#but I’m really proud of how these all came out

[mommyslittlebird]

Everything You Need

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Wanda takes great responsibility with being your mama. Maybe even too much responsibility at times. She’s determined to be everything you could ever need.

CW: Breastfeeding, Somnophilia (so noncon), loss of virginity, first kiss, fingering, arousal tasting, Wanda is a little freak

Word Count: ~3.5k (I didn’t check)

A/N: The final chapter. It’s very bittersweet. I have loved this story quite possibly more than anything I’ve written before. However, I’m very proud to wrap it up and put a little bow on this series as a finish project at last.

Part 6 of Her Special Girl

———————————————————

Infuriatingly enough, Wanda’s milk came late one morning when you weren’t home. In fact, you weren’t going to be home at all until later that evening, after all your classes were over. It took every bit of her willpower not to text you as soon as it happened. She wanted it to be a surprise.

But all it would take is one text. You could be home in ten minutes. The two of you would have all afternoon to yourselves. She could have Vision pick the boys up from school. Email Natasha and take the rest of the day off. Your father wouldn’t be home until tonight.

No. No, your schoolwork was important. She would let you finish up your classes, and you would be home in six hours, and then she could slip into your room after the boys and your father went to bed. After pumping this morning, she probably wouldn’t have much more milk until then anyway.

It was a noble goal, truly.

She made it 45 minutes. She sat in front of her desk, trying to work through an excel sheet. But she couldn’t focus. All the cells twisted and melted together as her brain swam with daydreams. You were going to be so excited. She imagined your smile when she told you: your eyes would crinkle at the corners, squinting into crescents so tight it looked like they were nearly closed. Your cheeks would form your perfect dimples, 2 on your left cheek, 1 on the right. The one on your right cheek only made an appearance when you were really happy.

Finally, she caved. She shot Natasha a short, nondescript email, Vision a short text, and you an equally brief text, asking if you could come home early because she had a surprise. She paced around your bedroom, obsessively folding and unfolding the throw blanket at the foot of your bed.

She fluffed the pillows, made up the sheets, flattened out the comforter and tucked it in at the sides of the mattress, only to then strip the bed completely and put on new, clean sheets, even though she just changed them three days ago.

She truly hadn’t been this excited in ages. She hadn’t even been this neurotic when she learned you were coming home for the first time in three years. Of course she cleaned in the weeks leading up to it, a lot. But she hadn’t necessarily had time to prepare for the immediate event of your arrival, given that you had arrived a bit unexpectedly a week early.

She felt like a pregnant dog obsessively digging through her whelping box, or a mother bird perfecting every twig of her nest in preparation for her hatching eggs.

Her baby was coming. Everything had to be perfect.

—————

Wanda laid awake, staring at the vaulted ceiling until it appeared to be stretching, tightening the walls around her that threatened to swallow her up. It was well past midnight, probably around 2am, but she hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. She couldn’t stop thinking about today: the twin’s kindergarten orientation.

She held it off for as long as she could, just like she had with every other aspect of their growing up. Every milestone they’d ever reached had been a blade through her heart. They all felt like the world’s cold hands were ripping her babies from her arms.

If it weren’t for Vision, they might not even be potty trained despite having shown signs of readiness very early.

She hated how fast they were growing up. How all the other adults in their life fawned over how “independent they were for their age”. She loved her boys more than anything in the world, but god she wished they were more clingy and needy. They never even wanted to sleep in the bed with her. She had tried to force the habit, but they always managed to wriggle their tiny bodies out of her loving arms.

It didn’t help that they were twins so they could rely on each other for some things instead of just her.

And then there was kindergarten orientation. She watched as all the other children cried and clung to their mothers with desperation. She knew it bordered on sadism, but she felt a slight tinge of hope that her beautiful boys might feel the same desperation at the thought of being separated from her.

But they didn’t.

They pranced into the classroom together, elated by the prospect of new toys and friends to play with. They hardly even gave her a second glance. They were no longer her tiny, helpless babies that relied on her for everything. She tried to tell herself that independence was good. Natural. But her heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Her babies weren’t babies anymore. They didn’t need her like they had before.

She couldn’t have any more children. She had a stepdaughter, but you hated her as far as she knew. Not to mention you were old enough to move out on your own. You didn’t need her at all.

And soon her boys wouldn’t either. She would be left all alone: the empty husk of a woman rotting away with no purpose. No one to care for. No one to love her unconditionally. No one to love her at all.

Alright. She was spiraling. She needed to take a walk.

She threw her robe over her thin pajama shirt and headed for the kitchen. Maybe some tea would clear her mind.

But before she could head down the stairs, she heard something odd. Was that the shower? No one should be in the shower at this time of night. You had gotten in the shower before she went to bed, but that had been hours ago.

She cracked open your bedroom door, finding your room empty. She knocked on the bathroom door. “Honey? Are you okay in there?”

No answer. Her stomach churned. Something wasn’t right. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the key they kept above the doorway in case of emergency and unlocked the door.

“Honey?” She called, stepping quietly into the bathroom. She didn’t want to invade your privacy, but she could feel in her gut that something was wrong.

That’s when she saw you, limp and freezing on the bathroom tile. She flung open the glass door in a frenzy, braving shutting off the freezing water and pulling your wet, naked body into her arms. “Oh! My sweet girl. How long have you been in here? I just woke up to use the restroom and I heard the water still running. You poor thing, have you been in here all night? You’re freezing. Your poor lips are purple! Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

She picked you up cradling you against her chest like a baby. Her baby. She looked down, taking in your face. Your lips were purple, but slightly parted. Your little noises mimicked a baby’s coos, chirps and whines made in place of words. She laid you down on top of a blanket, carefully folding the ends over your freezing body into a comforting swaddle.

When your small, shaking body inched closer to her, wrapping around her waist like a scarf, her heart melted. She pushed the wet hair from your eyes, gently caressing your head. And as she looked into your eyes, something in the universe clicked. She had spent all night feeling so empty, like her very purpose was fading away, but it was all restored by the look you gave her. It was the same look she wished to see on her boys’ face this morning: clingy, needy, and completely reliant on her.

You needed her, and she needed you to need her. “Aww my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m not going anywhere. Mama’s here.”

When you tugged weakly at her nightshirt, pulling her towards you with tiny, desperate hands, she did not hesitate to crawl under the blankets and pull you into her arms. “You poor thing, you're still freezing. It’s okay, mama will keep warm.”

She thought nothing of it when you started to pull the nightshirt over her head, exposing her bare skin to your own. You were still ice cold to the touch, but she pressed your entire body to hers, cradling you to her chest. She held you like she would have if you had just come into the world, laying you bare against the skin of her chest. She cradled the back of your head with her hand, inhaling your smell. The smell of her baby. “Mmm, you’re right this will get you all nice and warmed up. You're a very smart girl.”

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

She kissed your head, enveloping you with her warmth. She held you tight, even as she finally felt your body go limp on top of her. She sang you sovokian lullabies as you slept, rubbing up and down your back, circling the swell of your ass. You were so soft. You were so little. She pressed her fingers into your palm, watching as your infantile reflexes caused you to wrap your hand around them.

