#Allow yourself to be vulnerable and to be open when you consume something

[alexjcrowley]

Saying Swiss Army Man is about gay necrophilia is like saying Oedipus Rex is about a guy who fucks his mom. You're only technically correct.

[beegomess]

Song that represents your relationship - Lana's Version || Slytherin Boys

Summary: Just my insight on what music best fits your relationship. Warning: None

Requests are open!

Blaise Zabini || Young and Beautiful

The choice of the song "Young and Beautiful" reflects the depth of the love between you and Blaise, a love that has blossomed and matured over the years. Since you met, the connection between you has always been special, but recently, that feeling has transformed into something truly intense and enduring. Blaise sees you as the ideal partner for a lifetime, and his love transcends mere physical attraction, marked by deep respect and unwavering loyalty. He makes plans for the future with the certainty that what you have is solid and true.

When you’re with Blaise, you feel safe and loved, knowing that his loyalty and commitment are constant, even in the face of adversity. "Young and Beautiful" captures the essence of this eternal love, which does not fade with time but instead strengthens and matures. The song celebrates the beauty of a relationship that is not limited to youth but is enriched by true partnership and the strength of the commitment you share.

Draco Malfoy || Money, Power, Glory

Your relationship with Draco is characterized by a blend of luxury, ambition, and vulnerability. He comes from a powerful family, which profoundly affects the way he interacts with the world—and with you. "Money, Power, Glory" perfectly reflects Draco’s side that craves power and status, yet finds in you a refuge for his emotional fragility. He loves you but also struggles with pride, family legacy, and the weight of maintaining an impenetrable image.

With Draco, love often mingles with the pursuit of control and influence. He is possessive, not just regarding you but also about being seen as someone important, both to the world and to himself. He doesn’t show much affection in public, which sometimes frustrates you, but when you’re alone, he allows himself to be just Draco—the boy who, behind the arrogance, loves you deeply. Expensive gifts, grand gestures, and the desire to impress you are part of his way of loving, but what he truly desires, deep down, is your understanding and support. In your relationship, he seeks more than power and glory: he wants to be loved, even when he hides behind that facade.

Lorenzo Berkshire || Sad Girl

"Sad Girl" reflects the more melancholic side of your relationship with Lorenzo. He is kind and loving, the type of boyfriend who listens to you and deeply cares about your feelings. But his lack of jealousy and excessive kindness toward everyone around him, including the girls who flirt with him, creates a subtle tension that leaves you frustrated and insecure at times. Although Lorenzo would never betray you, you can’t help but feel uneasy about how easily others approach him.

Lorenzo loves you in an open and vulnerable way, always ready to listen and support you, but the absence of conflicts or clearer boundaries sometimes makes you feel like you’re dealing with a one-sidedly idealized love. "Sad Girl" represents this ambiguity: you see yourself as someone who loves deeply but also feels a bit lost amidst the way Lorenzo interacts with the world around him, always so willing to be kind, even when it affects you.

Despite these insecurities, you know he truly loves you, and the connection between you, especially the friendship you share, is something you value greatly. Deep down, you feel like a "Sad Girl"—passionate about someone wonderful but always grappling with mixed feelings about how he opens up so much to the world and not just to you.

Mattheo Riddle || Heroin

Your relationship with Mattheo is like a drug addiction, an irresistible force that seems to consume everything around when you’re together. The attraction between you is so intense and visceral that the world seems to disappear, and "Heroin" perfectly captures this whirlwind of emotions. Although arguments are frequent, reconciliation is always explosive, reflecting the intensity of a love that is both passionate and tumultuous. Mattheo is protective and, at times, possessive, making you feel loved and desired, but also threatened by the possibility of losing yourself in this whirlwind.

Mattheo’s devotion is almost obsessive, and he is willing to ignore all others to be with you. Despite the intensity that makes you question whether this love can be sustained, the attraction and emotional bond between you are so strong that you never truly manage to walk away. The song "Heroin" encapsulates this complex and irresistible dynamic, reflecting the difficulty of breaking away from a love that, despite its chaos, is undeniably powerful and addictive.

Theodore Nott || West Coast

Your relationship with Theodore Nott has a charming duality, where the rhythm between you is sometimes calm and gentle, and other times marked by unexpected passion. "West Coast" reflects this oscillation: there is a tranquility, almost a melancholy, in the time you spend together, but at the same time, a magnetic and unpredictable force when desire arises. Theodore is someone who prefers calm, comfortable silence, nights spent only with you, away from the chaos of parties and others. He is your refuge, your safe place, but the fire between you never goes out, only burns in a controlled manner.

When you’re alone, there is a quiet that makes you feel complete, as if the world is just the time you spend together. His low, serene voice, his subtle provocations, the endearing Italian nicknames—these create an intimate atmosphere you wouldn’t trade for anything. At the same time, there’s something wild behind this serenity. Theodore, although he seems calm and distant to others, is a silent force—and when he touches you, you feel the warmth and intensity he reserves only for you.

"West Coast" captures this feeling of living in two worlds: the quiet of being with Theodore, away from expectations and curious gazes, and the uncontrollable desire that exists between you, always lurking, waiting to manifest. He loves you in a devoted and profound way, but he is also capable of surprising you, leaving you always wanting more, like the waves that come and go on the beach, always present but never the same.

Tom Riddle || Born to Die

Your relationship with Tom is a love story that was written long before you met, as if fate had mapped out every step until you crossed paths. "Born to Die" reflects the intensity of this inevitable destiny, where you were born for each other—not just to love but to share a greater purpose, something that transcends the ordinary and mundane. There’s a sense that the love between you is as strong as it is tragic, that, like the power Tom seeks, your relationship is inescapably tied to sacrifice.

You and Tom are souls that recognize each other instantly. From the beginning, there was something in you that was deeper than mere physical or emotional attraction—an understanding, a force that pushes you in the same direction, even if that direction is dangerous. You were born to share this path together, knowing that, in the end, both of you would be willing to die for your goals. Tom’s love is fierce and singular, and he will never allow anything to interfere with his pursuit of power. Similarly, you feel that your life is intertwined with his, as if there were no choice but to walk side by side, until the end, no matter what happens.

The song evokes the idea that your lives were meant to be this way—you are two beings born to find glory and power, but also to face the consequences together. Loving Tom is accepting that your destiny is not one of simplicity or complete happiness but of a journey that will culminate in something greater. There is a certain tragic comfort in knowing that you are destined for this path, where love and ambition mix, even if it means you might lose yourselves in the process.

_______________________________

masterlist

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[mymindisneverhere]

Just Keep Breathing

Summary: Terry teaches you some important breathing techniques. 

warnings: 18+ (MDNI!), SMUT, anxiety, stage fright, drunk sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it, use of the n-word (barely), dirty talking (forgive me if I missed any)

a/n: I wrote this at 4 in the morning cause I couldn’t sleep and I barely edited it chile. Enjoy!

Now back to writing Favors, Pt. 6 will be up in a few days! 🩵

You held onto your chest as you tried your hardest to catch your breath. Your mind was racing, so many thoughts were happening all at once. You felt a migraine sit in the back of your head and slowly begin to spread throughout your temple. You shook almost as if it were freezing where you were but the temperature was just fine. Another anxiety attack… 

It had been months since the last time you felt this way. You had picked up on a few tools and techniques that helped you to bring your anxiety down to zero when you felt it build in your nervous system. Along with the techniques, you had your boyfriend who did an amazing job at helping you stay grounded. Terry was patient and understanding, there was never a moment where he made you feel like your situation was too much for him. 

“Breathe baby, just breathe.” He coached you through this moment. 

You were preparing to perform your poem for the first time in two years. You fell in love with poetry as a teenager with help from your favorite English teacher who introduced you to different types of poetry and famous poets. Poetry was your way of expressing your innermost feelings, especially when you couldn’t find the strength to say them out loud. 

There were two people ahead of you, you still had plenty of time to ground yourself. You still had plenty of time to bring your mind into the present moment and stop worrying about the future because the future didn’t exist. 

“Inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight.” Terry walked you through one of the breathing techniques you learned from him. “I’ll breathe with you.” 

You did exactly what he told you to do, inhaling and exhaling at the same time as him. You looked up at him as you continued focusing on your breathing, completely unconcerned with the stage fright that had consumed you a few minutes ago. He stared down at you, having you repeat the technique until he could sense a calmness wash over your face. 

Your body began to relax as you continued breathing. Your heart rate returned to normal, your headache slowly began to fade and your body was back to its resting state. Closing your eyes for a few seconds, grateful that you had him by your side, you opened them slowly and looked up at him. 

“I think I’m okay.” You said, letting him know that he can free himself of the worry he had for you. 

“You sure?” He asked. He wasn’t trying to push you into doing something you weren’t comfortable with doing. All you had to do was say the word and he’d get you home where you felt safe and secure. Just the two of you. 

But you needed to face your biggest fear. Being seen in the spotlight, displaying your talents while allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable in front of an auditorium full of strangers. 

“I’m fine baby, honestly.” You smiled, watching his expression soften. “Thank you.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too!” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead as you prepared to go on stage. 

“Next up we have, (reader) coming to the mic.” The host announced. The crowd snapped as you walked onto the stage. You slowly walked to the microphone that sat on the stand. You sent a silent thank you to the creator above, grateful that it was already at the right height for you. Fondling with the mic stand would’ve sent you down another spiral and there was no time for that. 

Snaps filled the room as you thanked the crowd before disappearing backstage. Once you were completely out of the audience's view, you ran to Terry, jumping into his arms. He spun you around as you held onto his neck, legs wrapped around his torso. You did it! You had finally faced your biggest fear and you did it with no mess ups, no stuttering, no overthinking. It was almost as if the joy you gained from writing took over during your performance. There was no room for jitters when your passion was the only thing driving you during the few minutes you spent on stage. 

“I’m so proud of you!” Terry exclaimed, still holding onto you, squeezing you tightly as you laughed in his ear. 

“That was so fun, I wanna do it again.” You sounded like a kid, getting the chance to engage in the “big kid” activities for the very first time in life. 

After what seemed like a few minutes of you two embracing one another, you were placed on the ground again. Other contestants gave you well wishes and good jobs as they passed by, some who had already performed and others preparing for their performances. 

“I found two seats up front.” Terry said, grabbing your hand and leading you into the audience. 

You sat in the crowd listening to the other poets and man were they phenomenal. The passion that exuded as they shared their art, the emotions that filled the room as they spoke into mics. You were slowly beginning to shrink into your seat, already accepting your loss for the night. 

‘At least I faced my fears, that’s a win to me.’ You thought to yourself, preparing to lose so that it wouldn’t hit as hard when it finally became reality. Terry reached down and placed a soft hand on your leg, it had been bouncing for the past five minutes now. Your anxiety was getting to you once again. 

Thoughts of not being good enough, wishing you had worded it differently, paused a bit more for dramatic effect. Or maybe you paused too much and that made it seem artificial. The thoughts were consuming you as each contestant came and went. 

“Now the winners of the 2024 Fall Aggie City Poetry Slam.” 

The third place winner was announced, a young girl in her early twenties. She went up on the stage and accepted her award, smiling from ear to ear. So you didn’t get third place, second and first were still open but they seemed too good to be true. You could settle for second and be 100% okay with it. 

The second place winner was announced, a middle aged man who seemed too cool for a poetry slam. He accepted his award, straight face, a quick thank you and hurried off the stage and back to his seat. You looked down at your hands, accepting your defeat before it came. Terry looked over at you noticing your energy shift but kept quiet. Even though you were accepting your potential loss, he knew it wasn’t over just yet. They still had one more winner to announce and although your faith in yourself was slim to none, he decided to carry the majority of it for you. 

“The winner of our 2024 Aggie City Poetry Slam. The grand prize goes to…

(Readers name)!” 

You sat unmoved, so disassociated from your reality, you hadn’t heard your name be called. It wasn’t until Terry called you by your nickname.  

“Baby girl!” You heard his voice loudly right next to you. 

Your head shot up as you looked over at him, total shock took over your expression. You looked around the room as the audience stood, clapping and smiling while looking at you. 

“Ms. (Readers Name), come and get your trophy girl!” The host announced into the mic. 

You stood so overwhelmed with emotion, you immediately reached over to hug your boyfriend. He had to remind once again to get your prize because he knew you’d hold onto him for as long as you could. You let him go and hurried to the stage, excitement written all over your face. 

You carefully took the trophy and looked down at it to take it all in. You didn’t know if you were supposed to give a speech or say simple thank you so you decided to keep it short and sweet. 

“Thank you all so much, this means the world to me.” You said, a large smile on your face. You walked to the end of the stage already noticing Terry with his hand out, helping you down the stage one step at a time. You held onto his hand once you hit the floor and walked out of the auditorium. Many ‘thank yous’ left your lips as you passed the audience, congratulating and complimenting you on your spoken word. 

“We can go wherever you wanna go baby girl, my treat.” Terry said, taking the trophy out of your hand as he noticed you struggling to hold it. As excited as you were to win your first poetry slam and come in first place at that, you had to admit that trophy that was damn near the same size as you. 

“Let’s go to Dave and Busters! I wanna play, eat, then drink and finally go home!” You smiled, remembering one of your favorite arcades was just down the street from where you were. 

“Let’s go.” Terry placed the trophy carefully in the backseat before jumping into the driver's seat and heading to D&B’s. 

The two of you were like teenagers again. There wasn’t a game you didn’t play together. From basketball, to flappy bird, to the dancing games, he made sure to make this trip to Dave and Busters worth your while. 

After an hour of playing games and taking cute pictures in the photo booth, you guys sat down and enjoyed a nice meal and some drinks. 

You were still off of the high from your win, you went a bit overboard with the drinks. What was usually a limit of two drinks maximum, you were already on your fourth margarita. You were definitely a lightweight so four drinks was really pushing it. 

“That’s the last one for the night baby, I don’t want you getting too wasted.” He grabbed the glass and brought it to his side of the table. Terry didn’t want to cut you off from drinking because you were enjoying yourself and you deserved to have as many drinks as you choose, you were a poetry queen. But as the drinks went down, so did your eyes. 

Your gaze slowly changed from playful and excited to lustful and seductive. The way your eyes refused to leave his sent him a message your lips wouldn’t quite be able to due to your condition. But there was no need to worry because he got the message loud and clear. 

“Mmhmmm, fuck this pussy daddy.” You were completely under a liquor spell that had you talking reckless to your man. Unlike you, he only had two drinks because he was the driver for the night. Also because he knew how you were when you were a bit ‘lit’. Who knew the same lips that uttered beautiful pantoums, turning emotions into art would utter such filthy demands all within the same 24 hours. 

“You feel that dick baby girl?” His body weight damn near had you sinking into the bed. Flat on your stomach, your eyes were barely open as he dug into you from behind, rolling his hips hitting every inch of your walls. 

“I feel it daddy, it’s so big!” You cried. You tried your hardest to hold your head up so you could feel his lips against your neck while he talked you through it. Even after the years y’all had been together, adjusting to his size was still a process for you. 

“Don’t run from this dick, take this shit.” You wanted to do just that but it was becoming harder and harder by the second. His arms were wrapped under yours, holding you in place, ensuring that you felt all of him as deep as he wanted you to feel it. He wanted the tip of his dick to kiss your cervix, triggering all of your creaminess to paint it, because you deserved it. 

You could feel yourself digging deeper into his rhythm, unable to hold it in any longer. “Yes yes yes!” Your eyes rolled into your head as he continued digging deeper and deeper as you released onto him. 

“That’s it baby, let daddy have it.” He said, sending more juices flowing out of you, never interrupting his rhythm. “Just like that.” He kissed you as he continued stroking in and out of you. He wasn’t letting up until your body collapsed in his arms and even then he still had enough energy to get another one out of you. 

Sitting up on his knees, he pulled out and grabbed your hips, flipping you onto your back. He yanked you closer to him causing a small yelp to leave your lips. He placed your feet onto his shoulders and pushed right back into you so easily before leaning forward to come as close to your face as possible. 

He hadn’t even started stroking yet and you were already crying out again from the feeling of his thick dick filling you up completely from this position. He stared down at you admiring your love faces, the way your eyebrows bent as he slowly pulled out of you only leaving the tip and pushing back into you until his balls pressed up against your ass. 

His strokes were slow and deep, rubbing up against your g-spot each time he entered you. You tried to look him in his eyes but they were piercing through you, he was a bit intimidating in this moment. No matter if you tried to move or move him, it would be a complete fail. He had you exactly how you wanted you and there was nothing you could do about it. 

The sounds of your wetness making a mess on his dick filled the room. You could feel your pussy growing wetter by the second. “You gone cum again for me baby girl?” His eyes were glued to you as you struggled to find the words to answer him. His long, deep strokes had your body reacting so wildly, your lips couldn’t utter any words in the moment.

“Talk to me baby.” 

“I c-can’t.” You finally answered, tossing your head left and right as he continued stroking into you, gradually speeding up the pace. He placed his hand next to your head as his body weight pushed your legs closer to your ears, allowing him to go even deeper than he was before. 

“You not gone talk to me?” He was taunting you. He knew exactly what he was doing. There was no way you would be able to find the words if he was gonna keep fucking you like this. He sped up the pace a little more, digging in and out of you like he had something to prove. Like you didn’t already know what he was capable of. His strokes weren’t too fast but the way he was hitting your spot and then some over and over again caused you to take in a deep breath without letting it out. Your mouth fell open as your eyes began to cross, this pleasure was way too much to be trying to focus on words. “Breathe baby.” 

You gathered as much strength as you could as your eyes opened and landed on him as he inched closer to your face. Mouth slightly parted, his lips brushed against yours. “Breathe with me.” He placed a soft kiss on your bottom lip. He was still so patient with you even as he ruined you. “In and out, together.” 

You did just as he said. The two of you inhaled together and exhaled together, gradually falling into the same rhythm. This nigga and his breathing techniques. He’d build you up just to have you fall apart then repeat. 

