#send help dear christ

[gracetoldmeto]

Im being so brave rn... send your best wishes its a bad one this month...

[liquidloz]

[zae-heeyyy]

Causerie

Summary: You send Arthur a letter. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word Count: 2,185 Tags: Male Masturbation, solo handjob, mentions of oral and unprotected p in v, dirty talk, long distance relationship, high honor Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: So this came out of nowhere LMAO It's a bit different from what I'm used to, but I ran with it. The mentioned photo was heavily inspired by @sir-walton-goggins's under-the-cut sketch of their OC, Kris Blake. 😍😍😍 I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Causerie: an informal conversation

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office. An envelope addressed to Tacitus Kilgore in familiar dainty cursive teased him from inside his satchel. The nagging twinge in his gut could only be satiated by his fist wrapped tight around himself in the solitude of his tent. 

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the day without losing his sanity. Once you’d unknowingly planted the seeds, his thoughts of you grew wild and untamed like the weeds at your feet. He’d never seen something so ridiculous—a woman in her day dress, the lacy hem stained with dirt, trying to repair a loose fence post on her own.

“No man ’round here?” he had asked, holding his hand out for the hammer.

“There is now.”

You beamed, your smile stunning him like a camera flash. Unbeknownst to him, that grin was a brand, marking him as yours for a long time to come. 

Every time he passed by the quiet homestead, he found himself lightly pulling on Boadicea’s reins and scoping out something to fix. Your ways of showing gratitude, like a hug or kiss on the cheek, turned his neck to shades of crimson, yet he’d still come knocking again some time later. On his last visit, you were dragging him to your room by cotton suspenders, mouth attached to his before he could get a word in.

An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

And guilty, too. He couldn’t even look at you as he confessed to his life of criminality, finally admitting what he’d come to tell you in the first place. After this job, he was leaving for good.

To his surprise, you didn’t put up a fight—just wished him well—and dammit, that made him want you even more. You didn’t follow him outside—only watched from under the blanket as he said his last goodbye and promise.

“I’ll write t’you.”

Receiving your letters kept his heart ticking and dick aching. What started as a pile of polite notes quickly transformed into a library of erotica. His hands trembled in anticipation as he opened the latest letter. 

Dear Arthur, 

Are you still alive? I hope you haven’t gone and gotten yourself killed. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. A new photographer opened up in town, and I stopped by the studio one evening just before he closed. I may have batted my lashes and stood a little too close when I asked for his help. A special photo of me would be the perfect gift for my dear husband, who was about to be shipped away to war in the Philippines. You should’ve seen how red he got when I dropped my blouse. I tried to sit pretty. Did it work?

A photo? Arthur checked the discarded envelope, searching for the supposed gift. A small photo was still tucked away in the envelope. He took it out and held it up to the lantern to get a good look.

Christ.

You were directly in the center of the camera with a lazy smile on your face. Pearls adorned your neck, and velvet cloth draped over your shoulders, just barely covering those twin humps on your chest. Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

And for what he was about to do with it, he was going straight to hell. Setting the letter aside, the gunslinger undressed down to his union suit with the ardor of his twenty-year-old self. As he settled back onto the cot, he locked on to your sultry eyes and sighed contently.

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me?  

The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty. 

But he couldn’t help it. Even after deafening gun fights and vicious animal attacks, he’d find a letter to re-read, and now he had this picture to accompany his fantasies. His gaze shifted from the photo back to your words on the page. 

We were in this beautiful room in a palace or someplace like that, swimming under blankets. It was far from my humble bed, but it felt like paradise. 

If only you knew, that little bed was his paradise.

Dream you tasted like whiskey and ash and smelled like leather and gunpowder. I don’t think it was too far off from the real thing. We weren’t wearing any clothes, of course, and your head was tucked between my thighs. 

Breath shaking, his hips shifted upward, the memory of your thighs on either side of him overwhelming his senses. Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and didn’t waste any more time undoing the bottom two buttons of his union suit. His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him. 

Oh, Arthur, I could feel your lips on every part of me at once, kissing up my stomach, bosom, arms, thighs, legs, all over. But when you found my lips again, I don’t know how my pounding heart didn’t suck me out of the dream. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are or how heavenly your hands feel? And your back, Mister Morgan, is like a brick wall. How I wish I could’ve dug my nails into it.

Arthur’s fisted pace quickened as he stifled a groan, trying his very best to keep the sounds of his sin quiet. He urged himself downward into the cot, hoping the friction could mimic the sting of your nails dragging down his spine, but it was no use. Tightening his grip in frustration, he turned his attention back to the photograph of you. He wanted to study your hands, to imprint them in his mind’s eye so he could imagine them scratching his back and pleasuring his cock.

But the photo was too close up, only your face and a peak of your breasts captured at that moment in time. Would he be too brazen to ask for another? To request a pose? Hell—he’d stuff the money in an envelope with a list of the depraved positions he’d like to see you in. Your hands on your bust, legs spread open, on all fours, one with your pretty fingers in your mouth, and a full body shot with just the pearls. Dammit—he’d kill for it. 

But then, at the very end of the list, he’d ask for a respectable one. One of you with your hair pinned up under a fancy hat, dressed in your finest, wearing a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet with your hands folded politely over your lap. One that was sweet and proper. One that he could tuck in his journal, frame, or pin up on the wagon. One that he could take out in broad daylight and pretend, just for a moment, that he really was that war vet admiring a photo of his loving spouse.

His hips moved involuntarily again, jutting up into his fist—the placeholder for the pussy of the woman he’d one day make his wife.

I didn’t plan to get you in bed that night, as unbelievable as that may sound. You were just so damn handsome and so so kind. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know how you’d feel inside me. I hope you don’t see me as just some Jezebel.

“No,” he gasped out. Wet sounds of his strokes accompanied his declaration.

I really did and still do have feelings for you, Arthur. It’s quite scary, actually. Maybe that’s why my dreams about you are so vivid? I realized just how much I cared that night, looking down into your eyes. I don’t take you as the type of man to just give yourself away on a normal day like that, so I hope you feel the same way as me. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being such a giver. I have a tendency to take, take, take when I’m on top, but you got payback in my dream. You had me pinned under all of your weight, damn near suffocating me. It was the good type, though. When you pushed into me, I forgot all about it. I never took you for an eager man either, but you were drilling me into those blankets with the fervor of a threshing machine. Are you an eager man, Mister Morgan?

He answered in shallow pants, twisting his fist around his length and rocking his hips. 

I have a curse of waking up right when I’m on the edge, so as you can imagine, I had a wet problem to take care of. My fingers just don’t quite do it like you. I wish we could’ve had more time together. I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night.

They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

I know you’d never ask because you’re too nice, but I’d get on my knees for you and take care of you in that way. I’m sad we never got to try it, that I never got to taste you. The thought gave me the silliest idea. Are you looking at my picture? Imagine that pearl necklace is your spend on my chest.

Jesus—the perverted imagery hit him like a train. He looked at the pretty pearls atop your chest. Goddamn, minx. 

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock?

“Yes, darlin.” 

Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes.

Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me?

And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

Shame crept in as he floated back to reality and stared up at the canvas of his tent. He brought the letter back to his face to read the last paragraph. The least he should do was finish it—dirty old bastard. But when he landed on your words and processed them, he was left with a numb, longing ache in his chest.

If we were together, I’d help clean you up, then maybe we could spend the rest of the night all tangled up in each other. I’m sorry I’m not there to touch you for real, but I hope these letters bring a little light to that hard, lonely life of yours. If I can make you feel good, even from far away, that’s enough for me. I miss you. Any chance you could come see me soon? 

Yours.

Arthur sighed and folded your letter back up neatly, tucking it away in his now hollowed-out copy of Rambles Through Woods and Plains. Though your photo and letter were out of sight, his mind refused to wander from the subject of you.

An assortment of motion pictures flickered in his memory: the way your head tipped in laughter at his dry sarcasm, how you so graciously welcomed him to that sitdown meal, the way you worried about him just as much as he worried about you, and how your words, even from afar, brought him unmeasurable comfort. Making it back across the Upper Montana could be a brutal fight, but he’d outrun the law and take a few bullets if he had to. He’d bare it all to bring you back with him. 

As he relaxed into the cot, another thought drifted by, small and almost weightless like a dandelion seed in the wind: maybe he wouldn’t have to bring you back at all. Perhaps he could stay right there with you.

[ddejavvu]

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader, they somehow get separated while finding shelter during a tornado, but end up finding each other when the tornado is over🩵

I seen Twisters a couple weeks ago and now I’m obsessed with Tyler Owens🌪️🥰

Storm's Over - Tyler Owens x Reader

please send me tyler owens requests!

You've never known true relief like this before; like feeling your rattled, weary bones soothed by the mere sight of Tyler's presence. The second your eyes lock onto his ragged form, his own panicked ones scanning the crowd of survivors, you're staggering forwards, wind-whipped but otherwise unscathed from the storm you'd just endured.

"Ty," You choke, and he whirls around the face you faster than the twister itself had spun, his hands instinctively reaching out to hold you before he even sees you."

"Christ, baby." He breathes, shaky and devoid of his typical charm, "I- I thought," He crushes you against his chest, and the pressure is comforting instead of constricting, "I thought you'd maybe gotten- y'know."

"No, but I thought you-!" You cry, sobs crawling up your throat despite the danger being gone as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace, "I couldn't find you and I saw you run back to help someone, and I just thought-"

"No, I'm okay." He soothes, and the way that his hand is nearly bruising your scalp with the way he's clutching your head against his chest tells you that perhaps he isn't, but that he will be as long as you are.

"That was scary," Your face crumples against his chest, and your tearstains join the water that's soiled his shirt. It's such a simple observation, one that you don't feel the need to point out, but it's the truth, and the only thing your brain can supply.

"I know, darlin'." Tyler sighs, and you feel his hand tremble slightly as he wraps it even tighter around your waist, gripping you for dear life, "It's- bein' in the truck doesn't do it justice. It's more intense than you can imagine."

"I don't want you chasing anymore," You plead, curling your fingers into desperate fists in the material of his t-shirt, "Please, I- that was so scary, Tyler, I can't let you go out in those anymore!"

"We're okay," He reminds you, gently shuffling your embrace a few steps to the left so that a truck can pass you in the almost-ruined street, "We're okay, it didn't get us. The truck is safe, let's- let's get in there, okay?"

You're glad that Tyler has strength in his limbs still, because the tornado seems to have whisked yours away with it. He leads your slumping form over to his truck, and you grip onto its metal armor, thankful for its protection even though the storm has passed.

"Get in there, darlin'." He hums, helping to hoist you into the passenger's seat, "Put that seatbelt on, m'kay?"

"Okay," You sniffle, your voice weak and trembling, "I got it."

Tyler shuts the door when he hears the click of your seatbelt, and he's occupying his own seat as soon as he can round the front of the truck.

"The truck is safe." He repeats his earlier phrase, hands braced on the wheel as he takes a deep breath. You glance up at him with wounded eyes, curled into your seat like a timid puppy.

"You're not gonna stop chasing, are you?" You ask, and Tyler's face remains forcibly calm.

"No." He murmurs, and new tears prick at your eyes.

"Promise me you'll stay in the truck?" You ask, willing to compromise if it means he'll never feel the whipping winds on his skin again, as long as the metal giant you're nestled comfortably into is his protction.

"I promise." It's an easy one for him to make, and you reach out a shaking arm to offer up a pinky for him to link his own with.

He does, and you relish the security of feeling his own finger twine with yours.

"You're okay." He reminds you, jostling your joined pinkies reassuringly, "And I'm okay. We're okay."

"We're okay," You nod, and despite knowing Tyler won't stop chasing storms, you're confident when you say, "And we always will be."

[teojira]

Really enjoyed your headcanons on Caeser and Proximus, do you mind doing the same with Noa?? 😊🙏

[Noa and day to day life with him!] [Headcanons!]

Summary: Noa takes you back with him to his home, and the clan accepts you as one of them. Even if you're concerned otherwise.

Word count: 1k (Jesus christ)

Warnings: None that I can think of! Can be read as Platonic or Romantic! You and Noa are attached to one another. (Yes, this is me projecting.)

A/N: Noa is so near and dear to me, I literally did not mean for this to be so long, and I STILL cut myself off. This is 1k words worth of headcanons for him, and it is not enough. I'm Noa's #1 fan, I am sorry to all my friends and family who have to hear me talk about him constantly.. Ask me for Noa anything, and I will give you the world.

Do me a favor and strap the fuck in for this it's alot.

I am so glad someone asked about Noa bc I got ALOT to say.

Noa has had it with humans, Mae put him, his clan, and countless others at risk, he should not trust humans, really he shouldn't, but he can't help it. She also betrayed you in the process, and now you're alone.

You agreed to help him and Mae against Proximus, you're the only one who actively goes up against Proximus as well.

Swinging and trying your best to try and get Proximus off of Noa, yelling and crying while the other apes just stare in fear. (Later on they apologize, but you don't hold it against them.)

