm not, darling. I know perfectly well that you're only mine, but..." he sighed deeply "I feel a little sorry for guys who think they have a chance."

You patted him on the shoulder, bursting into laughter. "Really? Where are you so sure of that, Miller?"

He leaned in as if to whisper something in your ear. His voice was low and made your body shiver pleasantly. "I just know it, darling." Warm lips brushed your ear, and then he pecked you on the lips. "Come on! Let's go home. Ellie told me we're embarrassing her. Our mission accomplished.”

As soon as she opened her eyes she could feel that something was wrong. But it wasn't until she got out of bed and took the first few steps that she felt it. Something strange unexpectedly ran down her legs and onto the floor.

"Shane!" Ann moaned loudly, looking at the wet spot beneath her. "Shane! Fuck, come here!"

The bathroom door opened and the man stepped out nonchalantly, still brushing his teeth. "Whaaa?" he asked.

"I think I'm in labor." Ann grabbed her stomach as if that would stop everything and looked at her husband with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Yeah, right... Fuck!"

He wondered the whole way from the stables to the house how he should tell you about that. Should he even tell you? Sooner or later you'd find out anyway. The door creaked quietly as he entered the house. The sun was streaming into the kitchen where you were preparing breakfast.

Joel looked at you for a moment. He liked moments like this and wanted to record them in his memory for as long as possible. You read on the couch, you sleep in your bed, you laugh with Ellie, you cuddle up to him... Many moments with you were already recorded in his head, good and bad, happy and sad. He wanted to remember everything.

"You're staring again." You glanced at him over your shoulder, smiling.

Joel entered the kitchen and cleared his throat. "Shane took Ann to the clinic today. She went into labor this morning."

You turned around abruptly and looked at him with wide eyes. "And?" you whispered.

"She gave birth two hours ago. Tommy told me." Joel replied. "Shane won't be going on patrol for a while and..."

"Boy or girl?" you interrupted him quickly.

Joel frowned, surprised by the question. "A boy."

"I knew it!" you were excited, you pressed your hands to your lips, and your eyes sparkled like stars. Joel smiled at the sight, and then he hugged you when you suddenly threw your arms around his neck "Oh, I had a feeling it would happen soon! I'm so happy."

Joel stroked your back and smiled to himself. Only when you pulled away did he notice that you suddenly frowned.

"Is everything okay, honey?" he asked with concern. He noticed how you bit your lip, clearly worried about something.

Finally, you folded your arms over your chest. "I didn't have time to prepare anything for the baby..." you sighed "I wanted to give them something, but so much has been going on lately and.."

"No problem. I can go with you to that old mall. They should have a kids store there, maybe you can find something."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to have to change your plans especially for me."

He walked over to you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. “And who would I change my plans for if not for you, huh? Besides, you lost your partner on patrol for a while. Let me join you.”

You chuckled. "Oh, I don't know what my boyfriend will think about this. He can be a little jealous."

"So we won't tell him anything." Before you knew it, he kissed your neck. "It'll be our secret and..."

"Ugh! Disgusting! Do you really have to do this here? Before breakfast?" Ellie groaned as she entered the kitchen and sat down at the table.

Joel rolled his eyes and looked at the girl. "We were alone before you came."

"And you're not anymore, so please keep your hands to yourself."

The mall had been abandoned for many years. Many things had been taken and used, both by the residents of Jackson and by other people trying to survive. Your footsteps echoed quietly as you and Joel headed towards the baby store. You passed under the half-lowered blinds and entered.

"Don't spend all your money, honey." Joel mumbled, looking around the interior, which still had a lot of assortment. He walked between the dusty shelves, still keeping an eye on you as you looked through the drawers.

You soon found some necessary things - a few pacifiers, a baby blanket, a few clothes. You put all of that in your bag. It was only then that you noticed something that caught your eye. The smallest onesies you had ever seen in your life. You hesitantly touched the material decorated with colorful dots.

"You okay?"

Joel stood right behind you, looking at you with a mixture of worry and confusion, he didn't know what to expect.

"Did you know that babies could be so small?" you asked, taking the onesies in your hands and looking at them closer.

He was silent for a moment, but finally spoke. "When Sarah was born, she practically fit in the palm of my hand. I'm sure Ellie was the same."

"I'm sorry... I didn't think that you... I'm sorry, Joel."