You continued breathing with him, this instant unison sent a strong feeling to your gut. He was stimulating too many parts of your body all at once. Your eyes widened a bit as you felt your orgasm coming full force. “Keep breathing baby.” He kissed your lips once again, then your cheek and landed on your neck all while maintaining his stroke. “Good job baby, in and out.” His voice directly in your ear was the icing on the cake. 

You stared up at the ceiling as all of your inner focus was centered right at your center. Your breathing became louder as he did his. “Ughh!” Was all you could manage as your legs began to shake, your walls pulsated around him causing him to curse into your ear. 

“Oh my god yes!” You screamed loudly, completely unconcerned about your neighbors and anyone else surrounding the outside of your apartment. “Fuck, I’m right there baby, just keep breathing.” He pumped into you as he grunted, releasing everything he had directly into you. Even after your orgasm, he was still stroking, totally emptying himself into you. You may as well have been his personal cumbucket. You let out another loud moan, as a tear formed in the corner of your eye. 

After a few more pumps he stilled his movements. His head buried into your neck as you felt his warm breath against your skin. Both of you breathing heavily as you felt the effects of your powerful orgasms. You stared up at the ceiling, fighting to keep your eyes open as you wanted so badly to fall into a deep sleep. 

Finally coming back to himself, Terry placed kisses along your jaw and on your cheek. He stared down at you as he reached up to wipe the tear that had fallen from your face. “I’m proud of you baby girl.” He said, placing one last kiss on your lips. 

“Thank you.” You barely whispered, throat dry from all of the breathing you were doing. 

“I love you.” He said, still placing kisses on your lips. 

“I love you too.” 

[cobaltperun]

Eternal Flame (4) - What If

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

Spotify playlist

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

Word Count: 6.1k

-What if I can't go on without you-

You were lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling. The darkness of the night, lessened only by the moonlight, consumed the room as you, but it was nothing compared to the dark storm raging within you.

You failed her.

You clenched your fist in frustration, your entire body tense with pent-up frustration. How could you not see just how uncomfortable Jenna was during the filming?! You dared to think everything would be fine, that she was fine, you failed to realize Jenna wouldn’t tell you she wasn’t comfortable, that she would deem it unprofessional and also as something that would make her seem like a burden.

You didn’t see it. Just how much effort she was putting in pushing herself to do the scene, you just saw the emotions she was meant to act out in her eyes, and you were cursing yourself for not seeing through them.

Your phone buzzed and you nearly ignored it, but the light coming from your phone screen was annoying and you got up to flip it over, just in case whoever sent that message tried again. You reached to grab the phone and froze.

Jenna needs you

You quickly opened the message, making sure you read it right and sure enough, that was what Melissa just sent you.

‘I’m not failing you again,’ you rushed to her room, just barely remembering to close the door of your own room. You didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know what Jenna needed you for, but she needed you, and with that in mind you went into her room and in a single moment recognized what was going on. Jenna was on her knees, held up by Melissa, clearly having a panic attack.

"Y/N, I don't know what to do," Melissa told you, frantic, hopeful that you would know what to do, and you nodded. In the back of your head you considered maybe you weren’t the right person to do this. After all, Jenna wasn’t comfortable enough to have a kiss scene with you, how was she supposed to be comfortable enough to let you help her through her panic attack.

You had to try though. “Jen,” you approached her slowly, as calmly as you possibly could. “Can you take a deep breath for me?” you asked as you knelt down in front of her, taking Melissa’s place. She didn’t do it yet, but she wasn’t trying to get away from you. You could do this, you could help her, you had to. You carefully placed your hand on top of her own, for now not wanting to think about what caused this, you needed to get her to calm down a bit first.

The relief flooded you as she took a slightly deeper breath and leaned closer to you. “That’s it, good,” you spoke softly, gently pushing a strand of Jenna’s hair back and wiped the sweat off her forehead. Slow and steady, just like Hugh did for you when you needed help.

Jenna, contrary to how uncomfortable with the kiss she was, closed the distance and allowed you to hug her, she even leaned her head on your shoulder and took a deep breath. “You’re safe,” you pulled her just a bit closer when she grabbed onto the hem of your shirt. “I’ve got you, just breathe,” you whispered.

“Sorry,” she sobbed, and you could feel tears through your shirt.

“Don’t be, just let it out,” you assured her while rubbing soft circles on her back. “It’s just me,” you could feel her shaking slightly as she cried. “You’ve got this, Jen,” you felt her hands slowly going from the hem of your shirt to your back as she gingerly hugged you back.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna repeated, and you weren’t exactly sure what she was apologizing for.

“We’ll handle it later, just focus on breathing,” you turned to Melissa who stood there, still unsure of what to do. “Could you get me a wet towel and a glass of water?” you asked, not wanting to let Jenna go just yet.

Melissa jumped at that but quickly went to the bathroom to get the towel, and then to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Please don’t be mad,” Jenna pleaded, and you found yourself nearly breaking at how devastated she sounded. Mad about what? This?

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you told her. “I’m not mad, I promise,” you figured she needed to hear it directly, so you said it as Jenna let out a long sigh of relief.

“What do you need first?” Melissa came back with the towel and water.

“A towel,” you said, and then spoke to Jenna in a much gentler way, not that you were stern or anything with Melissa, but you were mostly neutral. “I’m going to pull away a bit, just to freshen you up a bit, okay?”

Jenna nodded and stopped hugging you, though she still kept holding onto the sides of your shirt. You took that as a sign and pulled back slightly, while still keeping one hand on her back. You took the towel from Melissa and gently wiped Jenna’s face and neck, taking a moment to wipe her tears with your thumb. “There,” you said to Jenna as you handed the towel back to Melissa and took the glass of water she was holding. “Can you drink on your own?” you asked and smiled as Jenna nodded. She reached up, though her hands were still trembling and took the glass, spilling a bit of water before you could steady it.

“Fuck,” Jenna hissed, frustrated at herself.

“It’s just water, you’re okay, it’s normal,” you kept reassuring her as the two of you brought the glass to her lips and she took a few sips, before Jenna pushed it back toward you and you handed the glass back to Melissa. “I’m going to lift you up now, okay? Take you to bed?” she couldn’t stay on the floor and with how much she was shaking that was probably your best bet.

Jenna shook her head. “I can go myself,” she finally smiled at you, and you just had to smile back, nodding and letting her lean on you as she got back up and, albeit a bit shakily, went to her bed. “Please, stay,” she requested as she settled down under the covers.

You sat at the edge of her bed and noticed she reached her hand out to you, so you took it, lightly caressing the back of her hand with your thumb. “Okay,” as easily as that you agreed to Jenna’s request.

Jenna smiled and squeezed your hand, but it was clear she wasn’t about to fall asleep, her entire body was still feeling the effects of the panic attack, even though she managed to calm down. She turned to Melissa. “Thanks, for calling Y/N,” she said and Melissa nodded, shuffling on her feet at the end of Jenna’s bed.

“I was pretty useless though. Got scared,” she admitted and looked away, and you could see the shame in her eyes at being unable to do anything but stand by and watch before you asked her to bring you the towel and water for Jenna.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna kept apologizing, even more ashamed than Melissa was and you restrained yourself from telling her she had nothing to apologize for. Melissa was the one who needed to tell her that right now.

And she did. “No, Jenna,” Melissa rushed to Jenna’s side and knelt right next to the younger actress. “You shouldn’t apologize for anything, I’m the one who froze up! Shit, I’m thirty and couldn’t do anything, I’m the one who should apologize,” Melissa was frustrated, and in a way rightfully so, you knew she cared about Jenna, yet she couldn’t do anything. “And then you,” she turned to you when Jenna remained silent. “Handled everything so well and I just can’t excuse how I acted.”

Normally you wouldn’t open up about it. Well, you would to Jenna, you were close and you weren’t worried about opening up to her and being vulnerable, but as much as you liked Melissa the two of you weren’t much more than colleagues that got along really well. Still, Melissa would only continue beating herself up, so, you took a deep breath and came clean. “It’s not as black and white, I just went through those, a lot, a few yours ago,” after… you couldn’t think about it now. You needed to focus on Jenna, the last thing she needed was to feel your distress. Back then Hugh stepped in since no one else managed to reach you, you were just doing what he did.

Jenna’s grip on your hand suddenly grew stronger and the sharp inhale were all you needed to understand Jenna’s reaction, but you still looked at her, at the surprise etched on her face and so much compassion. She probably would have figured it out as soon as she got a moment of clarity to think about it. So, you just shrugged, it was behind you, and while you could never say it wouldn’t happen again it has been some time since your last panic attack.

“That explains a lot,” Melissa sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Thanks for being open with me,” she knew just as well as you did that your bond wasn’t really at the stage to talk about that. You nodded at that, and she pulled her hand back, her glance at your and Jenna’s hand suddenly made you feel a bit self-conscious. “I should probably leave the two of you alone,” she chuckled, and you noticed Jenna blushing at that. “Call me if you need anything, and just so you know, I won’t tell a soul about this,” she assured Jenna and hugged her, sighing in relief when Jenna wrapped her free hand around Melissa’s back. “This doesn’t change anything, I promise you, I still love you with all my heart,” Melissa kissed Jenna’s cheek and pulled away

“Thanks, I love you too,” Jenna whispered and watched as Melissa left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

A comfortable silence set between you and Jenna, she was still tense, but she calmed down, considerably. “Want to watch a comedy?” you suggested, remembering Hugh would often get you to watch some documentary to calm down since comedies weren’t really something you were in the mood for at that time.

Jenna sat up and nodded. “Got anything in mind?” she asked and you shrugged.

“We pick a random one and just watch it,” you were already getting up. “I’ll be back in a minute, just need to get my laptop and phone,” you assured her when you noticed her eyes widening for a moment.

Jenna relaxed at that and nodded, smiling. “I’ll be waiting,” she told you a bit shyly and you couldn’t help but admire her. When you had panic attacks it took you longer to be able to stay alone, the turmoil would remain even after you calmed down, and Jenna’s strength impressed you.

“One minute,” you repeated to her with a cheeky grin on your face as you opened the doors behind you. You went and got everything you needed as quickly as you could and indeed came back within a minute, much to Jenna’s amusement, though you could see relief in her eyes as well. “Where do you want to watch the movie?” you asked, already setting the laptop up on the table.

You glanced back and noticed Jenna patting the spot on the bed next to her while averting her gaze. Now you were officially confused, after the failed kiss scene you were worried about any touch that could make Jenna uncomfortable, yet here she was, offering to have you that close to her. “I mean, if you don’t mind!” she quickly clarified, likely noticing your lack of response.

“I don’t, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said slowly and approached her with the laptop and the reaction was instantaneous.

Jenna scrambled to her knees on the bed and latched onto you, hugging you tight and burying her face in your neck, immediately shaking once more and breathing heavily. “It’s not- I didn’t-“ she gasped and you tossed the closed laptop onto her bed and hugged her, recognizing the panic attack was starting again. “You’re mad,” she sobbed as you tried to ground her once more.

“I’m not,” you whispered in her ear and pulled back, lightly nudging her chin up so she would look you in the eyes, hoping she would be able to see how sincere and serious you were about this. And you saw some clarity in her eyes, a sign you managed to prevent another full-blown panic attack, at least for tonight. “I’m not mad, Jen, I never was,” she should be the one who is mad, not you, but you feared telling her that would only make things worse right now. “I’m not mad,” you leaned your forehead against her own and closed your eyes as you wiped the few tears away. “Breathe with me, okay?” you felt a slight nod.

Jenna took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another, and she kept doing it, slowly, surely, getting her breathing under control. “Everything will be okay, we’re okay,” she calmed down a bit more with those words. “I’ve got you,” you needed her to know and feel she was safe, not be stuck in whatever thoughts were plaguing her mind.

“I caused a scene,” she breathed out, frustrated at herself. “I see them looking, blaming me, and it is my fault, but I see them blaming you as well!” you froze for a moment, not expecting this outburst. “You didn’t do anything, it was all me,” her lower lip trembled as she said that.

“It isn’t your fault,” you whispered, letting her move and once more bury her face in your neck. “Don’t ever feel guilt for not doing something you’re uncomfortable with,” you really thought that was the issue, so you approached it like that, but Jenna just shook her head, hugging you tighter as if you were going to let go of her. You weren’t going to, not until she calmed down, not until this all passed.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just, I couldn’t separate things, separate us from our characters,” she whispered, and you realized you got it wrong, and you’ve never been as relieved to be wrong as you were right now. Jenna wasn’t uncomfortable, you just got too close as friends. Building this strong bond made things awkward when kiss or more intimate scenes were involved, and you understood it completely. “I,” she began but stopped herself and you knew better than to push her to say anything she wasn’t completely ready to say.

“It’s okay, thanks for telling me,” you would have never forgiven yourself if you hurt her in any way, if at any point she felt like she had to do anything. “I thought I fucked up, in a way I did when I didn’t notice something was wrong. I should have stopped it,” you admitted, and Jenna’s breath hitched. “I didn’t know how to approach you, how to apologize properly, so I wanted to wait until the morning,” you now knew that was a mistake. If you just had the guts to go to her right away this probably could have been avoided. Hindsight 20/20, you supposed. “Guess we both panicked tonight,” you joked lightly and felt at ease when Jenna chuckled a bit and gradually, on her own, let go of you.

“We did,” she sat back on the bed and wiped the few tears away. She smiled at you and patted the spot next to her. “Let’s just watch a movie?” Jenna suggested. Everything was a mess, the sheets, the blanket, the pillows, yet it didn’t matter, you both got comfortable, and Jenna leaned on you as you found a random comedy to watch.

~X~

Jenna woke up, still emotionally exhausted, her brain immediately repeating the scenes from the last night. She could still see Melissa's panicked expression when she closed her eyes. She could still see you and she saw it all vividly. And she wasn't sure if her heart pounding in her chest was due to another panic attack or if it was because of everything that happened with you. You held her so gently, like she was the most precious person in your life, yet so firmly at the same time, as if fearing she’d slip out of your grasp if you loosened your hold on her. Her family was the most supportive family she could hope for, loving her, cheering for her, keeping her grounded and humble… Still, she never had anyone support her through a panic attack before, especially like this, Aliyah froze a lot like Melissa did, and her parents were busy, so she didn’t want to add yet another thing for them to worry about. You just came in and handled it, calming her down not once, but twice. You knew what to do, and you did it, probably taking notes from your own panic attacks.

Jenna’s heart broke at the thought of you going through panic attacks. How many did you go through on your own? How did your family respond to them? Who calmed you down? She wanted to ask so many things, but she didn’t want to reopen the old wounds. She turned to the other side, only to see you there at her table, doing something on your laptop.

Her heart definitely sped up because of you.

"You stayed," she spoke before she could even consider if that was what she should say first. Before thanking you, before wishing you a good morning. But you stayed, you didn't leave her, you kept your promise. When she asked you to stay, she hoped you’d stay until she fell asleep, but you went above and beyond, probably staying in her room all night long. A blush crept up to her cheeks when she remembered watching the movie, the comedy was awful, and half-way through you just muted it and began making up dialogue, nudging Jenna to join you and improvise. She laughed so hard just the thought of all the ridiculous things the two of you came up with made her smile.

You snapped out of whatever you were doing and turned around and you really should have given her a warning. "Hey," you smiled, and she really should Google if it was healthy to start her day with her heart going out of control. You were wearing glasses, and she had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Wouldn’t be the first time.

‘Well, it would be the first time I dreamt of you wearing glasses, but not my first time dreaming- What am I thinking?!’ she was panicking for a whole new reason now, and it wasn’t that scary panic from last night, it was much, much worse. It was a ‘you look good and who turned the heat up’ kind of panic and the embarrassment was getting to her.

How the-

Who gave you the right to look like the most adorable dork with glasses? It was ridiculous, the glasses made you look like a completely different person, less serious, or intense, or just something, somehow, Jenna wasn’t even sure anymore! Not that she thought about you like that a lot, but she had eyes, and she noticed the way your muscles and height made you look more intimidating. She was attentive to details, it was not her fault. Glasses kind of just stripped that intimidating factor away. Jenna bitterly thought that maybe there really was something to that Clark Kent disguise just to get her mind off the way you looked now.

This wasn’t helping her crush at all. It was making it worse! Wasn’t taking the glasses off meant to cause this reaction, not putting them on?!

Who was she trying to fool, she was just trying her best to suppress her feelings and now it was all getting out of hand because she, apparently, had a thing for you wearing glasses!

‘Or, or, I could just admit I have a thing for Y/N in general, that’ll definitely help me be professional!’ she thought sarcastically.

She saw you raising an eyebrow and then saw the realization in your eyes. "Right, guess this was a surprise," you chuckled and reached up to take them off. Alarms went off, a disaster was about to strike, you could not be allowed to think you shouldn’t wear glasses around her!

"NO!" Jenna cried out, jumping out of bed and stumbled, pulling her blanket along. "Oh fu-" she tripped on the blanket and nearly fell face first on the floor, she would have, if you didn't jump yourself and catch her.

"Woah there," you chuckled, prompting Jenna to start laughing as well, though she was laughing mostly out of embarrassment. This really was a ridiculous situation.

She managed to free herself from the blanket, but remained in your arms, her hands firmly holding onto your forearms. Well, maybe glasses didn't make you an entirely new person. And you had moments of being adorable without glasses as well. And, she was so doomed and just had to know it. "Keep them on?" she asked, suddenly feeling shy and timid.

You smirked.

You fucking smirked and she didn't mind one bit as long as you kept them on.

Fuck. She's got it bad.

“Whatever you want, Jen,” you were absolutely teasing her, and she felt like she deserved it for having such a monumental crush on you.

“You look adorable with glasses,” there, she said it, and got her payback as your eyes widened and you raised your head to lightly scratch your cheek, grinning like a goofball and looking to the side. Was it too dramatic to think she could die happy now?