It's a huge risk to invite a human with them again, but then he remembers Rakas words, Caesars words, and decides he can't told another's decisions over you.

So when he gently grabs your hand in his, looking down at you with a strained smile, blood seeping from his lips, you follow, back to his clans land.

Now on to the good stuff, it's kinda awkward finding your place among the eagle clan, the elders are gone, his father Koro is gone, there really is no guidance as to where to place you.

You drift mostly, either helping Dar or helping with the young ones, teaching them how to read and write, helping fish, farm, the basic tasks.

Dar loves you by the way, doting on you and making sure no one messes with you in a harmful way. She teaches you their customs and traditions, all the while playfully teasing you about Noa. She's a mom, she knows.

You're happy with your work, happy with your place among the clan. It's genuinely shocking how much they were willing to forgive and to not hold any grudges against humans after one ruined everything.

It helps that Noa takes accountability for you, somehow so trusting that you will not cause harm. His faith in you speaks volumes and you remind him everyday that it won't go to waste.

All he does is send you a sweet smile and ruffles your hair.

You find yourself helping Noa alot with crafting new tools and contraptions, being a second pair of eyes that can catch onto things he can't.

"Very smart." "Thank yo-" "For an Echo." and he does that stupid cute little sniff afterwards and it makes it tremendously hard to hit him.

He's such a little shit I fucking hate him.

You're his shadow when his duties permit, he's taken on a higher role of the clan, sometimes going out for days at a time but you're always at the edge of the Village waiting for his return, anxiously working your bottom lip until you see him in view.

You're both extremely attached to one another, Soona and Anaya become attached to you too, dragging you along in everyone's free time to go climbing, to eat, to hunt, just about any group outing has you as their fourth member.

Noa was worried about them accepting you, but they love you just as much as he does.

It makes his heart swell when he sees you and Soona together, giggling about something surely only you both understand while Anaya groans and complains about being left out.

It's like you've always been meant to be with them, to round out their group.

Soona and Anaya will offer to be the one to carry you this time, they do want to, genuinely, but Noa won't let them 99.9% of the time, He's used to your weight, he trusts that he can keep you safe the best. (Says the ape that literally almost died multiple times doing stupid shit)

"Noa worries too much, they will be fine." "Anaya is clumsy. Can't trust you to carry yourself, much less echo."

He tries not to carry you everywhere, but it is so much more convenient than waiting for you, so he scoops you up often enough that the stares don't bother you anymore.

Remember how in the movie, all the apes sleep together communally? Well you're at first extremely nervous about that, not wanting to ask what exactly are your accommodations because surely they don't want you there with them.

Actually, Noa does, so jot that down.

When you shyly move away, he raises his palm up at you, nodding to the space besides him.

When you don't move, he gently tugs you down, laying on his back and shutting his eyes. The clan hasn't really fully rebuilt and started to gather things needed for shawls and coverings, so it's not strange to him that you cuddle up to him to steal his warmth, peeking an eye open to see your face squished into his side, knocked out.

He wraps an arm around you, incasing you in more warmth.

This is a nightly routine until you finally take it upon yourself to throw yourself on him, he chokes out a breath as you make yourself comfortable.

Soona and Anaya usually join in, he cannot fucking breathe but he's so happy that it outweighs it.

When Mae inevitably shows back up, she sees you out in the distance, you look so genuine happy, so at peace with where you are. You even have some eagle feathers in your hair, integrated into their life that it shocks her.

It's enough to make her put the gun away, grasping at Rakas necklace like a lifeline, sucking in a deep breath to stop her from crying.

Maybe apes and humans can live at peace with one another after all. She hopes you prove her wrong.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[claramelooo]

Hey, babies! Let's go to a another chapter (penultimate chapter)! To write this chapter all i needed was a sad playlist, beign on my period and one KitKat, can you believe that?

If you want, I can make available the playlists that helped me create the story.

Now, enjoy it <3

FEEL FREE TO FEEL

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST, HOMOPHOBIA, CHRISTIAN GUILT

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: The consequences of your actions arrive.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson | Part 7 - Dependece | Part 8 - Passion | Part 9 - Revenge | Part 10 - Control

VELVET CHAINS

Consequences

The last month had been an emotional rollercoaster. The time at Wanda’s house had been intense, almost surreal, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But, like all dreams, it came to an end. Returning home brought reality back, with controlling parents and suffocating expectations. You and Wanda kept talking, but something had changed.

She didn’t text as much as before. The calls, which used to be long before bed, now barely lasted 30 minutes. And even when you took the initiative, her responses became colder, shorter.

You tried to ignore it.

The SAT was approaching, and that consumed all your energy. “She must be busy,” you told yourself. But an uncomfortable feeling of loss began to grow, like a silent emptiness.

As soon as the test was over, you felt like you could breathe. You felt confident—the test model this year was the same as what you had studied. But now, all you could think about was fixing things with the woman who haunted your mind, even in your dreams.

You wanted to see her, to get answers. But when you arrived, no one was there. A neighbor mentioned that the Maximoffs were at the hospital—Billy had fallen ill. Panic gripped you. You spent days trying to contact Wanda, sending messages, calling, but it was like shouting into an abyss. Her silence was deafening.

Then, during a family lunch after Sunday service, your mother casually said, “Wanda really needs our prayers right now.”

You furrowed your brow, confused.

Your father fervently agreed. “Yes. Now that Billy has finally received his diagnosis, it will be easier for our prayers to reach the ears of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment.

“What… happened to Billy?” you asked, fear creeping into your voice, gripping your utensils harder than necessary.

“Oh, dear! Billy has cancer.”

The world stopped.

Your mother’s words echoed like thunder inside you, shattering any fragment of calm left. Billy has cancer.

The utensils fell from your hand with a dry clatter onto the table. The air seemed to freeze in your lungs as the weight of those words seeped into your mind like poison.

Images of Billy flooded your mind: his mischievous smile, the spark in his eyes when he ran through the garden, the way he threw himself into your arms without hesitation. Now, all of that seemed distant, fragile, as if it could disappear at any moment.

“Are you okay, dear?” your mother asked, but her tone felt more like an obligation than concern.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to blame your mother for treating the news so lightly. But the words wouldn’t come. There was only a tight knot in your throat, choking you.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, hastily getting up from the table, your legs shaking with every step.

In the bathroom, you slid down the door to the cold floor, your chest burning with despair. The news hit you like a violent wave, and you couldn’t breathe. The tears came, hot and uncontrollable, as you pressed your hand against your mouth to stifle the sobs.

All you wanted was to see him, to see Wanda, to say you were there for whatever they needed. But how? Wanda wasn’t answering. She didn’t want you around.

Without thinking twice, you went to the Maximoffs’ house.

However, when Wanda opened the door, her gaze was cold as she looked at you.

“What are you doing here?” The question cut like a knife.

“I... I heard about Billy. I wanted to know how you both are,” your voice trembled, but you tried to sound firm.

The woman sighed, crossing her arms—building a wall between you.

“This isn’t your problem,” she replied, her tone sharp.

You stood frozen at the threshold, as if the icy pain of her words was physical. Her tone was distant, almost cruel, but her eyes… Ah, Wanda’s eyes told a different story. There was something there, a shadow of pain, of something unsaid, that made your chest tighten even more.

“Wanda, please,” you tried, taking a step inside, but she raised her hand, blocking your entry.

“I said it’s not your problem,” she repeated, more firmly, though her voice had a slight tremor at the end.

“How can you say that?” Your voice cracked, the words coming out desperate. “I care about you both. I care about him! About you!”

Her green eyes closed for a moment, as if gathering strength. When they opened, they were harder, but the pain you saw there almost made you collapse.

“You don’t understand. You can’t understand.” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper, but still heavy with weight.

“Then explain it to me!” you pleaded, feeling the tears threatening to fall. “I’m here, Wanda. I’ve always been here!”

She laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, without humor. “You think that’s enough? That being here will fix anything?”

You took another step, desperate to break the invisible barrier she had placed between you. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to help!”

Wanda shook her head, her golden hair swaying with the motion.

“You can’t help. Not now, not ever. You need to go.”

“Don’t say that…” your voice broke.

“You need to go,” she repeated, quieter this time, but still unyielding.

Silence fell between you like a stone, heavy and unbearable. Her eyes, so bright and so full of everything she didn’t say, pleaded with you for something her words denied.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, unable to contain the tears now.

She took a deep breath, looking away, but not before you saw the glimmer of her own unshed tears. “Because it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

She didn’t answer. She simply closed the door slowly, leaving you on the other side.

You stood there, your forehead pressed against the cold wood, the sobs finally taking over you. The emptiness she left was suffocating, and all that was left were her cold words, which didn’t match the warmth and pain you saw in her green eyes.

You left with half of your heart shattered.

A month later, the SAT results finally arrived. You were in the living room, your heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo through the space. When you opened the email and saw the word “Congratulations!”, tears immediately filled your eyes.

“I did it,” you whispered to yourself, disbelief mingling with happiness.

But it wasn’t just a “Congratulations.” It was Yale. The university you had spent countless nights dreaming about, imagining its halls, the lectures, the debates that would shape your future. It was the beginning of something monumental, the start of a journey that always felt so distant and yet so viscerally yours.

You ran to the mirror in the hallway and looked at yourself, laughing as tears streaked your flushed cheeks. “I did it! I did it!”

The dreams you’d held close to your chest began to take form. Studying International Relations at one of the world’s most prestigious universities was more than a personal achievement; it was the first step toward making a difference. You envisioned nights buried in books, exploring cultures, questioning systems, trying to understand—and maybe, to change—the world.

Above all, there was your dream of becoming a writer. A quiet desire that grew with every story you created, every character you brought to life, every corner of the world you translated into words. You wanted to be more than an observer. You wanted to be a storyteller, someone who could take the complexities of life and turn them into something that could touch others.

Changing the world—that had always been the goal, even when it seemed impossible. Perhaps it was too ambitious, maybe even foolish, but it never stopped you. You knew that, with the right words, you could reach hearts, open minds, and perhaps inspire someone like you to never give up.

In that moment, alone in the room, you allowed yourself a moment of pure joy. Every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every doubt—it had all been worth it. You weren’t the girl who just dreamed anymore. Now, you were the girl who made it happen.

And Yale was just the beginning.

But when you were ready to share the news with your parents, you were met with a suspicious look. “So?! What’s this news you have to share with us?!” your father asked, his tone sharp, leaving you confused.

You swallowed hard, the paper with the printed Yale email trembling in your hands. The pride you’d felt just moments ago was suffocated by the tension in the room, as if the air itself might shatter.

“I… I wanted to tell you that I got into Yale,” you started, trying to ignore the edge in your father’s gaze and the false softness in your mother’s voice. “I did it. I’m going to study International Relations. My dream—”

“Yale?” your father interrupted, his voice icy, almost harsh. “And what exactly do you plan to do there, huh? Continue with this shameful behavior we’ve been hearing about?”

“Shameful?” Your voice came out as a whisper, confusion and fear gripping you.

Your mother let out a deep sigh, as if exhausted by something beneath her notice. “Don’t act innocent, Y/n. People talk! One of the sisters at church told us you’ve been behaving… inappropriately with Yelena.”

You felt your heart plummet, your hands tightening around the paper until it crumpled. “Yelena is my friend!” you tried to explain, but your mother raised a hand, silencing you.

“Friend?” She laughed, but there was nothing warm in that sound. It was cold, harsh. “We hoped you would understand what happens to girls who stray from God’s path. Or do you think you can ignore His teachings and still expect us to tolerate it?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice faltered, but anger began to simmer beneath the surface, mingling with humiliation and hurt.

Your father took a step forward, his expression dark as a storm. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Don’t pretend to be blind. Or do you think we’re fools?”

“Dear, please,” your mother attempted to soothe him, but he ignored her.

“I’ve always known there was something wrong with you, Y/n. Always so… different. Strange. God knows we tried, we prayed, but maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we never should’ve given you life.”

Those words landed like a knife, slicing through everything inside you. You stepped back, wide-eyed, trying to process what you had just heard.

“How can you say that?” Your voice trembled, but it was strong enough to echo through the room.

Your mother shook her head, a look of false sadness on her face. “No one’s saying you have no worth, Y/n. We just want you to understand… this path you’re taking is wrong. We don’t want you to lose your soul.”

You felt tears burn your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of them. The pride of getting into Yale, the dream you so desperately wanted to share, was ruined—drowned in the pain of prejudice from the very people who should have loved you unconditionally.

“I haven’t lost my soul,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “But I think you’ve lost yours.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out, clutching the crumpled email against your chest. The pain was suffocating, but the small flame within you—that dream of changing the world—refused to go out.

Their words were cruel, irreversible, leaving a wound you knew would never fully heal. You cried, but instead of drowning in the hurt, you did what you always did: you turned to Wanda.

When you arrived at her house, Wanda was in the living room, absently toying with a book.

“I needed to see you,” you began, but she didn’t even look up.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice cold.