"You don't have to. I almost forgot about it." he replied, kissing your head. "Did you find everything?"

You looked around the inside and stuffed the onesies into your already full bag. "Yeah, I guess so. I think Ann prepared well enough anyway. I wouldn't want to come to her empty-handed though."

"She'll definitely be happy when you come anyway. Let's go back, honey."

He was a little scared about all of this, but he hoped you were in a different place now. You had only met up with Ann a few weeks after what had happened, and she had been really stressed out then. You were her friend, and she was afraid of hurting you or bringing up painful memories. Joel was sure she and Shane had talked about the both of you, but he didn't hold it against them. They were both your friends, and they cared about you.

It was surprising though that your loss had reached so many people around you.

Joel felt your hand in his and glanced at you as you fell into step with him.

"Thank you for bringing me here." You said, the corners of your lips turning up. "I've missed doing this with you."

"Me too, baby. Me too."

He leaned down and pecked your soft lips. You were on the right track.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 24

I feel like every chapter is slowly getting longer and longer- don't know how to feel about it... Ch 25 is over 3k long- may get longer before going live idk :))

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 24 >>next(TBC)

“It’s definitely an ambush.” Your voice hummed through their minds as you sharpened the retractable blades of your metal-covered fingers. “That’s a possibility. But I’m sure you can protect us, poor damsels in distress.” You roll your eyes at Slade’s thought, however, your attention is redirected.

All three of you squinted at the figures of the men shadowed by the sun. “I could take on the skinny one with the robotic eye.” Luthor’s prideful thinking was met with an unimpressed look from both you and Slade. “I doubt it.” You cleared your throat before finally speaking out loud. “I know about you.” You cross your arms, leaning on one foot before looking right at the general. “Kregg, right? And who are you two?”

Kregg stepped forward once they landed, and Slade immediately took notice of the man’s nervousness. Hidden well, but still there. “Yes. I am General Kregg.” His hand extended to his side, directed to the buffiest man. “This is Conquest, one of our greatest. And this-“ his hand moved to point out the better-dressed figure between the three. “- is Grand Regent Thragg, our lord.”

“And savior-“ Your slipped mutter made Lex twitch, almost choking on the traitorous laugh that bubbled up. “So we’ve got war, conquest, and a prince? We’re missing famine, I guess...” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright. What do you want?”

The fur-lined cloak of Thragg fluttered in the air as he came forward this time, his tall frame going past Kregg, way too close for Slade and Luthor’s preference as their bodies shifted slightly to be a few centimeters in front of you. “I don’t know what your father told you about me. I do not care. And however prideful I may be, I’m not stupid.”

Despite all that, his frown deepened, and his face soured. “I… didn’t believe you when you first threatened us.  I have been proven… wrong.” It seemed to take a lot of pain to say that. You took note of that for later use while scoffing. “Yes. I know you’ve been watching me. And that you sent a soldier after my brother, so you better get to the point because I’m already fighting tooth and nail to not rip you three to shreds and take over Viltrumite myself. Make you the slaves for once.” Threatening them was perhaps stupid, but you just wanted to eat and sleep.

“Humans have made treaties with what you call marriage for centuries-“ Thragg didn’t finish his sentence as Lex couldn’t hold his laugh of utter shock at the implication while Slade scoffed, both men ending up saying the same thing. “No. Let’s go.” They grabbed your arms and started moving, almost stumbling as you remained unmoving. “Arranged marriages have stopped being a thing in a majority of countries, let alone as a thing to end wars. But you’ve made me curious enough to hear you out. Going through all the work of threatening an assassin to threaten a billionaire so the billionaire can ask politely- it’d be rude not to at least listen.”

The man’s eyebrow twitches as soon as he senses sarcasm. “You… and your family and allies pose a feasible threat.” Thragg truly looked like he was in pain. “But if we were to go to war, we’d still do irreparable damage. We’ll surrender, but we want to hide on Earth, amongst humans, to raise our ranks. We won’t interfere with human events.” Kregg paled when you laughed right in Thragg’s face, yet his own remained unmoving. “Oh, so you want to use humans as breeding bitches? And then- if something- or someone attacks and almost levels out Earth you’ll just what? Sit on your lazy asses and watch everyone die?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Make them work for it. Let them think about it, they sound desperate enough.” Cecil’s voice made the heroes who were about to leave stop in their tracks, their eyes moving to the bald man as he asked Donald to pull up the images. Nolan and Thaedus rose from their chairs at the sight of the three Viltrumites. “You want all of that?” The Sorceress’ voice almost sang in a mocking tone. “There’ll be rules. My planet, my rules, not yours. First one: You’ll work yourselves to death if a threat shows up. I’ll let you think about it.”