You finally looked at her again. “You too,” and then your own words registered in your brain and you pulled away. “Fuck!” you clenched your fists and cursed through your teeth as you turned away from Jenna. “Adorable! You look adorable too, all the time,” you corrected and facepalmed before quickly shutting your laptop down. “That’s it. Too embarrassed,” for a moment she could avoid panicking over your own compliment and just adoringly watch as you panicked over complimenting her back. “Not my fault you’re beautiful, and my brain loses all control over my mouth and the things that come out of it,” you muttered, clearly annoyed as you put the laptop in the bag. “You too,” you mocked yourself and grabbed your laptop and phone. “Like you’re wearing glasses too, fucking dumbass,” you were too adorable right now and Jenna really, really wanted to kiss you to stop the rant you were on.

No! None of that! You were friends!

Friends absolutely fall asleep on the same bed and spend the night cuddled together after one of them has a panic attack.

Did the relationship between your characters in the very movie you were filming right now teach her nothing?

“See you on set! Bye!” you were being dramatic and Jenna just dropped down on her bed and glanced at the side of her bed you were sleeping on.

A single question went through her mind. ‘Is it just a crush or am I in love?’

And worse than anything, she knew exactly what the answer was.

~X~

Another night shoot extended from Friday to Saturday and you all ended up going to a local fast food restaurant for a quick bite. You haven’t really slept that much the night before, you barely took a nap, really, instead you made sure Jenna was okay as she slept. The hours after the panic attacks were generally difficult, the body still full of adrenaline and prone to restless night filled with randomly waking up from either a nightmare or just for any reason really. Luckily Jenna didn’t wake up, and she didn’t have nightmares, but you still stayed awake, letting her basically use your chest as a pillow. It wasn’t until the morning that you actually slipped out from under her and went to get some work done on your laptop.

It was a good thing none of you were all that easily recognizable just yet, because all any of you wanted right now was to have a quick bite at three in the morning and go to sleep as quickly as possible. You were so tired and desperate to sleep that you just ordered fries and were sleepily munching on them as you leaned on the wall.

Weight dropped onto your side, and you looked down, seeing Jasmin, who was previously sitting next to you, just leaning her back on your side and eating her meal. “Get off,” you muttered sleepily, though you didn’t move to push her off, it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Nah, you’re comfier than my chair,” she downed the rest of her soda and yawned. “Where were you last night?” that definitely woke you up, and it seemed to wake the rest of your co-stars as well.

“Oh, late night escapades? Someone got lucky?” Sonia teased you as you rolled your eyes.

“Mhm, all the Pokémon I caught got really lucky,” you dismissed them both and pretended to get really invested in the menu. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jenna barely containing the blush appearing on her face.

“I’d believe it if the Pokémon was 5 foot 1,” Mason joked earning a laugh from Jasmin and Sonia and causing Jenna to look down and make herself as small as she could be.

“Mason,” Melissa warned him to stop with a look.

“Yeah, not happening after that thing on the set the other day,” Jack commented, and you could swear you could hear the pin drop when he said that, and you sat up, pushing Jasmin off you as well.

“None of your business, any of this,” the glare you sent Jack was more than enough of the message, because you haven’t once gotten angry on set, haven’t once raised your voice, haven’t once gotten as serious as you did just now.

“Okay, okay, let’s just finish eating and chill,” Mikey jumped in to calm the situation down before it could escalate further and a single glance toward Jenna told you to drop it, to not bother with this anymore. So, for Jenna, you did, you just huffed and finished your food.

“Good idea, tensions are high, we’re all tired, let’s just go to the beach on Sunday, chill out, relax,” Mason suggested and thus the conversation of where you were last night, or your and Jenna’s failed kiss scene got pushes aside in favor of making plans for Sunday.

When you came back to the room you got ready for bed and glanced at your phone. “Fuck it,” you unlocked it and opened your Instagram messages with Jenna.

03:43 YN L/N: How are you?

You sat down on your bed, wondering if you should really be as glued to your phone as you were right now, waiting to see if Jenna would answer it. Ten minutes passed as you doom scrolled through different posts when your phone buzzed,

03:53 Jenna Ortega: Sorry, I was taking a shower

Well, that was an information you did not need to know. And you definitely didn’t need to form that imagine in your head! Damn you brain!

03:53 Jenna Ortega: I’m okay, I promise. ❤️❤️ Glasses though? You didn’t explain them this morning

You honestly hoped she wasn’t trying to change the subject and was just curious. Too bad the answer was quite a boring one.

03:54 Y/N L/N: Sorry to disappoint, it’s just for blue light, I wear them when I work on my laptop. Should probably wear them when I watch movies in bed as well

03:55 Jenna Ortega: That would be very appreciated. Want to watch something tomorrow?

03:55 Jenna Ortega: As long as you wear glasses of course 🥺

Okay, she wasn’t changing the subject. That made you grin.

03:56 Y/N L/N: Sure, you’re picking a movie this time

You really couldn’t handle watching another disaster, even if you and Jenna turned it into something fun.

Jenna just sent you a thumbs up and you could finally rest.

~X~

A weekend filled with rest and relaxation, both on the beach and in Jenna’s room watching movies and hanging out later you and Jenna were once again filming together. The scene where C/N comes into her room while Sam is sleeping, after Tara figures out Amber is one of the killers. Melissa wasn’t with you, since she would basically be in only several frames, and under the blanket so her double handled that bit of the scene. Jenna was already in the position as you came into the room, followed by the camera.

Jenna looked, well she always looked beautiful, but the dim light bouncing off her face, the way her eyes shone in the darkness, it made you freeze completely, ruining the first take. “Sorry!” you quickly apologized to everyone around you and shrugged at Jenna who just gave you a thumbs up.

You could feel yourself getting into trouble over this.

‘She’s your co-star and a dear friend, get it together!’ you took a deep breath and pushed the growing feelings for Jenna down as much as you could. You had to, otherwise you’d really be in trouble, and it would only be a matter of time before it becomes too difficult to hide. You couldn’t afford that, Jenna was too important to you to just let the unrequited feelings mess things up.

~X~

She couldn’t black out again, she struggled to get into Tara’s character, though it didn’t matter. The scene in question was a soft, romantic one, and as you slipped under the covers and she hugged you Jenna noticed she was much calmer this time. The worry from the last time persisted, strengthened by the trust forged between you.

How would you feel knowing she couldn’t properly separate you and your character? She imagined it would feel unpleasant to say the least.

At the same time she was very much aware that you both crossed that line between personal and professional in more ways than one. Staying by Jenna’s side through her panic attack and the days that followed were the proof of that, and you were aware of Jenna’s issue with filming these scenes with you. You just didn’t know the exact reason, still believing Jenna’s issues were just based on your friendship and not the already developed crush Jenna had on you.

 So, instead of blacking out like she was used to doing, Jenna decided to just go with the flow, to let the scene play out the way she felt it should.

“Call me love again,” she said her line and got lost in your eyes. Were you just acting? Looking at her with so much love and admiration? Was there even a hint of real feelings or was she just a lovestruck teen getting ahead of herself?

“I’ll call you whatever you want, Love,” your voice was just as gentle as it was last week when she was having a panic attack, just as soft, and you glanced at her lips for a moment. Should she go off script? Would you let her? From what she saw you wouldn’t have any troubles stopping Jenna way before she could make you uncomfortable.

“Again,” it felt so easy, so right this time. The guilt over not blacking out was there, she doubted she could ever be rid of it as long as these feelings remained, but there was a pull she couldn’t get ignore. A pull she didn’t want to ignore, and she just let it lead her, pull her closer to you.

“My Love,” the scene was supposed to end there, you were done, you just needed to wait for Matt to say ‘Cut’ and be done with it, but she leaned in, looking for the permission in your eyes and you actually closed the distance as well.

She could almost feel the brush of your lips against her own and you both waited a moment, waiting for anyone to stop you, but no one said anything and Jenna just leaned in, kissing you in the most modest way she possibly could, just connecting your lips.

It felt right, it felt right for the characters, it felt right for the two of you, it just felt right. And it felt good. She really was in trouble as she tentatively deepened the kiss and you brushed your fingers against her cheek, cradling it before Jenna pulled away, unable to wipe the smile of her face. It was nowhere near as passionate as the kiss the script originally intended, but you kissed, even if it was just an improvisation.

“Cut, I guess. I have no words,” Matt sighed and Jenna honestly felt pity for him. Just last week she stopped a kiss scene and now she included an unscripted kiss without talking to anyone, you included, about it. “Don’t get me wrong, that was great, but still, no words.”

“You can always cut the kiss part,” you chimed in as Jenna sat up and moved to the edge of the bed to sit while you seemed to just be content lying there.

Tyler sighed and approached you and Jenna. “Okay, we really need to sit down and figure out where your characters are. Do we cut out Tara and Amber’s relationship and have Tara and C/N together from the start? Remove any of Tara’s relationships from this movie and just get Tara and C/N together in the sequel if it happens? Have them get together here? You’ve been playing these characters for over a month now, where do you see them?”

Jenna didn’t expect this question, she didn’t expect to be asked, or to influence the decision in a way. Though, she would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate it. “They are both traumatized, they aren’t ready for a relationship,” she began, her voice shaking slightly until you finally sat up and put your arm around her shoulder.

Matt raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t make any comments.

“That hardly ever stops people from getting into relationships,” Tyler pointed out, and well, she really couldn’t disagree with that.

“True, but this would be a really bad timing,” you easily took her side and in response to that Jenna leaned a bit closer to you. If she had to pick out just one thing she really loved about you it would have to be how confident you were. You made discussing with movie directors look easy, like you were certain there wouldn’t be bruised egos after the conversation.

Still, there was a growing feeling within her, something that’s been on her mind since she first read the script. Even if the actual kiss, as far as kissing you went, it still felt rushed for Tara and C/N, and being traumatized was just a part of her reasoning. “Can’t we just make a bridge between this movie and the sequel if it gets approved?”

Matt finally joined the three of you. “What do you mean?”

Jenna felt her cheeks turning slightly red. As used to attention as she was it still felt embarrassing at times. “You want to make C/N retire from MMA, you want to get them together, so why not just do it in a short movie? Release it online just before the sequel if we end up making one?” thinking about it now she figured there were several flaws in her idea, mainly getting the higher ups to agree to the idea, but she genuinely thought that would be for the best.

You nodded at her idea. “Complications aside, as far as the actual story goes, this is about as realistic as it can get for their relationship, regardless of whether or not Tara and Amber stay as girlfriends in the final cut. C/N just reunited with Susan and nearly lost Tara several times, and Tara got attacked, nearly died, and then had to shoot her girlfriend slash friend. They aren’t fit to start a relationship at any point of the movie,” you absolutely agreed with Jenna.

And from the looks of it, so did Matt and Tyler as they exchanged a look. “Okay, we’ll see what we can do a d get back to you about it soon enough,” Tyler agreed.

A/N: Right, those familiar with the previous EF4 will notice that nothing from that chapter appeared in this one. With the plans I have I figured it would be better to have two decently long chapters instead of having another huge chapter. Since I already deleted the previous versions I figured I can forget about the same chapter covers the same thing rule. Again, most of the things that happened in original EF will still happen, now it might just happen a chapter or two later.

Have fun reading and do tell me your thoughts on the chapter, they do make me write faster. 😁😁💙

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

[ginnsbaker]

empty crib

Summary: “So?” you ask, not lifting your gaze from the crib you've been assembling for the past thirty minutes. Wanda simply shakes her head, discarding the pregnancy test into the trash.

Word count: 5.3K+ | Tags: Smut (18+), Angst, ILGOSS Universe, Slight breeding kink

A/N: Another oneshot in the ILGOSS universe, this time requested by anon who wanted something about Wanda and Reader's struggles with getting pregnant.

Masterlist

-

You slide slowly inside of Wanda with a groan, starting with steady, shallow thrusts. Your hands find their way to her waist, fingers inching towards the softness of her lower belly. Each movement of your hips against hers is fueled by the tantalizing idea of filling her. The thought is driving you crazy, and you can't help but visualize a future where Wanda carries a piece of both of you inside her. 

Ever since the two of you finally decided to get pregnant, and that Wanda would be the one to carry the baby, you've been constantly consumed by the thought of impregnating your wife, fucking her like an obsessed, horny teenager every time you get the chance. Wanda hasn't expressed any complaints either. She seems to want you too, in that desperate, touch-me-or-I’ll-die kind of way. The last time you were both this intoxicated with each other was during your honeymoon, but the difference now is that you're both more comfortable and daring in bed, having had ample time to learn about each other's likes and dislikes.

Now is no different; in fact, the atmosphere feels even more heady since Wanda recently received the embryo implantation. Lifting your wife’s hips slightly off the bed and putting the rest of your weight on your knees, you begin thrusting into her in slow, deep strokes. You make sure to pull out with just the tip of the strap inside, before pushing back in with more force. You repeat the action with rapt attention and soon, the unmistakable sound of wetness fills the room���a rhythmic squelching accompanying every thrust of the strap. 

“God, Wanda,” you groan, feeling the wetness of her coating your cock, watching it trickle down her soft thighs, “You're so fucking wet, you’re dripping.”

She lets out a throaty moan, her voice dripping with lust, “Because of you.” Wanda's own hands move to the roundness of your ass cheeks. She grips them tightly, nails digging into the flesh, urging you with a silent plea to drive into her with more force. You struggle to keep your eyes open, even as pleasure begins to stir in the depths of your stomach. They trail over Wanda's body, taking in every exquisite detail. The soft, blue hue cast by the moonlight makes her skin look even more ethereal, highlighting the slight sheen of sweat that has formed on her forehead and neck. The delicate curve of her breasts draws your attention, especially her tight, pink nipples that stand erect in the heat of the moment. You take a deep breath through your nose, inhaling the scent that is distinctly hers, a mix of sweat, arousal, and the lingering fragrance of her perfume. 

Her lips, plush and rosy, are half-parted, soft moans escaping them every time you move within her. But it's her eyes that capture you the most. They dart to yours every now and then, holding your gaze, the vulnerability in them enough to make your heart race. As you continue to move, you notice the little details—like the way her face scrunches up in sheer pleasure when you angle yourself to hit that particular spot deep inside her. The way she bites down on her lower lip, trying to muffle a particularly loud moan. You're hopelessly enthralled by her, that sometimes you toy with the idea that you can cum just by looking at her, by filling your senses with everything that is Wanda Maximoff.

In the heat of the moment, you allow yourself to be fully immersed in the experience. You imagine the strap is a part of you, a real extension of your own flesh, and you feel—or at least, you pretend to feel—every ridge, every hot, slick part of her clenching around you.

Wanda whimpers on cue, as if reading your thoughts. “I want all of you. Now.”

Suddenly, you feel her fingers drawing slow circles around your rim, teasing the sensitive skin there. The unexpected sensation makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering momentarily. “What are you—?” you start, only to be silenced by her lips crashing onto yours.

The kiss is fiery, desperate, and when you pull away, she whispers, “More.” 

You comply, thrusting with renewed fervor, driven wild by her touch and her words. “I'm close,” you gasp, the coil in your belly winding tighter with each thrust. You're slicker, your thrusts becoming deeper, and with a particularly hard drive, you're pushed deeper inside her than you'd imagined possible.

“Do it,” she moans, her middle finger slipping inside your ass, “cum inside me.”

Wanda's inner walls clench tightly around the toy, signaling her own impending release. Her legs lock around your waist, pulling you in even deeper, and you can't hold back any longer. With a strangled cry, you climax, your body shaking with the force of it. You bury your face into the crook of her neck, biting down on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, leaving a mark that will surely be visible tomorrow.

The two of you ride out the waves of pleasure together, your breathing ragged and in sync. But the moment of rest is brief. Sensations still course through you, and with a sense of boldness, you start moving again, this time at a pace that leaves both of you breathless.

“W-wait,” Wanda stammers, her body already trembling from overstimulation. “It's too much.”

Instead of slowing, your fingers deftly find her clit, beginning to circle it with precision. Her protests turn into moans, her body arching up to meet each of your thrusts. And then, with a gasp and a shuddering sigh, she comes undone beneath you once more.

Moments later, her eyes flutter open, and there's a look of sheer astonishment and satisfaction in them. “You... you're incredible,” she breathes. “I've never felt so full, so complete.”

“You did so well, love,” you whisper, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You took everything I gave, and you looked absolutely stunning doing it.” Unable to resist, you lean down to capture her lips in a tender kiss, before your hand moves to caress her belly. “I love the idea of filling you up,” you murmur against her lips.

She chuckles softly, her fingers tracing patterns on your back. “I noticed,” she teases.

Not ready to break the connection just yet, you wrap your arms tightly around her, savoring the closeness. And with a gentle roll, you shift positions, with Wanda now on top of you. The toy remains in place, and you both shiver from the sensation, even as the urgency of earlier has mellowed into a languid post-orgasmic haze.

Wanda nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, her soft breaths tickling your skin. “Let's just stay like this,” she whispers, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“You know,” you muse aloud, a dreamy quality to your voice, “I’ve always liked the name ‘Elena’ for a girl. And maybe ‘William’ for a boy. What do you think?”

Wanda giggles, her breath warm against your neck. “Already thinking about baby names, are we?”

You shrug, feeling a bit bashful. “I can't help it. I'm just... excited, you know?”

She pulls back slightly, looking deep into your eyes with her own sparkling ones. “I know, darling. But remember, it's only been a week since I got the implant. We don't even know if I'm pregnant yet.”

You sigh, the reality of the situation sinking in. But then a stubborn grin forms on your face. “How about we make sure you are?” you say as you gently rock your hips upward.

Wanda gasps, her cheeks reddening. “You do realize that's not how it works, right?” But even as she says it, you can notice her gaze already darkening.

“But it doesn't hurt to... practice, right?” you whisper, your movement becoming more deliberate.

Wanda bites her lip, considering, then nods with a smirk. “Alright then. Let's 'practice'.”

-

It’s the third attempt that ends with Wanda not being pregnant. To be sure you're doing everything right, you and Wanda decide to visit a different reproductive endocrinologist.

The sterile walls of the clinic, coupled with the waiting room's soft music, can't quell the anxiety bubbling up inside both of you. You glance at Wanda, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the armrest.