She felt as you unconsciously shifted, nuzzling your face into her neck. She giggled as your warm breath tickled her skin. She held your face, placing her thumb just in between your parted lips. “My beautiful girl,” she whispered, lifting your face to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Your first kiss, completely forgotten by your unconscious mind.

There were other things you didn’t remember. Many nights when she had crept in after you had fallen asleep to explore your soft body. You only ever wore slips to bed, when you wore anything at all. You loved the feeling of soft blankets on your skin. In some ways, she imagined you did it just for her: leaving yourself as a little present to unwrap at the end of the day.

She always treated you so delicately, with the utmost love and respect. She did love you, after all. She would take care of you just as any mother would. So when your body started to yearn for more, responding to her gentle caresses with an arched back and whiny breaths, she couldn’t bring herself to deny you.

“Shhh,” she soothed, positioning her body over yours, “Mama’s got you. Just relax. Let mama take care of you.” She eased her hand down your body, slowly pushing up the hem of your slip and rubbing her fingers over your panties. She could feel a damp spot growing over the thin, silky material under her fingertips.

You whined and bucked your hips against her hand.

“Oh angel,” she breathed, kissing your temple. “You poor thing. So needy for mama. It’s okay baby. I’m gonna take of Every. Little. Thing.” She slipped her hand under the fabric and circled your clit slowly before sliding a single finger inside of you.

“God you’re so tight. I bet no one’s ever touched you here before, have they, sweet girl?” She whispered. You stirred, whining and rubbing your eyes. “Shshsh, go back to sleep baby. Let mama take care of your needy body.”

She slowed down, stilling completely until she was sure you were asleep. Only then did she start to move, slow and gentle. She kissed your temple, soothing your writhing, sleeping body. She cooed praises into your ear as she pumped a single finger in and out of you. Her palm massaged your clit in perfect, gentle circles. It was enough to make your untouched body cum in minutes.

“That's my good girl,” she whispered. “Letting mama take care of you like this.”

She slowly pulled her finger from you, drinking down the remnants of your first ever orgasm. One you would never remember, but she would, forever.

She was gentler with you than anyone else would be, she told herself. You were too good for anyone. She would have to protect you from them. She had to make sure you never wanted for anything. She would be your sole source of happiness and safety, more than your own mother, or anyone else for that matter, ever had been. She would feel your entire life with so much laughter and love you would forget there was even a world outside of her. She was determined to be your mother, your lover, your best and closest friend. She would be everything you could ever need.

—————

When she heard the sound of your keys in the front door, she practically jumped down the stairs. She was in the foyer before you could even unlace your shoes, holding something conspicuously behind her back.

You smiled at her with giddy excitement, bouncing on the balls of your feet. She licked her lip, slowly pulling a small plastic container from behind her back. At the bottom of the container was a small amount of a yellowish white liquid. You looked at the liquid, then back up at her beaming face. “Is that…” you asked knowingly.

She eagerly nodded. You ran into her arms excitedly, beaming from ear to ear. She pulled you into a deep kiss, practically bending you backwards with the ferocity of it. You reached up to grab the back of her neck, holding her face in your other hand. By the time you pulled back, you were both breathless, but you could hardly keep away, following the kiss with several more pecks punctuated by smiles and bits of laughter. You nuzzled your nose against her, rubbing your excitement all over her.

She moved away only far enough to set the plastic container down on the nearest surface available before pulling you back into her arms.

“Can I drink it?” you asked, cradling her cheek once more.

“Not that one,” she responded. She had read it was best to pour the first milk out. As much as she loathed to throw any of the precious liquid away, your health was too precious to risk. “But every other drop I ever make is for you.” She kissed you again, resting her forehead against yours. “All for you.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and jumping up to wrap your legs around her waist. She caught you with practiced ease, looping her arms under your butt and making her way up the stairs.

You tried to kiss her more, but she chuckled. “Careful, sweet girl. You’re gonna make mama fall.”

It wasn’t until she made it into your room that she gently laid you down on your back and bent over to press her lip to yours.

Your hands slid up under her shirt, pulling it up over her head as she crawled on top of you. Her bra came shortly after, sliding down over her shoulders revealing her perfect chest. She had grown nearly an entire cup size since she had started pumping two months ago. Luckily she was a small C to begin with, so most of her bras still fit, if not a little snugly.

You impatiently moved down to her swollen nipples, trying to secure one between your lips in the awkward position. She buried her hand in your hair, pulling you back firmly. “Be patient, sweet girl. Let me sit down first.”

You nodded, mouth still eagerly open and eyes blown wide with hunger and desire. “Yes, mama.”

She sat at the headboard, adjusting the pillows around her lap. She beckoned you up. You crawled into her lap, laying down with your head cradled in the crook of her elbow. “There you go,” she cooed, easing you into her chest.

Your lips gently closed around her nipple. Despite your prior impatience, your position in her arms eased your eager mind. Your suckling was slow and methodical, keeping a gentle and consistent rhythm. Wanda ran her hand through your hair, cooing gently. “That’s my sweet girl. Just like that.”

There was a tense thirty seconds where she worried the milk would not come. She had just pumped hardly an hour ago. But, in time, she felt the smooth start to flow from her breast. She inhaled sharply. The hand that combed through your hair started to shake as she brought it to her own mouth. She had waited so long for this moment: she was feeding her baby from her own body. Nothing had ever felt so magical.

“Oh,” she sighed, bringing her hand back down to caress your soft cheek. The thin peach fuzz on your face felt so unbelievably soft under her knuckles as she felt the rhythmic pulse of suckling from the outside. “My baby.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, gently rolling down her cheeks and neck onto her bare chest. She was so happy. She could sit here just like this forever, listening to the peaceful sound of your suckling. Your eyelids fluttered blissfully, as if you were drinking some magical elixir that calmed every muscle in your body. You were completely limp in her arms, maybe even more so than you would be if you were sleeping. Your head was emptied of every thought. There was just Wanda and her sweet, warm essence pouring down your throat.

Wanda chuckled softly as a small drop of milk formed at the corner of your mouth. She wiped it away. “Messy girl,” she whispered playfully. Her hand worked its way down to your stomach, lifting your shirt and circling the soft skin there. She imagined it filling, swelling with her milk until you were completely sated. Until you didn’t need anything else but her.

There wasn’t very much milk, at the moment. Between both of her breasts, you were probably only able to get about an ounce. But there would be more. There would always be more for you. She would make sure of it. There would always be as much as you needed.

You moved to pull away, but she held you close. “Not yet, little love,” she requested quietly. Her hand moved lower, trailing down your bare stomach until it slipped its way under the waistband of your pants. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hand slid between your legs, edging them apart slightly. Her middle finger gently traced your slit, stopping to circle your clit. You moaned into her chest causing a small moan to escape her lips as well. She pushed your underwear aside, pushing two fingers past your entrance. The rhythm of your suckling faltered as she pumped her fingers.

The angle was slightly awkward, but it was heavenly. It was the same angle she had used to give you your first ever orgasm, with an extra finger. You didn’t know, as you had no recollection of it, but she surely did.

The base of her palm rubbed perfectly against your clit with every stroke. The pads of her fingers curled so perfectly inside of you. Your eyes, already heavy with relaxation, rolled back. Your body, already limp in her arms, molded perfectly with hers. Your mind, already void of all stress and thoughts, was overtaken with pleasure.