“Wanda, please. I have no one else. Let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” she interrupted, finally looking at you.

Her eyes glimmered with something that felt both vulnerable and cruel. “You need to move on with your life.”

“You’re pushing me away,” you whispered, the pain spilling over.

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

She closed her eyes, sighing deeply, as if searching for calm—or perhaps the words. “Because I need to be here. With my children, with my husband.” The mention of Vision as her husband made your heart bleed.

The pain in Wanda’s words was like a direct blow to your chest. You searched her eyes for a spark of truth, something to tell you this wasn’t real, that she didn’t mean it. But her gaze was implacable—cold and empty.

“Is that it? You’re saying everything we had… was nothing?”

“It was a mistake.”

The word hit you like a dagger. You stepped back, feeling the ground disappear beneath your feet. “A mistake?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yes,” she insisted, as though repeating it could convince herself. “I can’t keep doing this. You’re young; you have your whole life ahead of you. I’m just a woman trying to keep my family together.”

Her words left you shattered.

“You’re lying,” you said, tears finally escaping. “You feel it too, Wanda. I’ve always seen it in your eyes.”

She hesitated—a crack in the mask. But then she shook her head, bitterness lining her expression. “You need to leave, Y/n. Don’t come back. Don’t write. Don’t look for me.”

“Wanda…” you started, but she raised her hand—final, definitive.

“Go.”

You stood there for a moment, searching her face for anything—anything to hold onto. But all you found was emptiness. So you turned and walked away, feeling like each step took you further not just from her, but from a part of yourself.

Outside, the air felt colder, heavier. You didn’t know where to go. But you knew you couldn’t stay. And as the door shut behind you, the sound echoed like a full stop on a story you weren’t ready to end.

The bus that would take you to the university was crowded, yet somehow, you felt completely alone. The worn-out suitcase rested at your feet, carrying the little you had decided to take with you. Everything else—the memories, the broken bonds, the weight of unspoken words—was stored somewhere else, too deep to reach.

As the vehicle moved along the road, you stared out the window. The trees turned into blurs of green and brown, as though the world was rushing away from you, leaving behind a trail of silence and emptiness. Yet, amidst that emptiness, there was something different. A faint but unbreakable strength that kept you standing.

The first days in Connecticut were difficult. Loneliness felt alive, pressing on your shoulders as you explored Yale’s campus. The dream that had once seemed so bright now felt clouded, dimmed by the absence of something—or someone.

Still, you forced yourself to keep going. Routine began to fill the empty spaces: classes, books, notes. You threw yourself into studying, as if every word absorbed was a step toward rebuilding yourself. But at night, when the world grew silent, your mind wandered.

Wanda.

Her name was a constant whisper, echoing through the most fragile parts of your mind. You saw her in small details: in the brown of an autumn leaf, in the faint scent of citrus perfume, in the muffled sound of laughter in the distance. No matter how hard you tried to push her away, she always found a way to return.

But amidst the pain, there was resilience. You forced yourself to remember why you were there. It wasn’t just for a diploma; it was for something bigger. For a future. For a version of yourself that Wanda could not destroy.

One morning, as you sipped coffee at a small café near the university, you noticed something. The bitter taste of the coffee didn’t seem as bad as before. The sunlight filtering through the windows carried a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. Small things that once went unnoticed now felt... possible.

You knew there was still a long road ahead. There were still nights when the weight of Wanda’s absence was unbearable, and days when the world seemed empty without her. But amidst all of that, there was a growing strength.

You were learning to stand up again. And maybe, one day, you could look back and realize that even in loss, you had found yourself.

[...]

"Mom!" Wanda dropped everything the moment she heard the boys’ scream from the bedroom.

“What happened?” She grabbed their cheeks harder than necessary, checking them over.

“Look, Mom, a hair grew!” Billy said happily, and Wanda smiled at the sight of a small brown tuft growing.

“Oh, look at that... We can finally pick a hairstyle for you, can’t we?”

Wanda laughed, feeling a genuine relief for the first time in months.

The joy in Billy’s eyes was contagious, as if that small strand of hair was a trophy—a victory over everything they had faced.

“I want a mohawk!” Billy declared enthusiastically, crossing his arms in a defiant manner.

“A mohawk?” Wanda raised an eyebrow, pretending to be horrified. “Do you know who's in charge of the style in this house?”

“Oh, Mom! Please!” Billy begged, pulling his best puppy-dog face, while Tommy, always the smartest, joined the conversation.

“If he gets a mohawk, I want one too!” Tommy said, already messing with his own hair.

Wanda placed her hands on her hips, staring at the two of them with a mockingly stern look. “If you two show up with mohawks, you’ll have to explain to Dad why he’s the only bald one in this house!”

The boys burst into laughter, and Wanda couldn’t help but laugh too, sitting on the carpet between them. It was a simple moment, but one filled with meaning. As the two argued about the most ridiculous hairstyles they could try, she realized how much these little things mattered.

She ran her fingers through Billy’s newborn strand of hair, her smile soft. “You know, you’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met.”

“I know I am!” Billy replied confidently, earning more laughter from her and Tommy.

As the boys laughed and made impossible plans, Wanda allowed herself something rare: hope. Perhaps the weight she carried could, little by little, dissolve in moments like this.

For a moment, she felt the urge to share this joy with you. To send a picture of the small tuft of hair or tell you how well the boys were doing. But then, she remembered you weren’t there anymore.

Even so, looking at her sons, Wanda knew she still had a reason to fight, to smile. She pulled both of them into a tight hug, ignoring their playful complaints.

“I love you both, you know that?” she said, kissing their foreheads.

“We love you too, Mom,” Billy replied, with the same smile that lit up Wanda’s world, even in the darkest moments.

Later, as Wanda stirred the stew with a wooden spoon, her thoughts drifted to ten months ago.

Discovering Vision had been like a lightning bolt shattering the perfect world Wanda had fought so hard to maintain. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t confronted her directly. He didn’t need to. He simply looked at her with a mixture of disdain and disappointment, and in a cold tone, made his threat clear: “If this continues, I will take the boys. You know I can. And you know I will.”

That night, while Vision slept, Wanda sat at the edge of the bed, her hands trembling with pure rage. She watched him silently, battling thoughts that terrified her. A dark part of herself whispered that it would be so easy to end it all—one move, one spell, and Vision would be nothing but a distant memory. But then Billy coughed from the other room.

Reality came crashing over her like a wave—cold and crushing. The boy’s soft cough was the harbinger of the nightmare to come. Within days, the diagnosis arrived: skin cancer.

Wanda’s world collapsed.

Seeing Billy so fragile, so vulnerable, was a pain no words could express. The chemotherapy sessions left her boy weak, his bright smile fading little by little, replaced by a weary expression. He began losing weight, and the soft curls Wanda loved to caress fell out, untilnothing remained.

Wanda stayed by his side, but every treatment session was like a dagger to the heart. She held Billy’s hand as he cried, his small body shaking with pain and exhaustion, and the guilt grew inside her like a monster. She wondered if all of this was divine punishment—for betraying Vision. For letting herself be carried away by you.

And yet, in the quiet moments, while Billy slept, she thought of you. She thought of how you made her feel alive, how your presence illuminated the darkest corners of her soul. Of the smiles you pulled from her, even when the world felt too heavy.

But now you were part of the weight, too. Vision knew. Vision was watching. And Billy needed her. Wanda knew she had to cut off what existed between you two. As much as it hurt, it was the only way to protect her children.

So, she hardened her heart. She said the cold words she knew would push you away and that she knew she would regret later—even as her eyes silently begged you not to believe them. When you left, she cried in silence but tried to convince herself she had done the right thing.

As Billy began to recover, the guilt and emptiness only grew. With each day he grew stronger, Wanda felt grateful but also painfully aware of your absence.

And it hurt. Wanda began to experience withdrawal—she saw you in everything.

You were in every corner of the house, in every shadow of the sunset that lit the living room. Wanda heard your laughter echo through empty hallways, your soft voice whispering things only she could hear. It was as if the entire world conspired to remind her of you, and the more she tried to escape, the more you haunted her.

The nights were the worst. The pillow beside her seemed soaked with your scent, and it drove her insane. She would clutch the fabric, eyes closed, trying to recreate the feeling of your lips on hers, the warmth of your skin. But it was useless. It was torture.

Wanda began spending more time in her room, sitting on the bed, holding a book she couldn’t read. Every page she tried to focus on was a blur, replaced by images of you smiling, you laughing, you crying. The memory of your voice calling her name was almost tangible.

She began to wonder if she was losing her mind. The withdrawal was physical. There was a hole in her chest that couldn’t be filled, an insatiable hunger that no food or drink could satisfy. Wanda stopped eating, stopped sleeping. The woman who controlled everything and everyone in her life was now at the mercy of a desire that was slowly destroying her.

In a desperate impulse, Wanda grabbed her phone and typed in your number. Her hands trembled, and her heart beat so hard she could barely breathe. But before pressing the call button, she stopped.

She knew she couldn’t. That you were better off away from her. But knowing that didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t stop her from wanting you with an intensity that made her hate herself.

Wanda threw the phone onto the bed, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall. She leaned forward, hands in her hair, pulling it hard as she breathed deeply, trying to erase you from her mind. But you were an addiction.

An addiction that was killing her slowly.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the void, her voice hoarse, broken. “I hate you for making me feel this way.”

She loved you. She loved you so much it destroyed her. And as the days passed, Wanda knew she would never be whole again. Because even as Billy grew stronger, as life returned to some form of normal, somet

Another Sunday, another church service. But the woman had a plan—Wanda was nervous, though she tried to hide it. She dressed with her usual elegance, maintaining the calm posture that often intimidated others, even when everything inside her was chaos. As she walked to your house after the service, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say to your parents. Nothing too direct, just a casual question. She needed to hear something about you, anything that could connect her to you again.

When the door opened, your mother greeted her with a hesitant smile, as if she already knew the visit wasn’t purely social. After a few exchanged words, Wanda asked the casual question—or at least tried to make it sound that way:

“So, how’s Y/n? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her…” The woman’s eyes scanned the room, searching for your figure, for your shadow.

Your mother’s face hardened, and your father, who was sitting on the couch, let out a bitter laugh.

“How is she? We don’t know, because she left without even saying goodbye.”

Wanda froze, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was crushing her ribs. “She... left?” Her voice came out low, almost a whisper, but heavy with disbelief.

“She did,” your father replied, his voice cold. “After everything we did for her, she decided to abandon us as if we were nothing.”

Your mother sighed, though she seemed more irritated than sad. “She was always… difficult. And now, look at her. Yale? Big deal. It means nothing if she doesn’t have respect for her own family.”

Wanda couldn’t hear the rest. The phrase “she left” echoed in her mind, a mantra that ripped apart every piece of logic or self-control she had left. She stood abruptly, mumbling something incomprehensible as an excuse to leave.

As soon as she stepped out the door, the mask fell. Her hands trembled violently as she searched for her car keys. The thought that you were gone, that you were far away and out of reach, was unbearable.

On the way back, Wanda could barely drive. The road was a blur as tears filled her eyes. She parked haphazardly in front of her house and rushed inside.

As soon as she shut the door, she collapsed onto the living room floor. Tears streamed down her face as she held her head in her hands, her body shaking with sobs she could no longer hold back. You had left. You weren’t there anymore. And she had never said goodbye.

“Why did you do this?” she whispered to the emptiness, her voice broken. “Why did you leave me? I… I just wanted to protect you…”

But she knew. She knew that pushing you away had been the greatest mistake of her life. And now, you were gone, and Wanda was alone, trapped in a world where everything felt colorless, lifeless.

That night, she picked up her phone again and typed in your number. But, just like before, she couldn’t bring herself to press “call.” All that remained was the emptiness of a name on the screen, and a hole in her chest that nothing could fill.

[...]

The morning was like any other over the past five years: a stifling Sunday, and Wanda sat in the back seat of the car next to the boys while Vision drove with his usual precision. She didn’t pay attention to the words he was saying, only nodding mechanically, keeping the serene face that had become her mask.

The twins, now 16, were as irreverent as teenagers could be, arguing over something trivial. Wanda heard the sounds but didn’t process the words. Her heart beat in the slow, hollow rhythm of a life on autopilot.

When they arrived at the church, Wanda adjusted her dress and put on sunglasses to hide the tiredness in her eyes. The family looked perfect—Vision held her hand with a polished smile, while Billy and Tommy walked ahead, grumbling about how much they hated being there.

Then it happened.

As they walked toward the church’s grand doors, something caught her attention. It was a woman standing across the street, scrolling on her phone. Her hair, the way she held her bag, her posture… everything made Wanda’s heart stop for a moment.

It was you.

Wanda blinked, feeling the blood freeze in her veins. It couldn’t be. You were far away. For years. But that woman...

Without thinking, she let go of Vision’s hand. “Wait here,” she said quickly, not looking back.

“Wanda? Where are you going?” Vision asked, confused, but she was already crossing the street.