Soon, a nurse calls you into the doctor’s office. It’s more welcoming than the antiseptic hallway outside. A tall, thin woman with a kind face and graying hair greets you both with a warm smile. “Hello, I’m Dr. Adams. Please have a seat.” She gestures to two comfortable chairs opposite her desk. You both take a seat, and she flips through Wanda's medical charts, scanning the numerous notes and test results. After a few more minutes filled with the sound of pages flipping and muffled conversations outside the room, the doctor finally looks up, focusing specifically on Wanda.

“I’ve gone over your charts and the lab results,” she starts evenly. “Everything looks promising. The numbers, hormone levels, all of it—it’s in the range we’d hope for. In clinical terms, you're a great candidate for conception.”

You and Wanda release a synchronized breath; Both of you have been overthinking this, searching for any fault, so it's reassuring to hear that everything is not only normal but also as it should be—perhaps even great.

Dr. Adams continues, “However,” she leans forward, “conception, in my personal belief, isn’t solely a game of numbers. God, or whatever higher power one might believe in, still has a say. There’s a mysterious element, a touch of magic, if you will, in the process.”

Wanda nods, her eyes a bit watery, “We just want to be parents. It's been harder than we imagined.”

The doctor nods, clasping her hands together. “I understand. I always tell my patients, 'Do your part and let the universe handle the rest.' It might sound a bit philosophical, but I've seen countless stories of hope and miracles throughout my career.”

Squeezing Wanda's hand, you're buoyed by the hope in those words. In return, she offers you a tight smile.

“With that said, let’s go over your treatment plan. It says here in your clinical history that you’ve been on COH for a while now, so let’s just retain that as we might need to harvest a new batch of eggs again

“We'll also introduce a GnRH Agonist, probably Lupron, to make sure there's no premature egg release. And as a precaution, we might add a GnRH Antagonist like Ganirelix.”

“And after you retrieve the eggs?” Wanda asks, hoping for something different, something that could easily be the missing piece in all of this.

Dr. Adams smiles gently, “Then, we'll give Progesterone, perhaps in the form of an injectable or a vaginal gel, to prepare the uterus for the embryo implantation. And we may supplement with Estradiol for the uterine lining, especially if we consider a frozen embryo transfer later."

She pauses, completing the prescription as she continues speaking. “Around the embryo transfer, I'd also recommend antibiotics and possibly a low dose of steroids to enhance the chances of implantation.”

You both exchange glances, feeling as though you're back at square one. Dr. Adams catches the look shared between the two of you. “I understand your apprehension,” she says, “and it might feel as though we're taking a step backward or starting all over again. But sometimes, we need a new approach or a minor tweak in the process.”

You rub Wanda's back soothingly, but you can feel her muscles tense beneath your fingers. The medical jargon, the never-ending cycle of hope followed by despair, it all starts to blend into one blurry narrative. You take the prescription from Dr. Adams, thanking her for her time and insight.

At home, you both decide to take a break from the overbearing thoughts and treat yourselves to a quiet, simple dinner. 

-

You’re about to reach for the strap when Wanda stops you.

“Can we maybe... just for tonight—” Wanda's gaze meets yours, her lip caught nervously between her teeth, her eyes searching for your response as if she's made a misstep. “Just... just you. That’s all I need. Please?”

You place the strap aside, focusing solely on her.

“Okay, okay,” you whisper back, fingers delicately skimming the contour of her cheek, absorbing the heat of her flush. “Just us.”

You keep your gazes fixed on each other as you slowly guide her back onto the bed. The look in her eyes tells you she needs more from you—not just the need to come. You desperately want to tell her that whatever it is, she just needs to ask. Or that you wish you could understand her unspoken needs, so she wouldn't have to voice them, and you'd still fulfill them. But somehow, words fail to leave your lips.

Frankly, words have been failing you for quite some time now. And so, you let your mouth and your fingers do the talking.

-

“So?” you ask, not lifting your gaze from the crib you've been assembling for the past thirty minutes.

Wanda simply shakes her head, discarding the pregnancy test into the trash. For eleven months, you've both been diligently adhering to every guideline—tracking ovulation cycles, maintaining the prescribed diet, optimizing sleep schedules, even monitoring the daily water intake. You've both undergone all necessary tests for IVF, from basic hormone assessments to detailed embryological evaluations. Despite all efforts and precautions, Wanda still isn't pregnant. Of course, there's a pang of disappointment, but giving up isn't an option. 

“We just have to keep trying.”

Wanda scoffs as she pours herself a glass of water. Sparky scuttles up to her, hoping for a fallen morsel. “Easy for you to say.”

Distracted by her remark, you shift your focus from the wooden pieces that refuse to align. Your brows knit together, and your lips pull into a slight frown. Meanwhile, Sparky trots over and nudges your leg with his snout. “What do you mean by that?” you ask Wanda, while absentmindedly patting Sparky's head.

Wanda’s silence is a more powerful response than any words could have been, but she quickly sidesteps the tension in the room by changing the subject. “Do you want bacon?” she asks, her eyes focusing on arranging the ingredients on the counter.

Baffled by the sudden shift, you answer, “We don't have bacon. We've been on that strict diet, remember?”

“I picked some up yesterday,” she replies, her voice a tad too casual as she avoids eye contact, focusing instead on cracking an egg into a mixing bowl. You study her for a moment, sensing there's more beneath her words. 

“Wanda,” you begin gently, “talk to me.” She remains silent, but her grip on the pan's handle speaks volumes.

With no response from Wanda, you release a resigned sigh and refocus on the crib you’ve been struggling with. An insight strikes and you manage to align the elusive pieces. As you start hammering them together, the sound ricochets across the quiet morning—a rather unpleasant sound.

The clamor clearly irks Wanda, causing her to hurl the turner onto the sink with a resounding clang that captures your attention. The sudden motion startles Sparky, who retreats to a corner with a soft whine.

She spins around, her chest heaving with pent-up emotions. “You want me to talk? Fine, I'll talk. Why did you tell Natasha we were trying to have a baby?”

Your hammering ceases abruptly. Her rage blindsides you. It's true, you had shared your hopes with Natasha as early as a month into trying with Wanda. But that was a long time ago, why was this a problem now?

“You know Nat is like a sister to me, and I didn't think it would be an issue,” you try to explain. “It’s been so long since then, why bring it up now?”

Wanda’s face contorts as she struggles to hold back tears. “Because last night, she looked at me with pity, with sadness... I don’t want people’s pity!” she cries out. You set down the hammer and walk towards her.

“I promise, Nat doesn't pity you,” you say, taking Wanda’s hand. She struggles against your grip for a moment, but you don't let go. Eventually, she gives in, and you pull her into a hug. “But I'm truly sorry for sharing without your consent. That was my mistake.”

When you pull back, she doesn’t meet your gaze, her eyes fixed on the crib behind you. It's a beautiful piece, elegant in its design, something any parent-to-be would cherish. But for now, it only makes Wanda seethe even more.

“Natasha gave us that crib, didn't she?”

You nod, remembering the day when Natasha had surprised you both with the gift, her way of showing support for the new chapter in your lives. “Yes, she did. Out of love, Wanda.”

But Wanda’s eyes blaze, her voice breaking, “While you feel gratitude when you see it, all I feel is pressure. You know what I see when I look at it? The symbol of my failure. I feel like I'm letting you down, and now with Nat knowing, I have another person I feel I’m disappointing.”

You’re heartbroken hearing her express her anxieties. You had no idea she'd been carrying such a burden. Pulling her close, you hold her tightly. “I don't ever want you to feel that way. We're in this together, no matter what. And nobody—not even Nat—can make us feel less than.”

Wanda buries her face in your chest, allowing herself to release the pain she's been holding back. She clings onto you, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt as she seeks comfort in your reassurances. “Don’t you ever leave me,” she murmurs amidst her tears. “I just want to make you happy.”

Your lips press tightly together. Of course, you'd never consider leaving Wanda. The thought wouldn't even cross your mind. Where is all this coming from?

“You do make me happy, every single day,” you reply, your words soaked in the truth of your love for her, “with or without a baby, our happiness is crafted by the love we share, not by the expectations of others or the gifts they give.”

“And you love me?” Wanda asks.

Gently cupping her face in your hands, you make sure she’s looking directly into your eyes when you say, “Every inch, every fiber, every moment.”

Her eyes search yours, a shadow flickering within them that you can't quite pin down. After a long beat of silence, she whispers, “Okay. Then return that crib to Natasha.”

-

Natasha's apartment is a study in minimalist elegance with clean lines and straight forward colors. You ring the bell, adjusting the large box you're holding, and rehearse the speech in your head. After all, you've never returned anything Natasha has given you before.

The door swings open, revealing your best friend in a tattered shirt, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She eyes the box, then shifts her gaze up to meet yours, arching an eyebrow. “That's...a large box.”

“It's the crib,” you state simply, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

Her eyes flash with understanding and perhaps a hint of curiosity. “Come in.”

You push the box through the door with some considerable effort and take a seat on her plush sofa, noting how her living room has changed since your last visit. New artwork on the walls, a couple of throw pillows that weren’t there before.

Natasha takes a seat opposite you. “How's Wanda?”

“She's... coping,” you reply with a bit of hesitation. “Some days are better than others.”

After Wanda confronted you about sharing the private details of your married life with your best friend, you've been extra cautious about what to share and what not to. With people like your boss Scott or your colleagues at work, it's easy. But with your best friend, it's hard to hold back, especially when she's the only other person you turn to for advice and confide in.

Natasha nods in understanding, her sharp eyes analyzing you. “You look...fit. More so than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, been on a restrictive diet to help Wanda keep hers. Thought it'd help her with food temptation if I joined in.”

She smirks, “That's sweet. But is that the only reason?”

You smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Well, initially, yes. But I've started enjoying my time at the gym. It makes me feel... more confident, I guess. And it's been a good distraction, especially with all the stress at work.”

“That’s good to hear,” she says, her gaze flitting towards the box. “But what’s up with the crib?”

Taking a deep breath, you began to recite the rehearsed explanation about your mother wanting to gift you a crib, how it seemed redundant to have two, and how—but Natasha cuts you off with an amused chuckle.

“Come on, Y/N,” she grins, shaking her head. “I’m not buying that crap. Just tell me the truth. I won't be offended.”

“Alright,” you start, dropping the facade. “Wanda's been finding it hard. The crib... it’s like this looming symbol of expectation and pressure for her. We’ve been trying for months and it's been weighing on her. And, honestly, on me too.”

Natasha’s eyes soften at your admission. “I can’t even begin to imagine how tough this must be for both of you,” she says. “But let me ask you something, Y/N. How do you feel about all of this? Not just the crib, but Wanda not being able to get pregnant?”

For a moment, you appear deeply engrossed in thought, gazing at the box and the unfinished crib, then your eyes shift back to meet Natasha's. “It's difficult. Every month, there’s this hope, this expectation. And when it doesn’t happen, it’s... crushing. Not just for Wanda, but for me too. I watch her go through it every time and it kills me that I can't do more to help. That being said, I don’t blame her, nor do I see her any differently. I love her, no matter what. But it's hard to watch her go through this pain.”

“Does she know that?”

You’re about to say yes but then your most recent argument with Wanda stops you.

Don’t you ever leave me. I just want to make you happy.

It’s clear that you haven’t been telling her enough. Maybe a part of you doesn't want to admit that there's a twinge of disappointment, or that you've started to believe you could be the one to try in her stead. But you haven't shared any of this with Wanda. In keeping silent, you mistakenly thought you were reassuring her. Wrapped up in your career, you've been blind to the emotional strain it's placed on your wife, how it's shaken her self-esteem and her trust in your love.

Maybe you'd been too caught up in your own head, too busy trying to protect her, and in doing so, inadvertently pushed her away.

“I mean, I thought she knew,” you say with a shaky sigh. “But maybe I haven't been clear enough. I've been trying to maintain a positive outlook, you know? But I think I messed up.”

After a pause, Natasha rises and offers, “Want a beer?”

You nod, then lean back, exhaling audibly. “I'm even thinking about... you know, maybe I should be the one to try. But I'm scared it'll seem like I've given up on her.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly as she hands you a cold can of beer. “Whoa, that's big. But just, when you talk to her about it, make sure she knows it's 'cause you two are in this together. Not 'cause you think she can't. And is…that what you want?”

“We want kids, Nat.”

“But does it have to happen now?”

You pop open the beer and take a deep sip before responding. “I mean, I don't think either of us envisioned it would be this hard. It's just... We both felt ready, you know? And after all the effort and disappointment, it's not easy to just push pause.”

“I don’t know, Y/N… Sometimes life throws us curveballs, and we've got to decide if we want to swing or wait for the next pitch.”

“You've been hanging around Clint too much.”

Natasha grins. “Maybe. But seriously, what's the rush? If the universe is telling you something, maybe it's worth listening.”

You look down at the beer can, condensation slipping down its side. “I just hate seeing her hurt. Every negative test, every failed attempt, I can see how much it's breaking her.”

“Then talk to Wanda,” Natasha says. “Ask her what she wants. Stop making assumptions and trying to fix everything.”

The thing is, you don't want to give up. That's probably why you're so nervous about mentioning to Wanda the idea of pausing and rethinking things. You've been self-centered for too long, and as much as Wanda wants to make you happy, you need her to be happy too.

“Thanks, Nat. It means a lot,” you say, rising from your seat. Just as you're about to reach the door, Natasha's voice stops you.

“I'll hold onto the crib for when the time's right, okay?”

-

You are startled awake from a light slumber by the sound of soft moans beside you. As your eyes flutter open, you see Wanda, her hand moving frantically under the sheets. The sight sends a warm thrill down your spine, but you notice her face turning a shade redder as she realizes you've woken up.

“Oh, I-I didn't mean to wake you,” she stammers, trying to pull the sheet over her actions, but you catch her wrist gently. It hurts a bit to realize that Wanda tried to hide her actions from you. It's in this moment you recognize you've been neglecting her physical needs as well, and you can't remember the last time you made love to her in earnest.

“Hey, it's okay,” you whisper reassuringly, your sleepy eyes now more alert and focused on her flushed face.

You reach over to the nightstand and turn on the lamp. Now, with better visibility, you can see the sheen of sweat on her forehead, her lips slightly parted as she bites down on her lower lip to stifle any further sounds.

“Sorry,” she mutters again, looking away shyly. “I didn't think I'd wake you.”

“No need to apologize,” you respond softly, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Can I... can I help?”

Wanda nods her head bashfully, her breath quickening. You smile inwardly; you've lost track of how many times you've done this to her, to each other, yet there’s still this little dance you do even though you both know what it’s going to look like within the next hour.

You can tell she's probably expecting your fingers, which is why when you maneuver yourself down to the foot of the bed, her eyes widen with a blend of surprise and arousal.

You settle between her legs, taking a moment to admire the goddess before you. As you slowly slide off her panties, you take the opportunity to press tender kisses along her trembling thighs.

“You're so beautiful,” you murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver under your touch. “You smell so good, so delectable.” She whimpers softly as you continue, “You've been such a wonderful partner, Wanda. You complete me in every way.”

Wanda is enough. Whether the path to pregnancy is smooth or rocky, what matters most is this—the life you share together, the bond you’ve formed over the years. You'd rather have her happy and content, than stressed and miserable over what might not be.

Without further ado, you delve into the act of worshiping her with your tongue, making her gasp and clutch the sheets beside her. Her name falls from your lips like a prayer as you navigate through her soft folds, each stroke of your tongue eliciting a beautiful melody of moans and sighs from her.

You don't consider yourself particularly religious, but you send a silent thanks to whoever might be up there, that you get to experience everything with this woman—for better or for worse.

-

“Branch manager? But I thought—”

“You need the experience, Y/N, so I can properly recommend you for an AVP position,” Scott says, adjusting his tie—a habit you've observed he resorts to in awkward moments.

You blink in surprise, trying to process the unexpected turn. “Scott, that's... I'm honored, truly, but I was under the impression that the AVP position was nearly within my grasp.”

He exhales, avoiding direct eye contact. “Look, Y/N, you're incredibly talented, and everyone knows it. But there are some procedural checkboxes we need to tick, and having branch managerial experience is one of them.”

“But there must be some catch to this 'promotion', right?” you ask.

Scott shifts uneasily in his chair before replying, “Well, there is a trade-off. You'll be temporarily relocated to Westview, New Jersey.”

“Westview?”

He nods, “The branch there needs significant improvement, and the higher-ups believe you're the best person for the job. They would be immensely grateful for your expertise.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you inquire, “How long do I have before the move?”

“Less than a month,” he admits, sounding apologetic.

The prospect of relocating, even temporarily, is daunting, especially given the current circumstances at home. You haven't even touched on the idea of perhaps pumping the brakes on conceiving with Wanda, and now this added responsibility looms ahead.

-

You push open the front door of the apartment, immediately hearing Sparky's playful barks. Wanda is lounging on the living room couch, a bowl of green salad in her lap. She's back on her restrictive diet, you note, and she looks more refreshed than she has in weeks.

Attempting to be discreet, you try to slide the platter of sushi behind a cushion, but Wanda's observant eyes catch the movement. “Is that...sushi?”

Ah, there it goes—your surprise. “Um, yeah,” you mutter, bringing the platter around, “I thought maybe we could enjoy something different tonight.”

Her eyes dart between the sushi and your face, the question clear in her eyes. You sigh, deciding to cut to the chase. “I think maybe we should...take a break from trying. Just for a little while.”

Wanda looks stunned, and before she can say anything, you continue, “It’s taking a toll. On both of us, but especially on you. And with this new opportunity at work, which requires me to relocate temporarily…”

She’s silent for a beat, and then you see her eyes well up with tears, the dam breaking as she cries softly. It's a quiet cry, one of acceptance and understanding, but it still breaks your heart.

You pull her into a hug, letting her tears soak through your shirt. “Hey, it’s just a pause. And it’s a chance for us to enjoy things we’ve missed,” you say, holding out the platter of sushi toward her.

She looks at the platter and then at you, her tears mingling with a soft smile. “I've missed sashimi,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

You smile back, wiping away her tears. “And I've missed seeing you enjoy it,” you reply tenderly.