She could feel every whimper and moan amplified with her nipple still tucked securely between your lips. Your pleasure became her pleasure in a perfect combination of two bodies.

When you came on her fingers, the moans and vibrations that rang through her chest sent her into her own orgasm, one she didn’t expect and, quite frankly, didn’t know was possible.

After coaxing every drop of your excitement your body would allow, She brought her fingers to her mouth, swallowing down your essence as you had swallowed hers.

She finally allowed you to pull away, adjusting your body to lay on top of hers. You kicked your pants and shirt off, removing any clothes she had from her body as well. There would be nothing in between. You couldn’t bear to feel anything but her skin against hers. Your legs tangled in with hers as you rested your head in her neck.

“Mmm, I love you mama.” You hummed pleasantly, craning your neck you to kiss her jaw.

“I love you too, sweet girl,” she said, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. “More than all the stars in the sky.” She rubbed soothing circles into your back. She rocked you quietly singing you the same Sovokian lullaby she had all those years ago, coaxing you to sleep.

There was no greater place of peace anywhere in the world. You were sure of it. She was everything you needed. Everything you would ever need.

[imsofreakingtired]

so i just read your sevika x entp and oh y god it was so funny and so so so sooooo good i am in love!!!!!!!

so i was wondering if you could maybe do a Sevika x INFP reader<33

thankyou and love your suff

<33

I LOVE YOU INFPS SO MUCH OFC

Sevika x INFP!reader hcs

mutual pining for YEARS before either of you worked up the courage to talk to each other oh my god it was hell for everyone watching

it was literally  you: she’s so strong and independent and capable, she’d never want me. sevika: she’s so pure and kind and generous, she deserves so much better than me.  

the number one thing you and Sevika have in common: your feelings run deep. once you both agree to commit, there’s no turning back. every breath she takes is in loyalty to you. and you have devoted your soul to hers 

you bring out the softest side of her. she finds herself stumbling over her words when she tries to be honest about her feelings for you. once you win her trust, you are the only person she feels like she can open up to  

sevika is overprotective of you almost to a fault, she is terrified that someone might hurt you. she feels that you are too non-confrontational and wants to take on every single person who ever hurt you in a fight on your behalf. you tease her for this, saying “you’re my girlfriend, not my knight in shining armor” “who was it? who was the asshole who said that to you?” “sev, it’s not that serious, i’m fine—” (her machete is already out) “that fucker is dead tonight.”  

in turn, you push her out of her comfort zone. get her to talk about her feelings. you understand her boundaries but also help her process her emotions, something she has never been able to do. she’s too hard on herself, she will blame herself for the smallest mistakes, and when she feels like she hasn’t done enough she will punish herself for it. the first time you held her face, looked her in the eyes, and said honestly, “you did your best. that’s all that matters. i am proud of you.” she abruptly pushed you away so you wouldn’t see her tears. no one had ever said something like that to her before. 

you’re so unintentionally funny to her. like everything you say just hits her funny bone and you don’t understand it but you love the sound of her laughing so you don’t really care. but it’ll be something like you: *drops food* you, whispering: why has janna forsaken me sevika, from the other room: *snorts out milk*  

Sevika is a surprisingly good therapist to you because she is so pragmatic while you are prone to overthinking things. modern!au scenario in which you were spiraling about a social encounter with someone, worrying that you made them angry or that you came off the wrong way, and she’ll just calmly look you in the eye and say “or….their attitude could have had nothing to do with you.” 

you discover her creative side and then become her own personal cheerleader. you find out she can draw, and you give her a brand new sketchbook the next day. she gets embarrassed, insisting she can’t draw that well, it’s just a hobby, yadda…. but she sketches a portrait of you and you frame it and keep it on your desk because the detail that went into the drawing shows just how much she adores your face, how much she pays attention…how much she loves you

honestly you two would have the longest hugs. you just sink into her arms and Sevika, equally touch starved, will just bury her face in your neck and not let go and you’d just stand there like that for several minutes

[shroomdle]

**Birthday Blues**

Short Story // Comfort // Birthday

Ghost and Soap

⬇️Start⬇️

“Happy Birthday Lt!” Soap shouted and busted down Ghost’s bedroom door. He wanted to sleep in but it seemed that was not going to happen. The Scot was by his bedside within seconds. Speaking about something Ghost didn’t quite catch. He had just woken- been woken up and nothing made sense yet.

Grunting Ghost sat up in bed, going to tell Soap to quiet down. He didn’t exactly want everyone to know it was his birthday. In fact he wasn’t even sure how Soap had found out in the first place.

However, before he could even speak a tray of food was shoved into his lap. Waffles with a side of syrup. Butter coated the top of the waffles and melted there slowly.

“It’s your birthday, or did I get the date wrong?” Soap fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a cracked to hell phone with a smile. “No, it’s today.” Soap looked back to the sleepy man. Blonde feathered hair stuck up in random places. Tired brown eyes blinking down looking at the meal Soap had placed before them.

“I appreciate the thought, but I don’t celebrate my birthday. Everytime I try something goes wrong. Trust me.” Ghost finally managed to explain. Maybe he could save this. “I’ll eat the food though. Haven’t had breakfast in bed before.”

Pursing his lips, Soap looked in deep thought. “Well, today we are celebrating it. Sooo, eat up. Gonna need all the energy you can get for today!”

Sleep would have also given him energy, Ghost thought. He scooted back and started on the waffle. Even the syrup had been warmed up. A small part of him felt this was too much already. He didn’t want to be doted on.

As reluctant as Ghost was, Soap managed to get him out of bed and even out the door. Driving them all the way up into the mountains. Supposedly there was a small town there and Soap was excited to spend the day with him. Celebrating his birthday to the fullest!

You can imagine how that went..

First the lunch place Soap wanted to take Ghost had been closed. He didn’t check before they left, of course.

Then the truck's wheel got stuck in a random patch of sand. Ghost and Soap had to dig that out. Nothing was going right, as Ghost had assumed would happen.

“That’s it!” Soap shouted hitting the steering wheel. “I know something that not even this damned universe can mess up.” He grumbled and growled driving down the road with determination on his face.

Ghost couldn’t help but laugh, though he continued to go along with it.Soap pulled up to an ice cream parlor, rushing out to check if it was open. It was, even though he again didn’t check beforehand.

Opening Ghosts door Soap stood there proud with his chest puffed out. “Alright, ice cream, everyone loves ice cream. You can sample flavors and get exactly what You want.” Nothing could ruin this.

Stepping out of the truck and into the parlor they were greeted with a young lady, she didn’t look over 20. This might have even been her first job. “What can I get you gentlemen?” She piped up and looked eager to help.

“We were just gonna sample a few flavors then decide.” Soap explained and eyed the ice cream behind the glass. Ghost smiled at how excited he looked.

“Can I try this one?” That went on for a while. Soap trying different flavors and then asking Ghosts opinion.

“It’s..good. What flavor is that one?” Ghost questioned as Soap’s face flushed. Had Ghost really just flirted with him?

“Erm.. this is Lemon Lavender.” Came the reply as Ghost nearly choked.