“I don’t care.” You quickly interrupted the Viltrumite when he tried to argue. “Two weeks. No more, no less. I’ll have a set of rules that every Viltrumite will have to qualify for them to even be allowed to look in Earth’s direction.” The camera moved, showing Lex and Slade. “I guess it’s too late for the Ritz now?” Slade smirked. “I’m sure we can find a non-stop and destroy the billionaire’s kitchen.” Was the last thing everyone heard before the transmission was cut.

Cecil turned to the people present. “Seems our work needs to speed up.” Harvey looked at the balding man. “We can update our files in less than three days. We’ll be ready for a trial before the aliens return with an answer.” Dick’s eyes jumped from the people speaking to Nolan and Mark, the names of the aliens going through one ear out the other, his eye twitching as he finally got up off the floor. “Yes- yes, aliens bad, don’t like them- Why are you-“ If his mother or Alfred saw him pointing his finger like this towards the older man, Richard would be dead. “-allowing my sister around Deathstroke and Luthor?!”

“Those two will be easily dealt with. I do not like the way that Thragg kept staring at her.” Damian’s comment went unanswered as Invincible frowned and crossed his arms, the young man scoffing at the lesser Grayson. “Your sister? Since when? Last I checked you lot didn’t even know she was missing until- like last year.” Nolan spoke up too, not letting any of the bats get a word in. “Not to mention, she hasn’t been a Wayne for years. She’s a Grayson.”

“Bullshit.” Stephanie couldn’t hold the hiss that escaped her mouth. Batman was seething with rage at what he assumed was a lie. His imposing figure got up from his chair in a move that would usually threaten anyone-but them? Never. “I fear that’s the truth, Mr. Wayne.” Cecil quickly cut through.

“When Nolan came to me with the request I was ready to send the kid packing back to you, but I think you out of all people will understand the curiosity one has to discover things.” Mark has never seen Cecil ever glare like that at anyone, let alone speak to anyone with such a threatening tone in his voice. “Imagine my surprise at the many public articles of your neglect, and at the many, private, records that were swept under.”

“Everything only made me want to talk to her, and when I finally got the chance all I saw was a kid clinging onto the only female figure in the house, avoiding any male besides Invincible, more scared that I’d send her back to you rather that Omni-Man kidnapped her.” Duke took in a shaky breath, muttering something under his breath along the lines of it being harsh.

“Might be.” Cecil shrugs before his eyes settle back on Bruce. “How many times has she been sick under your watch? Does she have any allergies? What’s her least favorite color? How many times did she run away from the manor before running away from the city? Can you even answer one question?” Batman couldn’t, but Nolan was quick to when Cecil looked at him. “Five times, two of which she had to go to a pharmacy on her own to buy meds, with us she was sick three times. She has one allergy to metamizole and one skin problem that she needs creams for and has a personal vendetta against the olive green shade that looks like vomit.”

The other heroes wanted to stand up for their allies, but the more the men spoke, the more their respect dwindled. “She’s better off with them. And not only because they gave her the love you weren’t able to, but because if she ever snaps, ever goes off the hinges- it won’t be you who’ll be able to reel her back, even for a moment. It won’t even be these two. It’ll be her mom.” Cecil looked around the room. “Anyone has anything else to say?... Good. Let’s go, we’ll keep in contact.”

The league was left alone with a still-shaking Nightwing, and a more than usual, broody Batman, the other bats besides Jason seemed dejected at best. Dinah’s eyes, however, stayed on her husband’s figure. She could see the clogs turning into his head, the way his eyes narrowed at Bruce like he couldn’t quite believe it. She sighs before pulling her man towards the door, it’ll be a long month, she could feel it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“That was reckless of you.” Lex groaned as he sunk into his uncomfortable leather couch you had covered in as many fluffy blankets as you could. “Your face is reckless.” Your voice was muffled, eating your third serving of the chicken and rice Slade had cooked. “And you two wanted me to do it- I want a vacation, by the way- Mom and Mark need it, and after dealing with those three mean mugging my ass you two owe me.”