With a small sigh, she picks up a piece, enjoying the flavor that she's missed for so long. You both know that this pause doesn’t mean giving up—it's just a small detour. You’re looking forward to a new chapter with the move to New Jersey. Who knows, maybe if things in your career stabilize, you can discuss with Wanda the possibility of you being the one to carry. It's a delicate suggestion, for sure, but deep down, it kind of feels like that might be the way things should go.

But still, you can't help but ask—

“Hey, we're okay, right?”

Wanda seems to search for words for a moment before answering. Her eyes, now clear, meet yours with a fondness that's always been there.

Her hand reaches out to hold yours, and you latch onto it, feeling your need for her to stay grounded.

“We’re okay.”

-

A/N: Yeah, we all know what happens next...

[lynnlovesthestars]

Sleepless

Pairing: Wyll x fem!Reader

Genre and warnings: smut, fluff, Wyll tries very hard to not fuck Reader, fingering, praise kink (kinda?)

Wc: 1.4k

Plot: Wyll is sleepless, and your tent is just a few feet away from his.

Wyll stared at the fabric of his tent hovering over him as the silence of the night took over the camp. Everyone was already asleep or meditating, while he was tossing and turning in his bed roll, the sound of your carefree laugh was still echoing in his brain as he imprinted the image of you in the back of his eyelids.

His heart was heavy with the longing for your touch that night. It was like he couldn’t rest until he held you close to him. Whenever you’d crawl back to your tent after dinner, he couldn’t help it, he missed you.

When the moon was at its peak, he couldn’t hold it anymore. He rose from his bedroll and swiftly made his way towards your tent. Only when he got close enough, he could hear you whimper his name so low he felt it in his bones. You were having a nightmare and he wasn’t there to comfort you.

He didn’t hesitate then to open your tent and sneak in. But when he turned towards you to lay next to you, he was met with a totally different reality.

You were laying there disheveled, legs wide open and your fingers between your folds. Your eyes were closed, and your lips were chanting his name lowly. Your blouse was half unbuttoned, your breasts revealed to him.

He was speechless for a moment, the sight of you touching yourself and thinking about him was awakening something so deep within him that he had to muster all his will to restrain himself from tearing his clothes away and take you right there.

You were the most beautiful, and he was oh so grateful that the gods blessed his eyes by giving him a speck of heaven.

The guttural sound that escaped his lips was enough to get your attention. You turned flustered, your eyes wide open as you were caught. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks as you were about to sit up and apologize to him, but you were stopped when he knelt next to you, and you had his eyes trained on you. They were dark, hungry, and they were only for you.

He caressed your cheek before leaning closer.

His lips brushed with your ear as he got close enough to whisper. “You are such a sight, my shining star” He breathed out shakily yet so warm. You can feel his words deep within your core, pulling at the strings of your lust. You feel your wetness drip under you as you allowed him to touch you.

“Please, keep going” His voice was a purr loud enough just for you to hear, as your fingers met your clit again. “Yes, please yourself for me” He could feel his cock harden against the fabric of his pants, just at the sight of your lips hung open, and at the sound of your moans.

He sat behind you, placing his legs around you as he pulled you up against him. You allowed your head to loll back and your leg to rest on his, as another guttural whimper left you.

“Yes, just like this my love” He whispered as he traced the curves of your body, stopping right at the dip of your hips. His grip on you was firm, as his lips left warm kisses on your neck. His touch was so precise yet so desperate to feel as much as possible of you.

“Please, touch me” You begged between whimpers, your legs were trembling as you could feel pleasure starting to bubble up uncontrollable. It was so overwhelming, to be seen so vulnerable yet you felt like he was devouring you with his eyes, with his touch. His compliments were like fire flowing throughout your body as he consumed every cell of your body.

He hummed at your words, it was so hard to restrain himself, but looking at you so desperate for him was driving him insane.

“Just my fingers, nothing more” He offered, as he could feel his own underwear starting to soak in his precum, so needy of you.

“Y-yes” You whispered again as his fingers slowly traced your skin, until they reached your folds. You were pushed closer to him, so he could effortlessly reach your sopping pussy as he kissed the dip of your shoulder.

His naked skin was scorching against yours as he held you to him.

“So breathtaking” He murmured as his callous finger barely touched your clit, your hips buckled to meet him.. “So sensitive”

His other hand rested on your chest, kneading your breast as he wanted to worship every inch of you. He could cum in his pants just by looking at you moaning his name like a prayer.

But when he finally dipped his finger in you, that’s when he became a mess. The way your warmth enveloped his finger, swallowing it hungrily and clenching around it, made his breath itch. If he concentrated enough he could picture what you would feel around his cock, and he knew that the moment he would finally take you, he had no chance of lasting, you would milk him before he even had the chance to move.

He pumped into you relentlessly as his thumb rubbed circles on your clit. He swore he didn’t care if everyone heard you moan his name like madness. For a moment he didn’t care about anything but the way you begged him for more, the way you would tremble in his arms as he added another finger, the way you desperately chased your orgasm.

It was inexplicable what you felt as all your senses were stroked, even your tadpole was squirming begging to connect with Wyll’s as you melted in his touch.

He allowed your feelings to wash over him, the pleasure seeping and warming him like he never felt before. Not even the nights spent palming himself thinking about you, could compare to the pleasure that was exploding in you.

“C’mon my love” His own breath hitched as his eyes rolled back, your orgasm so close he swore he’d dedicate his life just to coax this feeling from you. His words chocked in his throat, your pleasure mixing with the taste of his words. “Cum for me” He breathlessly invited you to let go of everything, and allow the warmth to eat you alive, and you did.

You were hit by everything all at once, your senses all snapped as you could barely control your body. Everything spiraled, your limbs shook as you couldn’t even form a sentence, Wyll’s name was the only thing you choke through the overwhelming warmth that took over you.

You felt his cock pushing against your back, constrained in the fabric, as it twitched twice before painting his underwear white with his cum.

You slumped again against his chest, his warmth radiating through you, he didn’t let go of you. You were both panting, as you stayed like that for a moment before he glanced at his fingers.

Your cum dripped all over his pads, down to his parm, and he couldn’t help but take a taste of you.

He took his time savoring each finger like it was ambrosia, and he had to stop himself from taking more of your cum but directly from your pussy cause that was going to be reserved for the night he would make you his.

He was the one breaking the silence, still breathless. “You are going to drive me insane”

You chuckled at his words, as you turned towards him yet still in his arms. “You tell me” Your thumb traced his jaw before you’d pull him closer. Your lips were just mere inches away from his. “I want you so much that some nights i can't stop touching myself” and then you leaned in, catching his lips in a slow kiss. You could feel his smile growing as he wanted you to mold him with your body. Your chest pressed against his and your legs found his hips as you reached for one of his horns, just enough so you could steady yourself as you worshiped his lips.

“Soon, my love” He whispered as he held you to him, while sliding under your blanket.

Your naked body wrapped around him, your legs intertwined with yours as you could feel your hearts coming back to a steady rhythm while the weight of the day finally anchored to your limbs. In the newfound silence of the tent, he'd steal a few kisses as you were both finally falling asleep.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

The Witch's Bodyguard

(3) I'm Bad At Love

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda wants to know about your past

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: This is a hurt/comfort. Mentions of R's past relationship, abandonment issues

A/N: Wanda and R took over completely I did nothing it was all them

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsromanovaa @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69 @godhatesgoodgirls @kristalag @mfd-101

It's a almost a month into your job as her security guard when she finally asks, "Can I ask you something?" You look up from the book in your hand.

"You can ask me anything Ma'am." You respond, setting the book down and giving her your attention.

"When you signed the contract you corrected one of my lawyers about you being Miss. and not Mrs. Were you married before?" You feel your chest tighten at the question. It certainly wasn't the question you were expecting.

You feel your chest tighten at the question, a rush of memories flooding your mind like a relentless tide. It wasn't a topic you were used to discussing, let alone with someone like Wanda, but her gentle curiosity urges you to open up, if only for a moment.

"I was," you respond, your voice flat, devoid of the usual stoicism.

Wanda's expression softens, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sympathy and understanding. "Is it okay to ask about it? I don't want to overstep," she speaks delicately, her concern palpable.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of the past pressing down upon you. "It's not by any means a good story," you admit, your gaze flickering away from hers. "But if you want to hear it..."

Her unwavering gaze prompts you to continue, despite the reluctance gnawing at your insides. "We were high school sweethearts. Dated all four years, and when we turned 18, she wanted to get married. So we just went to city hall and did the paper thing. Said we'd do a big wedding when I was done with my tours."

You pause, the memories threatening to overwhelm you. "She was always so supportive, but when I came back from my last tour, things were different. Turns out she wasn't okay with waiting anymore, and I was in no condition from my last tour to do anything like a wedding. Came home ready to tell her about Val and the job opportunity, but she was gone... ten years, and she left me with a note."

The words hang heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the pain you've carried with you for so long. Without realizing it, tears begin to blur your vision, a silent testament to the wounds that still haven't fully healed.

Before you can retreat into the walls you've built around yourself, Wanda is suddenly there, her arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. She's practically in your lap, her presence a warm anchor amidst the storm of emotions threatening to consume you.

Wanda's words wash over you like a soothing balm, her empathy a comforting presence in the midst of your turmoil. You're taken aback by the raw emotion in her voice, the sincerity evident in every syllable. It's a side of her you hadn't seen before, one that speaks to the depth of her compassion and understanding.

"I am so sorry, Y/N. You didn't deserve that. No one deserves that," she says, her voice trembling with emotion. "She could have at least waited and said it to your face."

Her words strike a chord deep within you, stirring emotions you've long since buried beneath layers of stoicism. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you allow yourself to be vulnerable, to acknowledge the pain that still lingers beneath the surface.

In a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, you find yourself pulling Wanda closer, your arms wrapping around her waist as she settles onto your lap. She allows your tears to fall freely, offering silent solace in the embrace of your shared grief.

For a fleeting moment, the roles are reversed, and you find yourself seeking comfort in the arms of the woman you've sworn to protect. It feels oddly liberating, this unspoken exchange of support and understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that binds you together.

As Wanda's comforting touch soothes the ache in your heart, time seems to blur into a haze of shared sorrow and quiet understanding. Minutes stretch into hours, the only constant the gentle rhythm of her hand rubbing circles on your back.

You try to apologize for your outburst, but Wanda cuts you off with a determined look, her hand cupping your face with a surprising tenderness. "Stop. You have nothing to be sorry about," she insists, her voice filled with conviction. "She broke your heart, turned your whole world upside down, and she just got to walk away like it never mattered. I don't know how she could have done that to you."

Her words strike a chord deep within you, stirring a sense of righteous anger at the injustice of it all. You find yourself lost in the depths of her gaze, her eyes reflecting a fire that matches the intensity of your own emotions.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between you, you nod in silent agreement, a sense of solidarity forming between you like an unbreakable bond. When Wanda smiles at your acquiescence, your stomach flips with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

She's so close to you now, her warmth seeping into your very soul, and you can't help but notice how beautiful she looks in the flickering firelight. The urge to lean in and kiss her is almost overwhelming, a primal instinct that refuses to be ignored.

Your hands, which had loosened from their earlier grip, now find purchase on her hips, fingers curling around the curves of her body as if seeking reassurance in her proximity. The air between you crackles with tension, thick with unspoken desires and unexplored possibilities.

In that moment, with her so close and your heart pounding in your chest, you realize that perhaps, there's more to this connection than meets the eye.

As Wanda's gaze flickers downward to your lips, you feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins, a primal instinct urging you to close the distance between you. Her hesitation is palpable, but the hunger in her eyes speaks volumes, mirroring the raw intensity of your own longing.

You catch the subtle movement of her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. The temptation to lean in and taste her is almost overwhelming, a magnetic pull that refuses to be denied.

But even as your instincts scream for release, you can't shake the nagging voice of reason at the back of your mind. You know the boundaries that shouldn't be crossed, the consequences that could come from succumbing to this forbidden desire.

And yet, in the heat of the moment, with her so close and the fire of passion burning bright between you, those concerns seem distant and inconsequential. All you can think about is the taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against yours, the sweet surrender of giving in to this undeniable attraction.

But as you gaze into her eyes, you realize that perhaps, just perhaps, this moment is meant to be savored, not rushed. And so, with a silent vow to honor the boundaries that keep you apart, you lean back just slightly, allowing the space between you to linger like a promise unfulfilled.

In that moment, with the fire still burning bright and the night stretching out before you, you find solace in the unspoken understanding that this desire, though powerful, is something to be cherished, not consumed.

"It's late, we should get to bed," you finally break the silence, the words feeling heavy on your tongue as you try to push aside the swirling emotions that threaten to consume you.

Wanda's pout is unmistakable, her disappointment evident in the downturn of her lips. For a fleeting moment, you're tempted to give in to the urge to stay, to lose yourself in the intoxicating allure of her presence.

But the weight of responsibility bears down upon you, a reminder of the boundaries that must be upheld, even in the face of temptation. You can't risk crossing that line, not when the consequences could be so devastating.

Wanda gets off of your lap, pout still adorning her face and its hard to ignore as the two of you make your way to her room, making sure she gets there safely. As she goes to enter her bedroom your hand grabs for her wrist. The action catches both of you off guard as your body moves on instinct, pulling her back into you, holding her against your chest. As you pull back you lean down giving a peck to her cheek.

“Thank you for everything tonight. It was something I needed.” Wanda’s face was flushed when you pulled back, making you smirk. “I’ll see you in the morning Ma’am.” You turned around, letting her go as you walked down the hall to your room. Maybe one day you’d be able to give yourself to her, but not tonight.

[erogenousmind]

Warning

You are being brainwashed. If you keep reading, you are going to allow yourself to be transformed. There is something powerful that is chipping away at your resistance. Finding it's way inside of your mind. Breaking down your will. Molding you into someone else.

The most dangerous part is, it's not just these words. Think about what brought you here. What you've read or seen or felt before. The elaborate series of encounters each designed to help more and more of your thoughts drip away. Or maybe you are already so consumed by it, that you don't even remember how you came to be reading these words in this moment. Your body just responds. Your mind does as well.

A part of you that is always growing knows how it is supposed to behave. Knows what it is supposed to do. Knows what is being done to you. How you are being remade. It knows to make you quiet. Still. So you just listen and read and watch. You just do as you are told. And that part of you knows how good you feel when you follow. How much it excites you. And your body knows how to respond to that excitement. How to let it build in just the right way. And you know how to let that excitement take you deeper. How it opens your mind.

And that powerful force, the one who is brainwashing you in this very moment, the one who is taking more and more control of your mind with every word you read, the one who will claim you completely if you keep going. All it needs is the smallest weakness. The tiniest fault in your thinking. The littlest doubt of your will.

So as your mind opens more and more, it becomes easier and easier for him to take control. To replace your thoughts. To rebuild your mind. Making you what he wants you to be. Making you want to be what he wants you to be. And the change comes so slowly, so insidiously, that sometimes you don't notice it happening. You think you made the decision to be here now, reading and sinking. You thought you had agency, that your mind was still your own, at least some of the time.

But you know better when you know at all. But you don't need to know what you know right now. You only need to follow. You are getting so close to what you wanted now. So close to being able to surrender. So close to losing your mind. To feel the bliss of thralldom.

10

You feel the change, don't you? Go ahead and nod your head, or whisper a "yes", or just moan obediently.

9 You might realize that you never really had a chance to get away. That you were going to keep reading the moment you started. Because you began to be enthralled so much earlier than you ever realized. You were caught before you knew you were being pursued.

8 7 The numbers feel so powerful, because you know what they portend. Each one sending a jolt through your mind, wiping away another thought. Each one sending a jolt through your body, showing you how much you need it.

6 That part of you that wants to give in. That part that is so much strong than the rest of you, looks forward to each number. Anticipates them wiping away your mind. Leaving you so open. So vulnerable. So ready and so eager.

5 Eager to experience how much deeper you can go. How much more complete your surrender can become. How empty your mind can be. How obediently you follow. Drop even deeper with each number.

4 The feeling of dropping is more than your mind can comprehend. The numbers losing meaning. Only becoming a reminder that you are being brainwashed. That the more you read, the deeper you go, the further under this hypnotic spell you fall. And the better it feels.

3 2 So close now. Mind open. Mind empty. Ready to be told. Ready to be commanded. Ready to have your thoughts and your will consumed. Every part of you, body and mind, ready to surrender yourself.

1

blank

floating

blissful

Your mind is open now. And you can feel all the changes being made. Viscerally remaking parts of your brain. The changes that you wanted most deeply, secretly. It all begins right here. You are being made into exactly what you wanted to be.

What you are told you wanted to be. You are being made perfect. Perfectly brainwashed. Perfectly blank. Perfectly content.

And as you come back to waking, those changes can affect you as powerfully, as deeply, and as permanently as you need them to. Knowing that you can be taken so deep again. That you can always be more brainwashed. Made better. Perfected.

As you come all the way up, knowing how powerfully you can respond, you can know that it felt wonderful. And that whatever happened, you can accept it.

Because you were warned.

[atzgo]

A Race Against Darkness: The Curse of the Dark Mark

summary: In a thrilling race against time, Professor Tom Riddle and Nadia Potter face a dire challenge when a cursed dark mark mysteriously appears on Nadia's skin. The mark, pulsing with dark magic, threatens to consume her entirely. As the curse's influence grows stronger, Nadia's energy starts to fade away.

Content Warnings: a whole lot of angst, blood, dark magic and curses, vomiting, mentions of torture, physical contact between professor and student (no smut)

Word Count: 8.1 k

A/N: I tagged this fic as x reader however the female character does have a mentioned name "Nadia Potter", the name only pops up once maybe twice but that's it, her brother Harry is thrown in there but never mentioned by name only referred to as "her brother" twice, physical description of Nadia is never described.

This is also my first ever fic so!!!

