#tell me where you live and when does spring begin for you!

[balkanradfem]

Thank you for explaining! I didn't even know about astronomical seasons!

yeah I didn't know about meteorological! I'm happy to have learned it too :)

I was trying to find out what part of the world uses meteorological seasons, but it seems to difficult to learn, I only found out that Finland and Sweden have their own way of determining seasons, by daily temperatures, and it's not mandated by dates, while tropical regions has Dry Season, Monsoon and for some Harmattan or mild season.

Where are you from anon? And I don't mean specifically, but is it north, south, what continent? I'm curious to where the seasons are counted like this.

[medusaesque]

Kim's itchy trigger finger

So, Kim reaches for his gun often. Very often. sometimes for the most ridiculous reasons- opening the bear fridge, the experiment in the church, a note from Klaasje.

This one is just from being anxious going into the communist reading group. Kim doesn't want to be the kind of cop who draws his gun constantly, who shoots instinctively, but he is, or at the very least it's very difficult for him to stop himself from becoming one.

Perhaps the most horrifying example is with The Pigs-

Even if he KNOWS the gun isn't loaded, even if he knows it's safe, the instinctual muscle twitch could have ended in an unnecessary death. Kim is very well aware of that fact, and it's horrifying to him. @shufflerock-jam has this really good post about it, where they wonder how many of Kim's kills were unnecessary. "Something about a pair of traumatized cops, one fighting against shooting himself and one fighting against shooting everyone else".

At the end of The Pigs exchange, if Harry says she tried to kill him, Kim begins to interject, but stops himself and agree this situation could've been very bad. Then Empathy chimes in- 'He's trying not to think about how bad it could have been had the gun been loaded.' Which is the heart of the issue, right? that leads us to Eyes-

This is such a fascinating background to give Kim as a character- not just losing his partner, which gives him the trauma and survivor's guilt that lead to this unhealthy relationship with his gun and frankly with death in general, but losing his Eyes, and having that not interfere with his shooting. Kim doesn't need to see well to hit, he doesn't need to think. It's all in his hands, a reflex. A reflex that nearly took an innocent life. That might have taken one before.

His awareness of looming danger, to him and to his partner, is fueling his version of Hand/Eye Coordination to have him constantly on edge, his whole body is like a loaded spring, always prepared to make sure it doesn't happen again. Then it does-

In his nightmare scenario, leaning over his partner's bleeding body, Kim only needs one word to shoot without a second's hesitation. He's never not ready to take that shot. He doesn't need his Eyes.

Harry is distraught to discover he's killed before- his body remembers it. He wants a drink to soften the feeling. Kim however is impressed with how little he's killed- especially coming from the bloody murder unit. He wants to be 'one of the good ones' (Kim's adamant belief in the possibility of a Good Cop is a whole other can of worms) the kind of cop he would think highly of. Kim is disgusted by cops who kill like it's a game. Espirit gives us a vision of a cop exactly like that, who kills so often it doesn't feel like anything anymore. In a way that is completely mechanical- no thought, no feelings, just a thing your body does. Not unlike the way Kim shoots- like a spring unloaded. Kim has 6 confirmed kills before the tribunal, double the amount Harry has. He doesn't react the same way though-

It's doesn't bother Kim that he has killed, even if he declines to elaborate on it, and he seems to frown upon (or worry about) Harry's destructive coping mechanism. If they're unable to save Ruby, he says "Control your emotions. We did our job. This won't be the worst thing that happens on this case… believe me. You can't let this break you." When you wake up after the tribunal, he doesn't dwell on the lost lives on either side. Harry's skills call him a killer, a bloodstained killer, but when he tells Kim he also killed he simply nods. He's smoking though. I'm not saying that Kim is heartless or careless, he's rattled by nearly blowing The Pigs' head off, very sorry for the lives lost during the case, and clearly hunted by death, having been surrounded by it for his entire life. But I do think death is a part of the job for him- not just possible civilian causalities, but his own potential death. He speaks plainly about how he might die in the lie of duty, and he narrowly avoided it more than once, with others dying in his place..

He walked into the line of fire with harry expecting for of them to die, and his quick fingers on the trigger made it so they lived another day. Even if more ghost joined the list that hunts him in his sleep, he is alive. He goes on. He can't afford to fix this habit, as much as he wants to.

So it's so horrible and so touching that when Dros asks "What have you done?" Kim says-

It's a tragedy, really. A wartime orphan who wanted to be a revolutionary pilot and played with Franconigerian knights, who grew up to be a cop, a job that slowly shapes his body into a killing machine. And when you ask what he does, what you both do, he says keep people alive.

[jeankluv]

The tale of the fox and the knight - Satoru Gojo | prologue

summary: You have been living all your life in almost isolation due to your true nature, one your parents want to hide and protect you from anyone finding it. But when the spring of your 20 year your parents grant you the wish of being able to walk around the city, you meet him. Your doom. Satoru Gojo, a white haired knight whose intentions in your eyes are unkown. And whose presence in your life will change everything, from how you see the world to your way of being.

tags: enemies to lovers, blood, eventual smut, Gojo is pretty rude at the beginning, betrayal, fantasy, magical creatures, angst, injuries, heavy language, no use of y/n, female protagonist

notes: this is the prologue of an upcoming series I have in mind, but I’m not sure if I should continue or not. And since I don’t have chapter for this weekend I decided to share it with everyone. So pls give me your honest feedback with this new story of mine

materialist | ch. 01

jujutsu kaisen materialist

“So you know your mission.” The king said.

The white-haired young man smiled proudly. “Of course his majesty.” He bowed. “Kidnap the princess and bring her here in one piece. Still don’t understand why you need a useless princess, does your wife not…”

“Satoru Gojo, do not push your luck. I like you but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid to cut out that tongue of yours.”

He rolled his eyes, not giving importance to the king’s words. “I will depart tomorrow morning.” He said and with a final bow he left the throne room.

Satoru Gojo, he was an orphan, he lost his whole family when he was 8. His family used to be a Nobel and prestigious family due to their abilities, they were well respected by everyone in the kingdom, until that tragic night where everyone was killed, everyone except for the 8 years old boy.

The boy only remembered one thing and it was a flag. The flag from their enemies, the Zerua kingdom.

After finding out about the terrible incident, the king took the young boy with him and raised him as one of his new knights, they couldn’t lose his powerful abilities. So the years started to pass and the boy’s hatred towards that kingdom only grew bigger, his heart was full of rage and he only wanted the royal family to suffer.

Now as a skilled knight, he was going on a mission to kidnap the princess of Zerua. Satoru didn’t quite understand why his king wanted her, apparently she was a helpless princess, rumors said that even a butterfly was stronger than the princess of Zerua, so for Satoru the mission was pathetic, he didn’t understand why he had to bring her to their kingdom, surely she would passed out before reaching the limits of their kingdom.

But that’s not something that Satoru Gojo cared about, in fact, if she died, he would be more than happy to drop her lifeless body in front of the king. But apparently that could not be it and she needed to arrive at the castle in one piece.

The white-haired man walked through the extensive hallways, feeling how the paintings of ancient monarchs pursued him with their gaze, as if they wanted to know every movement and every action that the young man was going to choose.

He went out to the patio and was finally able to breathe the fresh air, with the footsteps of his boots echoing on his way to the barracks where the rest of the knights were.

The eyes of the vast majority of his companions rested on him, Satoru knew that it was envy that everyone there felt. They envied that he was the strongest and the king's favorite.

“So why did his majesty called you?” A deep voice talked to him.

“Why would I tell you?” Satoru smiled provocatively.

“Oh c’mon Gojo just spitted out.” The pink haired one rolled his eyes.

“Sukuna… Don't pull my tongue.” Satoru released his belt and leather vest. “The only thing I’m going to tell you is that I won’t have to see your ugly face for a while.” He grabbed his old jacket, which had a couple of holes sewn badly, and turned around.

“Where are you going?” Sukuna asked him. “You're going to say goodbye to your darling…”

“Sukuna shut your mouth or I'll cut your balls.” He looked over his shoulder at him and Sukuna laughed.

“Alright man.” He l raised his arms asking for a truce. “Enjoy your night Satoru Gojo.” He said turning and walking away as he laughed.

Satoru rolled his eyes and began to walk out of the castle, with an apple in his hands, his destination was clear and Sukuna was right with his words. He wished he could spend a night with his favorite girl. A mischievous smile appeared on his face as he thought about it, but it quickly disappeared when he remembered that he had to leave for Zerua and would therefore be away from there for quite some time.

The aroma of roses mixed with tobacco hit his nose as soon as he entered the place. The place was packed with drunks and partiers who must have had nothing better to do. But his mind eliminated all those and settled on a figure. Long blonde hair, green eyes and a slender figure, Stella. She and Satoru had begun to have intimate encounters when one night they were both alone in that place.

Theirs had never been anything more than sexual desire and that was how they both wanted it. Also, they weren’t exclusive from each other. Because they didn’t care, there was nothing else between them that sexual desire.

Satoru would never give his heart to anyone, he would never fall in love.

“Are you free tonight, beautiful?” Satoru whispered when he got near her.

“Oh Satoru!” She said surprise. “Didn’t expect you to come tonight.”

“Well here I am and…”

“Satoru, I’m sorry but tonight will be impossible.” She looked at him with sad eyes.

“What?” Satoru said with surprise.

“I’m meeting another person tonight.”

“Stella…”

“Satoru, we are nothing so you cannot say anything.” She said.

“Yeah I know… I just… I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Leaving?” Stella looked at him confused.

“The king wants me to go on a mission and I will be leaving.” He explained. “I will probably be out for months, don’t know how long.”

Stella smiled with a curiosity reflecting her eyes. “And where are you going?”

Satoru shook his head and took the beer Stella was offering him. “Can’t tell you.”

“Oh…” She pouted. “That’s a shame. Maybe someone finally steals your heart.” She mocked Satoru, knowing he didn’t like that idea.

Satoru made a disgusted face and put the beer aside. "I'd rather be taken prisoner by an orc and kept in his swamp for years, than fall in love with someone from Zerua." Stella smiled widely when Satoru said the name of her mission destination. “You are clever.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say?” She laughed as Satoru rolled his eyes. “So Zerua… that’s quite interesting.”

“The king ordered but I hate the idea, those people…”

“Oh c’mon sad boy, I’m sure it will be fine.” Stella said.

“Whatever.” He stood up, giving one last drink to the beer. “Wanted to have a goodbye night but… doesn’t matter.” Satoru turned around.

“I hope the stars guide you and you are able to return safely, Satoru Gojo.” He heard Stella saying.

Satoru moved his hand saying goodbye to her and he stepped outside the old bar, looking how the sky was already dark.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The sunbeam hit you right in the eyes, causing you to turn around trying to continue sleeping. But your peace did not last long when the door to your bedroom opened wide, letting your maids enter.

The voice of the one you consider your best friend echoes through the room. “Princess, it's time for you to get up.”

You thrashed around in the sheets, shaking your head. “Utahime…please.” You begged.

Utahime sighed and approached your bed. “C’mon princess, spring is beginning and the flowers are blooming.”

Your eyes opened and looked at Utahime with a special glow in them. "I can leave?"

Utahime bit her lip and you immediately knew what her response would be. “You can go to your personal garden, but…”

“But there's no more of that, I already know.” You sighed in resignation.

You got out of your bed and followed the same routine as every day; bath, get dressed and then go out to your private garden.

Once your bluish dress was on and your hair was tied with a pretty white bow, which let some subtle strands fall from your forehead, you left your room. Followed of course by Utahime, she was your most faithful companion, your friend, really the only one you had ever had.

Utahime grew up in the castle, her parents had worked there and your parents had let Utahime grow up with you, you were both of the same age.

At 15 she began to work for you, but you hated that term and you hated the concept that your only friend had to be at your command. But Utahime had insisted, that she did not care, that she was fine with it, but you knew that she aspired to more and that in some way wanting to serve the royal family as a thank you for all the help they had given her and her family, was cutting her own wings.

You glanced at her briefly and bit your lip, you knew your friend too well and you knew she wasn't happy.

“Princess?” She called you out loud.

“Huh?” You looked at her. “Oh… I was just thinking.” You smiled.

“Princess, I know it bothers you that you can not leave the castle but…” Utahime began but you cut her.

“I was not thinking about that Uta… I just…” You sighed. “I know you are not happy serving me.” Utahime looked at you and then away from you. “Uta please tell me, tell me what you wish to do. I will do everything to help you.”

Utahime sighed and started playing with her hands, a sign of nervousness. “I… I wish I could… work as a designer…” Your eyes shined looking at her and with a big smile forming on your face. “But that’s not…”

“I will talk with my parents.” You stood up from the seat you were and walked towards her. “I will make sure to send you to the best school and then you will make my dresses and I will…”

“Princess please, calm down.” Utahime took your hands, trying to stop you. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m happy with you.”

You bite your lip. “You are not… so don’t tell me it’s okay.”

“Princess…” She sighed.

Your conversation was suddenly interrupted, as the door of your private garden opened. Making the screech echo through the room and causing your gazes to turn to see who it was. Your eyes narrowed and you felt an overwhelming urge to roll them when you saw that it was one of your parents' advisors.

“Princess…” He bowed his head when he got near you. “Their majesties want to meet you.”

“Alright…” You sighed, not really wanting to see them. “We will keep talking about it.” You looked at Utahime.

Utahime didn’t say a word, not because she didn’t want to but because she knew that responding to a member of royalty could lead to punishment. If you were alone, it wouldn't matter, you would never complain about it but Utahime knew that the others wouldn't allow it and could report it to her superiors.

And she couldn’t risk losing everything she had achieved, not when her mother needed medicine and she was the only one bringing money home. But you didn't know that and Utahime didn't want to worry you with her worldly problems either.

You looked one more time to Utahime and then left the place. You walked before the advisor. The sound of your shoes echoed throughout the hallway, nothing else could be heard in the place except for those shoes of yours. A few years ago those hallways were filled with laughter and kids playing around, now there was no sound.

Ever since your coming off age ceremony something changed, your parents started to be more strict about you, they already were when you were younger but now, you could barely meet anyone. Friends? Utahime was the only one and because she was a trusted person, but for the rest, you didn’t have any.

And you knew why was all this, but it was pointless, you couldn’t hide forever your true nature and the family secret everyone has been trying to keep away. Eventually someone would found out. And… well you were a bit terrified.

Your mother used to tell you, not very kind stories about what could happen to you if the wrong people found out. It terrified you but you didn’t want to waste your life in that castle, not meeting the world, not meeting new people.

“Their majesties, the princess is here.” One of the soldiers spoke.

You heard the faint voice of your father speaking, telling you to enter. The big door opened, giving you passage into the throne room, where your parents were seated each in their place and their advisors were on either side. But your eyes fell on a figure you had never seen before, he was tall, much taller than you, and his hair was white as a snowy day. His back was to you, as you walked towards your parents, you saw how he was standing, with a straight and composed posture, as if waiting for an order.