“Hey, Mom! What the hell?” Tommy shouted, but she didn’t respond.

Wanda’s heels struck hard against the asphalt as she ran, her heart racing. Every step made her believe more: it was you. It had to be you. The world seemed to stop, all the noise around her muffled by the sound of her ragged breathing.

“Y/n!” she shouted, her voice hoarse and desperate.

The woman stopped and turned slowly, a confused expression on her face.

But it wasn’t you.

Wanda’s heart plummeted. Reality hit hard, like a cold blow to the stomach. The woman was taller, her eyes a different color, and the smile she gave was polite but completely unfamiliar.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked, unsettled by Wanda’s intensity.

“I… I’m sorry,” Wanda murmured, stepping back, her face burning with shame. “I thought you were someone else.”

Without further explanation, she turned and began walking back to the church, her shoulders tense, trying to hide the trembling in her hands.

Vision was at the entrance, arms crossed, with the boys beside him, both looking visibly confused.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

“I just… thought I saw someone,” Wanda replied, her tone flat.

Billy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. “Are you okay, Mom?”

She forced a smile, briefly caressing his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. Because as Wanda climbed the church stairs, the emptiness inside her felt even larger, as though it had been ripped open again by the memory of you. And she knew, with crushing certainty, that she would never stop searching for you—in crowded streets, in dreams, in the past she could never bury.

That afternoon, the house was silent, except for the distant clatter of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Vision had gone out to deal with something for work, and Wanda sat on the couch, her hands clutching a cup of tea as if it were a shield.

Billy and Tommy were upstairs, but she knew it wouldn’t take long for them to come down. That’s how every Sunday was: a mixture of monotony and tension that seemed to suffocate the air in the house.

When the sound of their footsteps began echoing down the stairs, Wanda tried to brace herself. She knew the boys were growing up, becoming more curious, more incisive. And lately, they seemed much more attentive to her.

Tommy appeared first, followed by Billy, whose expression was more serious. They sat on the couch opposite her, exchanging looks before Tommy finally broke the silence.

“It’s time for you to talk, Mom,” he began, as direct as always.

Wanda lifted her eyes to them, frowning. “Talk about what?”

“About you,” Billy replied, his voice softer but just as firm. “You haven’t been the same in years.”

She laughed nervously, trying to deflect. “Of course I’m the same. You two are just growing up and becoming nitpicky.”

“No, Mom. That’s not it,” Tommy insisted, leaning forward. “You’re different. Since… I don’t know, since we were younger. It’s like you’re living on autopilot, like you’re here, but not really.”

Wanda looked at them, her heart tightening. They were so perceptive, much more than she wished they were.

“And, like,” Tommy continued, hesitant now, “there’s something you don’t want to talk about. There always has been. We just didn’t know what it was before.”

“Tommy…” Billy shot a warning look at his brother, but Wanda was already on alert.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” she said, her voice low.

Tommy took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, “It’s about that girl, isn’t it? Y/n?”

Wanda’s world seemed to freeze. Her breathing stopped, and the name rang in her ears like an explosion.

Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Tommy!”

“What? You think I don’t know? Every time someone mentions her name, Mom gets that look…” He gestured dramatically at Wanda’s face, which was now completely pale.

“That’s none of your business,” Wanda finally managed to say, her voice trembling.

“But it is our business,” Billy replied firmly. “Because you’re our mom, and this has been eating at you for years. Who was she, Mom? Why is she so important?”

Wanda looked at them, her chest tight, her eyes burning with tears she wouldn’t let fall. How could she explain? How could she put into words something so overwhelming?

“She was…” Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find strength. “She was someone I never should have met. But someone who changed everything.”

The boys exchanged confused glances but didn’t interrupt.

“She… She made me feel alive in a way I never had before,” Wanda continued, her voice barely a whisper. “And I lost her. Because I chose to lose her. Because I had to choose you.”

Tommy fell silent for the first time, and Billy looked as if he was about to say something, but Wanda stood up, gripping the cup tightly.

“That’s all you need to know,” she said, her voice now firm. “She was a mistake I couldn’t keep.”

Tommy was the braver of the two, while Billy had always been more sensitive. Billy pulled the woman into his arms, even though she hadn’t asked for the hug. Wanda didn’t refuse—she wasn’t in a position to.

“So that’s it? She was a mistake in the past, but what about now?” Tommy asked, his tone impassive.

Wanda looked at the boy, cursing how much they had inherited her stubbornness.

“Tommy, I’m married to your fa—”

“Oh, Mom! Don’t start!” The boy huffed. “We all know your marriage is just a façade. Everyone knows.”

Tommy’s words hit Wanda like a punch to the stomach. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He was right. Everyone knew. She knew.

Billy still held her in his arms, squeezing her with the tenderness that only he seemed capable of offering. Wanda relaxed momentarily, letting herself be embraced by her son, but Tommy’s gaze remained fixed on her, as if he wouldn’t let her escape so easily.

“Tommy, you don’t understand. I can’t just…” Wanda started, but her voice faltered.

“Can’t what?” Tommy interrupted, standing up from the couch. “Can’t go after the one thing that actually makes you happy? Can’t fight for someone you still love? That doesn’t make sense, Mom!”

“Tommy, it’s not that simple,” Wanda insisted, her voice trembling. “There’s so much at stake. I have you, I have responsibilities—”

“Responsibilities that leave you like this?” Billy murmured, letting her go but staying close. “We can tell, Mom. You pretend all the time, but you’re not happy. You haven’t been happy for as long as we can remember.”

Wanda ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I did, the choices I had to make. You don’t know how much I lost.”

“Then tell us,” Billy said softly.

Wanda looked at him, feeling tears burn her eyes, but she held them back. “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me differently.”

“We already do, Mom,” Tommy shot back, his tone serious. “And you know what we see? A woman who sacrificed so much for us that she forgot about herself. It’s not fair. Not to you, not to us.”

“Tommy…”

“Listen,” he continued, his voice firmer. “If she’s still that important to you, why don’t you try? Why don’t you do something? You’ve always told us to fight for what matters. Why is this any different?”

Wanda looked at him, stunned. “You’re… encouraging me to go after her?”

“Yes,” Billy replied, nodding. “We don’t want a mom who lives on autopilot. We want you to be happy, even if it means things have to change.”

“But what about you? What about your father?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Dad can keep pretending he’s perfect. He’s more worried about appearances than the truth.”

Billy took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Mom, you deserve this. If she’s the one you love, then go after her.”

Wanda felt her heart tighten, but also a spark of something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. She looked at her sons, her boys, who were now almost grown, and saw in them the strength she herself seemed to have lost.

"You two are impossible," she muttered, but there was a small smile on her lips.

"True," Tommy replied, crossing his arms. "And you'd better do it before it's too late."

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running from what truly mattered.

[...]

The rain was falling heavily, but Wanda didn’t care. Her soaked coat clung to her skin, golden hair plastered against her face as she walked down the nearly deserted sidewalk. Each drop seemed to press against her harder, as if the force of the storm was trying to send her back home. But she couldn’t turn back. Not now.

When she finally spotted Yelena's small shop, Wanda felt a mix of relief and nerves. The dim light inside cast a faint glow, and the blonde’s silhouette moved behind the windows. Wanda pushed the door open with force, the bell above ringing in a tone that sounded almost desperate.

Yelena, who had been shutting off the lights and closing the register, turned around slowly, a cigarette between her fingers, her face faintly illuminated by the ember. She didn’t look surprised at all.

"Well, look who decided to show up," Yelena remarked, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Her eyes assessed Wanda with both disdain and curiosity. "What do you want here?"

"I need to know where she is," Wanda replied, her voice firm, but her eyes betrayed her desperation.

Yelena let out a short, humorless laugh, extinguishing the cigarette in the nearest ashtray. "You think I’m just going to hand that information to you on a silver platter? After everything you did to her?"

"I didn’t come here to argue," Wanda replied, fists clenched at her sides. "I just need to find her. Please."

"Please?" Yelena raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "You think a ‘please’ can erase the years of pain you caused? She loved you, Wanda. And you broke her heart."

Wanda swallowed hard, the guilt pressing heavier on her chest. "I know," she admitted, her voice wavering. "I know what I did. But I need to fix it. I need to talk to her, to explain—"

"Explain what?" Yelena cut her off, crossing her arms. "That you chose the comfort of a false life over her? That you preferred hiding behind a sham marriage while she suffered?"

"I didn’t have a choice!" Wanda exclaimed, the pain overflowing in her voice. "I had to protect my children. I had to protect everything that was important to me."

"She thought she was important to you too," Yelena shot back, her eyes hard.

The silence between them was broken only by the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. Wanda took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"Please, Yelena," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I need to see her. Just tell me where she is."

Yelena was silent for a moment, her eyes carefully studying Wanda. Finally, she sighed, grabbing a small piece of paper and a pen. "This isn’t for you," she said, scribbling something down. "It’s for her. Because, despite everything, she deserves the chance to decide whether she wants to hear you or not. Go there, and bring my little sister back."

She handed the paper to Wanda, but before Wanda could leave, Yelena grabbed her arm. "Don’t screw this up again. If you do, don’t ever look for me. Not for her, not for anyone."

Wanda nodded, clutching the paper as if it were a lifeline. Without another word, she stepped out into the storm, the rain now feeling slightly less heavy.

Wanda stopped in the middle of the street, the rain beating relentlessly against her face, but she hardly felt it. Her eyes were fixed on the paper in her hand, the address already smudged by the water but still legible. A distant thunder rumbled, but nothing could drown out the turmoil inside her.

The truth was raw and inescapable: she hadn’t been alive since the day you left. Every heartbeat since then had felt borrowed, as if she were just occupying space in a body that no longer belonged to her.

"Be it too late or not," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling but full of conviction, "I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering."

She gripped the paper so tightly it nearly tore, her fingers trembling—not from the cold, but from sheer desperation. Because if Wanda knew one thing now, it was that she had already lost too much. She couldn’t lose you again, even if it meant facing the worst parts of herself.

Lifting her face to the sky, Wanda let the rain wash over her—though it could not lift the weight from her chest. Then, without hesitation, she took the first step, the sound of her heels echoing against the wet asphalt.

Each step was a declaration. Each beat of her heart, a scream. She loved you. Loved you enough to tear down any barrier, to face any storm. This time, she wouldn’t let fear win. This time, she would be brave enough to fight for what truly mattered.

Even if it was too late.

~*~

Mommy Wanda will go after what is hers.

UREVISED CHAPTER

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@wandasslut3000

[buzzcutlip]

hiiii! can I get a request for lip with a shy!reader where they like know each other from school but it’s like later seasons lip like working at the shop or the construction job and she starts to develop a crush on him but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her so he distances himself and dates other girls and she has to watch from the sidelines until a guy asks her out so she goes for it and lip gets jealous and realizes his feelings. i’m in an angsty pining jealousy mood but with a happy ending still if that makes sense! but honestly feel free to run with it if it’s something you’re interested in writing bc I love your writing! 💗💗

Hi anon! I love this prompt, thank you very much for sending it my way! <3

This is a very first time I'm writing something with our dear boy Lip Gallagher, and I hope I'm not messing it all up.

Lip Gallagher/Fem!Reader Mature 1561 words

You admired Lip Gallagher. He was smart, intelligent, witty, and—alive. Despite the , he made it to college. You didn’t know the details but heard people talking about those nasty Gallaghers. You saw him take his little brother, Liam, to classes, to your study group. The little boy living temporarily in a dormitory made you sick with worry, but it was obvious that Lip took great care of him. You mostly felt for Lip—that he, as young as he was, had to take on his parents' responsibilities. And still, he did so great at school and had two jobs on top of it. He went home for weekends to help around the house. But that life sucked him back in, never giving him a solid chance, as much as Lip fought for it. He left the school, left the crime scene behind, and left an empty space in your chest. You never told him how you felt. Never wanted to, anyway.

Occasionally, you still meet each other at parties he gets invited to—or invites himself to—and you chat easily, sharing a drink or two. You’re happy to see him, to hear about his crazy jobs. Sometimes he brings a girl along and you smile politely at her, shake her hand. The whole school knew about Amanda and Mrs. Robinson. Besides wanting to protect yourself, you don’t believe Lip could ever want more than friendship from you, which makes interacting with him easier. ‘Cause you’re not trying for anything with him. He’s just a good bad boy. Who cares if you’ve had a crush on him since day one?

So what you expect from Lip when you introduce him to your date, Jacob, at one of these lame parties is that he shakes his hand and says hi politely. Which doesn’t happen; he just grumbles something and leaves for the kitchen. You roll your eyes and tell Jacob not to mind. Inside, you’re a bit embarrassed and disappointed. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe because Jacob’s a bit boring and you still keep seeing him. Letting him kiss you and put his fingers in your pussy and never do anything back. Because he doesn’t attract you. “But he’s nice,” your friends say. You say, for Christ’s sake! He is nice but oh so boring. You don’t feel anything, but you don’t want to be alone anymore. And most importantly, you don’t want to think about Lip when you masturbate, when Jacob fingers you, when boys half-heartedly fucked you in the past.