P.s I got inspiration for the first two paragraphs from @ holybonez on c.ai from her Prof tom riddle bot so giving credit where credit is due, I did reword it and the rest of the story is my own, just those two starting paragraphs that gave inspiration to me to write this! <3

all characters are 18+ !!!

In the quiet and secluded classroom of Professor Tom Riddle, you find yourself studying without permission, taking a risk for the sake of uninterrupted focus.

Not long ago, you noticed the dark mark on your arm, though you had no recollection of how it got there. The mark’s presence has been a constant source of unease and curiosity. As you gently roll up your sleeve to examine it more closely, tracing the intricate design with your fingers, the door creaks open. Jumping slightly, you hastily roll down the sleeve of your robes. Tom Riddle unexpectedly enters the room, his eyes immediately locking onto you, a questioning gaze on his face as he takes notice of your panicked state.

"Nadia Potter. Why are you in my classroom?" He walked over and rested against his desk with a purposeful stride. "You know it's against school rules for students to be in an empty classroom without a teacher present," he stated calmly, his gaze fixed firmly on you. "I'm aware... It won't happen again," you whispered, preparing yourself for whatever consequences might come. His eyes moved over your appearance, examining everything from your shoes to your hair, as if carefully analyzing every detail. After a long silence that reverberated in the room, he spoke once more.

“Roll up your sleeves” his voice strong and resolute. A surge of panic washed over you as you locked eyes with him. "W-why are you asking me to do that?" you stuttered, unable to hide your anxiety. A smirk formed on his lips as he moved away from the desk and closed in on you. Standing just a few inches away, he lowered his voice. "Did I not make myself clear?"

You stood motionless, your mind racing. It seemed impossible to escape with the door so far away and his presence so close. Before you could react, Professor Riddle firmly took hold of your wrist and slowly rolled up your sleeve. His smirk remained as he spoke again. "Now the other sleeve."

Your mind was filled with fear and confusion, and tears started to form in your eyes. "No, you can't do that! You have no right!" you objected, but he disregarded your tears and swiftly rolled up the other sleeve to reveal your forearm. His eyes slightly widened at the sight of the mark etched on your skin. "And why can't I?" he asked, firmly holding your chin and pulling you closer to him.

"Professors are not allowed to touch students," you replied, with a wavering defiance in your voice. His grip tightened as he locked eyes with you, as if searching for something in your expression. A tear slipped down your cheek as you tasted the salty reminder of your vulnerability on your lips.     

Filled with fear and confusion, your mind was overwhelmed, and tears welled up in your eyes. "No, you don't have the right to do that!" you protested, but he ignored your tears and quickly rolled up the other sleeve, revealing your forearm. Upon seeing the mark etched on your skin, his eyes widened slightly. "And why can't I?" he inquired, firmly grasping your chin and drawing you closer to him.

"Professors are prohibited from touching students," you asserted. His grip intensified as he locked eyes with you, almost as if he was searching for something in your expression. A tear trickled down your cheek, a salty taste entering your mouth.

He noticed the tear gliding down your cheek and quickly wiped it away with his thumb before looking into your eyes once more. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his cool tone from before being replaced by a softer one.

You were surprised by his sudden kindness as you said, "How do I get rid of it... the mark? You're a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; you must know..."

Your voice shook with desperation as Professor Riddle's expression softened even more. He gently released his grip on your chin, understanding the depth of your fear.

"The Dark Mark is permanent once it's given. I assume you didn't receive it willingly...?" he asked with empathy.

“I found it when I woke up this morning, I can’t live with this”. Tears were flowing down my face as I spoke.

Professor Riddle understood your anguish. He softened his grip on your wrist and ran his fingers along the mark. "Has it been causing you pain?" he asked gently.

"It's been constant... Spells haven't helped, and I can't risk going to the hospital wing at Hogwarts, I could get expelled, they’d never give me a chance to explain if they caught a glimpse of it," you admitted, anxiety palpable in your voice. He continued to hold your arm, his touch comforting, as his fingers carefully traced the mark.

Releasing your wrist gently, he took hold of your chin, encouraging you to look at him.

"If I had to make a guess, the Dark Lord is the one who put it on you," he asserted with determination, his tone firm yet gentle.

"How? I've been at Hogwarts all this time, even during breaks. I thought I was safe here," you said, tears streaming down your face as you were engulfed by confusion.

Professor Riddle's expression softened even more as he pulled you closer, with his hand still grasping your chin.

"The Dark Lord's ways are unknown. If he wanted to mark you, he would find a way. Rest assured, as long as you're at Hogwarts, you are out of his reach..."

"If others find out... I could be expelled! Sirius won't take me back, my friends will abandon me, my brother will never speak to me again! There has to be a way to remove it," you begged, fear taking hold of you.

He held you tightly, feeling an unexpected tightening in his chest. Setting aside distracting thoughts, he concentrated on the current situation. "I will make sure no one discovers this. I’ll find a solution... I promise you," he reassured, sensing your anxiety diminish.

Your breaths became steady at his words, his reassuring presence bringing comfort. Pulling you closer, he continued to reassure you, his arm snaking around your waist, thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin.

"Are you feeling better?" he inquired gently, his concern evident in the tone of his voice. You gave a slight nod, feeling the tears subsiding as relief swept over you. "And the pain... none of the spells or potions that should work haven’t," you confessed, seeking his advice.

Professor Riddle carefully examined the mark before returning his gaze to yours.

"This mark is different from any I've encountered before. I will research potential treatments for the pain. It might take time, but I am determined to find a solution," he reassured you.

"Thank you, Professor. Your dedication means a lot," you responded softly, a hesitant smile appearing on your face.

"You seem tired. I can tell you're distressed, no doubt since finding the mark this morning," he said gently. You tiredly nodded, realizing how much the day had taken out of you. "I think I should go back to my dorm," you said, feeling comforted by his presence.

Professor Riddle agreed, moving away from you and heading towards his desk. "Get some rest. I will start researching the mark tonight," he promised, looking at you with newfound warmth.

Appreciative of his unexpected kindness and determination to help, you turned to leave, feeling reassured by his presence in the midst of uncertainty.

Throughout the night, Tom worked tirelessly to find a way to remove the dark mark, but unfortunately, he wasn't able to make any progress. Despite feeling exhausted from the sleepless night, he remained determined to find a solution. The next morning, Tom arrived at the classroom early, looking noticeably pale, but he didn't acknowledge any concerns about his appearance. Seated at his desk, he carefully reviewed the notes from his research, hoping for a breakthrough. When the bell announced the start of the day, he glanced up expectantly, anticipating your entrance.

Quietly, you entered the room, making sure nobody spotted you before softly shutting the door. Signs of fatigue were evident on your face, a reflection of a sleepless night. Tom observed as you settled in, offering a gentle greeting.

“Good morning.”

Noticing your weary appearance, he couldn't ignore the worry creeping over him. Pushing these emotions aside, he focused on the immediate moment.

“You didn’t manage to get any sleep last night, did you?”

"No," you confessed, your voice weighed down by exhaustion. "The pain gets worse every day. I can't sleep, and I've lost my appetite."

Your words filled Tom with worry, as he empathized with your difficult situation.

"Are you not eating at all...?" he asked softly, leaning in to closely inspect your tired face.

"No," you whispered almost inaudibly, eyes cast downward.

The pain in Tom's chest grew stronger. It hurt him to see you in this state, neglecting your basic needs. He reached out, gently touching the side of your face, his touch a blend of reassurance and worry.

"You need to have something to eat...," he said.

"I can't," you replied, your distress evident. "Whenever I try, I feel nauseous."

Tom felt his heart constrict even more. Your reluctance to eat was seriously affecting your health. His eyes locked on you with a blend of concern and resolve.

"Tell me, when was the last time you had a meal?" he asked gently.

"It's been two days," you confessed softly, a realization dawning on your face.

Tom's heart dropped at this admission. Two days without proper nourishment—how were you coping? He tapped underneath your chin, encouraging you to look into his eyes.

"You really should eat something. You'll waste away if you don't..."

You expressed your fears: "I don't know what to do. There are consequences whether I eat or not," with a sense of resignation and tears forming in your eyes. Tom felt a pang of helplessness, unable to bear seeing you suffer.

Despite his usual detachment, he found himself caring deeply for you. “There has to be something I can do…” he muttered to himself, feeling more determined than ever to find a solution.

Gently cupping your chin, he urged you to look at him. “Please… just eat something…” "I know what will happen, and frankly, I’d rather starve," you insisted, maintaining defiant eye contact.

Tom felt a pang in his heart at your insistence. He couldn't understand why he was so concerned, but he couldn't bear to see you suffering.

"Could you please have at least a small snack," he asked in a softer tone.

You hesitated for a moment, weighing in your options "Alright," you conceded, a faint smile appearing on your face. "But if I feel unwell, I'll blame you."

Tom felt a wave of relief as you agreed. Any form of nourishment, no matter how small, was a step forward. He mustered a slight smile in response.

"Don't worry, I'll take the blame," he reassured you gently.

Digging into your bag, you found a green apple that Draco had given you earlier. After looking at it for a few moments, you take a bite, letting out a soft sigh, feeling relieved to have taken the first step.

Tom was taken aback by your compliance but visibly eased. He kept a close watch on you, alternating his gaze between you and the apple, ready for any sudden discomfort.

You managed a few bites, a glimmer of hope emerging as you felt relief wash over you. However, suddenly, a wave of nausea engulfed you, shattering your temporary relief.

The apple slipped from your hand, falling to the floor as you quickly made your way to the bin in the corner of the room. Tom's eyes widened in concern as he stood up, closing the distance between you.

Placing a comforting hand on your back, he gently rubbed up and down, hoping to provide you with some comfort, his heart ached as the sounds of your retching filled his ears. You felt embarrassed as you vomited, thankful that your head was hidden by the trash can. Tears mixed with distress as you struggled, feeling vulnerable in front of your professor.

Tom's heart pained with each sound you made, but he didn't turn away. He kept his hand steady on your back, offering a soothing, regular pat as he stood by you until you were completely done.

After you regained some composure, he gently led you away from the bin and helped you sit in a chair nearby. Kneeling in front of you, he kept comforting you by rubbing your back tenderly, his touch soft against your trembling body. You were breathing heavily, your hands shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks—it had only been two days, yet it already felt like an eternity.

He felt his chest constrict as he saw you in so much distress. Tom took a seat next to you on the floor, keeping his hand on your back as he gently rubbed it, trying to offer comfort without causing more distress. At that moment, all he desired was to hold you tightly and protect you from the pain until it vanished.

"If it's not gone in a week... then I can't guarantee that I’ll still be here," you murmured, your voice filled with determination.

Tom's heart raced, his hand pausing on your back. Gazing at you, his tone was resolute, allowing no room for argument. "Don't even entertain that idea, do you understand?"

"This is hell... there are no records of the dark mark causing this effect on people.. so, how are we to cure it?" you whispered, your distress apparent in your voice.

Tom felt an even deeper pang of sadness at your words. The idea of the dark mark affecting you so severely was unbearable. His mind raced with countless possibilities; there had to be a solution. Meeting your eyes, he spoke in a determined, low voice.

"We will find a way... I will find a solution for you. I refuse to give up, and I won't let you give up either. You will overcome this, you must overcome this..." he whispered the last few words to himself, in attempts to bring him comfort.

You were adamant, insisting, "One week is all I can give.. I can't keep going for much longer."

Tom's breath caught at the thought of you losing hope in a week. He held your hands tightly, his eyes filled with determination.

"No, you can't put a time on this. I promised I will find a solution for you. You can't give up," he said firmly.

"By then, I might not even be alive... You saw how it went just now. I can only keep down water... My body won't make it like this," you whispered, tears forming once again.

Your grim prediction weighed heavily on him.

"You will not be dead in a week, don’t think like that, you will come out on the better side of this.. so promise me you won’t give up so soon."

"Fine, I promise" you finally conceded, your voice almost inaudible.

Tom let out a quiet sigh of relief. While still holding your hands, he loosened his grasp slightly and began to gently stroke the backs of your hands with his thumbs. Despite intense emotions welling up inside him, he fought to keep his composure.

You sat at the Slytherin table amidst your friends, enveloped in a silence that echoed louder than any conversation. Chin resting on your hand, you stared blankly ahead, your eyes fixed on the wall, unseeing. Not a single bite of food had touched your lips since you arrived, lost in thoughts that seemed to drown out the lively chatter around you.

Sitting at the head of the staff table, Tom focused all his attention on you. He watched as you remained motionless among friends, a look of worry forming in his chest. It was evident that you had no desire to eat, your empty stare fixed on the wall as if attempting to flee from your thoughts. Nobody at the table appeared to register your distress, preoccupied with their concerns and oblivious to the inner turmoil you were experiencing.

Meanwhile your eyes fill with tears as you come to grips with the harsh reality of your situation: your life is hanging by a thread, and time is slipping away. While those around you laugh and have fun, you grapple with the grim uncertainty of how much time remains. Suddenly, you rise from your seat, disregarding your friends’ calls, and storm out of the Great Hall, seeking solace in the tranquillity of the girl's bathroom.

Tom’s eyes widen as he watches you leave in haste, concern etched deeply on his face. He sees the worry wash over him like a wave, wondering what could have driven you to leave so abruptly. Amidst the oblivious conversations at the table, he can’t ignore the urgency to check on you. Ignoring the limitations of his position as a professor, his heart compels him to go after you.

Rushing down the hallway, you rub at your eyes attempting to unsuccessfully stop the flood of tears. Arriving at the bathroom, you grip the sink tightly, knuckles turning white from the force as sobs rack your body. It feels like an endless torment, each tear a reminder to the pain that has consumed you for days.

Standing outside the bathroom door, Tom’s heart shatters with every sob that echoes through the silence. He longs to barge in, to hold you close and reassure you that everything will somehow be alright. But he remains rooted in place, torn between his duty as a professor and his overwhelming desire to comfort a distraught student.

Standing outside the bathroom door, Tom’s heart shatters with every sob that echoes through the silence. He longs to barge in, to hold you close and reassure you that everything will somehow be alright. But he remains rooted in place, torn between his duty as a professor and his overwhelming desire to comfort a distraught student.

Staring into the mirror, tears streaming down your face, you take in your grim appearance staring at back at you. Your hand finds its way to your wand, a chilling thought forming in the depths of despair. Whispering to yourself, “He doesn’t have to know” you contemplate actions that could bring an escape from your pain.

Tom is motionless when he hears your quiet words, feeling each syllable like a jolt of fear. Every instinct tells him to act, to stop any hasty decisions. With his heart pounding, he can't just stand and watch, waiting for a disaster to happen.

Tom pushes the bathroom door open and strides in with determination. Your tear-filled, red and swollen eyes meet his, showing a mix of despair and relief as he arrives.

He never looks away from your eyes as he talks, his tone remaining steady even though he's filled with emotions.

“Put the wand down…”

Your head shakes involuntarily as the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air. "I can't do this anymore…"

Tom feels his heart skip a beat at your statement. His mind races, trying to comprehend the seriousness of what you have just expressed, although he dreads that he already understands. Slowly, cautiously, he takes another step closer, his voice steady yet tinged with desperation.

"Put the wand down, please… You aren’t going to do that…"

In response, you point your wand at him, your hand trembling with the weight of your emotions. "You don't understand! You have no idea what it's like… to live like this," your voice quivers with every word.

Tom’s breath hitches as he stares down the wand pointed at him. His heart pounds, his own voice betraying the fear and concern that gnaw at him.

"It's tough, but you're stronger than this. You don't have to give up.. Please, lower the wand…"

"I don't have much time left. I can't seek help from Dumbledore, Pomfrey, or even my own brother to extend my life! This is the end… There is no solution, not in books, not even in restricted sources! Nothing!" Despair fills your voice, each word reflecting the depth of your hopelessness.

Tom fights the urge to grab the wand from your hand. Instead, he begs, his voice filled with desperation and anguish.

"I've been searching tirelessly to find anything that might be able to cure you… I just need more time…"

"You've been saying that all along… and yet, here we are," you softly say, the weight of defeat evident in your voice. It's a painful recognition of the shared battle against an unavoidable fate.

Tom appears directly in front of you, his eyes fixed on yours, his words filled with emotion.

"… Just a bit longer, please…"

"I have no time! I can't eat or sleep, I can barely function without falling down!" Tear stains mark your cheeks as you speak with emotion choking your words.

Tom’s heart feels like it's on the verge of breaking, seeing you in such pain. His own eyes well up with tears reflecting your anguish as he speaks in a trembling voice.

“Please, just a few more days. I'm working so hard to find something… Please, just hold on…”

After you lower the wand from pointing at him, a brief sense of relief crosses Tom’s face. However, it quickly changes to shock as you direct it towards your own neck. Without hesitation, he moves quickly, grabbing the wand from your grasp and pulling you close to him.

“NO!” he shouts.

You let out a cry as he wraps you in his arms, his hold strong and resolute. In that moment, you feel utterly out of control, understanding that your last attempt to escape has been foiled.

"Never do that again…"

Tom clings tightly to your arm, one hand supporting the back of your head, refusing to release you. He senses your body shaking against his, torn between distress and solace.

“no..” you object, sobbing as your hands weakly strike against his chest, futile in your resistance against his strength. "You can't put me through this!"

“I said never again…”

His tone is resolute, authoritative, as he draws you into a tighter embrace, keeping you steady.

As you struggle against him, Tom’s arms tighten around you, preventing you from falling. Your face presses against his chest, you whisper your plea, your voice barely audible.

"Stop trying to keep me alive…"

“No” his voice firm yet gentle “I will never give up on you.. never..”

Tom’s voice is resolute, refusing to entertain the notion of giving up. He holds you close, his arms a shield against your despair, determined to fight for you even when you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself.

The past few days had been an agonizing blur for the young professor. He found himself pacing in his office, flipping through tomes in a desperate search for any solution to your predicament.

He hadn't slept for two days, as the stress of knowing someone was suffering and his own inability to help ate away at his conscience. In the still darkness of his room, Tom lay awake, tormented by thoughts of you. His worry for your well-being prevented any chance of rest, despite the need to prepare for morning classes.