“W-What? I’m allergic to lavender.” Soap’s face dropped at that. Looking to the woman behind the counter, Soap apologized over and over as he pushed Ghost out the door.

Once Soap and Ghost had been placed in a room at the medical center Soap burst into tears. He sobbed and sniffled, not meeting Ghost’s reddening face.

He wasn’t deathly allergic but he definitely itched.

“I just wanted..” Soap’s words broke off as he cried more, “for you to enjoy your birthday! Then I go.. I go and poison you!”

Laughing, Ghost held his stomach and tried to speak but he couldn’t stop laughing. Soap sniffled once more and glared at Ghost. “It’s not funny!”

“Johnny, this has been the best birthday ever.” Ghost explained as he wrapped an arm around Soap’s waist pulling him into the medical bed with him.

“You don’t have to lie..” Was all the reply Soap offered.

“It is.. I got to spend the whole day with you. It sure won’t be a birthday I’ll forget, that’s for sure.” With that, Ghost leaned in and kissed Soap’s cheek.

Definitely won’t be a birthday he will forget. Not ever.

—————————————————

End~✨

Please, excuse any spelling mistakes…

[esote-rika]

Once Upon a Dream | Spencer Reid

v. you who put roots in my dreamland | prev chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

The cafe was closed. Weighed down by her suitcase and the single minded desire to find her sister, Jet felt frustration settling deep in her chest. She tried not to panic, she really did, but when no one was answering her calls, and the unmistakable Sorry, we’re closed sign was the only thing to greet her arrival back home, it was difficult to maintain her wits.

Where are you? I just got back. She sent two texts to Leni and Melissa for the fourth time, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. There’s no scent of honey now, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Did this mean Leni was safe? 

Jet hoped, with all the magic she could muster, that this was the case. She didn’t care about anything else, just that Leni was safe and healthy. Once that was confirmed, then she would worry about how to help them fix this mess.

“Bridget?” 

Jet whipped her head to the source of the sound so fast she heard her neck crack. She winced, and she’s unsure if it’s because of the crack, or because Ashley Rockwell’s face came into view, smiling in such a condescending way that Jet could feel hives go up and down her arms.

“Ashley,” Jet forced a smile, “Hi.”

“Oh, wow, it really is you! Long time no see,” the brunette stepped closer, an arm raising as if to reach for Jet, before the weight of their past seemed to drag it back down, reminding her she’s not allowed to do that anymore. It dropped back to her side awkwardly. 

The silence stretched on. 

Jet let it.

“You look good,” Ashley tried again.

Unshowered and disheveled from almost seven hours of traveling without her own car, Jet knew she was far from looking good. She snorted, “You’re still a bad liar, Ash.” It seemed like some things never changed, not in this town.

“Yes, well…” Ashley trailed off, glancing at the cafe. She perked up, finding another thing to latch onto, “You’ve heard the news, huh? Is that why you’re here?”

Jet wasn’t in the mood to discuss the news with people, especially not with Ashley Rockwell who looked a little too pleased about Blue Moon Cafe being closed. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation. Still, this might be her one chance to actually learn something, and maybe find out where Leni and Melissa went. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re thriving because of all this scandal.” Jet replied, turning pointedly at the newer building right across the street, where Ashley’s own cafe stood, proud and shiny. “People dying from your business rival’s coffee.”

Jet knew that was morbid and, judging by the disturbed expression that settled upon Ashley’s face, perhaps even below the belt. 

“That’s inappropriate,” Ashley said, crossing her arms, “You shouldn’t speak that way when people— well, you know.” 

Defensive, Jet thought, but warranted. Her statement was quite aggressive, Jet can admit to that.

“I’m sorry,” Jet backtracked, “I’m just frustrated; I haven’t really slept, and neither Leni nor Melissa are replying to my messages, and then I find their cafe closed for the day.” 

There’s also the fact that I’ve been dreaming of this man, who may or may not be my hallucination, but that’s beside the point. Jet knew she already had a reputation for being abrasive and solitary in her hometown, she didn’t need weird to be added to that unflattering list.

Ashley frowned, and Jet could feel the appraising look burning against her skin. Finally, Ashley sighed.

“Last I heard, they were asked to come into the police station.”

Jet almost wished the woman hadn’t spoken. Almost.

“The police station?” Jet repeated, her mind whirring with possibilities. It should be all right, this is just part of the procedure. Both Mel and Leni were persons of interest, after all. She went through everything she knew about the murders, enumerating the facts in her head in an attempt to calm herself. 

There had been three deaths, from what Jet had read from the news articles she had found. All of them with a different cause—one had been strangled, two with their throats slit. The bodies had been found in their houses, and Jet had recognized one of them. A man, a couple of years older than her—they had gone to the same high school, and he had been on the football team.

There had been a couple of weeks in between each death, which, paired with the different causes of death, made the police conclude that they needed outside help. There was no discernable pattern to the deaths, but the one thing that the victims had in common was the fact that they were all regulars to Blue Moon Cafe.

The cafe Leni worked at, the cafe she wanted to co-own.

The cafe which was currently closed, because, apparently, both Leni and Melissa were at the station, being questioned.

It’s just part of the procedure, she repeated over and over. They’re persons of interest, of course they’re being questioned. Still, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that kept squeezing at her chest, cutting off her airflow. 

“Yeah, a bunch of guys flew in this morning. Apparently, the FBI’s getting involved.” Ashley replied.

She wasn’t sure if she heard that right. The FBI?

Jet closed her eyes, trying to take deeper breaths. She bit her lip as the scent of honey invaded her nose again, saccharine and unpleasant. Why on earth was the FBI involved? What was happening? And why did the cafe have to be in the middle of it?

She must have turned pale, because she could feel Ashley’s hand closing around her arm.

“Hey, Bridget, easy.” 

“I’m fine,” Jet stepped away, gently shrugging off the other woman’s hand, “I’m fine, I just—I need to get to the station.” 

“You should probably sit—”

“I’m fine,” Jet cut off, holding up her hand, “I promise. Thank you for letting me know where they are.”

And then she’s speed walking to the police station, hauling her heavy suitcase with her. She’s grateful for all of her time in New York, walking through the streets and weaving in and out of crowds, because it allowed her to retreat into her body and refocus her energy. Jet just had to get to the station, and find Leni. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Spencer Reid rubbed at his eyes until black spots danced across his vision. This new case was difficult—not particularly gruesome, but it was one of those cases that seemed so random. He blinked until the spots cleared up, and stared at the board before him, trying to decipher the geographic profile.

Victimology had been all over the place. Two men in their 30s, and one woman in her late 20s, all of varying ethnicities and backgrounds. He hoped that the map, something visual and solid, could help reveal something about this unsub. He looked at the victims’ houses, all spread out across the small town, measuring and calculating distances between each house and the Blue Moon Cafe, which was located right in the heart of downtown. 

He came up empty. He sighed as his hand came up to his eyes again, rubbing them in an attempt to ground himself. 

It didn’t help that his mind was preoccupied. 

With memories of her. Sharp and vivid, she had appeared in his dreams when he had fallen asleep on the jet ride here. It had been so surprising that he’d woken with a start, earning surprised looks from Luke and JJ, to which he had responded with a sheepish smile.