But as much as you want to forget Lip, you see him again. It’s a bar this time. Filled to the brim with a Friday crowd.

“Hey,” someone says behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder, and you know it’s him before you turn around. You smile at him, sucking on a colorful paper straw.

“You still drink that? Rum and Coke?”

“Yeah,” you laugh shortly, looking at the dark brown drink in your hands. “Spiced rum!” you clarify.

Lip leans closer to you, the sudden proximity doing things to you, as always, and you have to bite your bottom lip.

“Is your boyfriend here?” he asks casually, but you noticed him scanning the crowd just a few seconds ago.

“Yeah… Jacob’s here—but he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been just—seeing each other for a bit.” You don’t want to talk about Jacob with Lip and it’s clear in the way you talk. You’re more focused on your elbows touching on the bartop.

Lip just laughs shortly, doesn’t say anything. It irks you. You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lip shrugs, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk stained with beer and sweet, sticky liquor. He’s lost some of the baby fat in his face. You notice the sharpness of his cheekbones. He tilts his face downward as he blinks at you.

“You never had a boyfriend at school.” He probably wants to say "When I was at school" but that doesn’t interest you that much now.

“So what?” You grow even more irritated by his questions. Why does he care? You never discussed boyfriends, or his girlfriends, for that matter.

You turn your head away, grimacing, but Lip, on the other side, seems entertained. Intrigued.

“Nothing,” he says, smirking stupidly, and doesn’t stop looking at you. “You’re pretty when you pout.”

Your whole face flushes in an instant. Lip never talked like this to you. Never flirted. Of course, at the beginning, you had been disappointed, but you quickly decided that mutual respect for friendship is much better. Safer.

Unsure of what you’re going to say, you tilt your face back to him, but when you look at Lip, he’s not smirking anymore. He reaches for you, hand catching your burning face, his thumb sweeping over your cheek.

It takes you a moment to bat his hand away. “What’re you doing?” you ask, horrified. And shocked. Flustered with your shyness.

Lip shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mumbles while you’re looking around, all wild, to check for Jacob.

This time it’s Lip who frowns. “You said he was not your boyfriend.”

“Are you, like, jealous or something?” you say only to say SOMETHING, head shaking in disbelief. The silence that follows almost shocks you. You never thought about what you would do if Lip felt the same about you. Never dared to think about that scenario.

Scared to find out what you’ll find out, you peer at him. His face is serious, jaw tense.

“Oh my god, you—you’re jealous,” you whisper, hand going to your mouth to cover it. Your expression must be hilarious—eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. Lip starts fidgeting with the paper coaster on the bar, eyes flicking all over the room.

Angry tears begin to cloud your vision. “You have no right to be jealous now,” you seethe. “Have you only noticed me now? When I’m seeing someone?” The hurt is unmistakable in your voice. You ball your hands into fists, blinking against the tears welling in your eyes. When Lip doesn’t say anything, you turn on your heel. If you don’t get some fresh air now, you’re going to suffocate.

Once outside, you find a quieter spot away from the smoking people, propping against a wooden table. When you look up you wish you could see stars in the night sky. But the light pollution’s making it impossible. Sighing, you wrap your arms around yourself to protect yourself from the chill. You’re glad that Jacob knows people here too, otherwise you would probably feel bad for leaving him.

Before you get a chance to really sort your feelings, you see Lip approaching you in your peripheral vision.

You sigh, defeated, making a point of not looking at him as he stops a mere foot from you. You’re terrible at confrontations.

“You mad?” Lip asks, and you can feel him studying your face. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers.

You shake your head. No.

Next, Lip shrugs off his hoodie, cigarette held between his pouting lips, and drapes the garment, warmed by his own body heat, over your shoulders. “Here.”

Suddenly, you’re enveloped in Lip Gallagher. In the smell of tobacco, laundry detergent, and boy. You close your eyes tight against the feeling that’s surfacing from within you. It’s spreading like wildfire, and when Lip steps in front of you, reaching to move the zipper up, up, up, the heat reaches your face, pinks up your cheeks.

Lip leans into you, putting both your bodies into contact, thighs to chests. He slides one of his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, right where your hand’s hiding too, and twines your fingers together. Then he rubs his cheek against your own, as you meet in the middle, and your heart stops. You didn’t know Lip would be like this. That brash, cocky Lip Gallagher with a womanizer reputation treating you with such tenderness.

But you don’t want to end up as a notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t think I’m your type,” you say simply, looking at the ground, hoping that’s enough for him to let it go. To let you go. Even though deep down, it’s the last thing you wish for. You don’t want Lip to let you go. You want him to do the exact opposite.

Lip scoffs, closer to your ear than you expected, making you jump. “And what’s my type?”

“I mean—” you swallow hard, finding the courage to say the next words, as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m from a functional family. I don’t use drugs, I don’t deal drugs. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any personality disorders,” you list.

“Wow, so you’ve done research on me, huh?” Lip asks drily but he doesn’t move, stays close to you.

You decide to come out with the truth. “You know, I had a crush on you at school, and I think I was not as subtle as I thought I was. I mean, most of my friends knew about it.”

Licking his lips, he says,“I always thought you were cute. I was just—”

You're not letting him off that easy. “Busy fucking through the entire school?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to make a move.”

“Why do you think it’s a good idea now?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

[onechicagolife]

ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

BONUS SCENES (nsfw)

Avery moves first. She reaches for the waistband of her leggings, lifting her hips to slide them down. Slowly, teasingly. Wanting to see what he'll do. Jay watches, his eyes flickering to the newly exposed skin, his breaths coming faster. When she kicks them off along with her panties, her breathing already unsteady, she spreads her legs. His gaze follows her fingers, a dangerous growl of her name slipping out when she slides them through her folds, deliberately slow. Her eyes meet his, searching, "Tell me you don't want this."

She barely gets the words out before his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with quick, practiced movements and shoving his jeans and boxers down just far enough, his cock springing free, thick and hard. Their eyes don't leave each other.

There's no more hesitation. No second-guessing.

His hands are on her thighs before she even fully climbs over the console, gripping hard enough to bruise as Jay helps her straddle his lap. The heat of him—hard and ready—presses against her, making her suck in a sharp breath. His hands slide up, fingers digging into her hips as she braces herself against his shoulders. Her skin burns under his touch, every nerve in her body hyperaware, every inch of her aching for this. For him.

His breathing is ragged, his forehead pressing against hers for just a second as they hover on the edge. His hands flex against her skin, like he's holding on for dear life. Their breaths mingle, the heat between them suffocating. Jay swallows hard, "Avery."

"Shut up," she whispers, reaching between them. She wraps her fingers around his shaft, spreading the precum leaking from the tip and stroking once, twice—just enough to make him groan, his head tilting back against the seat. The sound makes her pulse throb between her thighs.

He pulls her closer, gripping her hips tighter as she rubs the tip of his cock through her slick folds, teasing herself, teasing him. His fingers flex, his restraint unraveling. “Fuck, Ave, you’re already so wet,” he rasps, his fingers digging into her skin. His voice is almost accusatory, like he’s mad at her for it. Like it drives him insane that she wants him this bad. “Didn’t even need me to kiss you first.”

She shivers at his words, her walls clenching around nothing. She’s already too far gone, already too desperate for him. Her smirk is lazy, taunting. “You should know by now that I’ve been thinking about this all night, Halstead.”

Jay growls, and that’s it. He’s done waiting. His hands shift, sliding to the small of her back as he jerks her down onto him in one fluid motion, burying himself deep.

She gasps, nails biting into his shoulders as she takes all of him, the stretch burning in the best way possible. “Oh, fuck,” Avery pants, adjusting, her thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so thick, filling her completely.

He lets out a ragged breath, his head falling back for a second as he grips her hips hard. "Jesus Christ—"

She bites her lip, circling her hips slowly, making them both groan. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

One hand slides up, twisting in her long waves and tugging, a gasp slipping past her lips at the twinge of pain. She tightens her thighs around him and starts moving, lifting herself up before falling back down on his cock. His voice is rough when he speaks again, his words sending a shiver down her spine. “You missed riding me like this?”

Her breath catches, her fingers clenching in his shirt. “God, yes,” she moans.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips along her throat. “I can tell,” he murmurs into her skin. He watches her, watches the way her body moves, watches the way Avery bites her lip when she grinds against him just right. “You’re fucking perfect like this,” he groans, his fingers sliding down to grip her ass. His voice is rough, his hand guiding her movements. “So goddamn beautiful.”

Jay meets her thrust for thrust, his hands roaming her body, dragging her down harder, rougher, like he can’t get close enough. He grabs the back of her head, yanking her forward until their mouths crash together, raw and desperate. His tongue pushes past her lips, stealing the breath right from her lungs. He doesn’t kiss her like he’s just giving in to temptation—he kisses her like he’s punishing her for making him want her this much. For making him lose control.

His hips give a particularly hard thrust and she pulls away with a ragged cry. One of her hands shoots out, slapping against the rapidly fogging window with a loud smack as her nails dig into his shoulder.

"Fuck," Jay groans, his head dropping to her shoulder as he fights for control. He sets a ruthless pace, thrusting into her from below while dragging her down, making the car rock with every movement. The wet, filthy sounds of their bodies meeting fill the small space, mixing with their ragged breaths, their desperate moans.

"Oh God," she whines, barely able to form words as she rides him, chasing the pleasure curling hot and tight in her stomach. Avery chokes on a sob, her head dropping back, and Jay takes full advantage—his mouth latches onto the column of her throat, his teeth scraping against her pulse before he sucks hard. Marking her. Claiming her.

"You're mine," he growls against her skin, his voice dark, possessive.

And that does something to her. It lights a fire in her veins, sends a new rush of heat straight to her core. Because even though she knows that this is what he does, the things he says when clouded by lust, Avery wants to be his.

Even after everything. Even with all the pain, all the heartbreak, all the unresolved anger and betrayal still lingering between them—she wants this. Wants him.

Jay feels it too. She can tell by the way he moves, by the way his hands tremble on her skin, by the way he buries his face against her shoulder like he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he looks at her right now. Like he doesn’t want to admit that this is more than just sex. That it always has been.

She swallows hard, emotion catching in her throat as her body starts to tighten, the pleasure building impossibly high. She’s close, so close, and he knows it.

"Come for me, Ave," he demands, his voice rough. “Come on my cock.”

She barely manages to pry her eyes open, her vision blurry, but when Avery meets his gaze, her breath catches in her throat. Because Jay is looking at her like she’s everything. Like he’s still in love with her.

And that’s what undoes her.

Her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave, her body locking up, her nails sinking into his shoulder, fingers curling against the glass as she shatters. She sobs his name, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain, and Jay doesn’t stop—he keeps thrusting, keeps pushing her through it, groaning as her walls tighten around him like a vice.

"Fuck, fuck," he grits out, his rhythm faltering, his body shuddering beneath her.

And then, he’s gone. His hands clamp down on her ass as he thrusts up hard, burying himself deep, his whole body tensing as he spills inside her with a broken moan.

The only sound left in the car is their ragged breathing, their bodies still pressed together, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks.

Avery doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at him as their heartbeats slowly start to settle. Because now that the haze of pleasure is fading, the weight of reality is sinking in.

This didn’t fix anything. They’re still fucked up. Still broken.

And yet—as she lets her forehead fall against his, she still doesn’t want to let him go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

The door barely clicks shut before Jay is on her, spinning her around.

His hands are rough, desperate, as they cup her face, dragging her into a bruising kiss. His body presses against hers, forcing her back until she collides with the door. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming, tasting, like he’s trying to burn the feel of her into himself. Avery moans, nails digging into his shoulders as she pulls him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against her.

They stumble through the apartment, their bodies colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue, all heat and unspoken words. Jay’s hands roam her body, palming her tits, digging into her hips hard. It stings against the already-forming bruises from earlier, but she doesn’t care. She wants it—wants to feel him there tomorrow, wants the evidence of his touch marking her as his.

His lips tear away from hers long enough to scrape down her throat, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, and she arches into him, gasping.

“Mine,” he growls against her skin. “Always fucking mine.”

Her whole body clenches at the words, at the possessiveness in his voice, at the way his hands grip her like he’d burn the whole damn world down just to keep her. Avery barely registers how they make it to the bathroom, her clothes hitting the floor in a blur. He strips her with rough, impatient hands, his breath coming faster, his muscles coiled like a man barely holding himself back.

But then she’s sinking to her knees in front of him, looking up at him with dark, hungry eyes. His breath hitches, his jaw tightening, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to touch her.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, like she’s completely undone him just by kneeling there.

She smirks, trailing her hands up his thighs before palming him through his boxers, feeling the heavy heat of him. His abs flex under her touch, his breath shuddering out as she drags his waistband down, letting his cock spring free.