Your name echoed in the room and your eyes looked at your father, who was carefully touching his beard. “We have some news to give you.” Your heart rate accelerated, was that boy who was now to your left going to be your fiancé? No, you didn’t want that. “You will have a personal escort, so you can go out a little more.”

They both smiled and you looked at them stunned, processing their words. “What?” You whispered.

“That’s right, darling, your father and I talked about it and we have decided to let you go out in the kingdom, as long as you are accompanied by at least one guard.” He pointed to the boy who was at your side. “He is Satoru Gojo, he has been practicing and under surveillance for 9 months to become your guard and he has passed all the tests with flying colors.” You looked at the boy in surprise and your breath hitched when you met those blue eyes, which almost reflected your face.

“It’s my pleasure to serve you, princess.” He took your hand and kissed it.

You felt a shiver go through your body, not sure if it was because those blue eyes were penetrating you or because you felt something weird on his smirk.

“The pleasure is mine Sir. Gojo.” You made a small reverence.

“Please you can call me Satoru.” He gave you the most radiant of the smiles.

“Oh…” You broke the eye with him and looked away, to your parents to be more exact. “So… that means I will be able to go outside?” Your eyes shone brightly thinking about what it meant.

“Yes. But remember you always have to be with Gojo.” You nodded. “Good, then that’s everything. You can leave.”

“Thank you father!” You smiled brightly and turned around.

You felt the presence of the white haired man right behind you. From that moment on, he would become your shadow. But also your downfall.

Comment if you wanna be tagged in the future tag list

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry. 

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

[charnelhouse]

Ghost adjusting Red's parachute straps. Giving them a good, but unnecessary, tug, making her jolt forward into him slightly and her breath hitch. He loves the reactions he can pull from her and his voice is smug af as he tells her he's just checking, that he's being a good LT and keeping an eye on her safety. Red flipping him off because she knows he's full of shit and that he's absolutely smirking under that mask.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader (Red Fox). Smut. Size difference.

She’s still incredibly sore between her legs. It pulses like a bruise and, fuck, it’s extremely uncomfortable because everything Ghost filled her with is now drying on her inner thighs. The straps of her parachute aren’t helping. They’re wedging her legs apart, too tight and shoved up against too many areas that don’t need to be chafed.

Don't you dare shower me off.

What do I get if I don't?

You'll have to be patient.

I need incentive.

You're bloody impossible, you know that?

Ghost steps into her line of vision, cocking his head as those dark eyes study her. He looms like a monolith - a tower of glass and metal and he’s too big, way too fucking big, so big that he may have ripped something inside her.

She flips him off just because she can. 

He steps forward so that his chest bumps into hers and when she stumbles backward, his hand shoots out and grasps the straps of her parachute. He drags her back to him and she trips again. 

“Unsteady, are we?” he remarks in a low voice. 

She jabs him in the side, which does nothing because it’s all flesh and muscle. “I think you punctured an organ.”

He chuckles and it tastes rich. He smells like moss and shower gel and she can’t forget how he felt on top of her, the perfume of sweat in his hair and on his skin and how they slipped over eachother because they’d been fucking for hours. His grip under her knee, his immense strength shoving her legs back against her tits and folding her in half as he stared down between them, focusing right on where they were joined -

“Fuck...fuck...look at that...look at that pretty cunt stretch for me.”

He grasps the buckle to readjust them before pulling the strap too hard. She yelps, screwing her eyes shut as she breathes through the ache in her cunt. It throbs and pulses like a spasming heart in an open chest - thwap thwap thwap - and still she’s beginning to get wet, slick up at the sound of Ghost’s voice. 

“Sore?” he offers and the arrogance is audible. He gets off on making her so unsteady. “C’mon soldier, you were in perfect form earlier.”

“Hands on the headboard, Red,” he demanded as his hips snapped against her ass. The tip of his cock was punching up against the soft curve of her womb. He was hitting the center of her - deliberately on target. The mattress squeaked and the metal springs screeched something fierce and he’d had her on all fours for hour - hours - 

He slipped his hand between her legs and circled her clit with three fingers. They were too thick, rubbing through her folds until her flesh becomes raw and swollen. That was all he had to do - stroke and slide his fingers into her as his cock drove forward repeatedly. He slapped her pussy, he fisted the fleshy cheek of her ass, spreading her open and spitting on his length already soaked in her juices. 

“Don’t push it,” she growls as she tries to breathe through the pain. It’s not unwanted. It’s just annoying now that they actually have to do drills. “I think you broke something inside me.”

He inhales sharply, one gloved knuckle rasping against her stomach. She can feel him through her clothes. “Is it bad?”

He sounds calm, but she still catches the inflection of concern beneath his gruffness. 

“It’s fine.” She leans into him so that her breasts brush his chest. “I’ll live. I’m a big girl, right?” She lowers her voice to something velvet. A seduction.

“You’re a big girl, Red,” Ghost growls into her hair as he fucks her. “You can handle it. I know you can.” He pins her wrist to the mattress before his hand slithers up and threads their fingers together.

He tips his head, pupils expanding. “You are,” he agrees a little hoarsely as he tightens her other strap. “Just lookin’ out for your safety, duchess.”

Bastard.

She pretends to stumble, and he instantly catches her by the waist like she knew he would. She lifts herself on tiptoes, her mouth grazing his jaw.

“Make it up to me later,” she whispers. Ghost swallows, his grip on her tightening. “Maybe, I can sit on your face again.”

Ghost squeezes her hips, pushes himself closer until they’re momentarily stuck together, intertwined. “If that’s what you need,” he replies tenderly. “Just trying to be a good lieutenant for my favorite-”

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Price barks and Ghost smoothly steps away from her. She’s so unsteady that she has to catch the wall to keep herself from falling. 

Truth be told, she feels as if she’s already jumped. She’s tumbling to earth and everything in her belly flips and it’s all butterflies. The throbbing between her legs is the only reminder that Ghost had been inside her to begin with. She stares at his blank mask, black eyes like a shark. Unbothered. Unmoved. 

It’s unfair. 

“Just checkin’ her chute,” Ghost explains.

“Just coppin’ a feel,” Soap interjects and Gaz muffles a laugh with the back of his hand. 

Ghost slowly turns his head to stare at the Scotsman who suddenly blanches. She can only imagine the iciness of Simon’s expression. He’s done it to her when she’s managed to royally piss him off. 

After a moment, she places the flat of her palm against Ghost’s massive shoulder blade and he relaxes, sighs. The tension is stripped to hot air. It’s too easy. She didn't expect him to react just the way she had intended.

She realizes that maybe Simon isn’t so unaffected by her presence. 

[surielstea]

A Fatherly Fear

Based on this request.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eris has doubts about how good of a father he’ll truly be, Reader eases his mind.

Warnings: pregnant reader | mentions of abuse | mentions of manipulation | basic Vanserra childhood trauma stuff | hurt/comfort | fluff

1.8k words

I winced as a cold breeze entered my bedroom, huffing as I stirred from sleep and held the blankets to my chin as I shifted closer to my mate, who was always there to warm me up no matter the climate. The fire in his veins had been a blessing throughout the long winter months.

But his side of the mattress had been vacant. I squint one eye open, only to find ruffled sheets. I sit up and open both my eyes as I search for my mate in the dark room.

"Eris?" I murmured, rubbing at my eyelids with the heel of my palms.

When I receive no reply I quietly groan, slipping from the warm bed, padding towards the open balcony doors. That explained the chilling breeze.

I go to slide the glass door closed when I spot a familiar redhead staring out at the crescent moon in the sky, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

I frown and step out into the frigid night, immediately wanting to go back to our heated bed and bundle myself in the blankets, but he had already turned to look at me with despondent eyes and I knew there was no way I'd leave him out here.

"What are you doing awake?" I pace towards him, craving his fire. "Come back to bed," I wrap my arms around one of his biceps as I stare up at him.

He looks down at the golden signet ring in his hands, the one that had belonged to his father, and his father's father before him. "Couldn't sleep," He sighed, looking out at the green forest, vibrant under the moonlight. The smell of spring was unmistakable in the night-chilled mist.

I knew that Eris hadn't been sleeping well since the beginning of my pregnancy, I was unsure if that was because he was paranoid about my safety, or paranoid about becoming a father. I wish I could ease his mind about both.

I simply lean into him, his arm coming around my back as I laid my head on his chest. I watched the trees sway with the wind, and the stars twinkle in the night sky, I even spotted a doe trotting freely in the game park below us. I waited in the comfortable silence, letting him decide if he wanted to talk or not. Eventually, he broke our silence.

"My father," He began. "He used to beat me and my brothers with this ring on," He stated, holding the ring up and over the balcony. It was beautifully crafted, and no doubt solid gold. "I can still remember how cold it felt on my skin," He hummed, putting it back on his fourth finger.

I turned away from the railing, wrapping both my arms tightly around my mate, holding him close and bathing in the warmth he radiated.

I hated the idea of Beron still having an effect on Eris, on anyone living really. The late high lord would be rolling in his grave if he knew he was still tormenting souls.

"He's gone now," I say, propping my chin up onto his chest to stare up at him. "He can't hurt you," I brush a strand of loose hair from his eyes.

"No," He shook his head. "He can't," He placed his hands on my waist.

I cup my hands over his, smiling when I feel the chill of his wedding band. "I much prefer this ring anyway," I said, brushing my thumb against it.

He nodded, leaning down and resting his forehead against mine. "You should go back to bed, you need your rest," He murmured and I shook my head no, turning away from him and back to the rolling hills and mountains in the distance.

"You do too," I spoke stubbornly. "So we'll stay out here until you're ready to go back inside," I finalized, leaning back into his chest while he wrapped his muscular arms firmly around my waist.

The silence danced around us yet again, but it was an easy sort of quiet, the kind where crickets chirped and owls hooted in order to fill it.

"My mother used to tell me stories from the past, when my father was a better man," He began, tightening his hold around me, warming me to my very core. "Before he had power, before he had me, she said he had been so different then." His chin comes down onto the top of my head. "I know now that he was manipulating her, hurling her into a royal marriage when she was freshly twenty," He continues, taking a deep breath between his next words. "But still, a part of me likes to believe he had a soul before he became power-hungry."

I let him talk, let him sift through all the thoughts in his mind.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say is that I'm terrified I'll be just like him when our child is born," He confesses into my hair and my brows bunch. I whirl around to face him with a stern expression.

"Your father was a monster," I state plain and simple. Eris' eyes darken.

"Yes, and I was his favorite son," He stressed and something inside my gut tightened. I hated seeing him like this, so worked up due to his own mind reeling with no one around to tell him it was going to be okay.

"That doesn't make you him," I bring my hands to his jaw. "Look at me," I whispered and he did as I said, his beautiful amber eyes meeting my gaze. "You're not him, you're not your mother, you're Eris Vanserra. My amazing mate, and the father of my child," I argue. "You're just you, who runs through your blood can't affect who you choose to be, do you understand me?" I lifted a brow and he nodded. "Tell me you understand me," I demanded and he smiled.

"I understand you, my love, I understand you," He reassured and my shoulders fell with the release of tension. He inches forward and places a chaste kiss on my lips.

"You're going to be such a good mom," He whispers, holding me achingly close like I might slip from his grasp at any moment. "I hope he turns out more like you," He pulls back to look me in the eye and I beam up at him, thinking about our soon-to-be son, he matches the grin and I swear I fall in love all over again.

"Only if he has your smile," I bargain and he debates it for a moment before muttering, "Deal." Then leaning in again and attaching our lips.

I melt into his touch, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. "But," I pull away for air. "No matter what he looks like, or how he acts, I'm certain you'd tear this continent apart if anything ever happened to him," I remark and his soft smile was an answer enough that I was correct. He pecks me in reply.

"Come back to bed." I intertwine our hands, dangling them between us as I slowly pull away from him, receding towards the glass doors behind me.

"It gets so cold without you," I whine and he smirks knowingly.

"Says a girl from the Summer Court," He teases and I scowl at him playfully.

"She up, you know I can't use magic while I'm pregnant with your baby," I somehow pin the blame on him and he chuckles, allowing me to drag him back into our bedroom.

I let go of his hands and slid the glass door shut, locking it and keeping the persistent cold out. "Gods, I hope our children don't complain as much as you," He sighs, flopping down onto the bed.

"Oh honey, we're going to be the bane of your existence," I taunt, crawling up towards him on the mattress.

"Impossible," He sighs, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me right into him.

He wrapped his arms around me, the blankets covering the both of us and as if he knew exactly what I needed, the comforter began to seep warmth, the way the sun's rays felt after a rainy day.

"Wait," I perked up to look at him.

"What is it?" His brows furrowed.

"You said children, as in, more than one," I recalled and he looked at me confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said, I hope our children don't complain as much as you," I say, mocking him with a deep voice.

His confusion remained prominent on his face. "What about it?" He arched a brow. "I mean, whatever you want is fine with me but I wasn't exactly planning on only having one," He frowned.

"Well, how many do you want?" I asked, and you'd think this is something we would have talked about before he put a baby in me.

"I want a girl," He confessed. "Once we have a girl I'll be satisfied," He explained and I paled.

The Vanserra family was known for having a very long lineage of only male offspring. Whether it was a curse, magic, or dumb luck she wasn't quite sure. But he seemed entirely serious.

I stared at him with a fearful look in my eyes and he burst out laughing, chuckling at my expression.

"Gods, you should see your face," He hummed between breaths, cupping my cheeks in his hands.

"My pretty girl," He sighed once he got his amusement under control. "I promise I don't want anything that you wouldn't be comfortable with," He reassured and my anxiety declined. "But I would love to fuck another baby into you," He hummed, throwing his arms back around me.

"For a male so worried about becoming a father, you seem horny at the idea of getting me pregnant," I say and he grins.

"You just, I like the idea of having a family with you," He confesses and I lean upward, kissing him gently.

"I like the idea of having a family with you, too," I reply and he flushes so red that I could see the hue in the dark. I don't say anything, just peck his lips, reveling in the idea of being about to have a kid and still being able to make him blush.

"Get some sleep, Eris," I say softly against his lips. "You can tell me all about your plans for our family in the morning," I murmur through a yawn, furrowing deeper into his chest, melting into his warmth.

"Goodnight, beautiful," He whispered, running a hand through my hair until I drifted off beneath his touch.

It took him a moment to join me in a slumber, but the thoughts of his father were wiped away by my comforting words. And after a moment of reciting them, he was able to finally find some rest.

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[senualothbrok]

Content

Summary: After seeing everyone at the reunion party, Gale wonders if you regret choosing him over Astarion.

Word count: 1.4k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Unascended Gale x Tav. Unascended Astarion. Mild hurt/comfort. Fluff.

AO3 link

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“That-” The bed dips as he collapses beside you. “Was a lovely evening.”

It is instinct now, to nestle yourself into him, to nuzzle into the nook where his neck meets his shoulder. To interlace your fingers with his.