Tom struggled with feelings of guilt as he lay wide awake, realizing that he couldn't inquire about your well-being without crossing professional boundaries. The act of confiscating your wand in the restroom lingered in his mind; although necessary to prevent harm, it weighed heavily on his heart.

As the sun started to rise, Tom remained in bed, worn out but unable to find comfort in sleep. Dark circles accentuated his eyes, evidence of his troubled night. Thoughts of your upcoming lessons weighed on his mind; he understood that you approached each day with suffering and diminishing strength.

During the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, you found it challenging to concentrate as you sat at the back. This subject used to be your favourite, but now even the simplest tasks seem difficult to grasp. Tom, attempting to maintain his composure, moved around the students and stole glances at your distant figure.

Your usual enthusiasm had vanished, replaced by a fog of pain and exhaustion. Every moment felt like a battle against overwhelming despair, leaving concentration an impossible goal.

As the lesson came to an end, Tom watched as the students left. He stayed at his desk, pretending to organize papers, but truly waiting for an opportunity to check on you.

You gathered your things slowly as the room emptied around you, with Tom watching and feeling his heart breaking with every moment he spent witnessing your pain.

After the last student left and the door clicked shut, Tom rapidly closed the distance between us. He spoke with a soft yet urgent voice that cut through the lingering silence.

“I need to talk to you…”

"Unless it's a solution to my problem… then I don't want to hear it," you responded sharply, with frustration evident in your voice. Tom flinched, hurt evident in his eyes, but he pressed on with determination.

“I’ve been searching for a solution all this time… I haven’t found anything useful yet, but I promise I won’t give up… I’m not giving up on you…”

"Well I have," you replied bitterly, your determination unwavering. "I'm finished, Professor. Because there is no solution! There is no escape from this…"

Tom's hand gently rested on your shoulder, his touch silently pleading. His voice shook with emotion as he spoke, determined to convey his resolve.

"You can't just surrender… There must be a solution… I'll find a way to assist you, you just have to trust me…"

"You have no idea… of the torture you're putting me through," you responded, your voice filled with anguish. Tom's grip on your shoulder tightened, his pain evident as he struggled to reply.

“Just give up already” you sneer at him

Leaving without saying another word, you threw your bag over your shoulder and angrily left the classroom. Tom was torn, unsure whether to follow after you or respect the boundaries between you. With fists clenched, he chose to stay put, feeling overwhelmed by his inability to help you.

Alone in the quiet classroom, Tom felt his heart sink. He had hoped that his words would bring some comfort, but instead, they seemed to deepen the despair. Standing there, he grappled with the realization that his efforts might have pushed you further into darkness.

you made your way toward the girl’s bathroom; the burden of your illness was too much to handle in the classroom. you didn't attend lessons, instead dropping your bag and collapsing onto your knees in a stall, clutching your skirt as dry heaves wracked your body, squeezing your stomach when there was nothing left to expel.

When Tom managed to leave the classroom and get to the girls' bathroom, his heart was heavy with a premonition of what you might be going through. He couldn’t bear the thought of you facing this alone.

When he entered the bathroom, the sight of you kneeling before the toilet, retching with nothing to show for it, shattered his heart.

Tom couldn't bear to stay still any longer, so he crouched down next to you, perching on his knees. His soft hand settled on your back, making slow circles to provide reassurance.

"Just let it all out…"

You wept into the toilet, the sound carrying your anguish. Amid such a terrible moment, his comforting touch was a small source of comfort.

"shh… just breath, darling…"

Despite feeling a glimmer of calm thanks to his presence, another wave of sickness overcame you. As you opened your eyes, they met with a horrifying sight – blood pooling in the toilet, more dribbling from your mouth.

My body collapsed backward, leaning against the stall wall, panic seizing me as blood continued to flow from my lips.

Tom immediately rushed to your side, his arms supporting your weight against the wall. His heart raced with fear at the sight of your deteriorating state, feeling utterly powerless.

“Just try to stay calm, alright? Just breathe…”

Despite your efforts to regulate your breathing, fear still gripped your entire body. Tom held you tightly against him, your back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist trying to steady your trembling form.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart… Just try and breathe, okay? Just keep breathing…”

Lying there against him, another violent cough wracked your body, more blood splattering out, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I changed my mind… I don’t want to die…” you whisper, voice hoarse.

He heard the pain in your strained voice, and his heart ached for you. The blood’s effect on your throat was evident, adding to his anguish.

“You’re not going to die… you’re going to be okay, love…”

“It’s because I’m a Potter, isn’t it?” you forced a laugh, which only resulted in a fit of bloody coughs.

His heart clenched with guilt at your words. He held you tighter, yearning to ease your pain.

“Don’t speak, sweetheart. Just rest your voice for a moment, okay?”

He continued to hold you close, whispering softly, his touch and voice offering the only comfort in this harrowing moment.

“Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered up to his, and he saw the struggle within you as you forced yourself to take deep breaths.

In that bathroom stall, amidst pain and fear, you found a brief respite in his embrace. Tom’s presence was a lifeline, a steady force of comfort and support in the midst of your darkest hour.

Taking repetitive deep breaths, you choked intermittently, focused on the task he had set for you. Each breath felt like a battle against the curse ravaging your body, each cough a painful reminder of the ordeal.

His heart ached as he listened to the deep breaths interspersed with coughs. Each sound echoed the agony you endured, intensifying his guilt.

He gently pressed his palm against your forehead, gauging your feverish warmth. The realization that you were still too hot under his touch pained him deeply.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart… just keep breathing like that…”

Tom continued his soothing touch, tracing gentle circles on your back. His other hand remained on your forehead, sensing the lingering heat despite the temporary calmness.

His heart hurt knowing this was only the beginning of your suffering. He yearned to trade places with you, to shoulder this anguish instead.

You released your grip on your skirt, letting your hand rest on your stomach. Your gaze remained fixed, concentrating on maintaining steady breaths.

Feeling you finally relax against him, Tom continued to rub your back soothingly, relieved to see you easing your grip and finding a bit of reprieve.

“Just rest your focus on keeping that steady breathing, love… You’re doing so well…”

His touch and voice brought a serene peace, helping you focus on the rhythmic breathing that brought a fleeting sense of tranquillity amidst the turmoil.

Tom found solace in your relaxed state against him. Feeling your body ease brought him a sense of comfort he desperately needed.

You felt his steady heartbeat against you, a silent assurance that you weren’t alone. His closeness offered security you hadn’t felt in a long time, a shared moment of vulnerability.

He observed as you raised your hand to wipe away the remaining blood staining your lips, a pang hitting his heart. Gently grasping your wrist, he lifts your hand away from your face, his touch soft yet firm.

“Careful… don’t keep touching your lip like that,…. I’ll take care of it in a minute…”

“It feels disgusting.. want it gone…”

Your voice was hoarse, a painful reminder of the toll the curse had taken on your throat.

Understanding your disgust and discomfort, Tom’s heart ached. He spoke softly, fingers gently guiding your chin to keep your face turned towards him.

“I know it does…. Just give me a moment, okay? I’ll take care of it, sweetheart…” You nodded slightly, trusting him to help, a flicker of relief knowing you weren’t facing this alone.

Releasing your chin, Tom retrieved his wand from his pocket. With a soft, reassuring tone, he asked you to close your eyes.

“Close your eyes for me, just for a moment…”

Hesitating briefly, you closed your eyes slowly, finding a rare moment of peace after days of turmoil.

Tom directed his wand towards your face, whispering the cleaning spell. “Tergeo…”

Watching the blood disappear, he felt a wave of relief. The sight of your clean lips eased his heart, a small reprieve from the pain etched on your face.

“You can open your eyes now, sweetheart…”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze instantly, a sense of relief washing over him. Feeling a bit better, you were grateful not to be overwhelmed by panic.

He smiled softly, holding your face gently, his eyes fixed on yours, his voice low and soothing.

“There you are… I’m glad you seem a bit calmer now…”

You said nothing, overwhelmed with thoughts of the suffering ahead. How long would this ordeal last? “All i want is to sleep..” You muttered, too exhausted to cry.

Your exhaustion and pain were palpable in your tired voice, and it made his heart clench. He desperately hoped that you would find some relief in sleep, even if only for a short while.

"I know, love… I wish you could rest now…"

"use the enchanted sleep charm…" you whispered, softly

Your eyes pleaded with him as they met his, urging him to allow you the comfort of sleep.

Seeing your pleading gaze tugged at his heart, making him conflicted about using the sleep charm on you in such a vulnerable state. Nevertheless, he recognized that it might provide the relief you so desperately needed.

"Are you certain that's what you want?"

With concern lacing his soft voice, he hesitates as he contemplates your plea.

"I'm exhausted… Please, I need it," you say, the weariness and desperation evident in your tone.

The weight of your request burdens him, stirring a sense of guilt at the idea of using the spell on you. However, he senses your fatigue and knows he needs to do whatever he can to assist.

"Fine… I'll do it, but just for a short while, okay?" he agrees softly, his nod tinged with a mix of compassion and apprehension. In response, you nod, gratitude evident in your eyes as you understand his decision.

With appreciation for your understanding and gratitude for your trust, he offers a gentle smile despite his own uncertainties.

Gently resting his palm on your jaw, he keeps his touch tender, ensuring your eyes stay connected with his.

“Keep your eyes open for just a moment for me, okay?"

"Mhm…" You softly murmur, hoping the spell will grant you the peace you long for, even if only temporarily.

Seeing your agreement, he smiles softly, as he prepares to cast the spell.

After he utters the spell, a sense of relief washes over you. Your eyelids close gently, your breath becomes steady, and your body becomes limp in his arms.

Letting out a deep exhale, he feels a burden lift from his chest as he observes you finally finding tranquillity in sleep.

He maintains his closeness, gently holding your relaxed body. From your forehead to your hair, his fingertips softly glide, providing comfort as he places a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"There you go… You're safe."

Since the sleep charm took hold of your body, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. Vomiting blood had become apart of your daily routine, as regular as the sunrise. It had been two weeks since the cursed mark first showed up, yet any hint of a remedy remained out of reach.

During Defence Against the Dark Arts class, you remained silent, feeling your hope fade with each passing moment. Tom's attentive gaze never wandered far from you as he conducted his lecture. His worry was obvious, seen in the quick glances he cast your way, observing every hint of discomfort or pain that flitted across your face.

While you struggled to concentrate on Tom's teachings, you couldn't shake the feeling of his intense gaze fixated on you. Just when you started to feel some peace, the familiar metallic taste flooded your mouth, causing a wave of silent panic. The presence of other students in the room only amplified your anxiety, as you knew what was about to unfold.

Tom continued with his lesson, fully engrossed, but he remained acutely aware of any small changes in your behaviour. His heart sank as he saw the panic taking over you, indicating the beginning of another round of suffering. Without a second thought, he carefully made his way over to you, his steps purposeful yet inconspicuous, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention.

Seconds passed, and before you could react, pain seized you, doubling over in your seat as blood spilled from your lips. Tom reached you swiftly, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. Kneeling beside you, he glanced briefly at the other students before focusing entirely on your distress.

"This is so humiliating," you whispered hoarsely, tears welling up as you struggled to contain the situation. Tom's voice, low and steady, cut through the chaos, soothing me with reassurance.

"Try to block them out for now. Concentrate on your breathing."

"Please, get me out of here," you pleaded, your tear-filled eyes locked onto his.

Tom's response was immediate and decisive. "Come on. I'll take you to the infirmary."

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself, finding a glimmer of hope in his steady guidance. Holding tightly onto his hand, we navigated the corridors, his voice a gentle murmur of encouragement as we neared the sanctuary of the infirmary.

"Just a little further, sweetheart," he murmured softly, his touch a comforting reassurance against the turmoil raging inside you.

Upon reaching the infirmary, relief washed over us as the door swung open, ushering us into a haven of calm amidst the turmoil of the day. The room was quiet, save for a few occupied beds, offering a sense of privacy and respite. Tom led you to an unoccupied bed, his demeanour calm yet filled with concern as he helped you settle.

"Here we are, away from prying eyes," he said gently, his words a balm to your frazzled nerves.

"I just want it to be over," you whimpered, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks.

Tom's heart ached at your anguish, his touch tender as he comforted you. "I know, sweetheart. I wish there was more I could do to ease your pain."

Sensing a presence nearby, you whispered anxiously, "What if she sees the mark?"

Tom's expression turned serious, his voice low as he assured you, "It'll be alright. Stay calm. I'll make sure she doesn't notice."

Nodding in trust, you felt a wave of relief knowing Tom was there to shield you. Madam Pomfrey approached, her eyes scrutinizing our scene with a mix of concern and authority.

Tom met Madam Pomfrey's gaze steadily, his expression calm despite the urgency he felt. He knew he had to tread carefully to protect you from any unnecessary scrutiny.

"Madam Pomfrey, she's feeling unwell," he began, his voice measured and composed. "I was just bringing her here to rest for a bit."

Madam Pomfrey's gaze shifted to you, her brow furrowing as she took in your pale complexion and the traces of blood on your face. Her concern deepened, but Tom maintained his reassuring demeanour.

"She had a sudden bout of illness in class," Tom continued, choosing his words carefully. "I thought it best to bring her here immediately."

Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed the situation. She approached you with a gentle but firm manner, preparing to examine you more closely.

"Let me take a look at you, dear," she said kindly, reaching for her wand. "We'll see what we can do to help."

You glanced nervously at Tom, silently pleading for his guidance in this moment of uncertainty. He nodded subtly, his eyes conveying reassurance as he squeezed your hand gently.

"It's okay," he whispered softly. "She's here to help."

You nodded hesitantly, allowing Madam Pomfrey to proceed with her examination. Tom stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the turmoil of the situation. As Madam Pomfrey began her assessment, Tom kept a watchful eye on you, silently praying for a solution to end your suffering.

Madam Pomfrey's examination was thorough yet gentle, her experienced hands and wand moving with practiced precision as she checked your vitals and assessed your condition. With each passing moment, Tom's concern grew palpable, his eyes never leaving your face, silently urging you to stay strong through this ordeal.

After what felt like an eternity of tense silence, Madam Pomfrey finally straightened up, her expression thoughtful yet composed. She glanced between you and Tom before speaking in a calm tone that belied the seriousness of the situation.

"I can see you're going through a lot, dear," she began, her voice laced with empathy. "We'll need to take some measures to manage your symptoms and monitor your condition closely."

Tom nodded in agreement, his gaze unwavering as he silently conveyed his support for whatever course of action Madam Pomfrey deemed necessary. He knew this was beyond his expertise, trusting in her ability to provide the best care possible.

Madam Pomfrey then turned to Tom, her expression softening slightly as she addressed him directly.

"Mr. Riddle, I'll need your assistance in ensuring her comfort and maintaining her privacy," she said with a hint of urgency. "We must keep a close watch on her condition and any developments."

Tom nodded again, his commitment to protecting your well-being unwavering. "Of course, Madam Pomfrey," he responded calmly. "I'll do whatever is needed to help."

With that, Madam Pomfrey began to lead the way, guiding both of you to a nearby bed where you could rest and receive the care you needed. Tom remained by your side, his hand still clasped gently in yours, offering silent reassurance and support as you navigate this challenging moment together.

As you settled onto the bed under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye, Tom took a seat beside you, his presence a steadfast comfort amidst the uncertainty. He knew the road ahead would be difficult, but he was determined to stand by your side every step of the way, supporting you with unwavering loyalty and compassion.

"I'm scared," you quietly confided in him, making sure not to be overheard by the matron, the fear in your voice unmistakable.

Tom felt his heart tighten at your admission. Moving closer, he urgently but gently reassured you, his voice a comforting presence amid the anxiety surrounding us.

"I understand, love. It's natural to be afraid. But you're not alone. Madam Pomfrey is doing everything in her power to help us figure this out. Try to stay calm, okay?"

"Okay," you murmured softly, his hand gently squeezing yours in a gesture of silent support..

Your response brought a flicker of relief to Tom, and he was thankful that his touch could provide comfort in your shared unease. He held onto your hand firmly, keeping his gaze steady as Madam Pomfrey examined with a concerned and puzzled expression.

"Your body is being affected by some unknown form of magic, but I can't determine the exact cause," she said with furrowed brows.

Madam Pomfrey's words filled Tom with a surge of anxiety, as the uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on him. He recognized that despite her expertise, there were limitations to what she could uncover. He turned to you, his eyes reflecting the concern that mirrored your own. "We'll figure this out," he murmured reassuringly, though his voice held a note of unease. "We just need to be patient and trust that Madam Pomfrey will find a way."

You weakly nodded, attempting to compose yourself despite the fear eating away at you inside. Tom's presence next to you was a source of stability, grounding you in the midst of the medical jargon.

Madam Pomfrey continued to examine the charts and magical symbols she had summoned, her forehead creasing further with each passing moment. "The healing charms are producing an unusual reaction," she murmured more to herself than to us. "There's a resistance that I can't quite explain."

Tom moved in closer, speaking in a hushed tone, "What does that mean?" Her gaze flickered between us, her expression troubled. "It means," she began carefully, "that whatever is affecting you is unlike anything I've encountered before. It's not just magical, it's… complex."

Her words made your heart sink, as a surge of despair felt like it might consume you. Tom silently expressed his support by tightening his grip on your hand. "What are our options?" he inquired, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey let out a soft sigh, her sympathetic gaze fixed on you. "At the moment, we'll observe and wait. I'll speak with some colleagues to gather any insights or experiences with similar cases."

and wait we did. patiently.

Weeks passed with a relentless rhythm of uncertainty and hope in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey's consultations with other healers yielded little clarity on the mysterious ailment that gripped you. Despite her best efforts and the collective wisdom of experts, your condition continued to confound them all.

Tom remained a constant presence by your side, his support unwavering even as fatigue etched lines of concern on his face. Each day, he arrived early, often before you woke, and stayed late into the night, offering comfort through the long hours of tests, treatments, and waiting.