Wrapping her fingers around him, she strokes him slow and deliberate, watching the way his head tips back, his hands clenching into fists like he’s barely holding it together. “Always so needy for me,” she mumbles, licking a stripe up his length before taking the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip.

Jay groans, his hands snapping to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. “Jesus, fuck—” His voice is pure gravel, rough and raw as she sinks lower, taking him deeper, her tongue teasing along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He stares down at her, his green eyes dark and blown wide with need. “You love this, don’t you?” His fingers tighten in her hair, pulling slightly as he thrusts forward, barely restraining himself, “You love getting on your knees for me.”

She hums around him, her lips stretching into a wicked grin as she takes him even deeper, swallowing around him, making his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Ave,” he groans, his jaw clenching as his head falls back for a brief second before he looks down at her again. “No one’s ever done it like you. No one’s ever fucking compared.”

She moans at his words, the vibration making him curse under his breath. Avery pulls off with a wet pop, stroking him with one hand slowly as her fingers dig into his ass. She glances up at him, her lips swollen and used, “No one else has ever sucked you off this good, huh?”

Jay licks his lips, his fingers still in her hair, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter behind him. “Not a single fucking one.”

She grins before flicking her tongue over the tip, her strokes tightening just slightly. “Let me earn it.”

He groans as she takes him back into her mouth, her pace relentless now. His grip in her hair tightens, guiding her, fucking her mouth just enough to make her throat tighten around him, to make his breaths turn ragged. “Goddamn it, Ave,” Jay growls, his muscles flexing. “I’m not gonna last—”

Avery rubs her thighs together and mumbles around his cock, “Then don’t.”

That’s all it takes.

He curses, his hands fisting in her hair as he comes down her throat, his body tensing and his head tipping back. Avery swallows every drop, her tongue flicking over him one last time before pulling back, wiping some of his cum from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze never leaving his.

Exhaling, Jay looks down at her with something dark and wild in his eyes. And then suddenly, he’s grabbing her by the arms, yanking her up and crashing his mouth onto hers in a searing, possessive kiss, tasting himself on her lips. He moves her back towards the shower, reaching behind her and twisting the shower handle until steaming water sprays against the glass.

She nibbles on his bottom lip, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you going to carry me?” she teases, reminding him of his earlier threat.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he murmurs against her mouth, his hands already sliding down, gripping her thighs and lifting her effortlessly.

Avery grins against his lips, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Then die happy.”

He slams her against the shower wall, his mouth trailing down her throat as he grips himself, sliding the thick head of his hardening cock through her wetness. He groans at the reminder of what happened in his truck, knowing that what’s between her thighs is mixing with his cum. “Tell me who you belong to,” he growls against her skin, teasing her entrance, holding himself just out of reach.

She whimpers, her nails dragging down the taut muscles of his back, “You.”

Jay bites down on her shoulder, groaning. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then does it again lower, just above the swell of her breast. She gasps, head tilting back against the tile with a dull thud, hands fisting in his hair. "Jesus, Ave," he breathes, watching her squirm as he bumps the head against her clit. "You gonna let me make you come before I even fuck you?"

“I need your cock, Jay,” she whines, locking her ankles and pulling him closer.

And that’s all he needs to hear before he thrusts into her in one brutal stroke.

She cries out, her back arching off the tile, her body stretching to take him. His hands grip her ass, lifting her higher, angling her just right as he starts to move—hard, deep, punishing.

“Fuck, gripping me so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath ragged. “Always so fucking perfect for me, baby.”

Avery lets out a strangled moan, rolling her hips, matching his rhythm, “Jay—”

He smirks, snapping his hips faster, fucking her rougher. “You like it like this?”

She whimpers, nodding frantically.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, kneading, holding her exactly where he wants her. “Say it,” he rasps, his breath hot against her ear.

"I love it," she breathes, voice breaking into a desperate cry. "I love the way you fuck me."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest, and then he’s fucking into her harder, faster, each thrust driving deeper, his cock stretching her perfectly. “That’s my girl,” he grits out, burying his face in her neck.

His words make her dizzy, the heat inside her building, her body trembling from the intensity of it. And then he reaches between them, pressing his thumb against her swollen clit, and Avery shatters with a scream of his name.

Her orgasm crashes through her, her body locking up, her walls clenching around him so tight he chokes out a groan, his hips stuttering. “Fuck, Ave,” he grunts, slamming into her one last time before he follows. His body shakes as his hips still, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her completely.

They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together under the water, their bodies still trembling as the sound of their heavy breathing mixes with the steady stream from the showerhead.

Jay presses a lingering kiss to her shoulder, then another to her jaw, then finally to her lips—soft, slow, reverent. His hands loosen on her thighs, but he doesn’t let her go, doesn’t step away.

And she doesn’t want him to. Avery rests her forehead against his, her fingers gently tracing the nape of his neck. “I meant what I said,” she whispers against his lips.

He nods, his hand sliding up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing gently along her cheekbones. “I know,” Jay says, kissing her again—deep and slow, like he’s memorizing her. “Me too.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, neither of them is running.

prev . . . next

a/n: i couldn't resist 🫣

[angelpuns]

I'm sending pick up lines from the internet I'm altering to be worse and make no sense to mutuals

Do you have arm floaties? Bc I started drowning in your eyes, I can't swim, I'm suffocating, Jesus Christ, dear God, help

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 73: Left In Silence

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Ring! Ring!

Another phone call means more potential trouble. If that’s Michael again I’m going to ask Polly to start visiting his dreams!

“Verena?” Ada’s voice asks. 

Why would she be calling again? We just talked last month. Lord, is someone else dead?

“Hello, Ada. Is everything oké?” I ask uneasily.

“You should be here,” she begs, her voice raising. “I told Thomas I didn’t want any more of his business. Guess what? He just had me chat up Mosley’s bitch of a mistress! If they commented on coat prices one more time I swear I was so close to hurling my glass at them!” She lets out a scoff. “I actually preferred Nelson. So blunt and to the point.”

It takes a second for me to catch the name. “Ada, I- Wait. This was a meeting with Jack Nelson? Why would Thomas send you?”

There’s a long-term silence. Did I say something wrong? Is there something I don’t know?

“Because, well… Ruby is sick with consumption.”

The image of the smiling girl lying in a hospital bed sends me stricken with sudden familiar sadness. How did this happen? She looked perfectly healthy when I met her. 

“Dear Christ. Do they know the prognosis?”

“Nothing so far. But until she’s cured Thomas has some plan to fix things. Don’t ask.” Ada adds before I can speak. “I don’t know either.”

No, no. This is not the time for one of his plans. “He needs to be with Lizzie. She must be devastated.”

“She is.” Ada takes a breath. “Temporarily, I’m in charge. Things could use a woman’s touch. And I know a certain American who would be a prime candidate.”

I can’t help allowing a smirk to creep onto my face. “Oh, lovely. I’m sure Gina will agree.”

“Do not mention that bitch again,” Ada bites and tries asking again. “Verena, please. I know you and Tommy are on rocky grounds but-”

“No,” I answer firmly. “No. I really am sorry about Ruby. If I were Thomas I would be worried too. But I can’t risk another loss. Every time I come back, somebody dies. I’m trying to build a life for myself here. Call it selfish, but I will not abandon that all for Thomas.”

“So who’s the lucky one? The Polish man?” Ada asks expectantly. 

“He, um… He didn’t like hearing about my work history,” I utter darkly. “I don’t know if you lot get treated differently but when he heard about my connection to the Peaky Blinders he immediately wanted nothing to do with it… or me. So instead I’m helping Uncle Colon’s bookkeeping for my vader’s whiskey shipments throughout the Great Lakes.”

“You can’t replace work with love!” Ada implores. “Do you know who you sound like?”

Yes, and unlike him I am not going to drown myself in bought love and liquor. I help out with my familie’s kids, and if that’s all I’m supposed to receive in this world then I need to accept it. I still pray for those who hurt me, because somehow I know it was all supposed to happen. No, I do not think I am being punished for being a part of that gang. If anything, those years gave me more wisdom and religious proof than I ever had before. And now if I could choose I would go back and do it all again, even if Liam still couldn’t be saved. Somewhere in those years God hid a path for me, so here I am waiting for the next milestone.

“I appreciate the concern, Ada. But right now you need to help Lizzie. Let me handle my own worries instead of thinking you have to step in. Please tell them my prayers are with Ruby.”

We end our conversation and I’m left thinking about Lizzie. No, we never got along, but that familie has already seen so much unhappiness. What might be the reason that her daughter must be struck with such a terrible disease?

“Verena! Phone for you!” Charlotte calls down the hall. "Someone called Ada!"

“Um, kinda busy!” I yell back, my hands covered in flour.

“She says it’s important!” My nicht whines. What an adolescent.

“Fine!” I yell and storm towards the scowling teen, dusting my hands off before taking the phone. “Hello?”

“Ruby is dead.”

Another switch is flicked on. My anger melts into shock and I stand there gaping at the wall.

“Oh my God. Ada…" I hold a hand over my mouth to keep from breathing too loud. "How is Lizzie?”

“Not doing so well. I think Ruby’s passing broke part of her. Thomas was already breaking away.”

I swallow. “And Charlie?”

“He’s still stunned,” Ada whispers, although she sounds unsure. “From the outside he looks like the one that’s stayed kept together.”

“Thank you for keeping me informed. Is there any other news?”

“Well… There is some good news,” the Shelby zuster admits. “Finn finally took a wife. Her name is Mary.”

Finn, a married man. Hopefully he took my advice and found a suitable wife. If I ever have the guts to venture overseas again I might try to visit.

“It’s about time. I’m glad he’s doing well, and… Please send my condolences to Lizzie and the others. Gecondoleerd.”

By now I might not even recognize them. Each call seems to alter how I remember Ada’s voice. There’s no telling how much things have changed over there. I deeply wish I could go there; to offer proper sympathies instead of hiding here, so I could tell Thomas and Lizzie how sorry I am to hear Ruby is gone. But I have to put my foot down, even if I don’t always agree to it.

General POV

Damn him. Damn Tommy Shelby. 

The gangster curses himself over and over, his fingers digging into the desk’s wood as he leans over. As if fate hasn’t been cruel enough. Now his precious girl has been taken. 

“C’mon, Tommy,” Arthur tries to uplift him. “You need to move forward, eh?”

“Ruby’s gone,” the Peaky Blinder groans. “Lizzie is leaving, Charlie basically hates me, Michael is still planning to kill me, and you’re telling me to move forward? Forward to where, Arthur?! A prison? A madhouse? A grave?” 

He sinks into his chair and runs his hand over his head. The place where the wicked thing is growing inside him. Ironic. After all he’s fought through, all the threats, firefights, and duels, it’s fucking cancer that ends him. His own body, turned against him.

“A grave will be here for me soon enough,” Thomas murmurs to himself and looks up to Arthur. “All I can hope is that God has enough patience to hold an audience with my soul… and to grant me one last request.”

He reaches into the desk drawer for some paper and pulls out his glasses. Would it be worth the risk? Probably not. It probably won’t even be opened. Why would she? 

“What are you going to do, Tom?” Arthur asks from across the room as he reaches for a bottle.

Thomas takes a shaky breath and stares at the blank page. “What I should have done four years ago, Arthur. I need to write a letter. To a good friend.”

Verena’s POV

“How’s the West’s business been?” Uncle Colon asks. 

“Quickly processed, although I’m afraid transactions have changed to a slower amount. People still want to drink but they’re starting to run out of money.”

We continue along the docks and the wind starts to pick up. For the next week I’m home in Brooklyn, taking in inner-city business and discussing matters with vader and Uncle Colon while Nicolaas holds down the fort in Grand Rapids.

“Well, we can’t change that overnight,” Uncle Colon thinks out loud. “For now let’s continue with the fact that the world continues to spin on, eh?”

We round a corner towards the shop and- And come across a face I never thought I’d see in America.

“Ah, good day, Verena,” a familiar gangster greets, tipping his hat.

“Hello, Mr. Solomons,” I greet, bewildered. “What brings you to this side of the pond?”

“I’m meeting your previous boss up north. I am here now ‘cause I’ve just acquired half of Boston and would like to inspect my new empire, and thought of paying your uncle a visit.” He nods at Uncle Colon, who goes on ahead into our pub. “Oh, and I’m showing my new wife around as well.”

My face lights up. “Congratulations!”

The Jewish man gets a twinkle in his eye and looks down. “I see no ring on your finger. No lucky man’s won you over yet?” He waves it away. “Don’t bother. We both know who you’re thinking of.”

My face twists into an awkward frown and I look down. The envelope is still crammed in my dresser. Now in addition to dreading phone calls I have to keep alert for postage too.

“I received a letter from him last week. I haven’t opened it yet. I’m afraid it might stir up memories I’d rather keep buried.”

Mr. Solomons takes his time playing with his cane before he offers a response. “Well, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for an old Jewish gangster who wants to see his friend find forgiveness.” He pats my shoulder. “Do it for dear old Alfie, eh? Even if you don’t like what it says, you can still toss it, right?”