You were really only talking to Lex as Slade found a recliner hours ago and passed out on it like the divorced, deadbeat dad he is. “Somewhere warm and quiet, preferably a private island without the Epstein bullshit.” Luthor’s lip curled at that. “Don’t even try to compare me to that low life- I may be a monster, but I have morals.”

“Bull. You tried to kill Kon when you thought he wasn’t obeying you. And you so are a weirdo for nagging me since I was a teen with your craziness. Slade is a weirdo too, hunting down kids, fighting them, and grooming them to be the perfect weapons just because his own won’t talk to him anymore- oh my god, he’s Bruce with extra steps in reverse.” Your hand dropped the fork, holding onto your face instead. “… I’m taking your bed for making me think about all of this- no thinking on my vacation! Note that down- I need a no-thinking week!“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The trial went by… too quickly. The Judge and Jury were definitely brought off, but it wasn’t Cecil, the man was actually pouty about the fact. That was however good for you and your family. While most of Nolan’s freedoms, and consequently your own, would be stepped on and rubbed into the floor it was better than moving him on the moon… Maybe. Still debatable. You took a note to visit your dear rogues towards the end of your vacation… or when you could, really. Two-Face deserves another thanks for the show he put on.

The good part- Lex did give you the vacation you wanted. So, after Abe, as you’ve come to call The Immortal, said his goodbyes to go on his own vacation you and the babysitter your mom found were running around to pack things for the holiday. Well, you were. Poor April was watching alongside Debbie the chaos as Mark and Nolan seemed to be just as anxious, flying around the house.

Your mother sighs before reminding everyone of the no-flying rule, resulting in everyone stopping and landing on their feet. “Sorry mom- it’s just-“ Debbie smiles at you as she hands you a bag to load into the car. “You’re not used to relaxing, but it’ll be fine. If we forget something you can just teleport back and grab it and if something bad happens you and your brother will be there to protect us.” Nolan pouted as he wasn’t included but did not say anything. “Now come on, let’s load up the van so we can reach the house before dark.”

“Oh, we’re taking the car? I thought we’d be flying?” April asked as she lifted Oliver higher on her hip. “We are flying.” You smirk as Mark continues with a shrug. “But we are also taking the van. Hope you’re not car and fly sick.” April could only hum as the two young adults went back to their work, her eyes settling on Debbie’s reassuring smile.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Whoever said vacations are relaxing is a liar with fiery pants. Sure, the lazing around is nice, but the packing and unpacking is a nightmare you could do without. Alas, after a good nap and a great dinner, you were hanging with your dear brother on the balcony, enjoying the cold breeze cooling the heat left by the sun. “Mark- don’t give me that bull. You haven’t been okay since dad beat you up, and that Levy guy only made it worse.”

“You killed Vidor without remorse.” Mark wasn’t looking at you, eyes remaining on his can of soda. “I did. I’d do it again. That doesn’t mean you have to do that. You’re not me and I’m not you.” You rested your hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t- I thought he was stronger, I didn’t mean to kill him- I-…”

“Mark. From what you and everyone else told me, the man was unhinged. I… I can’t say I know how you feel, I had no remorse for the Joker or Vidor, and I don’t think I’ll have any for the others who may meet the same fate. But that’s me, that’s Nolan. You’re better than us. You want to help them get better, to fix things in a- morally correct way.”

“The world needs that. And you shouldn’t feel shame, or like you failed because you couldn’t do it. You tried.” Mark snorts at your words. “I’m supposed to be the older sibling-“ You immediately repeat his words in a deep voice. “Fuck off.” He nudges your ribcage with his elbow after you do. “I mean it. We both killed, we both got traumatized- and yet you’re like an unmoving mountain… I still have nightmares about how much worse that night could have been, mom and Oliver could have died, but all they got was a broken arm and bruised forehead.” You lean back in the recliner, taking his words in before responding. “The guilt eats me… That I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t the one to bring you back. Kinda feels like I failed.”

“Cheers to guilt eating us alive.” Mark jokes. “Cheers. As for the other thing you said… I- I don’t think most people deserve a second chance… I think everyone should get a second chance- but some people don’t want to change to be deserving of it. And if they don’t want to put their pride aside and do the work required, they’ll do what they did again, and again, and again. There’s no fixing something that doesn’t want to be fixed. Joker was like that. Bruce tried so fucking hard for a lost cause- when Jason came back, he beat him up harder than he ever did the clown.”