His words are lightly slurred, drowsy from wine, heavy with pleasure. He is so warm. A light drizzle has begun outside. You lie still, listening to the gentle patter of rain on the sea.

“Everyone looked so happy,” you say. “Did you see Wyll and Karlach?”

His grin is so wide you can hear it. “I can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

“Even Lae’zel.” You laugh. “She told me she was having a nice time. She used the word nice.”

Gale chuckles. Your body moves to its rhythm.

“Shadowheart wants to stop by again next month.”

“That would be marvellous.”

“Did I show you the duck that Halsin gave me?”

“Yes, my love. More than once. I think you showed everyone at the party.”

You sigh. “Even Jaheira and Minsc looked well. Well, Minsc looked like an escaped prisoner, but I guess that’s his version of thriving.”

“It’s heartening to see that some things never change.” He runs his fingers through your hair, slow and soft. Your eyelids begin to flutter. “And that some things do. Astarion, for instance. He seems remarkably well, doesn’t he?”

Your eyes spring open. You shift your head slightly.

“He does.”  

“He and Tara took to each other like flies to a carcass. For almost half an hour they traded casual insults about my beard, my lack of organisation, and my life choices in general. It was most entertaining. For them.

You trace your fingers over his chest. There are the faintest indents in his skin where the mark of the orb used to be.

“Some things never change.” 

“Indeed.” He kisses your forehead. “Just like the good old days, I suppose, when we were two suitors battling for the prize of your precious affections.”

You look up at him with an arched eyebrow. “Is that what I was? A prize to be won through a contest of manhood?”

He rubs his nose against yours. “Of course not. Your love is a gift, one I never dreamed I’d deserve.”

He goes on before you can protest.

“I think he may still hold my good fortune against me, though. Despite being a changed man. A leader of seven thousand spawn, even.” There is pride in his voice.

In the silence that follows, you bask in that pride. You too are indescribably proud of Astarion, how far he has come, the life he has made for himself.

“No regrets, then?” Gale asks.

He disguises it as a jest, a throwaway comment. But there is a stiffness in his chest, a hollowness to his tone, that he cannot conceal from you.

“Regrets?”

He shuffles. As he tilts his head, you see a crease on his brow.

“Do you regret your choice? Now that you’ve seen Astarion again, in all his glory?”

It is the briefest of moments. You hesitate. And he sees it.

He moves back.  Doubt darkens his features. Desperation quivers in them. He searches your eyes.

You had wanted to brush it off, dismiss it as absurd. Reassure him that you had never entertained any doubts, that you had never been uncertain about your choice. But that would not be true. And you had promised, when you had sworn your lives to each other, that you would always tell the truth.

You had promised each other that you would not sacrifice your own needs on the altar of the other’s approval. Those days were over and gone. You had vowed to always tell each other the truth about what you wanted, what you needed, what you felt. No longer would you ignore or deny who you were out of fear that the other would withdraw their love.

Your marriage had been built on that promise. You could not disregard it now.

“You can tell me.” He nods. There is turmoil in his gaze, but also kindness. And love. So much love.

You place your hand on his heart. You take a deep breath.

“After we ended things, I worried for Astarion. For a long time, I thought I had broken him, even more than he already was. I thought, after all he’d been through, for me to leave him like that…”

You remember the cold tentacles of guilt that latched around your heart, the weight of the shame that crushed you.

“I thought that I could help him. I wanted to be there for him, when no one else had been. He said I was the only one who had ever been kind to him, the only good thing he had experienced in this godsdamned shitty world. To have left him, after all that… I thought I had destroyed him.”

You remember all the sleepless nights, the dreams, the nightmares.  You know, with such certainty, that Gale will understand. You have cradled him in your arms, after all, when he has woken stricken and confused, calling out Mystra’s name. Some things do not need to be explained.

The tenderness of Gale’s gaze gives you strength to continue.

“It was exhausting, to feel like I always wanted him to be something he wasn’t. He resented me for it, for trying to change him. All the times I had to talk him down, justify my decisions, tell him that it was worth it to be kind and compassionate, to help people without expecting anything in return. I’m a Paladin, for gods’ sake, and the number of times I had to explain my oath…” You shake your head. “I felt like I had to make myself smaller, to be a different person, for our love to survive.”

Your voice breaks. “It was too much, anyway, to be the one to save him, to be his only hope.”

There is uncertainty in Gale’s frown. You see the question he holds back.

“It was different with you, Gale. You were a good man long before we met. Even being cursed with the power to obliterate an entire city couldn’t take away your kindness. Your goodness. Even that couldn’t make you bitter or cruel.”

Gale’s face has softened, but he averts his eyes. He looks contrite, when he has no reason to be.

“I admit that I’ve had some concerns.” He grimaces. “When you’re frightfully out of practice, and competing with someone with such clear expertise in matters of seduction…” He clears his throat. “It’s difficult not to wonder.”

“It was never like that.” You hand moves to cup Gale’s cheek. “And seduction, sex – that’s different from…well, making love, forgive the cliché.”

You have discussed intimacy before with Gale, but you have never discussed how things were with Astarion. You do not want to hurt him, but you owe him the truth.

“Sometimes, touch was hard for him. Being close. Showing love. And I understood that. But sometimes, I needed to be touched. To be held.”

It still surprises you, how easy it is to show Gale your heart and all its scars. How safe you feel in the knowledge that he will never run away from them.

“I felt so, so selfish for that.  And for a long time, I blamed myself, for leaving him, for choosing happiness with you.”

The tears come without warning. You brush them away, but they do not stop.

“I could never regret this life with you, Gale. But I did feel guilty. Ashamed. Now, after seeing him, knowing how happy he is, knowing how truly well he is, being able to hug him…” A laugh bursts from you, bright with relief, shaky with tears. “I don’t have to feel that way anymore.”

When he smiles, it is like the light of a thousand stars radiating through you.

“My love,” he whispers. “If I’d known that you were carrying this burden with you all this time, I would have asked you this question sooner.”

He reaches for you and holds you to his chest. You can feel the beating of his heart, echoing through you, boundless as the night sky.

“Choosing you was the best choice I’ve ever made,” you breathe.

His lips caress your hair, your ear, your neck, the tears which fall down your cheeks. His tongue melts into yours as your limbs entwine with his. You give yourself to each other, as you have before, as you will again and again. And for the first time in as long as you can remember, you are content.

----

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬 - 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 2.6k

chapter summary: you decide to host a New Year's party and when Joel shows up soaked to the bone thanks to the rain, you lead him to the bathroom to dry him up.

warnings: piv, secret relationship, dirty talk, joel getting really creative with the shower head

a/n: let's just consider this little fic an alternative version of the question "what if the outbreak didn't happen plus tommy still doesn't know about you and joel" Normally he would learn before outbreak day no matter if the outbreak happens or not but I wanted to keep the sneaking around bit for this one soooo

I would also like to thank everyone who has been following the story! Every comment is precious to me and I appreciate it more than you realize. I'm so happy people are still enjoying it, I have big plans for this series and I will be finishing it spring time. I hope the new year brings you all peace and happiness, happy new year everyone!

**divider by the talented @saradika-graphics xx

Rain washes away everything. It washes away the dirt of the street, rejuvenates the drying trees, makes the grass greener. In Austin rain truly is a blessing. Every living thing hungers for it. To you, it symbolizes the new beginnings and the losses. You half listen to the chatter between Olivia and Tommy as you peek out the window, smooth drops cascading down the surface. For some, the rain wasn’t an ideal weather to have during New Year’s, but to you, it only made the atmosphere cozier. 

The crowded party buzzes around you, people laughing, dancing, and sharing stories. You can't help but notice familiar faces from the community seamlessly mingling with Tommy and Olivia's friends, since you were still relatively new you didn’t know many people other than neighbors and asked them to invite people. The room echoes with the joy of New Year's Eve.

It’s been a painful yet surprising year, to say the least. The loss of your grandfather, the unexpected move, the journey to find yourself. . . all of it had been a bit much, a bit daunting. However, as your mind drifts off to the new room in the old house you realize that some things are truly different. You have people who care about you now. You have the Miller’s, Olivia, your art. All in all, it had also been an amazing year. 

The thought makes guilt gnaw at your insides. Tommy still doesn’t know about you and Joel, you were supposed to tell him. . .Joel was supposed to tell him but alas neither of you found the courage to come clean. The past couple of months had been so blissful with him. Neither of you wanted to give that up. 

The faint smell of cinnamon reaches your nose and you find yourself smiling even though you’re only slightly worried. 

Joel’s late. 

“He’s fine,” you hear Tommy whine, turning around you see him rolling his eyes. “He’s a big boy, sweetheart. He’ll be okay in a little bit of rain.” 

Big boy, indeed. 

“Where is he anyway?” Olivia asks, stuffing her mouth full of crackers. 

“He went to drop off Sarah—and there’s plenty of food, you’re not off to war you know. You can eat one at a time.” 

Olivia slapped Tommy’s shoulder and took a seat next to him, “Bit weird she’s not gonna be here with us.” 

“Sarah’s been beggin’ Joel for months. Finally, he caved when she pulled the ‘you know how hard it’s been for me to make friends’ card. Poor man didn’t stand a chance.” 

“So,” you continue, sitting across from them. “They spent Christmas together, just the two of them. That was Joel’s deal. And she’s doing her own laundry for two months.” 

“Damn, I hope the party is worth it.” Olivia gives you a mischievous grin, her eyes lighting up as they meet your gaze. "You know," she starts, leaning in slightly, "I have this friend, Jake. . .” 

You cut her off, "I'm good, Liv. I'm not looking for anything right now."

"Oh, come on! He's sweet, handsome, and he's got a great sense of humor. You two would hit it off."

Your gaze quickly shifts between Tommy and Olivia. His expression tightens ever so slightly, and you catch the subtle change. Olivia, oblivious, or at least choosing to be, continues.

"Just imagine it. A romantic date, a nice dinner, maybe a movie... He’ll treat you right and if he doesn’t I’ll break his arms."

"Liv, really, I appreciate it, but I'm not ready for that kind of thing. Besides, I'm pretty content with how things are right now."

Olivia narrows her eyes. "It’s been a year, you’re ready for one date. Trust me." Then, much to your horror, she turns to Tommy and gestures to you. “Back me up Tommy, isn’t she ready?” 

Tommy clears his throat, looking uncomfortable as ever. He parts his lips and worry knots itself deep in your stomach. 

Luckily, you’re saved by a slightly drunk woman you don’t recognize and let out a break of relief. She situates herself next to Tommy, throwing a hand over his broad shoulder, she pulls him close and whispers something in his ear, fingers playfılly dancing over the fabric of his shirt. Olivia rolls her eyes but honestly, you’re happy and grateful for the distraction. 

You’re saved a second time when the door opens, the sudden sound of rain drawing your attention. You smile instinctively upon seeing Joel, which is a bit rude you figure, because he looks miserable. His leather jacket is dripping, hair sticking to his forehead. Just how hard was it pouring outside? Must’ve picked up when you, Olivia, and Tommy were chatting along. 

Joel, with dropped shoulders and head, spots Tommy first and then you. He makes his way, the defeated walk making him look like a teenager. Tommy bursts out laughing when he sees his older brother, the sound deepens the furrow between Joel’s brows. 

“You look like shit!” Tommy says and you notice Olivia desperately trying to hide her laughter behind her palm. 

“It’s rainin’ cats and dogs you jackass.” Your eyes move up gradually up his body. The rain had darkened the color of his shirt, the flimsy fabric sticking to the planes of his chest. Heat rises to your cheeks. “Is there anythin’ I can burrow sweet tea? Maybe somethin’ that August left behind?” 

“What?” you clear your throat, blinking, you meet his gaze. His knowing smile is enough to set fire between your legs. “Sorry didn’t quite catch that.” 

“Shirt,” he says, lips curling. “Unless you want me drippin’ all over your couch, somethin’ dry would be nice.” He raises a brow when you continue to stare at him, dazed. “Maybe your brother left behind somethin’?” 

Oh god, he’s spelling every word slow and careful meaning he definitely knows you’ve been ogling him. You get up quickly, ignoring the proximity between your bodies, you’d expected him to take a step back but he was as still as stone. You’re like an open book, hopefully, the pretty lady perched next to Tommy is enough to distract him. 

“Yeah, sure,” you answer, breathing a bit heavily. You don’t need to say anything else as you begin to part the crowd, leading him upstairs to the bathroom. You can feel him right behind you, the heat radiating off of him warming your back. 

Finally reaching the bathroom, you push him inside and quickly close the door, leaning against it, you let out a breath. 

However, you don’t get to breathe in when you feel a pair of lips against your own. You shudder as his soaked chest presses against yours, hands cupping your waist, Joel guides your hips towards him. He’s hard as a rock. He swallows the soft voices climbing up your throat and grinds roughly against you. 

“Fuck, honey,” he rasps, dragging his lips to your cheek. “You really know how to get a man goin’.” 

“I didn’t even do anything.” 

“You starin’ at me like you’re about to devour me ain’t nothin’.” he nips at your neck, your body burning at the sharpness. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Don’t remember saying that,” you tease and thread your finger through the wet locks. “You’re cold.”

“You should warm me up then.” 

You slip your hands under his shirt, not missing the way he shudders against you. He brings his lips back up, only an inch away, but refuses to close the distance. You keep stroking him. Warm palms moving up and down against cold and damp skin. Joel’s forehead drops onto yours. 

“You do realize there’s a party going on outside right? A part that includes your brother, who we are keeping us a secret from.” 

“For someone worried about the crowd you’re doin’ a whole lot to tempt me, darlin’.” he kisses your jaw. “You look beautiful by the way.” 

You’re happy to hear that because he was the only reason why you decided to wear a low-cut shimmering silver dress. You had also opted to wear an almost sheer pair of black stockings underneath, giving your legs a lovely glow.  

“Why thank you, kind sir.” 

“I love it when you call me sir,” he groans and presses harder against you. Your eyes flutter closed but despite it, you can feel his gaze taking in the bathroom. “You fancied up the place quite a bit.” 

A hoarse laughter escapes your throat, “You should thank the crowd downstairs for the fancy towels and the smell of vanilla.” 

“You know. . . now that I’m thinkin’ about it it ain’t fair I’m the only one wet.” 

“Believe me, Joel, I am soaking wet.” 

“That’s not what I meant sunshine,” he gives you a lopsided smile before tugging you towards the tub. “Come’re.”

You wordlessly follow him into the porcelain, your curiosity piqued. His fingertips trace up your waist and find the hidden zipper, slowly, he tugs it down, the sound of it inaudible from the beating of your heart. The dress pools under your knees and your gaze is fixed on him as you step out of the soft fabric. While you’re taking in the sight of his hair curling on his forehead, he takes in the sight of the soft contours of your body. He presses a soft kiss against your stomach, a shudder crawls up your spine. 

“Turn around.” He orders, voice dropping to a whisper. 