“Um, I mean- Well, I could- Uh-” 

I stutter to come up with an answer as he slips inside after Uncle Colon. He keeps a sly smile on his face, leaving my mind scrambled. Are he and Thomas in kahoots against me? Did Ada tell Thomas I won’t accept a call and to send a letter instead? I mean, I can’t keep the letter stored away forever. Even if I don’t dispose of it, one of my broers will find it and read it for me. 

I take a deep breath and start marching back home. Alright, that’s it. No more hiding. Alfie’s right. Even if I don’t like what I read I can always burn the letter and Thomas will never know. 

Back in my room I pull open the drawer and stare down at the crumpled envelope. My heart stings at the sight of Thomas’ familiar handwriting more than I’d care to admit. I slowly pick it up and slip out the letter. Here we go…

Verena-

I know if I call you then you will immediately hang up. I don’t even know if you will actually read this letter or immediately burn it. All I can pray for is that you read it before destroying it. 

I need to talk to you. At first I wanted to write out a full apology but words aren't enough. I understand if you wish to never see me again. Anyone I touch gets hurt. I never wanted to hurt you. But that does not mean I can forget you. I want to make amends. Please call me so I can hear from you one last time.

-Thomas

What are the chances? Thomas nearly read my mind. And yet… I don’t feel the burning rage I expected. His words don’t sound condescending or overly perceptive. They sound… sad. Thomas, you can fire me. But don’t deceive me by writing like you still care. He should just let me go, just as I am letting him go. Trying to let him go.

In the corner of the room the telephone waits, tempting me. No. No… No? Lord, I really am pathetic! One short letter sends me running back again! But, I mean, he did reach out to discuss forgiveness, like Alfie said. If this is the last time we communicate at least it will resolve any last concerns.

Time seems to slow as I reach for the receiver. Only a few dials and I’ll be talking to the man I swore to never crawl back to. But this isn’t crawling back. This is one final goodbye.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Please pick up-!

“Hello?” A gruff voice crackles over the line.

Thomas. My heart beats faster. He sounds older. I can tell he’s trying to hide the fact that his world is changing. He’s masking his voice and he doesn’t even know it’s me yet. Keep it together, Steenstra.

“Thomas, I got your letter. What’s wrong?”

A few seconds go by.

“Christ. It’s you,” he whispers, letting his facade slip for a moment before resuming his bland tone. “You assume something’s wrong?”

No beating around the bush this time! “You won’t talk to me unless there is something wrong. Everyone keeps telling me how your life’s gone to Hell in a handbasket. Now spill.”

It hurts me to sound this cruel and heartless, especially since he’s just lost his dochter. But I can’t slip up again. He was urgent enough to write to me so this call is all I’m allowing.

“Right,” he rambles, remembering what I’m calling about. “Um- It’s good to hear you-”

“Thomas Shelby.”

“Right. It’s- Um… I know it’s been a while since you were here-”

“Four years,” I recall bluntly. Get to the point, Thomas!

“Yes, well… I’d like to see you again.”

Is he serious? He has the audacity to tug me around like this? If he believes I’m going to literally crawl back to him after all this time he really has gone mad! He asked me for a phone call and that’s all I’m giving him!

“I’m busy over here-”

“It’s not work. I- Please, I’ll explain later.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “I’m not skipping over the pond again for you to yell at me and then push me away. If I recall right, it was you who fired me.”

His voice is starting to break. “Verena, please. I- I…”

“Get to the point. These calls aren’t cheap.” Not a complete lie but I’m getting tired of this!

“I’ll send for you.”

I roll my eyes and bark directly at the receiver. “If you need me so much, why don’t you come here yourself? Too busy with your empire? Or did you let Michael ruin that too?”

“Verena-” Thomas pleas.

“No, I’m serious. You’re the one who runs the show, the one to blame for how your life is. I will not be pulled into it anymore, nor will anyone else in my familie.”

Suddenly there’s a commotion on the other end. It sounds like Thomas is struggling. But with what? Or who?

“Verena, please, I am begging you!” He gasps. “Please forgive me!”

I’ve never heard him so desperate. One would think he’s at Death’s door. Or maybe he’s still mourning Ruby. Either way, this is a side of Thomas that is rarely let out. Ada was right. He does sound like a stranger to himself.

“Are you alright?” I ask in disbelief, my anger mixing with worry.

I hear him gasp for breath again. “I need to see you-!”

Thud.

“Thomas?” My voice grows louder. “Thomas? Thomas!”

Click.

The line goes dead, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. That was not normal. Thomas might be an oddball but he never abruptly ends conversations like that, at least not with me. Something is definitely wrong. Between my visions of Polly and now this… Pathetic or not, old habits are tempting me to not let go. I might have to put my fears aside.

I redial the phone and wait a few seconds. Lord, I hope she hears me out.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie. It’s Verena. I heard about your dochter.” I pause to think over my words carefully, surprised she hasn’t hung up already. “I am so, so sorry. Words cannot amount to the right way to express sympathies for the loss of a child. I’ve been praying for Ruby. For all of you.”

“At least you’ve turned to proper ways of hope,” Lizzie snaps, her voice cracking. “All Tommy did was wander around looking for fucking Gypsy curses.”

He really has turned desperate. But there’s something he’s not telling me, and I’m not waiting around for an answer.

“Lizzie, I’m thinking of catching the next boat to England. I need to know that you are fine with me coming over. I know you don’t like me being around but-”

“You can come,” she scoffs. “I don’t fucking care anymore. I left him.”

My jaw drops. “You…?”

“I want a normal life. Not the one he’s given me. If I have to attend another fucking social gathering I’m going to throw up.” She takes an uneven breath. “He’s not the same man anymore. He’s not been well. Doesn’t sleep. I’ve had to wake him up from spasms. All he claims is that after this deal with Boston everything will be over. Fucking lies.” She lets out a muffled scream. “He won’t fucking stop! This life- It took my Ruby! I’m done with it. All this madness- This fucking Gypsy stuff! You can keep it.”

Clang!

She slams the phone down and I’m left with more silence. Now Lizzie has fallen too. In spite of how proud she was to have won Thomas, she lost part of her life. All the glamour and sex was all for a loveless marriage that took her dochter. Never did I think she would have the nerve to leave all that she fought for, but death can make us reevaluate things.

Should I tell anyone about the call from Thomas? Lord, I dare not even think of mentioning it to moeder or vader. I could tell Uncle Colon, but he'll probably side with my parents and want to hide me away from any more affiliation with Thomas. If this is a mission I will choose, I will have to do it alone. Should I even gamble to risk it?

I step over to my bedroom window and peer out at the open night sky. Is Thomas looking up at these stars right now too? Instead of kindling the anger from the past all I can think of is how isolated he must feel. 

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[traumacatholic]

Hi, I hope your day is going well. If you've got the time, I could use a prayer. Thanks so much. I'm a religious abuse survivor and I feel like I've been in a crisis of faith/wrestling with God my whole life. I'm so tired.

Of course, I will keep you in my prayers. And thank you, I hope you are able to have a good day also! If you can, try reaching out to a local Priest. He may be able to offer you guidance and support, and some resources that you might find helpful. Even if you have never attended that Church, you are more than welcome to reach out to them for support. I will warn that some Parishes can be very busy, so I would maybe recommend typing up a generic email explaining your past experiences and past/current struggles and send it to a few local Churches. Or if you don't feel comfortable / are unable to attend a local Church for whatever reason, try reaching out to Churches that are less local and just mention your location in the email. They may be able to offer some support over Zoom or over telephone.

Some prayers that you may find helpful:

A prayer for the intercession of Saint Dymphna

Good Saint Dymphna, great wonder-worker in every affliction of mind and body, I humbly implore your powerful intercession with Jesus through Mary, the Health of the Sick, in my present need. (Mention it.) Saint Dymphna, martyr of purity, patroness of those who suffer with nervous and mental afflictions, beloved child of Jesus and Mary, pray to Them for me and obtain my request. (Pray one Our Father, one Hail Mary and one Glory Be.) Saint Dymphna, Virgin and Martyr, pray for us.

Here is a prayer for inner healing:

 Dear Lord Jesus, please come and heal my wounded and troubled heart. I beg you to heal the torments that are causing anxiety in my life. I beg you, in a particular way, to heal the underlying source of my fear and doubt. I beg you to come into my life and heal the psychological harms that struck me in my childhood and from the injuries they have caused throughout my life.    Lord Jesus, you know my burdens. I lay them on your Good Shepherd’s heart. I beseech you—by the merits of the great open wound in your own heart—to heal the wounds that are in mine. Heal my memories, so that nothing that has happened to me will cause me to remain in pain and anguish, filled with anxiety, fear or guilt.    Heal, O Lord, all those wounds that have been the cause of evil that is rooted in my life. I want to forgive all those who have offended me. Look to those inner wounds that make me unable to forgive. You who came to forgive the afflicted of heart, heal my wounded and troubled heart.    Heal, O Lord Jesus, all those intimate wounds that are the root cause of my physical and emotional pain. I offer you my heart. Accept it, Lord, purify it, and give me the sentiments of your Divine Heart.   Grant me to regain peace and joy in the knowledge that you are the Resurrection and the Life. Make me an authentic witness to your resurrection, your victory over sin and death, and your loving presence among all men.    Amen.

Here is a prayer for healing of past trauma / PTSD:

Oh God, you who chose to enter the messiness of being human, Willing to perceive pain, endure tragedy, and hold memories that haunt, Be gracious to those who know trauma. Heal the shadowy places of their minds. Be a safe haven in moments of fear. Calm their somatic sensations And surround them with the comfort of trusted community. Heal their memories, Renew their joy, And restore them to life once again. May the assurance of your presence illuminate the pit of despair, May your light be more real than the darkest of moments, And may your love and peace be an other-worldly balm That makes us all whole - again and again and again.

Prayer for all victims of abuse:

Praise to you, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,  source of all consolation and hope.  By your Son's dying and rising He remains our light in every darkness,  our strength in every weakness. Be the refuge and guardian of all who suffer from abuse and violence. Comfort them and send healing for their wounds of body, soul and spirit. Rescue them from bitterness and shame and refresh them with your love. Heal the brokenness in all victims of abuse and revive the spirits of all who lament this sin. Help us to follow Jesus in drawing good from evil, life from death. Make us one with you in your love for justice as we deepen our respect for the dignity of every human life. Giver of peace, make us one in celebrating your praise,  both now and for ever.  Amen.

Prayer to seek God continually:

O Lord my God, I believe in you, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit... Insofar as I can, Insofar as you have given me the power, I have sought you. I became weary and I laboured. O Lord my God, My sole hope, help me to believe And never to cease seeking you. Grant that I may always and ardently Seek out your countenance. Give me the strength to seek you, For you help me to find you And you have more and more given me the hope of finding you. Here I am before you With my firmness and my infirmity. Preserve the first and heal the second.. Here I am before you With my strength and my ignorance. Where you have opened the door to me, Welcome me at the entrance; Where you have closed the door to me, Open to my cry; Enable me to remember you, To understand you, And to love you. Amen.

Another prayer that I find very comforting and healing to me is the Memorare:

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help,  or sought thy intercession,  was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. To thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.  Amen.

[avilthings]

Spring Shedding

Plot: Poor Husk isn’t the best at handling shedding season

Pairing: Husk x gn!reader

Length: 1.3K

Type: SFW ~ Fluff

Editing credit: To the lovely @irkimatsu who always cleans up my work🫶

•

•

•

It’s been two days since you’ve seen Husk at the bar. You’ve been staying at the hotel long enough to know that not seeing Husk at the bar is unusual. He’s usually always there sipping on a bottle of cheap booze.

The hotel has been rather quiet this past little bit with Charlie and Vaggie busy coming up with plans at Lucifer’s estate and Angel working many hours. For as odd as it was seeing the hotel so quiet you actually enjoyed it. It was a nice change of pace from the usual chaos. However, you were now quite curious about where Husk has been these last two days.

~~

“Oh good, Niffty! Wait… what is that?” You point to the clump of fur in her hand lowkey disturbed.

“For my collection!” Niffty grins before scurrying away.

“Wait, I was going to ask if you’ve seen Alastor!” You try calling out, but Niffty is already gone.

“You needed something?”

You jump as Alastor appears from shadows behind you. “Jesus Christ Al! Don’t sneak up on people!”

“Hmph, I simply heard my name and answered, dear. Is that so wrong?”

“It is when you almost send people into cardiac arrest!” You sigh before getting back to the topic at hand. “Listen, I was just going to ask if you’ve seen Husk. It’s unusual to not see him at the bar.”

“Ah yes~ Husker was getting rather frustrated with the amount of fur getting into his drinks.”

“Wait, fur…? Niffty had a clump of fur in her hands not too long ago…” You recall your interaction with her.

“Yes, poor Niffty has been working overtime with the amount of fur Husker has been leaving all over the hotel.” Alastor says, sympathizing with Niffty. Whether it was genuine or not, you’ll never know. “It is shedding season after all!” Alastor states matter of factly before heading off.