She was beautiful, he knew that. Not that he was vain. Not that he privileged appearances over values and personality, but oh she was so beautiful. He woke up, and wondered why she suddenly became so clear.

He wanted to know her name, wanted to find her. It was like an itch that refused to leave, until he scratched his skin raw. 

He needed to find her.

But no, he had a job to do and he had to focus. 

“Tara and Rossi are coming back from the coroner’s office,” Emily’s voice drifted through the space, cutting through his thoughts, “The lacerations were uneven and jagged. The unsub is inexperienced, as we initially suggested.”

Spencer inclined his head to show he was listening.

“JJ and Luke are just about done with the cafe owners’ interviews.” Emily continued, “They both seem to be planning to go on a vacation to Paris because they actually did kill their customers and this is all one elaborate ruse.”

At that, Spencer looked up. He was met with Emily’s sharp gaze, eyebrows raised in concern.

“Ah, good, so you are listening.” she deadpanned.

“Of course I was.”

“Reid.”

“The geographic profile is done, but it’s not really telling us anything helpful at the moment.”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Emily’s voice had taken that softer, almost pleading tone that immediately made him pause.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Even he was unconvinced by his own words.

Emily pressed her lips in a tight line, and Spencer fought the urge to wince. He knew she could see right through him.

“You know you can take a break, right?” Emily started, her voice gentle and barely audible, “That injury was no joke.”

He almost sighed with relief. She didn’t suspect anything, although her line of thought was alarmingly close. The dreams did seem to be an effect of that bomb going off, the sustained trauma manifesting into something quite surreal and unexplainable. 

But he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to take a break; a break meant more time to think about her. More time to try and find the mysterious woman from his dreams, the woman he thought existed in real life based on what—a feeling?

No, he didn’t want the break. 

Emily must have taken his silence as confirmation, because she walked closer to him. “Spencer,”

Oh no, not that.

“I’m all right, Em. Really. You don’t—”

The words died on his lips as Luke stepped into the conference room, running his hands through his hair.

“Melissa Santos has a solid alibis,” he said, nodding at both Emily and Spencer, “She even closed the coffee shop today out of respect for the victims.”

Spencer nodded in return, grateful for the distraction. He ignored the suspicious look that Emily gave him, before she turned to Luke.

“And Lenore Clarke?” Emily prompted.

“JJ’s still working on her,” Luke said, walking to the glass windows. He hooks two fingers through the blinds that keep them secluded from the rest of the police station and tugs them down, “Apparently, her sister just came in.”

Emily followed him, looking through the window, “Her sister? The one Garcia said was in New York?”

“Yeah. Came all the way from the city just now, according to some of the officers.”

Spencer wandered over to them, hands fiddling with a pen, “How’s any of that relevant?”

Luke paused, stepping away from the window. “Not necessarily relevant, but apparently, they have some sort of reputation around here. The older one, more than Lenore.” 

“Well, it’s a pretty small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.” Emily shrugged, still peeking through the window, “Is that the sister?”

At that, Spencer’s curiosity became too much to ignore. He leaned down, peering over Emily’s shoulder. From here, he could see Lenore Clarke following JJ and one of the officers across the station. He followed the way Emily was angled, turning his head to the left to catch a glimpse of the sister in question, just as Luke spoke the confirmation.

“Yeah, the blonde one. Her name’s Bridget.”

Bridget. 

Spencer swore his heart stopped beating.

Everything felt cold. The world was a hazy blur, as his vision zeroed in on the woman decked in a pastel pink sweater. Just like she said in his dreams. Luke and Emily’s conversation became a muffled sort of noise in the background as memories of her voice took over his brain. 

Her.

Right there, with her honey colored hair held back by a dainty pink bow at the nape of her neck, running to meet Lenore Clarke halfway. He knew it. He knew she was real. Even though every ounce of logic in his body told him he was being delusional, some deep, primal, inexplicable part of him just knew. 

The woman from his dreams. She was right there.

And now he had a name to put to her face. Bridget. 

Bridget Clarke.

Double update for u @prettylittlewrites muah. One more chapter and then Act One is complete!!! comment if you'd like to be part of the taglist for this fic, and I hope u enjoyed!!!

[joaosnovia]

hector fort with a sassy/bossy girlfriend who is actually a sweetheart🥹 like yes she will make something out of nothing- but she also give the softest praise when she wants to?

❦ - my favourite player.

summary:: you’re hector’s sassy girlfriend (with kindness 😛)

warnings:: it’s like not a proper fic yk? it’s just a ton of scenarios but too long for headcannons idek atp

writers note:: IM SO INCONSISTENT W POSTING I NEED TO START POSTING THESE AS SSON AS IM DONE WRITING OMDS THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR HOURS.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; lmk if u wanna be added or removed

hector fort never really knew what hit him when he started dating you. you walked into his life like a storm, sharp tongue, quick comebacks, and a look that could cut through steel, but underneath that bossy, sassy exterior, you were the biggest softie he’d ever met.

he learned that early on. like the first time you two went out and he showed up three minutes late. three.

‘oh, so you thought i didn’t deserve punctuality?’ you’d said, arms crossed, hip cocked to the side. ‘is that what we’re doing now, fort?’

he scrambled with apologies, cheeks red, swearing traffic was worse than usual. you just sighed, looped your arm through his, and murmured, ‘relax, i’m messing with you. but you are paying for dessert. non-negotiable.’

he never minded paying, especially when you’d grin at him over your ice cream, that spark in your eyes softening just a bit. and god, when you’d say things like, ‘you’re lucky you’re cute,’ it did things to him he didn’t know how to explain.

but it wasn’t just the teasing. it was how you supported him, how you believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. after that match he’d been kicking himself over for days, missed shots, sloppy passes, you cornered him in his apartment, hands on your hips.

‘hector fort, if you don’t stop beating yourself up, i swear—’ you cut yourself off, softened. stepped closer and cupped his face, fingers warm against his skin. ‘baby, you played so well. everyone has off days. i’m proud of you.’

he melted. every damn time.

sometimes, you’d get worked up over the smallest things, like when your coffee order was wrong. ‘how hard is it to do two pumps of vanilla, not three? i’m not asking for rocket science.’ you’d huff, glance at him, and when you caught him grinning, you’d roll your eyes. ‘...whatever. wanna sip?’

he loved that you’d fight anyone and anything, but when it came to him? you handled him with care. your bossiness wasn’t mean, it was protective. you demanded respect for yourself, for him, for the people you cared about. you were fire and warmth all at once.

and hector? he’d never been happier to stand in the middle of that fire.

it was in the little things, too. the texts before his matches, ‘score a goal for me, baby. or don’t. you’re still my favorite.’ the way you’d pull him aside after a rough day and say, ‘c’mere, let me fix your hair. you look like you fought a tornado,’ fingers gentle as you smoothed back his curls.

but nothing compared to the quiet moments. like when you thought he was asleep, and you’d whisper, ‘love you, y’know? so much it’s stupid.’ like he didn’t hear you. like he didn’t tuck those words away, holding them close on the nights he missed you the most.

hector fort knew you were a lot. sassy, bossy, dramatic. but god, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. because beneath all that, you were his soft place to land. his person.

and if you wanted to make something out of nothing, throw a fit over a late pizza delivery or a movie starting five minutes past the showtime? fine. he’d let you. hell, he’d stand right beside you and complain too.

as long as, at the end of the day, he still got to be the one you smiled at like that. the one you whispered those soft, precious things to when you thought no one was listening.

because you, with all your fire and sass and sweetness, you were everything.