“What about my stockings?” 

“I’ll take care of’em.” 

You brace your hand against the wall, sticking your ass out, you smile when you hear the hitch of his breath. His knuckles follow the curve of your spine and a second later you hear a loud rip. 

“Joel—“

“I’ll get you new ones.” You feel him reaching up and at the same time, he slides your panties to the side. He hums. “You are wet.”

“Told you so.”

You hear a soft click, you’re barely able to register the sound as he begins to dip between your folds and stroke. Somehow your brain whispers to you that he’s adjusting the pressure of the shower head. “What are you doing back there?” 

“Remember when you told me how much you enjoyed the different settings when I changed the pipes and the shower head?” You honestly didn’t. “Well, I haven’t, darlin’.” 

He turns on the water, away from you thankfully, but you still tense at how cold it is as it gathers at the bottoms of your feet. 

“I know baby, I know. It’ll get warmer soon.” 

And it does. Your body relaxes, the subtle warmth prompting the arch of your back. Joel gently pushes your legs apart, pushing the shower head between your legs directly onto your—

“Oh god—Joel, fuck—“

“Such a filthy mouth for such a good girl,” he says into your ear. “Bet you’ve done this before sweetheart.” 

You had, well. . . You tried. But it hadn’t felt as good at this. A single forceful stream of insistent water massages your clit. The arousal that pulses between your legs is washed away down your thighs. Without even realizing you start to hold your breath and embarrassingly enough you roll your hips. 

You need more. You need him. 

Your legs part wider, trembling as you try to tell him but instead of sentences needy whimpers echo from your throat. You feel his smile on the back of your neck, teeth scraping your warm skin every time your hips twitch. He starts moving the showerhead and your entire body goes numb. It’s so much but so little at the same time. 

“You’re being loud, sweetheart.” You shake your head, trying desperately to bite back the moans. “But maybe you like the idea of our friends hearing how needy you get for me.” 

You clench at the words, nails scraping against the smooth surface of the wall. 

“Please. . .” 

“Please what?” 

Damn him. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp out. “Fuck me please—I’m. . . I’m going insane.” As if to demonstrate your words, you grind down until the shower head spreads your folds, a groan reverberating in your throat as the water fills every inch. “Just fuck me, give me your cock.” 

“What if I say I want you to come like this?” 

You don’t even think as you answer, “I’ll cry.” 

He stills like the calm before the storm then bursts out laughing. Some logical part of your brain is urging you to shush him, remind him that people might hear but you can’t when he sounds so joyful. His deep voice full of life. 

“Fine, sweet tea, you win. Wouldn’t want you to cry durin’ New Year’s.” 

Joel turns off the water and you turn, facing him as he does. His eyes widen when you cup his cheeks, he’s so warm now, so soft from the steam. “Let’s head to my bedroom,” you mutter. “Auggie’s spare clothes are there anyway.” 

His hands softly land on your hips, thumbs moving over the waistband of your stockings. “You sure?” 

“I want to see you when you bury yourself into me.” 

That’s all he needs to hear before dragging you out of the bathroom. You both hurry, the sound of the party still lively downstairs. Luckily your bedroom is close to the bathroom so there isn’t much risk as you follow him out half naked, your sparkling dress in hand. 

As soon as you both enter the bedroom, his lips are on yours, pushing you towards the bed until the back of your knees hits the edge and you fall. He follows your dive, his weight pleasant on top of you. 

Feeling numb with want, you quickly tug his shirt off of him, and his hands fumble with his belt. Joel doesn’t even bother to take his pants off completely. He frees himself with one hand and pushes in without a word. You both moan, mouths inches apart from each other. Neither of you breaks away from the eye contact. It’s so intimate like this. Your cheeks burning at how naked you feel having him witness the parting of your lips, the flutter of your gaze. 

You feel so full, so complete. The slow drag of his cock making you see starts every time he presses forward, brushing against something devastating inside you with every move. Tears gather in your lashes and he kisses them away. Then he drags his lips down to your neck, sucking at nipping. Your breath catches in your throat, your back arching as you clench around him. He groans into your skin, thrusts becoming shallow and quick. 

“I’m not gonna last, honey,” he rasps. “Tell me where.” 

Just as he says that his hand slides between your bodies, finding your throbbing clit. He draws quick circles, your muscles constricting immediately. At the very last second Joel covers your mouth with his own, muffling your cry as you gush around him, insides twitching and pulsing. He swallows the sounds hungrily. “Where?” he growls against your lips. 

“On my pussy,” you gasp. “Want to feel you there.” 

He tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth before moving away, you spread your legs further, pushing yourself apart with two fingers. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. His hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he strokes himself. It doesn’t take him long to come undone. Your eyes roll when you feel it. The vicious spurt of his come, the way it drips. It feels like it lasts forever. He comes and comes and comes— painting you with his seed. 

When he’s done, he slips his softening cock back inside, pushing himself deeper into you. You both whimper in unison, and he nuzzles the crook of your neck.  You begin to play with the ends of his hair, nails scratching the back of his neck. 

“Happy New Year, Joel.” 

“Happy New Year, sweet tea.” 

[burst-of-iridescent]

now that i've finished my re-read of the hunger games books, it’s even more baffling to me than before that people compare everlark to kat.aang when they are so incredibly similar to zutara.

a fundamental aspect of everlark’s characterization is that they are star-crossed lovers. and while it's true that that is a gimmick the capitol forces on them, it’s also a reflection of the reality that peeta and katniss were never supposed to fall in love, let alone make it last.

from the very beginning, the odds are stacked against katniss and peeta. their class division keeps them apart in district 12, and in the games you're naturally not expected to do anything but kill your fellow tributes. what peeta does in loudly declaring his love and respect for katniss from the beginning is revolutionary because it goes against everything he's been told his entire life. saying he's in love with her and valuing his life over hers is absolutely radical in a situation that forces you to prioritize yourself and dehumanize your fellow human beings. and this framing of love as resistance is something that repeats itself in zutara's arc, in the catacombs where zuko and katara reach out to one another against everything that tells them to do otherwise, and again in the final agni kai when zuko gives up everything for a girl he had been told was nothing.

they’re love stories because they stem, first and foremost, from love for your fellow human beings — especially in the places where it shouldn’t exist. love for a starving child from a lower class whom you’re supposed to kill. love for a weeping enemy who represents everything you were told to despise. both zutara and everlark are about the importance of unity amidst division, about coming together when the entire world is trying to force you apart. about looking at the person you're supposed to hate and saying no, i refuse, and reaching out in love, in compassion, in empathy instead because you understand that they're not as different from you as you were taught to believe.

and this carries on to the other theme that both ships represent: the need to break the cycle of violence.

one of the main themes that underlies each of these characters’ narratives is how easily (and even justifiably) they could’ve perpetuated the harm that was done to them. peeta, katniss, zuko and katara have all suffered without cause, and it would have been understandable if any of them had let that suffering twist them into vengeance and inflicted it back upon others. it would have been encouraged even, in the societies they live in, for them to unleash their rage upon those seen as deserving of it. to become like zhao or hama or gale or president coin. but what defines each of these characters is that instead of allowing their suffering to overcome them, they choose to help — not harm — others, even the people they would have every reason to hate. that’s why katniss and peeta refuse the chance to hold another hunger games with the capitol’s children, why zuko helps an earth kingdom town, why katara risks the invasion itself to free a fire nation village from tyranny. all of them have been victims of unjust violence and oppression, sometimes even at the hands of other victims, and that’s exactly why they refuse to stand by or be complicit as others suffer the way they did. both everlark and zutara are about looking at the darkest version of yourself, the person you might have been, and refusing to go down that road. to understand that you are more than what your circumstances make you into. to choose kindness over hatred, peace over war.

at their core, both ships exemplify the themes of love and unity and holding onto your humanity against impossible odds. but more importantly, they exemplify hope. the dandelion in the spring. the fire that means rebirth instead of destruction.

choosing to do better, be better, make something better, together.

[gracesimp]

soulmates

tenth doctor x fem!reader

Summary: it's rare, but sometimes in the universe, people meet their soulmate. Upon first touch with one's soulmate,a connection is formed. A physical and mental bond. What happens when the Doctor meets his soulmate?

Nearly eight billion people live on Earth. With the possibilities of life on other planets and different worlds, the belief of soulmates wasn't unwarranted in any way. The belief, however, of meeting your destined partner was a little harder to accept. Maybe it was one of the cruelest tricks of all. Knowing that they were out there - somewhere - but unlikely to ever meet them.

The Doctor often talked about miracles. The gift of the universe. Rare, though that makes then more magical when they occur. Never when you're expecting nor prepared. The Doctor was neither when the present of a miracle was handed to him, but he couldn't be more grateful if he tried.

________

Rose Tyler ran into the console room, a spring in her step, yelling out for the Doctor and squeaking in surprise when his head popped up from under the railings.

"Whistle, would you?!" She moaned, resting a hand on her racing heart as the Doctor laughed. She rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at him when his smile widened.

"What do you want to do today? We could go to the future! There's this planet, yeah, that's literally made of diamonds! The sky shines so bright, you have to wear these really blocky sunglasses that they invented especially for sightseers." He chuckled, words spewing out faster than his poor companion could comprehend.

"OR, we could go back in time! I could take you to meet Cleopatra..ooh, actually, maybe not. I think she's still mad at me for winning that game of cards. Sore loser-"

"Doctor!" Rose cut his ramblings short, failing to keep her amusement hidden. "I need to go home. Just for a quick visit." She said, reaching into her pocket and taking out her 'super-phone' before she waved it in front of his face. "I've not seen my best mate for a bit. I'm beginning to miss her." She frowned.

The Doctor hesitated slightly due to a strange feeling running through him, but it was gone as quick as it came. He shook his head then began to press random buttons.

"Sure, where does she live?"

"Nah, I already messaged her, she's meeting me at home." The blonde told him, receiving a low groan from the alien. She turned to him, eyebrow raised. "What?"

He cursed under his breath, kicking his feet on the ground in defeat. "Nothing, just means we've gotta see your mum."

"oi!"

_____

After a little struggle with parking the tardis, the two had finally landed in the correct time and place. Rose immediately hopped up from off the floor after she had been struck down by the dodgy driving and ran out the door.

The Doctor was taking his time, slowly shoving his arms into his brown coat, unable to shake this weird feeling. He moved towards the door, ready to leave, when the tardis began to trill. Her lights flashed teasingly and the Doctor narrowed his eyes. "What do you know?" He asked. "What are you not telling me?" He didn't earn a response other than some more flashing lights and a playful wheeze from his ship. "Whatever." He huffed when the tardis mentally nudged him with a tiny sense of urgency and made him feel compelled to walk out the door.

Doing as instructed, he shoved the door open and was met by his blonde friend, who simply rolled her eyes at him before linking their arms and pulling him towards the estate. "Could you take any longer?"

"You wouldn't understand but it takes time to look this good." He mocked, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Oh, shove it." She nudged him hard.

After countless amounts of stairs, the duo had finally made it to the Tyler residence. Not bothering to knock, Rose walked straight in, dragging the doctor with her. Jackie came running at the sound of her daughter, embracing her tightly in a hug. The Doctor subtly tried to slip away, but was unfortunate and the oldest Tyler spotted him, pulling him in, uncaring of his arms flying around awkwardly.

They pulled away and Jackie turned to her daughter, crossing her arms across her chest. "What have I told you about that bloody phone? Just one call, please!" She cried, and the Doctor sniggered at the embarrassment on his friend's face at the telling off she was receiving.

"Sorry." Rose mumbled, slyly elbowing the Doctor in his stomach, ignoring the groan of pain that replaced his snickering.

"Right, anyone for tea?" Asked Jackie, sauntering away into the kitchen, noting Rose's shadowing footsteps.

"Ooh, tea. Lovely! Milk and six sugars, please!" The only brunette spoke, following Rose into the living room and deciding to ignore the disgusted look on her face. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes making rounds across the room. Messy, but a natural kind of messy. Like it had recently been cleaned, but there were signs of life. Such as the magazine that was just thrown on the sofa and a stained mug abandoned on the table. He liked it.

"Yeah, I'll have a cup please, mum." Rose shouted into the kitchen. "Y/n not here?"

"No. You know what she's like. Always late, that girl." She chuckled while she poured the water into the cups.

"I'd better go help her." Rose said, excusing herself from the room.

"So, go on, where've you been now? You been taking care of her, Doctor?" The mother questioned, smiling softly when he answered with a 'She takes care of me!'

"Good, that's what I like to hear." She smiled, taking the milk out of the fridge when the doorbell rang. "Ooh, that'll be y/n!"

"Doctor, can you go let her in?" Rose asked, peeking her head around the door, hands full and a tin of biscuits under her chin. He chuckled at the sight, nodding as confirmation.

He opened the door, ready to greet Rose's friend, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of her.

Her reaction was similar. She smiled brightly, but it slowly dimmed at the stranger in front of her. Her eyes took all of him in. His messy hair, his freckled cheeks, his honey brown eyes that adorned specks of caramel.

The Doctor did the same, watching as she took a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. Looking at her lips as they parted in surprise. The feeling he felt earlier only intensified when he trailed his eyes slowly down her body, taking his time and savouring every detail.

When they locked eyes again, a mutual blush was shared. No words had yet been spoken, but somehow an understanding was made. Neither could quite tell how long they had been stood in silence. Maybe a few seconds, perhaps a few minutes. Neither cared, both wishing to live in this moment for as long as possible.

Alas, they were interrupted. The blonde came marching to the door, whacking the doctor on his head as she placed her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?" She rolled her eyes, watching as the Doctor reluctantly tore his eyes away from the woman still standing outside. "Invite her in, idiot!"

The Doctor sputtered, blush deepening as he brought up a hand to rub the back of his neck. "O-Oh, yeah," he coughed. "Come on in."

Y/n smiled shyly, ducking her head as she walked by.

Rose tutted, leading her into the living room. "You'll have to excuse him. Still training him. When we first met he had no idea what was socially acceptable or not. He's why my job blew up. Still, good job he's got me, eh?" Rose giggled, tidying around a bit.

Y/n laughed a little, trying to ignore the tall man who had reentered the room.

The Doctor coughed, tapping Rose repeatedly on the leg as they sat down. Ignoring him, Rose turned to Y/n, attempting to start a conversation but losing her nerve at the neverending smacks she was getting from the Doctor. "Oh, my God, what?"

"Are you not going to introduce us?"

"Oh, right. Y/n, this is the Doctor. We travel together. Doctor, this is y/n. We've been best friends since primary." She smiled fondly.

"Lovely to meet you, y/n." He grinned, reaching out to shake her hand in greeting.

"Likewise." She smiled, taking ahold of his hand. Both of their grips tightened as gasps escaped their lips. The room and the sound of Rose's panicked yells faded away.All Rose could do was watch, confused, as golden energy began to course through the veins in their arms.