“I think that was when I started believing that. Bruce never hit us- them. He went out of his way to redirect his anger toward anything else, is what Jason said. He also said B reacted like that because he felt too guilt-ridden and frustrated on how he failed him- but-… I think he was furious at how right Jason was.” You shrug. “I don’t know… The fucker is something I stopped trying to detangle and understand a long time ago, but he also fits the category of if they don’t want to fix themselves they don’t deserve a second chance. Bruce is so sure that he’s right in everything, he forgets to understand that just because he feels like he did the right thing doesn’t mean it was the right choice for others.”

“Dad’s trying.” Mark mutters as if to reassure himself. “He is. You still flinch sometimes. Don’t feel bad about that, you have every right to. He was… brutal in that fight.” Your eyes meet as you nudge his shoulder with yours. “You’re stronger than me, I don’t think I would have been able to come back from that fight like you did.” Mark’s lip twitched into a smile.

“… Sometimes I just want to beat the shit out of dad. With a spiked baseball… in the middle of the night, preferably. Like he wronged me in another life.” His words earned a laugh straight from the depths of your belly. “He has a very punchable face.” You cackle as Mark joins in your gleeful laugh.

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Ch 25 sneak peek:

“You came to tell me to be a lover?” You sniffle as you chuckle. “No. I’m just being selfish and wanted to see you.” [REDACTED] nudges you. “But it won’t kill you. You’ll see, the fates have already sewn your threads. It’s just a matter of which one you decide to walk.” You didn’t move away from her, but you did wipe away your remaining tears. “Sounds like the illusion of choice.”

[sapphiresonstrings]

You're only looking at one half of a tug of war. Sane has been tried, it didn't work. In democracies across the western world, from the UK to the USA, people voted for a moderate reduction in immigration. Often all the main parties would present themselves as at least somewhat isolationist. Then as soon as the election was over, the new government would use its power to increase immigration. This has been the story of anti-immigration sentiment for 20 years.

For years the government of Texas has been trying to set up obstacles along the southern border to keep immigrants out, and for years the Feds have been sending people to tear those obstacles down.

Every time the voters' wishes got stymied by undemocratic interference, the voters pulled a little harder. Eventually they pulled so hard that the whole thing came crashing down. Hence Brexit, hence Trump.

The voters elected the guy who said, "Sane, reasonable reductions in immigration," and they did it across the western world. That guy increased immigration. Next they tried, "I'm a hardcore anti-immigration politician with reasonable policies," but that guy increased immigration, too. Finally, with no other options, they decided to elect the guy who said, "I'm nuts, I'm not like these guys, I'm going to send agents to round people up and send them to El Salvador. I don't have limits, I could do anything, I could invade Canada, you don't even know."

And that guy, finally, reduced immigration.

Is it pointlessly cruel? Yes, of course. But this was not anyone's first choice. If literally anyone else had been willing to do something about the problem, this wouldn't have happened. It could have been done sanely, if only any of the sane people had been willing to do it. Instead the insiders closed ranks on this issue, thinking they could overpower the voters - but it was the voters who did the overpowering, and now the outcome is out of control.

When the voters overpower their leaders, the result is usually destructive. Brexit was a disaster in large part because it was carried out against the will of the government. The people essentially grabbed the wheel of state, made an unexpected turn, then handed the wheel back and said, "It's your turn, now you figure out where we go from here." Countries are unwieldy. You can't just change directions on a whim like that.

What you are looking at is the result of the people seizing control of the American state. The government was simply unwilling to do what the people asked (on both sides of the aisle), and arrogantly assumed that they would get their way. So the people kicked them out of the car, picked up some guy from the side of the road, and told him to drive.

Is that guy a good driver? No, he clearly has no idea what he's doing. Has he run several thousand people over in the few weeks since he took control? Yes. Could that have been avoided if they let someone who actually knows how to drive take the wheel? Yes.

But the people value obedience over competence in their leaders. They would rather Donald Trump drive them where they want to go than Kamala Harris drive them somewhere they don't want to go. It's not that they don't care how many people they have to hurt to make that happen, but they don't care enough to stop.

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.