[lilyftm]

okay so about the way my girlfriend fucked me till I was overstimulated and begging for her to stop but didn’t last night 🥰

so she told me to go through to the bedroom and get completely naked and lay on the bed for her, so I did as I was told. she knelt between my legs and pushed them as wide as I could manage to spread them. she started telling me what a good girl I had been recently and how proud she was of “her princess”. she started complementing me and telling me how I was such a pretty girl and all hers. she made me tell her that I was a girl, her girl.

then she came up and kissed me really deeply and sweetly, biting my lip and then moving down to bite and kiss my neck leaving me covered in bite marks. she laughed and called me cute when I was moaning and whimpering. then she moved back to kneeling between my spread legs, my pussy on show and already leaking for her. she rubbed and toyed with my throbbing clit for a about twenty minutes, telling me how pretty and girly my moans we’re. I was absolutely soaking by this point and bucking my hips moaning so fucking loud at every slight touch.

after a while of playing with my clit, she started making out with my girly pussy, kissing it so sweet and deep. after about fifteen minutes of her edging me by eating me out I came so hard, she told me how proud she was of me… I thought it might stop here but ohhhhh (luckily) how wrong I was. fuck

she kept eating me out, and then shoved her biggest dildo inside me and fuck it felt good being stretched so good. It’s been a little while since I had anything inside me (well for me anyway) especially a dildo that big. I was basically yelling my moans by this point. after a little while of eating me out whilst fucking my hole, she switched two using a vibrator on my clit (still fucking my pussy with the dildo of course). I was shaking so much by this point and it didn’t take long until I was begging to cum again. she told me to come for her like a good girl, and I did and it felt so good.

again, I’m thinking “oh this is definitely the end now” (we were both exhausted so I wasn’t imagining a long session… I was wrong). she could tell I was thinking she was finished with me but she wasn’t finished with her pretty toy… she started to pull the dildo out, and when I felt the tip at my entrance I braced myself for the little pop out… instead with the tip right their at the opening of my pussy she slammed it right back inside me, all the way to the base. she repeated the motion like ten times, I was shaking so much, and I had tears in my eyes I was so overstimulated but it felt so good. I came again and I told her “okay okay” to let her know I was overstimulated and finished… silly me thinking it’s ever my choice when I’m finished!! she told me she didn’t care and wasn’t done with me,

she fucked me so hard and deep and fast with the dildo one last time. I was like cumming over and over by this point, overstimulated and aching but loving every second of being used by her, being her girly slut, her little whore. she told me she was going to keep fucking me until I squirted for her, we weren’t going to be done until she got what she wanted. a little while later I felt it happening and I just released, squirting so much for her. she praised me and told me well done as she slowly pulled the dildo out of me.

she kissed me and I thanked her for treating me so nice and good!!!!!

[sturniololuvz]

y/n is in a cheer team and falls badly during the routine (the one where you like stand on top of each other and she’s on the very top yk what i mean?)

leading to serious injuries and the triplets are worried sick? (happy ending pls ty!)

okayy!

“Up High and Down Hard”

Sturniolos x sister

The gymnasium was buzzing with excitement as the Sturniolo triplets settled into their seats, ready to cheer for their little sister Y/N and her cheer team. Y/N had been practicing tirelessly for this competition, and the triplets were proud of her dedication and enthusiasm. As the music started, the girls took their positions on the floor, and the atmosphere crackled with energy.

Y/N, who was just 14 and filled with confidence, was at the very top of the pyramid. She smiled brightly as her teammates lifted her high, the crowd cheering them on. For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But in an instant, everything changed. As Y/N raised her arms triumphantly, one of the girls below lost her grip, causing Y/N to wobble precariously. Before anyone could react, she fell backward, landing hard on the gym floor. The crowd gasped, and the music came to a screeching halt.

Chris, Matt, and Nick jumped to their feet, their hearts racing. “Y/N!” Nick shouted, rushing toward the edge of the mat, fear gripping his chest.

The cheer coach and medical staff were quick to respond, rushing to Y/N’s side. The triplets watched anxiously as the medics assessed her condition. Matt’s hands clenched into fists, and Chris’s face was pale with worry.

“What’s happening?” Matt asked, his voice strained as he pushed through the crowd.

“Is she okay?” Chris added, desperately trying to get a glimpse of his sister.

After what felt like an eternity, one of the medics stood up and spoke to the team. “She’s conscious, but she needs to go to the hospital for further evaluation. It looks like she might have a concussion and some possible injuries, but we’ll know more after she’s examined.”

The triplets exchanged frantic glances, their hearts sinking. They hurried to follow the ambulance, each of them texting their mom to let her know what happened.

At the hospital, the waiting room was filled with tension. They paced anxiously, and Chris couldn’t help but voice his fears. “What if something is seriously wrong? She was so high up!”

“She’s tough,” Matt said, trying to reassure them. “Y/N has been through a lot before. She’ll pull through this.”

“Yeah, she’s our superhero,” Nick added, but his voice wavered with worry.

Finally, a doctor came out to speak with them. “Y/N is stable. She’s getting a CT scan, but she does have a concussion, and we’re checking for any fractures.”

“Can we see her?” Chris asked, urgency lacing his voice.

“Yes, but only one at a time for now,” the doctor replied.

Matt stepped forward. “I’ll go first.”

A few moments later, he entered the room, finding Y/N lying in a hospital bed, a worried expression on her face. “Hey, Y/N,” he said softly, taking a seat beside her.

“Matt?” she whispered, her voice weak. “I’m scared.”

Matt took her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. The doctors are taking care of you.”

“Did I mess up the routine?” she asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“No, you were amazing! Accidents happen. What matters is that you’re going to be fine,” he reassured her.

After a few minutes, Matt left the room, and Chris quickly went in next. “Y/N, I’m so glad to see you. You had us all worried!” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“I feel like I let everyone down,” she admitted, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“No, you didn’t! You were doing a great job, and we’re so proud of you. Just focus on getting better, okay?” Chris said, leaning closer.

Finally, Nick entered the room, his heart aching at the sight of his little sister. “Hey, champ,” he said softly. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay… but I feel really tired,” Y/N confessed, her eyes fluttering.

“Just rest, Y/N. We’re all here for you, and we’ll help you through this,” Nick promised, brushing her hair back from her face.

After a long night, the doctor returned with good news. “Y/N has a concussion and some bruising, but she’ll be okay with rest and care. No serious injuries. We’ll monitor her for a little longer, but she can go home tomorrow.”

The triplets exchanged relieved glances, tears of happiness brimming in their eyes.

The next day, Y/N was discharged, her brothers surrounding her with care and love. As they drove home, Matt made a promise. “Once you’re feeling better, we’ll have a cheerleading party at home. Just us, some snacks, and all the fun.”

“Really?” Y/N’s eyes lit up, her spirits lifting.