The pair had been engulfed in pure ecstasy, all three of their hearts racing. Y/n clung on tighter to his calloused hand as she began to see visions. Strange, random flashes that didn't make any sense, but she somehow knew that eventually they would. She saw as shadowed figures danced in the moonlight. She heard echoed laughter, she could see stars and supernovas. Flashes of a blue box began to appear. A little blue box, not so little at all.

It was strange. It was like she was experiencing memories that had yet to be made. Some of them felt as though they weren't hers. Perhaps a tad longer than she'd like to admit, she was able to conclude that she was walking upon the memories of the Doctor. She could see his past faces, his former companions. She could even see the first time Rose ran into the tardis, then out again, then back in. She listened to all the astonished cries of 'it's bigger on the inside!' and she could feel the joy the Doctor felt for hearing it.

And lastly, a soft echo of a whisper could be heard. A name kept hidden. A name so secret the power of it alone broke her from the transelike state.

They both came to with a deep gasp, losing their grip on each other as the room reappeared. Y/n's head bobbed a bit, feeling too heavy and her hearing was diluted. Rose and Jackie's yells felt so distant. A sharp burning sensation struck her head as she cried out, unable to see the Doctor rubbing at his own temples, or the hiss he released before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she allowed the darkness to consume her.

Hours had passed by before Y/n woke up. She let out a soft wimper as she took I'm her surroundings. She was tucked up in Rose's bed, still wearing her clothes. The Doctor had a soft smile toying on his lips when she let out a noise of surprise upon finding him sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Hello." His voice was low, almost talking in a hushed whisper.

Y/n smiled back and rearranged the pillows behind her so that she was sitting upright. "Hello."

The Doctor nodded to the side of her and she looked at the bedside table. "Tea?" he asked, pointing to the hot cup situated on the otherwise lone table. "Just how you like it."

Y/n picked it up, raising an eyebrow at the, what she had previously discovered, timelord.

"Don't worry, Jackie didn't make it." They both shared a chuckle and he watched as she took a little sip, moaning in delight.

Silence filled the room as y/n placed the cup back down. She just stared at the man, and he did the same.

Seconds had passed before she broke the quietness. "Doctor.. What happened before? I mean, it was weird. It was like.. I was seeing into your life. And even now, I can feel things that aren't mine. I just don't understand." She frowned.

The doctor leaned over, taking her hand in his when he felt the twinge of her panic, able to make it subside just by his touch.

"I don't believe it." He whispered, brushing his thumb across the small mark on the back of her hand. One that had not been there before. One that now matched his. "Y/n, have you ever heard of soulmates?"

The woman nodded, replying softly with an "of course."

"Well, sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes, people meet theirs. I've only ever heard about it in stories, I never thought it would happen to me." He said, now searching her face with his eyes. "Y/n, you're my miracle."

And she was. She saved him in every aspect.

OKAYYY, I WROTE THIS WHEN I WAS SLEEP DEPRIVED AND HAD NO IDEA HOW TO END IT LMAO SORRY FOR THE CHEESIENESS. BUT IT WAS SOMETHING DIFFERENT AND I ENJOYED WRITING THIS :)

[gejo333]

A Misunderstanding IV

Father Miguel O’Hara x Mother Spider woman

->Pt. I Pt. V

Summary: Spending the day with Miguel yesterday brought the two of you back to how it use to be six years ago.

I love this photo of casual dad Miguel! I couldn’t find the artist.🥲If you know who is the artist please lmk!!!

Also, for some reason tumblr won’t let me reply to you guys in the comments. And my comments have been removed for some reason. Does anyone know how to fix that?😭😭😭 I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to respond!🥺💕

Btw is anyone able to still see my comments on my other posts?

There will be an 18+ scene at the beginning and another one towards the middle end. Skip passed it if you feel uncomfortable.

I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Hope you enjoy!💕

Wc: 5.1k

____________________________________________

Miguel gazed down at your sleeping form, snuggling against his shoulder on the couch. He brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear, kissing your forehead softly. Careful not to wake you up, he gently lifted you into his arms as he carried you to the bedroom.

He gently set you down on the bed, moving the sheets over your body before returning to the living room and picking up his sleeping son. As he tucks his son into his race car bed, he gently brushes some of his hair back. Strangers would say his son was the spitting image of him. But as he gazes at Mateo’s sleeping form, he sees more of you in his face. As he noticed, the past few days he’s been here, the way Mateo scrunches up his nose when he doesn’t like something, just like his mother. Or when he hears you mumble in your sleep. A small smile twitches when he hears Mateo do the same thing.

Quietly shutting Mateo’s door, he made his way to your bedroom. He removed his shirt and sweatpants and draped them over the chair as he pulled the covers back and got into bed. Miguel gazed towards you as he felt you shift towards him in your sleep. He wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you close to his chest. As he kissed your cheek, he got a whiff of your shampoo. You smelled like a breath of fresh spring air. Of course, with a small hint of cherry blossom. The day’s events, plus your soothing scent, forced his eyes to close as he drifted to sleep.

The bright light of the sun awoke the tired spider from his peaceful slumber. He had forgotten where he was for a brief second until he looked at your sleeping form. You had turned to face him as you breathed softly against his chest. His heart swelled at the sight. It wasn’t a dream. You were really sleeping beside him.

He mentally groaned when he knew he needed to check his watch and ensure nothing important came up at HQ. Gently leaving the bed, he quickly grabbed his watch from the kitchen before returning.

After all this time staring at screens, he needed to wear glasses to help lessen the strain on his eyes.

It was only a few minutes of looking at work before he heard a moan escape from your lips. Seconds later, another one came out, followed by his name. A smirk appeared as he gazed at you, squirmy slightly under the covers. He shifted slightly as he felt himself getting hard. Glancing again, he noticed you wake up as he forced his direction back toward his work.

“Buenos días cariño.”

“Good morning.” He could tell you were uncomfortable as you shifted your thighs together, making the sheets around you move. He leaned down and caressed your cheek.

“Did you have a nice dream?”

Your eyes widen, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I-I um.”

“It’s alright, Hermosa. Do you need me to help with anything?” Miguel gently caressed your thigh as he slowly moved it toward your inner thigh and up towards-

“N-no, I’m good. I’m going to take a sh-shower.” You move the covers off and walk towards your bedroom bathroom. Closing the door, you turned on the shower and took off your PJs and underwear. You bite your lips contemplating whether or not you should follow the agonizing heat building up between your legs. A groan escapes your lips as you open the door halfway. You step into the tub and let the waterfall on your face.

A hand wrapped around your stomach, bringing you against the strong-built body standing under the water with you. Miguel brushed some of your hair from your shoulder as he placed soft kisses from your jawline down to your shoulder. You felt his other hand begin to graze down between your thighs. His fingers brushed your clit as his other hand massaged your breast. Your head fell back against him as you felt him insert two fingers into your soaking folds.

“I’ve missed touching you.” He whispered in your ear as he began a steady thrust. His large rough fingers feeling your inner walls.

“I’ve missed you too.” You moaned out as he tweaked your hard nipples with his free hand.

“What did you dream about, mi amor?” He quickened his pace with his fingers as you felt his hard cock against you.

“Your fingers were inside me.” You managed to get out as you felt his fingers curl inside you.

“What else did I do to you?”

Words were hard to put together at the constant curling of his thick fingers inside you as you began to feel that joyous tightening in your stomach. You gently move your hips to thrust onto his fingers, desperate to be filled more.

“Needy, aren’t you. Did I fuck you with only my fingers in your dream?”

“N-no.”

“Then what else? Tell me, cariño. Or-“A groan of frustration left you as he removed his fingers from you.

“Miguel!” Miguel turned you around as he gently slapped your ass, indicating you to jump into his arms. He grabbed you by the thighs and lifted you against the wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your lips smashed against each other as you ran your hands through his hair. Miguel’s tongue explored your mouth as the tip of cock grazed the entrance of your wet folds.

“I won’t continue unless you say.” A grin was placed on his lips which made your eyes roll in frustration.

“You were going to fuck me. But I woke up before anything else happened.” You placed your lips on his. You missed this. So much. How much you missed his touch, lips, and his scent of woody musk with a hint of lavender.

“Well, let’s continue where we left off.” Miguel positioned himself with your entrance as he began to enter you. A moan escapes you as you stretch to accommodate his large size.

“Fuck your tight.” Miguel fully thrust himself inside you as you groaned in pleasure and pain. You never would have thought it would hurt again. But it had been a long time since you had sex, and damn did you miss having it. The tightness made Miguel impatient as he began slamming himself into you.

Feeling his ridges roughly slide against your walls quickly, you melt into his arms. Your nails dig into his back to compensate for the constant pounding into your pussy. Miguel smashes his lips on yours, hungry to taste you. His fangs accidentally nick your lower lip. You wipe the drop of blood from your lips with your tongue as Miguel’s lustful gaze watches. He moves his lips to your neck, leaving marks across your skin.

“Cum for me, amor.” The knot in your stomach releases as your eyes roll behind your head, as you clench tighter around him, which makes Miguel growl in your ear. He continued his abuse of your swollen pussy as you began to feel overstimulated. A loud moan escapes your throat as you feel him spill inside you. He continued to thrust into you, coming down from his high before he pulled out.

After both catching your breaths, Miguel sets you down. Your legs collapse, almost making you fall, but Miguel catches you in his arms as he steady you by holding your waist.

“Guess I went a bit too rough.” He chuckled while you smiled up at him. You brushed some of his hair that covered his face before you cupped his cheek. Miguel leaned into your touch as he gazed down at you lovingly.

“I love you, y/n. I missed you all these years. Now that I have you back. I can’t lose you again.” His heartfelt words made butterflies build in your stomach. Your heartbeat was loud against your chest, telling you exactly how you felt.

“I love you too, Miguel. I never stopped loving you.”

Miguel pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss before parting. Your noses gently graze against each other before you kiss one last time.

“I guess we should actually shower before Mateo wakes up.” A smile graces his lip, the dimples on his cheeks showing. You mimic his smile before you both decide to finally wash your hair and bodies.

After having another quick session where Miguel bent you over and took you from behind, you get out of the shower. You wrap a towel around your body before passing one to Miguel, which he thanks you for.

You went to the sink, grabbed a brand-new toothbrush from the cabinet, and handed it to Miguel.

“A toothbrush? Can I get a drawer too?” He chuckled as you rolled your eyes, followed by a smile.

“You want closet space too?” You smile before you begin brushing your teeth. Miguel placed his hands on both sides of your waist as he brushed his lips against your ear. “I would love that.” He said before he began to brush his teeth.

The two of you finally leave the bathroom and get dressed. Knowing he would be spending time here for at least a week, he brought clothes so he wouldn’t have to go back and forth between universes.

Miguel was about to head to the kitchen to cook breakfast, but you rushed past him, earning a chuckle from him. You block him from entering the kitchen. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at you, brows raised with a smile.

“lo que sucede mi amor?”

“I’m cooking this morning.” You turn around and grab things from the fridge. Miguel grabs the egg in your hand.

“No, no, no. I’ll cook.” He gently bumps you with his hip to move you away from the stove. You turn to him and pout as you quickly grab the spatula before he can grab it.

“Please let me cook. Just this once.” You purse your lips and bat your eyelashes for dramatic effect. Not being able to say no to you, he passes you the egg.

“Alright. But just this once. I’ll go wake up Mateo.” You give Miguel a quick kiss as a thank you before he goes to wake up your son as you begin to make omelets.

Miguel walked back into the kitchen carrying Mateo in his arms before setting him down on the stool. You place a plate of scrambled eggs in front of your son.

“Thanks, mama.” Mateo picked up his fork as he began to devour his eggs.

“Don’t eat too fast, papito. You might get the hiccups.” Miguel said as he pours coffee for the two of you. You watched as Mateo smiled at his father before eating his eggs again, slowly this time.

You hand Miguel a plate before returning to the pan to plate your own.

“It’s delicious, Hermosa. Thank you.”

“Of course!” You smile before diving into your own omelet.

After everyone finished breakfast, you got Mateo changed into his soccer clothes. You grab the warmed-up empanadas as the three of you approach the soccer fields.

When you arrived at the fields, Mateo ran towards the other kids kicking around small soccer balls. You and Miguel walk towards the group of parents mingling with each other. You place the large container of empanadas on the wooden picnic table.

“Hi, Y/n. Thanks again for making snacks last minute.” Said Emily, who walked up to you with her posse of moms desperate to be in the ‘miss popular’ group again.

“No problem.”

“Oh, these look delicious. What is it?” Said one of the moms.

“They’re empanadas. Y/n made them.” Miguel said, knowing one of them would ask such an obnoxious question.

“Some have meat, the other half only have cheese. And I bought oranges for kids who can’t eat the empanadas.” You added.

“Oh, this is Rachel. She’s a single mom just like you, Y/n. And she’s back in the dating pool.” Emily ignored your last words. You didn’t care as you noticed her last sentence was directed toward Miguel. The audacity of this woman.

“Hi.” Said Rachel as she gently waved at him in front of you. As you were about to say something, you felt Miguel wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side.

“Actually, Y/n isn’t a single mother anymore. We’re together. But I wish the best for you, Rachel.” Miguel gently grabbed your chin and kissed you on the lips. Your lips part, forgetting the three upset and shocked women before you.

“Oh, well then, congratulations.” Said Emily with her usual fake smile. Another parent walked up, which gave the three an excuse to leave.

“It’s nice to see the witch and her mindless zombies finally be put in her place.” A woman walks up to you as she gestures her hand out to shake yours. “I’m Georgia. Simon’s mom.” The woman added.

“Y/n. This is Miguel. We’re Mateo’s parents. She needed to know she was not a queen bee. We’re parents to kindergartners, for goodness sake.” You both laugh.

“Nice to meet you both. The woman coaching the kids. That’s my wife, Lauren.” Georgia waved to the woman on the field surrounded by energetic five-year-olds who waved back before returning to coaching.

“She’s great at coaching the kids. It’s nice to see they’re learning to play instead of just running around.” You say as you watch Mateo learn to pass the ball to another kid.

“Lauren loves to coach. Have more kids fall in love with soccer like she did. She used to play on the women’s Nueva York team. Oh, she’s calling me over. It was nice meeting you both.” Georgia waved goodbye before jogging over to her wife.

“She seems sweet. It’s nice to meet other moms who aren’t trying to be wannabe plastics.” You smile as you glance at the three wannabe plastic moms huddled together gossiping.

“I can’t stand women like that group. They’re so fake. And the most self-centered. I’ve had a few first dates like that way back. Let’s just say it was only one date. The woman talked my ears off.” Miguel put his fingers on the bridge of his nose as if he had an oncoming headache from the horrible memory, which made you chuckle.

“I hope I don’t do that.” You tease, which makes Miguel wrap his arms around your waist as he kisses your lips lightly before he lightly pinches your cheek as he smiles down at you.

“You could talk for hours, and I would listen to every word from your lips.”

“You’re such a romantic Miggy.” You raise to your toes and place a quick kiss on his lips.