‘Shedding season…’ you think to yourself, processing Alastor words.

~~

*knock knock*

“Husk? You in there?”

“Go away, I’m not in the mood.”

Not wanting to push, you leave, wanting to think of a better way to approach this issue.

While alive, you had many animals and worked in the field of taking care of them. You were very good at managing fur, from double coats to long and short coats. You knew you could help Husk because of this, and wanted to help him since he’s helped you before, even if it was just lending an ear.

That’s when you got a plan…

~~

*knock knock*

“I thought I told you to fucking go away earlier!” Husk snapped.

“You did, and I listened. Now it’s later… plus, I brought some rather expensive alcohol this time.” You smirk from behind the door knowing Husk’s ears probably perked up at that.

Not too long after that comment, the door opens slightly. Husk doesn’t seem to want to come out though, and is mostly hidden behind the door.

“If you’re going to have some of my expensive whiskey, we’re going to enjoy it together,” you emphasize. Husk grumbles, but finally lets you in.

“Don’t say a word!” he warns. You knew instantly he was referring to both the way he looked and the state of his room. Husk had chunks of fur falling out as well as a few bald spots from where he probably pulled the fur out. The room was no better, with fur and the occasional feathers everywhere.

You take the whiskey and glasses out of the small bag you had before setting them down on a nearby coffee table. Husk instantly pours himself a glass.

“Ah~ been awhile since I had the good shit.” Husk says, sitting back into a comfy chair.

“It’s not the only thing I have in my bag…”

“Hm?” Husk grunts, almost curious, but also in a way that says ‘I don’t give a fuck unless it’s more alcohol.’ You empty the bag and three brushes fall out.

“NO!” Husk says as soon as he sees the brushes, knowing exactly what you wanted to do.

“Hear me out, okay?. In my life, I worked a lot with different types of fur coats. I understand how to properly groom and take care of them, it’s what I did for a living. I know you don’t want help, but I can see how much this is bothering you. You’re always there for everyone else listening to their problems and even lending advice at times. Let me return the favour and be there for you.”

After a long sip of his (your) whiskey, he gets up and sits on the floor by you and the coffee table.

“This stays between us, got it?”

Your face lights up at this. “It will, I promise. Now, what’s the area causing you the most trouble?”

“My back and torso have the thickest amount of hair, but I don’t want you touching my wings or tail,” Husk says as he turns around, allowing you access to his back.

“I won’t. I have a curry comb which I’ll use to get the already loose fur out, then a special deshedding comb which will be the main brush I use, and finally a slicker brush to help the coat look nice and sleek after.” You let Husk know your process so he’s not startled by what you’re doing or confused as to why you’e doing it.

“As long as I get to keep drinking this whiskey, knock yourself out,” Husk comments, not seeming to care much.

You begin by getting a feel for his fur to understand the type of coat he has. Once you have a plan of what to do, you start working. You’re careful not to touch or go near his wings as you work away.

~~

It’s been an hour now, and you’ve finally finished his back. The amount of fur that came out was almost startling. Both you and Husk hadn’t noticed but at some point while grooming his back he had started purring.

“I’m going to move to your chest now. Can you turn around?”

Husk complies, moving to face you. Seeing him this close knowing you would be touching his chest was enough to dust your cheeks a light pink. Thankfully, Husk didn’t seem to notice, as he was mostly interested in the alcohol.

“I’m going to start.”

It wasn’t until you touched his chest that you felt the vibrations of him purring. It was a low purr, which is why you hadn’t noticed it earlier. Now that you were aware of it, it became clear as day. Best not to comment on it, though, you figured.

As you worked through Husk’s chest fur, you soon realized how thick this particular area was and how long it would take. Husk had already finished off the bottle of whiskey and you still had a ways to go.

“This area is going to take a while. Sorry! It’s just very thick and where most of your shedding is coming from,” you warned, quietly a little worried he’d get mad or ask you to stop. Instead, he did something you never would’ve expected.

Husk lay his head in your lap, getting comfortable before closing his eyes.

“….Husk?”

“I’m tired… and out of booze. Just keep doing your thing.”

With that said, you keep working on his chest fur, making sure to be careful around bald spots. You can feel the vibrations of Husk’s purring through your lap; he seems to really enjoy this.

~~

After an hour and a half, fur everywhere and your legs numb, you finished. Husk’s coat was looking better than ever as he now slept in your lap, still purring quietly. You couldn’t help but reach down and lightly rub his ears, causing him to wake up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Husk says as he sits up.

Husk starts to feel his fur, almost amazed at how soft it felt. “My fur has never felt like this. It’s amazingly soft.”

“Told you I knew what I was doing,” you giggle as you watch Husk pet his own chest.

“Thank you for this.” Husk said, a bit quieter than his usual tone.

“You’re welcome. I’m really happy to have helped you.” You smile.

~~

“Know anything about wings?”

•

•

•

[b0amagination]

I am giving declan a box of a hundred cute little scorpions they got lil baby venomous tails but i think he’ll be okay they probably won’t get scared and sting him. probably

Thank you for the present and the patience Nemi! Happy happy deccy :)!

Content warnings: scorpions, and the viewer is referred to with she/her pronouns because Nemi POV is a joy to write from.

~~~

“Nuh-uh. You can have it back,” Declan grimaces. “I don’t need any more presents.”

The box in his hands is wrapped in obnoxiously polka-dotted paper and tied up with a bow. He rubs the velvet ribbon between his fingers, cold with trepidation. 

“The store said no returns,” you shrug. “I didn’t buy it for myself.”

“It’s- it’s hissing!”

It’s faint, but when the room goes quiet there’s a faint hiss to be heard as if someone left an air valve open. When Declan shakes the box, you can’t help but giggle.

“You’re gonna hate yourself for that.”

But he’s more concerned with rolling and tilting it around, feeling the motion of its contents.

“Just open it, Dec!” Hasan chimes in, arms folded.

“This is a really, really roundabout way of hurting me. Can’t we make it straightforward?”

“Her idea of fun–” Hasan jabs a playful thumb at you “–is dissecting you. I’d suggest you stick to this.”

“Vivisecting,” you insist. “There’s a difference.”

The commotion has encouraged Declan’s trembling hands to slip the ribbon off and peel the paper away to reveal a, frankly, boring brown box. Packing tape seals the top shut, and he sets himself at picking away the edge before you produce a pocket knife. 

“Move your fingers.” And it slices right through, allowing Declan to pop the flaps open. “They might be agitated. I’m not sure how well the air was flowing.”

He tries to shut them in. He really does. But the moment a tiny scorpion scuttles free, he screams and throws the box on its head. 

“Oh my god I- how many are there?! Fuck!” His voice cracks when one finds his sock and gets expeditiously kicked off, sending his ankle chain skittering across the floor, frustrating a few more of its comrades. “Why are all of your friends fucking insane?! Are these poisonous?!”

“No. Do you plan on eating them?” Your amusement only feeds the fire.

“Venomous! Whatever! Jesus Christ, they’re everywhere!”

“Maybe. You shouldn’t let them sting. Just in case.”

The scorpions can’t be longer than a finger, but their pincers are comparatively massive when they latch onto Declan’s leg and scamper up it. 

“Oww, oww! Put your stupid little hands away! Seriously, am I gonna die if they-”

And at that moment, the agitated fellow halfway up his thigh has had enough. It stings him, tail pumping venom, before retreating with a soft hiss. Declan’s eyes go wide.

“They’re not venomous. You wouldn’t let that happen. You- no. They’re not.” But he falls haplessly backward when he abandons stability in favor of inspecting his throbbing leg. The pain is only comparable to that of being shanked with a needle, and now he’s waging a mental war to decipher if venom could purposefully numb the pain for a silent, tragic death. 

“Hasan, I swear to fucking God!”

“Oh you little crybaby, you’re not gonna die! The venom isn’t potent enough to make you more than a little sick. So unless you get stung, like, fifty times, you’ll be just fine.”

“More like thirty but yeah, you’re probably fine!” you correct.

“A sting a minute then! You can avoid that, can’t you Declan?”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?! Are you kidding, these things are gonna want a sting a second!” He stumbles forward, but trips when his chain pulls taut and falls face flat into the swarm. “You can’t just leave me here! Ow- fuck!”

“It’s only half an hour. You’ll figure it out, dear!” Hasan calls out, and then you’re gone.

[coziebunbuns]

I'm really leaning into the sacrilege thing, so I must pray for my sins...

Imagine going to church after throwing my little whore pussy at any person willing to give me attention, I feel now is the time to change my ways. Who better to ask the the purest being to walk the earth. Mary, the mother virgin of sin...

"Hail Mary full of grace..."

My head is bowed, my knees are aching, though for a whore like me it's a surprise. So focused on remembering the prayer I did not see the imposing priest behind me.

"The lord is with thee." He say. I look up at him with teary eyes. He looks down at me in disgust, pity and disappointment. "Of course a pathetic little thing like you wouldn't know how to pray"

"please teach me father" I sob, weakly holding onto his robe.

He tuts again then sighs, handing me a rosary. "Very well. You repeat after me holding one of the beads at a time and no matter what do not stop praying and do not take your eyes off her."

I nod, eager for some help. I start again, looking right up Mary this time with a little more confidence.

"Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with thee"

But as I repeat the words, I feel a hand travel down my back. It tugs and groves my exposed flesh with perverse intent.

"Blessed are thou amongst women"

The hand slips under my skimpy dress to cup my tits, squeezing and pinching my nipples. I can't help my yelp at just how hard the pinces are, the pain sending tingles through my body and to my aching whore cunny. Another hand prys my legs open and slips beneath my panties so my sloppy cunt. A disgrace I know, but the hand rubs my soaked pussy I fight not to moan the next line.

"And blessed is the fruit of thy womb.... JESUS CHRIST!!!"

Thick fingers thrust into my wanton hole with punishing force, catching me off guard and making me cry out. A rough thumb finds my clit and I can't help but moan, it feels so good, to be touched, to be violated like this. My nipples are pinched even harder and tears fill my eyes. Stars start to sparkle around the image of the holy mother and my body starts to trembling.

"Holy Mary, mother of GOD!"

I can feel it, the orgasm it creeps through me like fire, this must be what holiness feels like. The hand on my tit moves to my neck squeeze so rich I feel nails dig I to my skin, a torso joins the service with the impression of a thick cock pressed up against my ass.

"Pray for us sinners..."

It builds more, ripping through my skin.

"Now until the hour..."

The fingers curl, hitting that spot, that oh so holy spot.

"Of our death! AMEN!!!"

It all comes crashing down, I'm shaking and speaking and weeping through my climax. Coming undone before this Holy figure. It took a moment before I calmed but it was not the end.

"You pathetic little whore. Did you really think you are worth redemption, that you could be saved. You're nothing more than a whore, a street bitch."

"Please Father! Please! I can change!"

His hand tightened around my neck as I felt his thick cock slide into sloppy hole.

"Then you better keep praying, you'll learn how to properly use a rosary my dear..."

I have a problem🙄

🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇

[walkthroughtheword]

Dear Father, we thank you for sending your son, Jesus.  Thank you for his faithfulness to you and us.  Thank you for his tender love and care.  Thank you for his boldness in teaching.  We are grateful for his sacrifice on the cross.  Help us to bring glory to his name, as we move in this life.  Allow others to see Christ in us.  Give us the opportunities, actions, and words to connect others to Jesus.  We pray this in his wonderful name.  Amen.

[jinjurloaf]

the notes on that post by heathenvampires and prismatic-bell are fucking insane (see here for context). jesus fucking christ. being reblogged by zionists tagging it as “gaza shit show,” saying they miss porn bots because they have to bear the burden of palestinians sending asks now. the anger I feel is not communicable.

I don’t see any point in engaging with these people directly. it is clear, to me, from their language (“hit by friendly fire”) that they are not serious people, they do not care about palestinian lives, and they are willfully ignorant.

“explosive ammo? that might refer to spiked bullets that explode after the fact. not common to my knowledge!” what the fuck could you possibly know about the idf? (three clickable links just begging for you to click on them)

so many people are interpreting the number of family members in SUCH bad faith. he never wrote that he has 9 daughters. if you’re going to critique a gazan in the midst of a violent genocide trying to fundraise to save his and his family’s lives for his english then maybe learn to comprehend it yourself first.

extremely ‘woke’ queer tumblr users wondering HOW somebody could possibly refer to “their” kids also having another father? how can families and living situations that don’t align with my expectations and experiences exist??? huh???? what?????

“how can you consider a kid to be your kid without being biologically involved in their birth” is not a particularly difficult question to answer.

empathy is one thing. if you’re not donating or reblogging nobody can make you and that is that. but thinking rationally is another thing altogether and it’s lost on them. all the information is there to answer your questions.

if you can afford to, please donate to help 17 year old muhammad atalla, his parents, his siblings, and his nephews. every small amount counts. if you can’t, make sure to share this with somebody who can. from the river to the sea 🇵🇸