“Absolutely! You’re still our champion, and we’ll always be cheering for you,” Chris added.

“And we’ll make sure you’re never on top of a pyramid again,” Nick joked, making Y/N giggle.

As they arrived home, the Sturniolo household filled with warmth and laughter. Y/N knew that, no matter what, she had her brothers by her side, supporting her every step of the way. Together, they would overcome any challenge that came their way, as a family should.

[tokito-dulya20]

I'm really proud of how Daria, Raiden, and Yun Xue's abilities turned out, drawn in the form of Demon Slayer breathing styles official art! It took a lot of effort, but I’m happy with how they came to life in that unique style. I might change their ability names so don't panic if you see the name being different. Raiden's ability is called "Blood of the Phantom", Daria's is "From the Sweetest Lullabies", meanwhile while Yun Xue's is "The Curse of the Shadow Lotus". But in all, I love how it turned out!! If anyone else wants to try something similar, feel free to do so! Just make sure to give me credit for the idea. It's always exciting to see others put their own spin on things! And yes, Daria has a new hair design. Plus, I might fix my oc intros still.

Daria Kalikowska belongs to me (1st photo)

Raiden Tsukishiro belongs to me (2nd photo)

Yun Xue Feng belongs to me (3rd photo)

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

Man, wrapping this up is quite the undertaking! I really wanna stick the landing and don’t want to put out anything I’m not proud of. So we’re not there yet, again (forgive me) but here’s a bit more of the rough draft of the final chapter.

More tags: @on-a-lucky-tide @callsign-selkie @jgvfhl @panchulien @gomzdrawfr @nekrosmos @lialucis @lostintransist @etanesnil @shyravenns @roachs-pet-roach

Picking up where we left off…

Price tried desperately to drown himself in the prep work for the upcoming op because being aware of his true emotions didn’t mean he was ready to confront him. Unfortunately for him, there was a CIA agent with eyes like a falcon across the table from Price in the dark room they occupied. Maybe the shadows would hide the strain on his face.

“What did you do?” Blunt but not unkind, a Laswell classic.

Price tried playing stupid and picked up a folder he had just put aside. “Need me to go over what intel I’ve already verified again?”

Laswell frowned but said nothing. Silence hung in the air long enough for the thick folder to slowly go limp in Price’s hand. He twisted his lips as if tossing something around in his mouth to keep himself from returning the frown, knowing that would be admitting he knew what she was talking about.

“Ya gonna keep staring at me, or wot?” Price tried for gruff, it came out juvenile.

“As long as you keep bullshitting me, yeah, I just might.”

Price couldn’t stop the frown then and dropped the folder unceremoniously. “Olright, what are you on about, ‘what did I do’?” He was incredulous now. “What’s that even mean?”

“It means,” Laswell leaned forward, “I know something’s wrong—can read it on your face.”

Price threw an arm in the air, exasperated. “And whatever’s ’wrong’ is my fault?”

“Obviously. You look and act like you’re kicking yourself at every move, right now.”

Before Price could try to deny she continued, “Please tell me this is wholly unrelated to how Nik acted when I mentioned your name.”

Price twitched. Something inside him roared in agony and the bile had instead turned into despair crawling up his esophagus. He cleared his throat—it made it worse—and fully turned towards Laswell now. “How…how did Nik act when you mentioned me?”

Laswell sighed, it was a deeply exhausted but notably empathetic thing. “So it is related.”

Price didn’t let up, his curiosity sprouting obsessive roots in every corner of his psyche. “How did he act?” Price stepped forward shakily.

Laswell frowned again as she looked Price over, but this time it was melancholy rather than unimpressed. Price hated it but swallowed the cry it made him want to let out.

“Clearly, it’s not my business. Just be honest with me, will it be a problem?” She not so subtly glanced at the table full of intel for the op they were set to leave for at 0600 tomorrow—they were still hunting that damn kingpin, the one who’s trail they were on when Price was put out of commission. They were cornering him now, the boys had cleaned out all but one of his hideouts and stomping grounds, they knew he would be at this last one and Price had been antsy to take him down—to prove that he still “had it”, so to speak.

Price looked at the intel alongside Laswell. Would it be a problem? No, it already was, and he knew it well. Price sighed wetly and hung his head low. “Think it already is one.” Quiet, like he hoped if he said low enough it wouldn’t be real.

There was no response for several moments, before Laswell placed a gentle hand on Price’s shoulder with a firm grip. “Then solve it, John. And not just for the mission’s sake. You and I both know in our line of work the last thing you need is unfinished business.”

“I don’t know how.” Price admitted with a bitter laugh, heavy with emotion he was trying not to get lost in.

“Well, if anyone can figure it out,” Laswell pulled Price’s eyes to her with a soft shake, “then it’s you.”

And if his bitter laugh turned into a sob, Price knew Laswell would sooner die than let another soul catch wind—so it stayed between them and whatever god witnessed.

Price tried and failed to get more than two hours of sleep that night, so he was up before the sun. He couldn’t even feel the bone deep exhaustion though, because all that was on his mind was Nik. His mind kept going over everything he wanted to express but didn't have the words to say. A million different apologies that felt inadequate or half-baked. A million more imagined scenarios where Nik refused to forgive him, tore him a new one, or outright ignored him. Every single one Price felt he deserved.

He was stuck in this loop of conjuring up scenes to break his heart or drive himself crazy even as he was suiting up and getting ready. He was even the last of the 141 to arrive at the stretch of takeoff, mere minutes from wheels-up. Very unlike the ever-punctual John Price. Soap made a colorful joke at his expense and Gaz joined in on the ribbing. Both Simon and Laswell eyed him warily and knowingly, respectively, sensing something off. But Nik—he didn’t even look Price’s direction, like he hadn’t even walked up at all. Price puffed out his chest like he wasn’t seconds from vomiting at the fact and walked up to Nik, clearing his throat.

Nik paused his pre-flight checks and slightly turned, not offering Price his full attention yet. Still, Price soldiered on. “Can we talk? Privately?”

“No time, we leave soon.” Nik clinically decline. His cold shoulder was ruthless—the man still hadn’t even looked at Price fully.

“Nik, please, I’ll get on my bloody knees if I have to.” Price growled out his plea but made no attempts to make it sound any less desperate than it was.

Nik turned just a bit more, eyebrow raised. “What could be so important, Captain?” Then like an ice pick through the clavicle, “I am very busy, you know.”

It was throwing Price’s words back at him. It was petty and harsh. It was what Price deserved. It made him want to cry right then and there. It was a miracle his only response was a sigh and a half-hearted apology for bothering Nik.

With all the fanfare of a dying star no one ever saw alive, Price shrunk away and boarded the bird with his men in silence. He wordlessly prayed that at least the op went well—he really needed a fucking win.

~~

Tits up. It went tits up, again. It started off excellent, the perimeter of the abandoned lumber mill was covered on the west and north by Price and Gaz and the east and south by Ghost and Soap. Nik was nearby in the sky on overwatch, but not so close as to be easily spotted. Laswell was on the ground a couple hundred meters away in van for emergency exfil and additional eyes if/when needed. But the kingpin and his remaining men they hadn’t locked up were ready for a fight.