You grabbed the container from the table when it was empty, and the kids devoured them after their practice was over. Despite running around for an hour, Mateo was just as energetic as before, so you and Miguel decided to go to the park near your apartment to let him burn off the rest of his energy before he went to spend the night at your sister’s for a sleepover with his cousins.

You watch Mateo run towards the playground when you arrive at the park. You and Miguel sit on a bench, watching your son jump and swing on the play equipment. You rest your head against Miguel’s shoulder, closing your eyes to let them rest. You smiled at hearing Mateo’s laughter as he played with the other kids.

You didn’t realize how long your eyes were closed as Miguel pushed some of your hair behind your ear and kissed the top of your head.

“Are you tired, cariño? Too much excitement this morning?” Miguel chuckled as he saw your cheeks turn red.

“No, I’m alright. Just enjoying the moment.”

“Do you still want to have a date night?”

“Of course I do!” You leave the comfort of his shoulder as you turn to look at him. A pout on your face at the mention of canceling.

“I’m only checking. I don’t want you to feel forced into going on a date with me.” You lightly hit Miguel’s shoulder at his comment.

“Miguel, I want to go on this date. I want to be with you. I love you. I’ve only been hesitant the past few days because I wasn’t 100% sure if you still loved me. But I know now that you never stopped loving me, just like I never stopped loving you. It’s been six years since we last saw each other. We need to get familiar with each other again.”

“How about we don’t do anything fancy tonight. Maybe something more comfortable. Less awkward first date vibes.” His suggestion made you smile as you kissed his cheek.

“I would like that a lot, actually.”

“How about a swing through the city and then a trip to our favorite empanada shop,” Miguel suggested.

“Sounds perfect.”

“Momma, papa, when is Tia Nora coming to pick me up?” Mateo walked back to you and Miguel. Miguel picked him up and sat him on his lap as Mateo rested in his father’s arms.

“In about an hour.” You say as you brush some of Mateo’s hair out of his face, who begins to pout.

“Aww, that’s so long from now.” He crossed his arms. He was so adorable when he tried to act mad.

“Well, by the time we return home and pack your things it will be time for her to pick you up. Plus, your Tia Nora is always 15 minutes early.” You stand up from the bench, which Mateo follows as you hold his hand towards you. Miguel gets up as the three of you walk back home.

As you told Mateo, by the time you arrived home, which took 10 minutes, and packed his things. Which took longer as he wanted to show his cousins a few new toys he got. Thankfully you were able to bargain with him, only bringing one toy. He decided to take the toy you bought him a week ago. It was an action figure of his favorite hero. Spiderwoman. Your heart grew tenfold that you were your son’s favorite hero. Maybe one day, he could meet his idol when he was older.

You heard the door knock, but before you could reach it, Miguel opened the door. With all the excitement about Miguel coming back in to your life, you had forgotten to mention his return to your family.

“Hey, Nora.” You purse your lips into an awkward smile as you watch your older sister step inside, unpleased.

“I didn’t expect to see your ex open the door when I knocked. I would have thought my dear sister would have told me.”

“A lot has happened the past few days-“

“Days?! How long has he been here?”

“Three.”

“Three?! I thought we were closer than that.” A frown appeared on your sister’s face. She always was the more dramatic sister.

“We are Nora. I just wanted to work things out before I threw our entire family at him with questions. He’s only met our family a few times. And that was six years ago.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Nora.” Miguel scratched a non-existent itch on the back of his neck.

“You broke my sister’s heart.”

“Nora.” You warned her.

“But it’s true, Y/n. Yes, I know you broke up with him. But the months leading up to it were torture for you. I don’t want you getting hurt again.” Nora tried to console you by putting her hand on your arm. But you took her hand and gently squeezed it.

“Nora, Miguel, and I talked already. We both made mistakes. We want to fix things. Not just our relationship but also allow Mateo to grow up in a loving home with both parents.”

“Ok, but I-“

“Nora, I love your sister with every fiber of my being. It still breaks my heart that I hurt her and wasn’t there for her to raise Mateo for the past six years. I promise that I’ll never hurt her again.” Miguel caught your sister off, knowing it affected you as he brought you to his side. A sigh came from your sister’s mouth before a small smile appeared.

“Alright. I’ll let it go. But I swear, O’Hara. If she comes to me in tears, you’ll feel my wrath.” Nora narrows her eyes towards Miguel, which makes you roll yours. To heal the awkward situation, Mateo exited his room with his packed bag and ran to his aunt.

“Tia Nora!”

“Hey there, my little firecracker! I’m so excited to spend the day with you. Chloe and Marc can’t wait to see you.”

After saying goodbye to your son and sister, you sigh in relief. You loved your older sister to bits. But she could be a handful sometimes.

“I’m sorry about my sister.”

“There’s no need for an apology. I understand where she’s coming from. She’s only trying to protect you.” Miguel took your hands and gave them a light squeeze before kissing the top of your hand. “I should be the one apologizing to.” You place a finger on his lips to stop talking, which earned a slightly surprised look from Miguel.

“There’s no need for an apology. How about we go on this date you planned for us?” You placed your hands on both sides of his face as you got on your toes and kissed him to reassure him of your words.

Miguel smiled before the two of you got your suits on. You both head to your bedroom window as Miguel opens it for the two of you as you step out into the fire escape.

“I’ll race you across Manhattan.” You shoot your web to the building across the street when the words leave your mouth. As you continue your movements through the neighborhood, a smile appears underneath your mask as you hear Miguel fast approaching you.

At first it took Miguel by surprise when you quickly swung away from him. But he knew you were one to mess around. He has never been someone who likes to partake in silly antics. But ever since you came into his life, he didn’t mind partaking in them. As long as it was with you.

You look behind to see Miguel, but we’re surprised to not find him anywhere. Your attention turned in front of you again when you heard a heartfelt laugh.

“Can’t keep up mi querida?” Miguel teases as he begins to swing far ahead of you. A laugh emits from you as you try to catch up to him. You were almost at the finish line and knew you wouldn’t let Miguel win.

Going as fast as you could, you swing past him. You landed on top of the building marked as the finish line. A smile began to creep on your face as you didn’t see him yet. But as soon as you reached the top, your smile disappeared as you saw a familiar red and blue suit standing there, smirking at you with his mask off.

“Took you long enough.” Miguel chuckled as he watched you march up to him.

“How did you get here before me?”

“I was just faster, cariño. Can the victor get a kiss from the lovely woman before him?” Miguel wrapped his arm around you to bring you against him as he removed your mask. His lips pressed against yours as you melted against him. The kiss began to get heated as Miguel patted the back of your things to jump as you wiped your legs around his waist. He backed you up against a wall. A groan left your lips as you felt his clothed erection against you.

“It’s been so hard to keep my hands off you today. I’ve been wanting to fuck you all day.” Miguel removed your suit as he kissed your neck to your breasts.

“We had sex this morning Miguel.”

“Only twice, though. I haven’t touched you in six years. Being able to touch you again, I can’t control myself, mi amor.” He lifted you so that your legs rested on his shoulders as he removed your panties.

“Open wider.” He nips your thighs with his fangs which makes you moan as he licks up your pussy before sucking on your clit, which sends you into a daze. Your hands go into his hair as Miguel’s tongue enters you and begins eating you out.

“Miguel.” You moaned out his name, which made him go crazy as he grabbed you by the thighs, his claws slightly digging into you as he brought you closer to his mouth to try and tongue fuck you deeper.

The continuous thrusting of his tongue into you and the flick of your clit made the knot form in your lower abdomen.

“Cum on my face so I can taste you.” Miguel turned his attention to your clit, which made you reach your climax as you released your juices on his face. Miguel was pussy drunk as he drank every last drop of you. “I could eat you for hours, mi amor,” Miguel added as he removed your legs from his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist again.

Miguel’s suit dissolved, revealing his god-like figure. The heat in your core revived when the tip poked against your entrance. You felt his lips leave marks against your neck before capturing your lips again.

Your nails clawed at this back as he thrusts his member into your wet folds. Miguel didn’t take time to ease himself inside you as he thrust in and out of you at a rough and fast pace.

“Miggy, what if someone comes up here?” You moaned out. Words were hard to escape from your lips as Miguel pounded into you like a wild animal.

“It’s a little late to ask that, don’t you think?” Miguel huffed out as he continued to ram into you. He spreads your legs wider to thrust deeper into you. You guess he was right; it was way too late to ask. If people saw, they saw. And what a heated site they would see.

“I never want to leave your intoxicating pussy. I fit perfectly into you as if this pussy was made for me. Ughh, if you clench anymore like that around me, I’ll lose it.”

“I-I can’t help it.” A knot built up inside you for the second time. And with the rapid pace, Miguel would hit your climax as you became a moaning mess. Clenching around him from your climax made Miguel growl from your inner walls tightening around his member. He thrust one more time before cumming deep inside you. His pace became sloppy as he wanted to keep his seed from spilling out of you before he pulled out.

“I love you, mi vida.” Miguel took your chin and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you too, Miggy.”

“Now, let’s get some delicious empanadas.” You smiled at his happy-go attitude to get his favorite empanadas. He kissed your smiling face before helping you with your suit.

“Would it be possible to get a suit like yours again? I know this is not the last time you’ll take it off me.” You winked, and Miguel smirked in response.

“Of course.”

After making a quick stop in Miguel’s universe to his favorite empanada store, the two of you went back to your apartment in your universe. Miguel made sure to buy a few extra for Mateo when he came back home tomorrow so he could try the best empanadas.

You sat between Miguel’s legs and rested against his chest on the couch. Miguel flicked through old videos and photos of the two of you six years ago. You smiled at the fond memories, from random conversations at work to cooking dates to vacations. Though you only dated for half a year, you were friends with Miguel for a few years, which can be seen in many photos and videos. You always loved to capture moments.

“Omg, is that the video of us at the beach when we got wasted?” Miguel showed you the video of the two of you sitting on the beach with you, relaxing against him.

“Yes, it is. Though it might have been the horrible hangover, those breakfast burritos we had the next morning were delicious.” Miguel leaned his head back, reminiscing the memory. You giggled from his love for food as you kissed his chin before resting your head against his shoulder, putting your face against his neck. You closed your eyes, basking in the moment with him.

“It’s past midnight. Let’s go to bed. You’ve had a very active day.” Miguel kissed your cheek before picking you up bridal style and carrying you to the bedroom.

“Most of that activity today was with you.”

“Well, I can’t wait to do it again with you, mi amor. It’s hard enough not to ravage you again right now. But you need your rest.” Miguel placed you on the bed as he got in with you, pulling the covers over the both of you.

You turned to face him as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him.

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” You giggle and place one last kiss on his lips before snuggling against him.

“It definitely won’t be the last time. We have eternity to be with each other.” Miguel kissed your forehead before turning off the lights as both of you enter the dream world.

Miguel’s eyes opened as he gazed at the white ceiling in your now-shared bedroom. He turned over to wrap you in his arms but frowned when he noticed the empty space beside him. You never woke up before him, as he was an early riser. He checked the time on his phone. He woke up at his normal time. His eyebrows furrowed, confused by your whereabouts. He then noticed a note on your pillow.

I got a notification saying a situation was happening at the mall that I needed to attend to. Some guy causing trouble. I should be back soon.

Love, Y/n

Fear and worry grew in the pit of his stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in spider action. He was worried for you. Miguel got out of bed when he heard a noise in the living room. He sighed when he noticed he had left the tv on last night. He was about to turn it off when something perked his ears.

We’re getting reports of numerous injuries and casualties at the mall shooting. Spiderwoman is currently trying to find the gunman at the scene. We will keep you updated- sorry? Oh my! I apologize for the brief interruption. It has come to my attention that Spiderwoman has been shot.

____________________________________________

Tag List

@theprettyarachnid

@crowleysthings

@gryffinclawstuff

@toaffes

@miggyyyyohara

[thelarriefics]

SPRING FIC REC: Below you will find fics that take place in spring, have a springy feel, etc. 

📖 always you (i should have known) by @28goldens (60k)

“Oi, now we’re talking. Came running to ol’ Tomlinson for help, gotta say Harold,” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Harry watched as his eyes looked him over. “It's very out of character for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special, you're my last choice,” Harry subconsciously crossed his arms as well, giving Louis his own look over.

“Oh, that's a lot of power, I’m your last resort!” He wagged his finger at him, letting out a cackle. “Alright, hit me with it.”

Harry’s lips pursed as he slowly started to regret the words about to spill out of his mouth, “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or the one where harry and louis cant stand each other and fake date to make someone jealous.

📖 (I'm Dreaming of a) One Night Inn by @lululawrence (54k)

When everything Louis had planned for his life falls through, and on his birthday no less, he's left with no other option but to regroup and start over again. The road of life isn't always straight and it certainly isn't always easy, but sometimes it's those twists and turns that find you your closest friends and—if you're really lucky—the love of your life.

Louis just happens to be very lucky.

A Holiday Inn AU.

📖 Blush by @dip-lou-in-honey (33k)

Harry is a young omega, presented at his first Royal ball, when he first meets Louis, the King. They're immediately infatuated with each other, but in the ancient hallways of the castle, whispers travel far and wide, and what they want is not what they're allowed to have.

📖 Tip Toe Through The Tulips by @peachbootylouis (27k)

Ever since moving to Manchester, it had just been Louis and his dog Clifford against the world though it had never felt like enough. It’s not until Clifford quite literally sniffs Harry out while on a walk that Louis realizes he’d been looking for someone like this flower child all along. A fluffy one shot filled with fur and flowers.

📖 To Begin Again by @chloehl10 (23k)

Harry’s ready to spend a fun Easter morning with his two children at the park, but it’s thrown into chaos when an over-excited dog and his owner come barrelling into their lives...

📖 Sakura Sunset by @mizzhydes (16k)

Harry and Louis have a tradition. Every spring they stand below hundreds of dazzling cherry blossom trees in Kew Garden, and year after year they come back to walk amongst the trees and experience that love over again.

This year everything changes. Louis is offered a once in a lifetime opportunity in Silicon Valley, California.

Only after Louis has left does Harry realise he made the biggest mistake of his life breaking up with Louis, and he has to live with the consequences of his actions.

Four years later, Harry discovers that Louis has returned to London, and in an effort to find the closure he desperately needs, he must tell Louis the truth behind their break up so he can move on with his life.

📖 The Prince and The YouTuber by @haztobegood (12k)

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

📖 Love You To Want Me by @rainbowsandlovehl (11k)

Niall coerces Louis into doing 'spring cleaning', which is basically cleaning their flat which leads to Louis finding the pair of braces he used to wear back in early Uni days. Harry, Niall's bandmate has a strange but visible reactions to the braces.

📖 Chubby Bunny by @littleroverlouis (2k)

Harry spends his Easter Sunday basking in the spring breeze while playing games with the smallest Tomlinsons, and a package of marshmallow Peeps.

Louis is stuck in a sweltering bunny costume for the enjoyment of all around him.

Harry offers him a chance to peel himself out of the costume and indulge in some of the fun.

📖 my lap is the best place for you to be by @bottomhaztoplou (1k)

Omegas, especially pregnant omegas, are expected to ride in their marriage partner's lap, usually on their knot, during carriage rides so as to minimise any jostling that may harm the pup.

Heavily pregnant in mid-April, Harry lifts his skirts and sinks down onto his waiting alpha, his body easily taking Louis inside himself.

[hannahssimblr]

As the evening draws in, others arrive at the house. It’s been nice, just Evie and I, for the hour alone that we had, once my family left and I finally showered the smell of grass from my body.

We laughed together while preparing the oven snacks that are now laid out on plates on the table, being picked at by people whose surnames I’ve already begun forgetting. It was sad too, in a way, being happy with Evie, and living out some kind of domestic fantasy where she burns the spring rolls and I tell her it’s okay, because I’m a dustbin of a man and I’ll truly eat anything, and maybe later, before going to bed we would brush our teeth together and flash each other frothy smiles in the mirror. 

I considered kissing a flake of pastry off her lip, too, in a temporary burst of madness, before remembering it would be among the worst ideas I ever had. It was just as well I didn’t, because the doorbell was ringing, and four people from school were waiting outside. 

Now, in the light of the golden sunset, we’re apart, as I, on the lawn, listen to a group of guys talk about the college offers pushed through their letter boxes this morning, and Evie sits with Tara Neary and her gang at the patio table and does her best to include herself. I hope they don’t tell her about the weird stuff I did at school, but chances are, they’ve already been through the highlight reel. 

They all turn to look as the patio door swings open and Michelle comes out and down the steps towards me. To my great surprise, she greets me with a hug. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” she says. “Jen had a thing about her hair.”

“Ah, classic Jen,” I glance over her shoulder, and spot that signature flash of red in the kitchen. I’m uneasy, knowing I’ll have to have a grim conversation with her later, but later is later, and now, Michelle is smiling in a way I’m almost sure she never has, surveying the little crowd that has gathered in the garden.

“A good few showed up after all, didn’t they?”

“I think they wanted to see what the inside of my house looked like, to be honest.”

“Don’t be like that! They wanted to give you a proper sendoff, to wish you well on your big adventure.”

“Oh, yeah. That whole thing.”

“Are you nervous?”

I smirk. “Yeah, it’s my first time on a plane. I’m shitting it.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know I’m not talking about the flight.”

“I’m trying not to think about it, to be honest,” and my eyes, once again, find Evie through the crowd. “I’ll just get on the plane, and I’ll let it all sink in when I’m there.”

“Makes sense, in some sort of way, I suppose.”

“The whole thing is surreal,” I admit. “Like, tomorrow, before midday, I’ll be there. Like, I’ll live there. It seems like too much change all at the same time.”

“It’s what you wanted,” she reminds me. “And if you don’t like it, just come home.”

“I doubt I’ll come home. I think that’d be, like, the biggest failure of my life.”

“Worse than losing me?” She says, and I baulk, before she cracks a grin, “God, I was joking.”

I break into a laugh. “Nah, actually you know what was worse than that? Losing Goose.”

“Oh God,” she covers her mouth with her hands, “the Goose of it all. How could I forget about him? Do you have a theory about what happened?”

I grimace. “I want to be realistic, but that also means I don’t really want to speculate, because, I mean… Most likely…”

“Fucking hell, you know, I’ll never forget that…” 

As we talk, and catch up and laugh with one another in ways that we haven’t for a decade, I lose track of time, and don’t pay attention to the sun that dips below the horizon. The evening moths vanish from the garden, and the stars rise and the summer dies, and my last day in Ireland ends without me even noticing.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[oceanbug]

when worlds collide

smau non!idol ningning x reader

23. honesty.

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•

"Ok, text if anything goes wrong. Make sure your ringer is turned on. At full volume too."

"Ugh, she get’s it, Kurra; no need to go all mom mode on her."

"I can’t help but worry about her, Yunjin; she’s having the most emotional talk of her life. Should I put out a box of tissues? I should shouldn’t I….”

"I’ll be fine, Kurra, really."

It was 4:55 p.m., and your heart was pounding. It was time for an honest talk with your best friends. So things wouldn’t feel like an ambush, you all agreed it would be best to keep the conversation between you, Jimin, and Yujin. The others were close to you as well, but they didn't have the same childhood connection as the three of you. Although everyone had been hurt about Yujin’s betrayal, no one could experience more pain than you and Jimin did at this moment.

As the rest of the gang prepared to make their exit, you heard a soft knock coming from the front door.

"Huh, Yujin’s early? That’s a first." You gave a soft smile at Yunjin, who always tried to find comedy in the most serious moments; you appreciated it. Sakura walked up to the door and let in your childhood friend.

Yujin looked thinner and more pale than you remembered; it was obvious that this situation had taken a toll on her.

"You have a key?" Said Minji, pondering as to why she didn’t just let herself in since it was Yujin’s dorm as well.

"Yeah, but I felt like I needed to warn you all that I was here. It’s the least I can do."

As Yujin spoke, your fellow college friends began to exit the dorm. You knew they would all just stay in Kurra’s car, waiting for you to give the ‘OK’ text for them to come in, but you appreciated the privacy that tried to give you three.

"So, how’s living at Wonyoung’s?"

"Oh, um, nice? She has constant hot water, so that’s pretty cool."

"Dang! Minji does waste all the hot water, doesn’t she? I don’t have the heart to tell her that the rest of us can’t stand freezing cold showers, though."

"Ha, yeah."

This conversation was incredibly awkward.

Jimin cleared her throat and gestured for Yujin to take a seat on the sofa. To which Yujin humbly obliged. It was obvious she missed being in her dorm. She went right back to her usual seat on the sofa with a sigh of relief. (You and the others swore that there was a Yujin-shaped imprint in the cushion, but Yujin always argued otherwise.)

"We all know why you're here, Yujin."

"Right, Yeah… I don’t even know where to start."

“How about your secret friendship with Wonyoung, how the fuck did that even happen?”

"How about how you’re a back-stabbing weasel who made the love of my life kiss someone else in front of me?" Yujin winced at your comment and looked down at her feet. You knew that was harsh, but Yujin deserved it. She hurt you four years ago, and she hurt you four days ago. Yujin deserved to hear how upset you were.

"I’ll start from the beginning... Just, please hear me out."

"We’re listening."

Yujin took a deep breath and exhaled.

"Ok, it all started junior year."

_______________________________________________

Junior Year, Spring Hill High

Yujin had always been an eccentric kid. She never cared about what people thought. It was obvious by the way she acted in public. Yujin was loud, energetic, and carefree. She never had to worry about people’s opinions affecting her because she knew her friends would always be by her side. Even when she let out all the tarantulas from the science lab or when she sent three kids to the hospital after a serious game of dodgeball, Y/n and Jimin defended her through it all.

"Plus 4, take THAT Jimin."

"Plus 4." Jimin slammed down her card while giving Y/N a mischievous side-eye.

"No, this can’t be." She claimed Yujin as her eyes widened once she realized that Y/N was mimicking Jimin’s grin.

"Y/n, think this through; we’re friends."

"You’re right, Yujin, plus 4." Yujin let out an ear-piercing scream. She now had to pick up eight cards. Instead of doing so, she threw all her cards on the table and then flipped the table. Yujin always had great sportsmanship.

“Ugh, Yuuuu, the gameeeee."

"The game stinks. I’m thirsty; I’m getting some drinks."

"Loser, you’re just scared about losing the game."

“I can't hear you. You’re too far away!” She scurried off, heading toward the school’s vending machine. Her friends were right, but she couldn’t just admit defeat.

Counting the coins in her pocket, Yujin skipped her way toward the vending machine’s. Before she could fully enter the room, she noticed a tall, slender figure standing in front of her. She knew that gorgeous flowing brown hair from anywhere. It was Jang Wonyoung. Her name was known all around the school.

After having a long debate with herself on whether she should disturb the goddess, which is Wonyoung, Yujin realized that she was too thirsty to even care. But before she could walk in, she heard Wonyoung whisper to herself.

"Fuck, I’m 25 cents short."

Yujin gasped. She’d never expected to hear Wonyoung curse; she always seemed so ladylike and elegant. But I guess even princesses have their off days?

Yujin’s gasp, unfortunately, was not silent. As Wonyoung whipped her head around to see who was there, Yujin didn’t have time to hide herself. She began to panic and could only let out the words:

"25 cents!"

Wonyoung cocked her head to the side, in confusion.

Yujin cleared her throat and stood up straight.

“Um, I have a quarter, if you need it? I already had so much water, I’m practically pissing myself! It should go to someone who needs it more.” Yujin grinned, showing all her teeth. She tried hard not to make it seem like she was nervous.

Wonyoung's face darkened for a second, but she quickly turned back to her princess-like smile.

"No need, gorgeous, I got it covered."

"Are you sure? Didn’t you just say you needed a quarter?"

"I’m fine. Do I look like a charity case to you? I can afford a water bottle.” Her tone was much less polite than the first time.

"Woah! I didn’t say all of that. Look, if you’re missing a quarter, you could just say that; there's no need to get all snarky. Aren’t you supposed to be like mega rich or something anyway?”

Wonyoung’s tone became even more aggressive.

"I said I can afford it. Who the fuck are you? What’s your problem? You just come up here assuming I’m poor; well, I’m not. I could probably afford your entire home with my shoes alone. So just run along, little one; stop bothering the big kids."

Yujin was taken aback. She was speechless. All she could do to retaliate was throw a quarter at Wonyoung and run away. That was her first encounter with Wonyoung, but certainly not her last.

_______________________________________________

In fact, Yujin’s next encounter with Wonyoung happened less than 24 hours later.

She was always known to roam around the halls after school hours. Jimin would be at volleyball practice while Y/n went to tutoring, so Yujin was left alone for an hour and a half every once in a while. Sure, she could just go home. But what fun would that be? She’d rather wait for her best buddies to walk with her.

Yujin has the same route she’d walk every time she stayed alone.

First, she visited her physics class pet. Charlie the Chinchilla. She would pet him, and he’d almost always bite her. Charlie was not friendly.

This then led her to her next destination, the nurse's office! Greeting her with the same faint smile, Yujin picked up the various colored bandages to cover up her Chinchilla bite.

Lastly, she’d make her way downstairs to watch Jimin practice volleyball in the school’s gym. Heading downstairs, Yujin took her time, admiring the school’s graffiti on the stairway walls. But this time it wasn’t her usual quiet stroll downstairs. She heard various sounds coming from the 2nd-floor stairwell. Being the curious puppy she is, Yujin softly walked up the stairs to check out the high school's newest romantic entanglement.

Slightly poking her head out of the staircase, Yujin squinted her eyes and tippy-toed to get a good view. Her vision became clear, and she got a good look at the couple. Yujin’s eyes quickly went from squinted to wide-open. She gasped as she realized what she was looking at.

Was it Wonyoung and Yeonjun?

Realizing the pair that was in front of her, Yujin tripped on her own two feet and began to fall down a flight of stairs.

"Ah Fuck!"

"Who’s there? You, Werido, are you trying to get a good look for your spank bank?" Yujin recognized the voice. It was Yeonjun.

"It’s you again; you're that girl from the vending machine." There came the other voice of the pair; it was Wonyoung, and she was staring right down at Yujin.

Trying to recover from the great fall she just had, Yujin let out a stuttered:

"N-No! I promise, I just heard noises and came to see."

"That’s the literal definition of being a weird pervert.”

Yujin couldn’t find a good excuse for herself, so she did what she does best. She ran away. Straight into the second bathroom.

Quickly slamming the door behind her, she let out a deep breath of air. Yujin frantically started pacing around. What was she going to do? Surely she had seen something she wasn’t supposed to. Was Wonyoung out to get her now? She closed her eyes, thinking of the various ways she could attempt to get out of this situation, until she felt a cold, wet towel on her knee.

"That was a big fall you took; your knee’s bleeding."

Yujin quickly opened her eyes. Was Wonyoung cleaning up her knee?

"Sorry for Yeonjun’s harsh words; he’s kind of an idiot."

"No, it’s my fault; I shouldn’t have watched; it was weird."

"I probably would’ve done the same; don’t worry, really.” Wonyoung’s voice sounded sweet. It was a complete 180 from the yelling she had done at the vending machines. She had a look of sincerity on her face.

"Um, you know I won’t tell anyone about anything. But don’t you think maybe Ning should know that Yeonjun and you are... Since you guys are like best friends, and that’s her boyfriend? Maybe you can talk it out? Share custody of him? Just my opinion though, I think I’d like to know." Yujin’s words trailed off. She couldn’t even fully register what she’d seen, let alone say it in words. Yet she still felt obligated to give her opinion. It’s true that Ningning wasn’t the most kind person, but even she didn’t deserve to get backstabbed.

As Wonyoung took out a bandage to put on Yujin’s knee, she felt Wonyoung’s hands shake.

"Um, Wonyoung?" She bent down to Wonyoung’s level and saw tears in her eyes.

"I messed up. Big time, I’m such a shitty person.” Her words were spiraling out, and tears were flowing out of her eyes. Yujin didn’t know what to do.

"Oh, no, hey, you’re not. Everyone kisses their friend's boyfriend sometimes.” No, they do not.

"No, not that. This isn’t even the first time. He’s not even her boyfriend. Yeonjun’s just pretending to like her, so she’ll keep paying off his stuff.” At this point, it was obvious that Wonyoung had pent-up emotions that she needed to let out. Yujin tried to keep her reactions to herself and kept quiet so as to let Wonyoung keep talking.

"And I’m no better than he is. You know, I try to tell myself that I care about her. That Ning’s my best friend, but how can I believe that when my friendship with her didn’t even start for the right reasons? You were right, okay? I am poor. I have no money. There, are you happy? I was counting quarters and couldn’t afford a water bottle. I only yelled at you because I thought you would tell everyone, and word would eventually get to Ning. I need her in my life. Without her, I’d just be some low-level poverty case with no friends looking for a handout. After a while, I really did start seeing her as my friend. But now here I am, making out with her boyfriend. What’s wrong with me?” Wonyoung sobbed on the bathroom floor.

Yujin didn’t know what to do. Why was Wonyoung spilling her guts out to her? Was it really out of guilt?

"Listen, I’ll just forget I saw anything, really. I’ll forget the kissing Ningning’s boyfriend and the quarter thing. I promise." Yujin was hugging Wonyoung at this point. She wanted nothing more than to get out of this situation, but she couldn't just leave Wonyoung on the bathroom floor. Sure, what she did was messed up, but she had her reasons, and she clearly showed…..remorse? 

"Aw, how sweet of you! You’d do that for little old me? Then how about I pay you back? Anytime you need a favor, it’s on me! Anytime sweetie." Wonyoung’s tears dried up in an instant, and her usual chipper tone came back. Almost as if nothing had happened.