That much Price had expected. What he didn’t expect was a bloody fucking RPG to amongst their weaponry. The task force’s energy in the firefight went from steadfast grit to chaotic scrambling when Simon narrowly saved Soap from a rocket that shook the entire building on impact. Price hastily reported to Laswell’s frantic sit rep call (“What the fuck was that?”) in as much shock as her. The mad fuckers didn’t care if they brought the whole thing down, it seemed, choosing to go out in a blaze of glory or not at all.

It was Price’s turn to get Gaz to safety as he ran and pulled the sergeant behind a pillar as they watched the overturned table he was previously using as cover get blasted to wood chips. Every time one of them tried to take down the man carrying the RPG, they’d be rained down on by the others, and by the time he’d gotten off 4 shots, a pillar began to crumble.

Price wasn’t gonna have a repeat of last time. He’d rather get his men out alive than idiotically try to prove some point to himself. He called an immediate retreat, prompting Nik and Laswell to close in.

Of course, things could always get worse…

They were chased, as expected, but Nik—like the guardian angel he was—provided them with cover fire that slowed down their pursuers. They were shrinking the distance between themselves and Laswell when Price heard the RPG go off again. Instinctively he and the entire 141 got low but this time it wasn’t a nearby tree that took the impact, but it came from much higher in the sky. Price looked up in time to see the tail end of the helo Nik piloted come off and send him into a spiral.

Too much happened in a single breath. Price felt the blood rush to his ears and his heart stop as heard Nik’s bellowed “I’m hit!”, his brain refusing to comprehend that. Instead, he turned away from the sight and put a bullet in between the eyes of the RPG shooter before he could take another shot. He caught his own bullet in shoulder as he had to leave cover to do so, but he hardly felt it—his feet already carrying him in the direction of flaming helicopter’s descent path.

A far off distant part of him was aware of voices calling out to him, as he was also vaguely aware of the bullets flying by and even grazing him. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about any of that. Price just kept running towards where Nik was going down. He didn’t know what he planned on doing, he didn’t care about that either. He just had to—he just had—he just—he just—

The ground shook as the bird exploded on impact with the dirt 50 or so meters in front of Price and it only made him dash faster.

He only froze at the sight of flaming wreckage.

“Nik!” When his scream left his throat, Price sounded hoarse, and it was only then that he realized he had been yelling Nik’s name the entire sprint, choosing it as the only valid use of his breath. “Nik!” He ran at the flames, as if he could part them or vanquish them or—

He was brought to the dirt in a tackle. Price began to struggle before a quiet and hurried voice, “John, we have to go.” Simon bore down on him and then ducked his own head as bullets sprayed above their prone forms. He then grabbed Price and dragged him behind a tree as more came after.

Right, they were taking fire. He forgot, the only thing on his mind, “Nik,” weakly left his mouth, nothing else but, “Nik.”

“I know.” Simon grunted, putting both of his gloved hands on either side of Price’s face.

It wasn’t gentle, but not a slap—harsh but grounding. What Price needed, but not what he wanted. He just wanted, “Nik,” as he pathetically reached his arm out towards the wreckage. What did he expect to happen? An arm to reach back out? Would that be worse—to know Nik was still alive in the flaming ball of metal? Suffering? Price felt sick at the thought. Simon gripped the sides of his face and forced his eyes away from the fire.

“We have to go, please.” Desperate rather than demanding, now.

Price doesn’t know how or when he agreed. It felt like an eternity before he nodded his head, grabbing his gun a little tighter as he provided cover for Simon—as Simon did the same for him—the entire way towards Laswell, who herself was standing her ground alongside Soap and Gaz firing at the oncoming men. It was all muscle memory that got him to that point. Just as it was muscle memory when he hopped in the van as they sped away. And when he stumbled into their safe house. And when threw up in the sink, feeling strong arms wrap around him and take him to a bed. And when he broke down into Simon’s chest, sobbing with a single name on his tongue. All muscle memory, or rather, his body acting on its own, as Price’s brain had officially checked out.

Final chapter of “This Is Why…” pushed back to next week, not this one! Sorry bout that, but truly a bi-weekly upload schedule should’ve always been the way to go for me anyway. Damn me and my day job. I was just on a roll so I hit the ground running and forgot I needed to catch my breath from time to time.

I don’t come without gift, though! Here’s a snippet from the beginning of the final chapter! Enjoy!

Tags: @on-a-lucky-tide @callsign-selkie @jgvfhl @panchulien @gomzdrawfr @nekrosmos @lialucis @lostintransist @etanesnil @shyravenns @roachs-pet-roach

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (5)

With the passing of another month, Price had finally been cleared for field duty. It was news he ought to be ecstatic about but he found it hard to celebrate without the person who undoubtedly did the most to help him get to this point. Price pretended it didn’t feel like a knife to his chest when Dr. Omar jokingly asked if he “scared Mr. Nikolai off“ when she noticed the pilot’s absence from Price’s final follow up appointment.

Nik hadn’t been around since their last conversation, no matter how much Price silently prayed Nik would burst down his office door or drag him from the training grounds during his increasingly dull days. Something to forcefully pull him out of his own complex mess of emotions and into the Russian’s ever-reliable warmth and safety. But even as he had the thought, Price detested it. Not because he was in denial of how much he loved Nikolai—how much he needed the man more than anything else—but because it dawned on him how selfish he had been. How Nik had gone to great lengths to accommodate Price during his recovery, no matter how insufferable he got. How Nik had shown levels of patience Price didn’t even think possible even when Price was snippy with him unfairly. How Nik committed himself to Price’s health and wellbeing gleefully, and Price did everything in his power to knock himself over even when he was down—he was doing it now!

Selfish, petty, vile—no. Price knew what he really was, his internal monologue be damned. It was easier to consider himself a monster because it gave him some sense of control—desperate as he was to keep it, though he knew the truth. He was no monster. He was a man with a relentless storm over his heart and an impossible weight on his soul. He felt both too big for his own skin and too small in his own head. He was sad and he missed Nikolai. Missed him so damn much.

[cosmic-cris-draws]

My entries for the Bg3 Winter Gala charity even on Bluesky! This was so fun to finally draw my tavs in pretty little outfits with their loves 💖 (special appearance from @m-u-n-c-h-y’s Tav, Outis 🥰)

[seventh-district]

“Why’s he call you Darlin’?”

on my knees begging my brain to stop trying to associate this song with Sam

[i-like-forcefem]

Interested in forcefemming as a guy and now the other 4 "guys" in a discord server have come out as transbians. I didn't do anything and now I'm the only cis guy left in the server. What happened is this normal? Did you do it?

Perish the thought cutie! I’d never do anything like that!!! Though as a totally uninvolved bystander I would be a little worried if I were you

Though if whoever is doing this is anything like me she definitely won’t leave the job at 80% compeltion

And if she’s anyone like me she might’ve even taught your friends how to transform you next!

But don’t worry, I’ve never met anyone else who’d do something like that, and it’s not like I’m involved here~

[0rangejulius]

GUESS WHO BOUGHT DIALTOWN!1!!

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[okcoolthanks]

Flashbacks From Dextrine sketch woohoo!

They’re having a sleepover and are solving an 800 piece puzzle