Yujin never thought of a time when she would call upon the evil terror of Wonyoung, but I guess it was a nice thing to have. Besides, even if she did want to tell Ningning, would she even believe her? There's no way she’d believe Yujin over her best friend, Wonyoung.

“Ok, Deal."

_______________________________________________

Senior Year Spring Hill High School

"No, I’m going to do it, Yujin; I’m going to confess at the graduation party."

Yujin sat against the wall outside of the school’s gymnasium, pondering back at Y/N's words toward her. She winced at the thought of Y/N getting shot down by Jimin. Their friendship was important to Yujin; she couldn’t risk breaking it apart. It was all she had.

But what could she do to fix this? She could only accept the impending doom of their trio.

"What’s wrong, cutie? You seem distressed.

Yujin turned her head to see the school’s princess. Her flowing hair was never out of place. A soft smile is always on her face.

"Oh, Wonyoung! It’s nothing. Just thinking things, I guess." She nervously chuckled; she had never really interacted with Wonyoung since that day. But Wonyoung did always greet her in the halls, much to the confusion of others.

"Sugarplum, you can talk to me. We’re secret buddies! What’s bothering you?” I guess it couldn’t hurt venting to her? I mean, she was right—you were secret buddies, technically?

"Um, well, it’s just that.... you know Jimin, right? And Y/n?"

"Your cutie-pie friends, yup!"

"Yeah, them, well, Y/N kinda, sorta, maybe has a huge ginormous crush on Jimin. And Y/N is kind of confessing at the party. I have no clue what to do, Wonyoung. I feel like I’m losing them. If Jimin rejects them, then it’ll be awkward between Jimin and Y/N. It’ll be like having divorced parents; I’ll have to choose! Either Jimin, the international superstar of Spring Hill High, who will surely make other friends in no time, Or Y/N, the known introvert, who probably only hangs out with me because she can’t be in a room alone with Jimin for more than two seconds without possibly fainting. So once Jimin’s out of the equation, they’ll have no real reason to hang out with me. On the other hand, if Jimin accepts, then I’ll be a third wheel. Always in the way of their lovey-dovey relationship. I don’t know which one is worse. Either way, it feels like I’m left all alone."

“Aw, honey, that’s quite the conundrum! How can I help? You still have a Wony favor to call in?"

"What, no? I can’t just medal in their lives."

"You sure? Offers never expiring!”

"I’m sure."

_______________________________________________

Senior Year, Spring Hill High Graduation Party

Yujin was not sure.

It was the night of the graduation party, and she was positive that the only way to stop this rejection from happening was by getting Wonyoung involved.

She walked up to Wonyoung and uttered:

"Could I ask a favor from you?"

Wonyoung’s eyes lit up in delight.

"I thought you’d never ask Buttercup!" Wonyoung quickly grabbed onto Yujin’s hand and guided her around the party area. She led her to Ninging, where she was comfortably sitting on Yeonjun’s lap. Yujin shuttered.

"Ew, is this a charity case? Why is she here, Wony?” Ninging glanced at Yujin, looking her up and down. Wonyoung ignored her comment and dragged Ningning by the hand to a quieter part of the party.

"Ning, Yujin has something to ask you. Go ahead, buttercup!"

Yujin gulped as Ninging started her down.

"Um, could you help me? Try to save my friend from embarrassment.”

"Again, ew, why would I help trash like you?"

Wonyoung put a hand on Yujin’s shoulder.

"Yujin, don’t be so worried; I’ll tell her for you if you’re too nervous. Ningning, Yujin’s caught her friend Y/N kissing Yeonjun yesterday. I know this probably isn’t the place to tell you, but she thought you should know. She even has a perfect plan to get her back!"

Ningning’s face went from annoyed to hurt. She looked like she was about to cry. While Yujin’s face went as pale as a ghost, She didn’t expect Wonyoung to lie. Was this really the only way to save your trio?

"Is this true?” Ningning asked.

Yujin took a deep breath, but before she could answer, Wonyoung cut her off.

"I’m afraid, darling. But do you see Jimin there? Y/N's so in love with her! I bet you could break their heart just like they hurt yours. ~"

"I’ll make that bitch regret ever touching him."

Ningning walked away to throw a drink at Yeonjun’s face, then marched up to Jimin to give her the proposition. To which Jimin obliged.

Yujin watched the whole ordeal go down and felt a whisper in her ear that sent shivers down her spine. It was Wonyoung’s voice going from sweet to the same cold-aggressive tone she once used at the vending machines.

“It looks like we’re both shitty people, aren’t we? It looks like you’re stuck with me, sweetheart. ~"

_______________________________________________

Present Time

“So, that’s how everything went down. That’s how Wonyoung and I met, and how I set up the Ningning-Jimin kiss. That’s everything I’ve kept hidden from you guys, I promise.”

“Yujin, What the fuck.”

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈

masterlist ~ next

(Synopsis) Y/N had never been the type to take life for granted. You grew up with the mindset that if you wanted something, you had to work for it; So getting paired up with the university’s “Rich Bitch” Ning Yi Zhuo for your midterm was the last thing you wanted. Are you willing to step into the world of fame for an A+?

taglist(open): @azraism; @kimsgayness; @sewiouslyz; @winieter ; @llluvbluy ; @i06kkura; @everydayiloveyves ; @edamboon ; @rdfgfv ; @beawolfbealionbeyou; @manooffline; @captivq

[t00muchheart]

As I do when I am hyperfixating on something, I have read a LOT of supernatural fanfiction in the last few months, and I get a lot of the titles I read from other peoples’ recommendations or collections on ao3, so I figured I’d share some of my favorites in case anyone else is looking for recs :)

AUs:

Spirit of the West by teen_dean

This is a shock to literally no one who follows me because I regularly bring it up, but it honestly is one of the best things I’ve ever read. The 90s horse girl AU of your dreams (or, if you haven’t dreamed of one, that you never knew you needed). The storytelling is immaculate, the symbolism rich, and it only improves on re-reading

And this, your living kiss by opal_bullets

Poet Dean AU featuring genuinely beautiful comments on language and writing and how we encounter stories and words and what they can do, and also some honestly incredible poetry

where there is darkness by quiettewandering

Lighthouse keepers AU! this one is a bit mysterious and I did scream into a pillow after finishing it. If you know the story of the Flannan Isles lighthouse keepers, it is loosely inspired by that.

Phantasma by thisisapaige

Messy Dean, my beloved. Messy, Stanford-Era Dean, my beloved. Dean breaks off from John and buys a haunted house, and things sort of escalate.

For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention by thursdaysfallenangel

I don’t even watch hockey, but this AU kind of made me want to start. Rivals to friends to lovers all while dealing with the homophobia in the NHL

time has come today series by teen_dean

Team Free Will brings in teen Dean Winchester to help with a case, parallel worlds come into play; every version of Dean Winchester falls in love with Castiel & all the good stuff like that

What Baking Can Do by cowlovely

Baker & Dad Dean fic and Doctor Cas? What more could you ask for?

Everyone’s a Critic by Englandwouldfall

Food Critic Cas and Chef Dean meet in a truly unfortunate way. This is worth it for Cas’s reviews alone, but also the Dean-Gabriel dynamic

FROTUS by kathscradle

A President Cas, Restaurant Owner Dean romance that was honestly just a good time

Fix-Its:

take the bones, begin anew by JustStandingHere

This was one of the first fics I read and it is sort of peak disaster™ Dean Winchester. I love a good “I fixed up a house for you and didn’t realize it meant I was in love” fic and this one is iconic

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by sobsicles

I ugly cry every time I read this fic. It is a run of Cas and Dean’s relationship in seasons 13-15 and has Dean making a friend and it hurts but also it’s so good. Maybe my favorite Sam line of any fic comes from this fic ("If he thinks what you two do is friendship, then I must just be some guy he happens to speak to sometimes.”)

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles

Dean gets tattoos, and as he does, he tells the tattoo artist his life story. This is a post-15x19 fic told from an outside perspective and it is so well-done

Dumbassery, Denial, Doing by sobsicles

Listen tbh this list could be dominated by sobsicles and so I am showing restraint by only including three of their works. Their Dean characterization is everything to me and this fic really highlights Dean growing to understand himself better when given the freedom to

Revisions by bizarrestars

THEE what if Dean and Cas got together earlier and Chuck just wrote it out? fic.

a turn of the earth by microcomets

I love a work that explores pre-series Dean, and this one is great. Basically, think what-if later seasons Cas and pre-series Dean met (Strandlines by aeli_kindara is another good example of this premise, but in Strandlines, it is pre-series Cas as well as pre-series Dean).

psalm 40:2 by unicornpoe

On a similar note, psalm 40:2 is a great pre-series Dean, future-Cas fic. I am a bi Dean believer but this fic did sway me toward the gay Dean camp because it’s simply so good.

You Belong Among the Wildflowers by ImYourHoneyBee

Dean fixing his relationship with Jack? You got it. Dean trying to work through losing Cas? Yep. Dean getting Cas back by being stubborn? It’s there.

Who You Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel

Dean has a ghost following him around as he tries to start a life post-series, and for a while, he can’t figure out what’s happening. I love nothing more than Dean telling people he and Cas were married because he doesn’t know how else to explain and this fic delivers so hard

quilts by fleeceframe

A “Cas didn’t confess before getting taken to the Empty” fic. Soft things all around

Miscellaneous:

Fathers & Daughters by sinnabonka

On a different note, this is one of my favorite Claire fics. It looks at Claire’s relationship with Cas and the impossibility of it, and it’s so artfully done.

Bus Loop Madness by batz_in_blue

Literally just a “what if everyone lived, Jack was a toddler, and they all picked him up from school?” AU. I audibly laughed while reading this, and it’s an essential pick-me-up from the heavier fics.

More of my favorite sobsicles fics include: gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable), and he’s back (with a mind of his own), six hundred sundays (and many more), oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith, things happen (they do, they do, and they do), according to all known laws of life, and profoundly bonded (by law)

Also, honorable mentions to Ninety One Whiskey, which is such a good fic, and Make a Believer Outta Me, which is a Hocus Pocus AU that is honestly just a fun time.

[ghuleh-recs]

It was @forlorn-crows birthday like a month ago!! And I fuckin missed it! Jail for Liss. Jail for 1000 years. Better late than never, I guess. Crow is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and I threw together a greatest hits rec list for the occasion! They are the mastermind behind Mushy May and the verrrry iconic Lake Wife™. On top of being incredibly talented, Crow is always so lovely and kind and supportive of their fellow creatives. Wouldn't it be a lovely (belated) bday gift if you left some comments/kudos on some of these? Maybe even stop by Crow's ko-fi while you're at it!

Lady of the Lake - Rain/Lake Wife™ - E, 11.6k

With all the dark magick flowing through the abbey, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of it leached into the surrounding area. Mountain’s told him all about the various creatures he’s seen on the edges of the forest: dark, shadowy things that live in the corners of one’s vision, flitting between downed trees and swaying ferns. They’re relatively peaceful entities that don’t seem to bother ghouls, humans, or other animals much. But their presence certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed. That same looming magick resides at the bottom of the lake. Something deep and ominous. Something big. Rain can’t make head nor tail of the sentient something that must live down there. He’s felt it most recently in the new beginnings of spring: big waves of living energy reaching out to him, calling to something buried deep in his ribcage. A creature reaching out to their kin. He supposes it could be a byproduct of the changing seasons, the rush of life seeping through the cracks in the thawing ice. But the feeling in his gut tells him it’s something more than that.

First and Fierce Affirming Sight - Mountain & Copia - G, 1.1k

Once in a blue moon he’ll retreat deep into the forest beyond the abbey to give himself a break from his mortal-like form, let that great maw of elemental power unleash and drain itself into the ether. Just once in a great while, to be fully released. Other times, it sneaks up on him like a cloud of darkness, pulling him under slowly. It gives him enough time to stifle it or manage it. If there’s warning signs, there’s time to keep it at bay. But times like these, it comes in the blink of an eye—like a flash of lightning in the middle of the inky-black sky.

Quicksilver - Dewdrop/Rain - T, 1.8k

Sunshine finally gets to braid Dewdrop's hair, but it gives him and Rain ~feelings~. (you have to read the sequel, too.)

And You Know That It Takes Two - Copia/Dewdrop - E, 3.7k

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?” When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

and so it goes - Mountain/Rain - E, 1.6k

Rain hums the melody where the piano would play, glancing down at the ghoul curled around him. His shoulders start to shake, and he sniffles into the water ghoul’s shirt—attempting, but failing, to be silent about his tears. Rain stops. “Mountain, love, what’s wrong?” Immediately he shakes his head at the question, whining quietly. “Hey,” Rain urges, petting back his hair. “I’m here for you, can you try to tell me?” Hurts, Mountain pushes into his mind. “Where does it hurt?” Rain asks gently. The earth ghoul pulls back an arm from around his waist, gesturing to his own chest. Rain can see his face screw up, a silent prayer to stop the oncoming sob that threatens to work its way out of his throat. In here, he says. He points weakly to the side of his head too. And here.

Pull Me In Your Waters - Dewdrop/Mist - E, 4.8k

He’s such an innocent, carefree creature—one that has Mist’s fingers itching to touch, to ruin, to defile. Like he’s a mere mortal waiting to be drawn in by her hellish siren’s call. But there’s a budding affection underneath that, too. Call it kin, call it an elemental draw to each other, call it even a mentor-like protection over the fledgling ghoul. Beyond the lust there’s respect, admiration. An urge to simply get to know and raise the ghoul who’s set to take her place. She can’t deny there’s some weird, mothering nature buried deep within the confines of her stoney nature. But it is deep, and right now it’s very much shrouded behind a curtain of curiosity, of hunger.

Compromise - Aeon/Mountain - E, 2.9k

He and Aeon haven’t talked, not really, about where they stand with each other. There hasn’t been time, especially not when he’s constantly plastered to Rain and Swiss’ sides instead. Mountain understands. He does. But the longing for familiarity was too hard to ignore tonight, tugging him to Aeon’s room after a sour night at a local dive bar. or Mountain misses Aether. Who he has is Aeon.

Weigh Your Powers, Tempt The Hours - Aether/Ifrit - E, 2.3k

“You’re so pretty like this, you know that?” Ifrit blushes under his adoring gaze. His shaggy hair falls across his face as he ducks to hide. But Aether’s having none of it, reaching out to guide his head back up with a gentle hand on his chin. “You trust me, right?” “Of course I do. I want—” Ifrit pauses and takes a shaky breath. “Want to be good for you,” he finishes in a small voice, just barely above a whisper. “You’re always good for me, Fritter.” The quintessence ghoul runs the pad of his thumb across the point of his jaw. His voice slips to a lower timbre, slow and rhythmic. “You want to feel good too, don’t you?” Ifrit’s eyes slip closed, body relaxing ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he answers simply, forming the word on his exhale like an unholy confession. “You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