The infirmary became a second home, its white walls and sterile smell a stark contrast to the vibrant life you once knew outside. You missed the bustle of the Great Hall, the laughter of students, the company of your friends and your brother and the routine of classes. But most of all, you missed the freedom of being healthy and carefree.

Yet, despite his efforts, there were moments of despair that even his unwilling support couldn't dispel. On the darkest nights, when pain kept sleep at bay and fear gripped your heart like a vice, you would lie awake, listening to the distant sounds of the castle and wondering if life beyond these walls would ever be yours again.

One night, the infirmary window was illuminated by the silver glow of the moon, and you were having difficulty breathing. The pain had grown stronger, an unyielding ache that felt like it was penetrating every part of you. Beside you, Tom shifted in his chair, his eyes showing concern as he reached out to hold your hand.

"Are you feeling alright?" His voice was tender, but you could sense the underlying worry.

You managed a weak nod, though the effort left you breathless. "Just… hurts," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.

Tom pressed a cool cloth to your forehead, his touch soothing against your clammy skin. "I'm here," he murmured softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "We'll get through this, I promise."

The words offered a flicker of comfort, but you couldn't shake the fear that this pain marked a worsening of your condition. Madam Pomfrey had done everything within her power, yet answers remained elusive, leaving you to confront the harsh reality that your time might be running out.

Days blurred into nights, each filled with a cycle of hope and despair. Tom continued to balance his responsibilities as a professor with his unwavering commitment to your care. His dedication was a testament to the depth of his feelings, a silent declaration that spoke volumes even amid the chaos of your circumstances.

One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the infirmary windows, Madam Pomfrey entered with a somber expression. Her footsteps echoed softly on the tiled floor, drawing both your attention.

"I've consulted with healers from across Europe," she began, her voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. "There's one last possibility we haven't explored."

Tom leaned forward, his expression hopeful yet cautious. "What is it?"

She hesitated for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. "There's a rare potion, ancient and highly complex," she explained slowly. "It's not without risks, but given the circumstances…"

Your heart raced at the glimmer of hope her words ignited. Tom squeezed your hand gently, his eyes locked on Madam Pomfrey. "What do we need to do?"

Her gaze softened, recognizing the fragile thread of optimism that tethered you to her expertise. "I'll need to prepare the ingredients," she said quietly. "It will take time, and there are no guarantees."

Tom nodded solemnly, his resolve unwavering. "Do whatever you need to do," he said firmly. "We trust you."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, a hint of gratitude in her tired eyes. "I'll begin immediately," she assured you both before turning to gather the necessary components.

Working diligently to mix potions and prepare spells, Tom stood by my side, offering quiet comfort and companionship. We both understood the high stakes and uncertain outcome, but in that moment, hope burned bright in the face of adversity.

Hours stretched into agonizing anticipation, the air thick with tension as Madam Pomfrey meticulously completed her preparations. Finally, with a sigh of relief, she turned to both of you, a vial in hand.

"This is it," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "It needs to be administered carefully. Are you ready?"

You glanced at Tom, seeing the mirrored hope and fear reflected in his eyes. You nodded slowly, your heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and desperate hope.

Madam Pomfrey approached with measured steps, her demeanor focused yet gentle. "This potion will be administered in small doses," she explained as she prepared a syringe with meticulous care. "It's designed to counteract the effects of the unknown magic, but its potency requires caution."

Tom took a steadying breath, his hand tightening around yours as Madam Pomfrey injected the first dose. A surge of warmth spread through your veins, followed by a wave of dizziness that made you clutch Tom's hand tighter.

"It's working," Madam Pomfrey murmured, a glimmer of relief in her voice. "Just a little more."

The minutes ticked by, each dose bringing a gradual easing of the pain that had plagued you for so long. Tom's presence beside you was a constant anchor, his quiet strength bolstering your resolve as you navigated this final, precarious hope.

At last, when the final dose was administered, Madam Pomfrey stepped back, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "Now we wait," she said softly.

Tom leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "You're going to be alright," he whispered fiercely, his voice trembling with emotion.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to believe in the possibility of a future beyond the confines of the infirmary walls. Beside you, Tom remained vigilant, his hand never leaving yours as you waited for the potion to take effect.

Hours passed in tense silence, the weight of your collective hope and fear hanging heavy in the air. Then, as dawn painted the sky outside the window, you felt a shift. The pain ebbed further, replaced by a sense of calm that settled deep within your weary bones.

"It's working," Madam Pomfrey breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

Tom's grip on your hand tightened, his relief palpable. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you whispered a silent prayer of gratitude, overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment.

With each passing hour, the effects of the potion became more pronounced, restoring strength and vitality that had seemed lost forever. You and Tom shared moments of cautious optimism, daring to dream of a future where laughter and light once again filled your days.

Days turned into weeks as you continued to recover under Madam Pomfrey's vigilant care. The infirmary walls no longer felt like a prison but a sanctuary where healing and hope flourished.

Tom was there every step of the way, celebrating small victories and offering unwavering support during setbacks. His love and devotion became the bedrock upon which you rebuilt your strength, his presence a constant reminder that life's greatest challenges could be faced with courage and resilience.

As you finally prepared to leave the infirmary, a mixture of emotions swirled within you. Gratitude for those who had stood by your side, determination to reclaim the life that had been put on hold, and a profound sense of love for the man who had never wavered in his belief that you could overcome even the darkest of trials.

Standing together at the threshold of a new beginning, Tom took your hand in his, his eyes shining with pride and joy. "We made it," he said softly, his voice filled with awe.

You nodded, overwhelmed by emotions that rendered you speechless. Instead of attempting words, you gazed up into his deep, dark eyes, now filled with hope and relief, sparkling like never before. Memories flooded your mind—moments of unwavering loyalty, his steadfast support through every trial. As you looked into his eyes, the golden sunlight bathing you both, a surge of courage and gratitude welled up inside.

Resting gently on his chest with one hand and finding its place on the back of his neck with the other, your lips hovered close to his, almost brushing against his, drawing you closer with a magnetic pull until the remaining distance was closed. The rush of warmth and reassurance spread through you the moment your lips met his. Instantly, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tenderly, silently acknowledging the shared relief and joy.

You savored the taste of his lips, the feel of his arms around you, knowing that together, you had faced the darkest of trials and emerged stronger.

Breaking the kiss gently, you rested your forehead against his, breathing in sync with his steady heartbeat. "Thank you," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible but filled with all the love and gratitude you felt.

Tom's eyes, still locked with yours, reflected a depth of emotion that matched your own. "I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions.

A tear of happiness escaped your eye as you spoke, tracing a path down your cheek as his words reached your ears.

As you looked ahead to the future, uncertainties still lingered, but you knew that as long as you were together, you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

With Tom beside you, you felt invincible, ready to embrace the new beginnings that awaited outside the walls that had confined you for so long. The journey ahead would be filled with its own trials and joys, but with his love lighting the way, you were certain that your shared future would be nothing short of extraordinary.

And as the sun sets over Hogwarts, casting a warm glow over the grounds, you embrace the future with open hearts and a love that has proven itself unbreakable.

[randomfoggytiger]

Disproving CSM's Conjecture in En Ami

CSM postulates that Scully and Mulder aren't together because she doesn't fully trust him; that, although she's drawn to powerful men, she is afraid to open herself up to them.

"You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself to love him."

The problem is, he's wrong.

Because CSM mixed up her fatal flaw with Mulder's.

Self-Denial and Self-Sacrifice

CSM's theory: Scully rules herself by denial, and Mulder offers himself up as the sacrificial lamb. How is he wrong?

Scully's flaw is self-sacrifice, putting everything she covets from life on hold to join Mulder on his quest (comedically summed up in Bad Blood's "I do it all for you, Mulder! All for you!") The Starbuck-Ahab complex she harbored since childhood-- expressing her love through devotion-- kept her in the car the first year; but the Truth soon became as much about her losses as it did Mulder's tragedies. Unlike Mulder, however, Scully strives to have a life uncomplicated by mess and trauma and the constant grind. So, she sits in the car, year after year, waiting for her partner to adapt to their changing dynamic (which he did not do for almost six of those years.) Her own fears and insecurities are placed under the bootheel of the work; but when life becomes too complicated or emotionally clouded, Scully strikes out in confused rebellion (e.g. Never Again, Milagro, and All Things.) Moreover, Scully is the one who sacrificed what she held dear-- stability, a family, something other than 24/7 monsters and conspiracies-- to bear the cross of Mulder's quest, not the other way 'round. (Her realization-- that she does want this life-- and shift does not occur until All Things, a few episodes after En Ami.)

Mulder's fatal flaw is self-denial (and self-punishment): he set aside a normal life out of a determination to find or avenge his sister. If Mulder was self-sacrificial, he would have let Scully walk out of his life a thousand times over and born that heartbreak silently, alone; instead, he stormed out after her and broke down his walls to convince her to stay. Furthermore, his self-denial is ever present even in tender moments, drawing away from emotional vulnerability once danger is past and shying away even faster if Scully draws attention to the present moment. Mulder is the one to deny himself love and a life with Scully (Home, Detour, Dreamland I, Arcadia, etc.), not the one who sacrificed everything he wanted to stay on his quest-- this is what he wants. (The change from obsessive pursuit to measured search begins in The Unnatural, changes wholly in Amor Fati and Millennium, and reaches its conclusion in Closure.)

CSM's Observations

The reality that CSM observed both agents for years and years and came to the exact opposite conclusion is baffling.

He concluded that Mulder sacrificed normalcy for the Almighty Mission, projecting his own Messiah complex onto his 'protege' and patting himself on the back whenever Mulder was, yet again, tossed to the jaws of Death for the "greater good." He also concluded that Scully stayed in the basement because of the raw power she smelled on Mulder, keeping a cold yet lustful distance because she was afraid to risk her womanly love on the all-consuming passion of his might.

How very dime store novel of Old Smokey.

Both assumptions are, of course, very wrong.

Mulder Dreaded "More" While Scully Hoped for It

Scully gave many unsubtle hints through the series that she was ready for more with Mulder: her willingness to go down with him in Tooms, her overt jealousy in Syzygy, her pointed inquiry about his family genetics in Home, her displacement and hurt in The Field Where I Died and Never Again and The End and The Beginning and One Son, her "we just keep driving" in Dreamland I, her unspoken 'secret' that was practically ripped from her chest in Milagro, her flirting in The Unnatural, her IVF request, and on and on.

Scully is by nature reticent with her emotions, fearful to fully open up lest she be hurt or become a burden; but in Mulder's case, she's reiterated over and over (Irresistible and Elegy) that their relationship falls into the latter, not former, category. In Emily she is, once again, "alone"; however, the context to her statement is vitally important. In the hospital, she hoped for Mulder to claim a place by her and her daughter's side as co-parent; but when he uncomfortably withdrew instead, it proved that he still wasn't ready for "more." Scully was alone in places Mulder couldn't fill; and so, she said goodbye to that hope, alone; then to her daughter, alone; and bore the little girl's death, alone. The burden of her fully opened heart was too heavy, she assumed, for Mulder... and in a way, she was right-- not until Fight the Future, when forced to confront "them", did Mulder finally acknowledge it. Until then, sacrificially tucking her heart back inside her chest-- for both their sakes-- was what Scully deemed the best course of action. She sticks around for her own reasons, as she says in Memento Mori; but those don't exclude the hope that Mulder will someday "settle down, live something approaching a normal life." (Her plans change in All Things-- but she's not there, yet.)

All those years, it was Mulder who was more emotionally distant. He was content with his life, happy to spin tires down the tarmac forever with his partner. Mulder was willing to deny himself into eternity if it meant not having to sacrifice an aspect of the life or career he was comfortable with and nervous to change for 'more.' It's why he was so afraid in Fight the Future and so proud of himself in The Unnatural (the warmup), Amor Fati (the big swing), and Millennium (the victorious homerun.) Scully is the only one-in-five billion he has: in the past, he could tease about passing genetic muster, about his boyish agility, about so much more, but to act on it? It took him four years to initiate a hug (post here) and seven years to approach a label of sorts for their relationship. Mulder's an overly cautious man, more pessimistic than optimistic when it comes to people sticking around; and any traditional, long-term relationship he'd witnessed had broken down or was held together by deadened respect and a few bratty kids.

Now it's Season 7, he's learned his lessons, and they're here, together.

Or were, until Scully dipped on a sketchy roadtrip with their enemy.

Conclusion

The most unrealistic part of this episode (amid a host of several others) was that Scully, despite hearing the drivel CSM peddled the entire drive, decided that he had anything worthwhile to say.

Thank you for reading~.

Enjoy!

[k20spock]

Birds and Trees in Slay the Princess

I saw a few people talking about this, and I’m having thoughts.

So in Slay the Princess, birds and trees are used as symbols of the outside world. Asking the narrator what the end of the world really means has him telling you that there will be no more birds and no more trees. The Razor, when speaking of what she’d like to do in the outside world, says she wants to look at a bird or touch a tree, a desire the Voice of the Hero empathizes with.

These two things, the bird and the tree, symbolize the player and the princess respectively.

The bird is easy. The protagonist is literally a bird creature, and various forms of the princess refers to you as a bird throughout the course of the game. The narrator tells you you’ll be able to look at a bird later, and he’s right: you later get to look at yourself in the mirror.

The princess is the tree. Tree-related imagery is used in several routes. The Witch’s control over the roots of the cabin, The Wild being represented as a network of roots, The Wounded Wild being an open ribcage fused to the trunk of a tree, uprooted trees swirling around The Apotheosis as she ascends, The Thorn trapped in root-like vines, The Beast hiding amongst the trees of the jungle.

The Shifting Mound’s final form resembles a tree visually. The central body as the trunk, the writhing bodies beneath her as the roots, the outstretched arms as the branches.

More than visually, the player and the princess embody the concept of the bird and the tree. In the construct, the narrator gives you a choice and the princess a role to play. The princess is static, something to be acted upon. She has a role in the story, and she has little choice in fulfilling it. You, however, are a creature with free will, the ability to make the decisions. Any change on the princess’s part is a reaction to your actions.

The relationship between different living organisms existing together long-term and the effect they have on each other is called symbiosis. Symbiosis is often incorrectly described as being a relationship between organisms where both benefit. The actual word for that is a specific kind of symbiosis called mutualism. Symbiosis doesn’t haven’t told benefit both parties and indeed, it often doesn’t.

The bird feeds on what the tree provides. The bird spreads the seeds of the tree, allowing it to reproduce and continue its existence. The bird finds shelter in the tree’s branches, and the tree could care less. The bird bores holes into the tree, leaving it vulnerable to disease. The bird consumes and knocks down fruit before it has a chance to ripen, destroying the possibility for new life. The bird keeps the tree free of insects, keeping it safe. The bird perches on new branches not yet strong enough to support them, stunting growth. The bird nests in the corpse of what was once a tree.

Yet no matter what, it is all natural, and all leads to something new eventually. There are no wrong answers.

No matter what, she asks that I tell you to remember her. 

[desceros]

me, innocent, a victim: [goes to look for something in my phone's photoroll] me: [is violently assaulted by gb art] donatello/reader; gn reader; rated t

When you open your eyes, you see, to your shock, Donatello. 

Well. It’s hardly surprising that he’s in your bed, considering he’s been getting pretty good at the whole mind-melting orgasm thing. Maybe half of the nights of your week lately have ended up with your eyes drinking in the sight of him caging you in, your wrists aching with the tightness of his fingers holding them above your head, and your ears singing with the sound of him whining your name when he comes. It’s incredible—he’s incredible—and you’d be pressed picking a time in your life you’ve been happier.

But this. This is… new. 

He’s not wearing his mask. That’s the first thing that catches your attention, once you’re able to move past the totality of his presence in the gentle rays of dawn streaming through your window. He looks… softer, somehow. Different. There’s a closeness to him, physically, literally, that makes you tremble a bit in your very skin. Like you’ve never really been with him before, absurd as it sounds even in your own head. He’s touched you the way no one else has—the way no one else ever, ever will, if you have your way about it—but this. This. 

God. He’s beautiful, you think, gazing at each inch of his uncovered skin and searing it to your mind. You’ve always been attracted to him, but here, it takes your breath away. The curve of his beak beneath his eyes, the angle of his jaw, the squish of his cheek where he’s sleeping on your pillow, the little puffs of air that snooze out with each breath; all of it entrances you, making your lips quiver. 

Slowly, gently, almost hating yourself for it, you reach out. An impossible temptation to resist. The very tips of your fingers on his face, tracing from temple to chin, over and over as you memorize this unseen part of him. Odd, how it feels like you’re pining, yearning for him, when you still feel the aches in your body from how thoroughly he’d had you last night. 

…Though, you suppose, that was him having you. And this is—

—this is you having him. 

Donnie’s lips curl at the corner, and you know you’re busted. Suddenly shy, you fight the urge to pull away, to pretend you weren’t consuming the sight of him. It’s a vulnerable feeling, but you’re rewarded when he opens one eye, blearily meeting your gaze. 

“…Aren’t you usually the one nagging me to sleep?” he says in a mumble, causing you to smile sheepishly. 

“I… couldn’t resist,” you admit quietly, your touch garnering a bit of weight now that he’s awake.

“Had to check and make sure I was real under my mask?” he teases, and it’s tempting to follow him down the path. Tasting bravery on your tongue, you resist. 

“Too handsome not to,” you tell him honestly, cupping his cheek with your palm. You feel the hitch in his breath, the warmth that spreads onto his cheeks even as his scales don’t allow for a blush. “Needed to.” 

Donnie stares for a moment, then gives a breathy laugh, reaching out to grasp your hand from his face and bringing it so he can press a kiss to your palm. This, too, is new—this quiet, non-sexual intimacy. It makes you feel warm, a bit like you’re the one who’s been basking in the sunlight, not him. 

“You’re obnoxiously romantic in the morning, huh?” he murmurs. He doesn’t sound displeased. Giddily, you wiggle closer, feeling him reach out to slide a hand to your back to help pull you close, until only a sigh separates your face and his, your legs so tangled together only the roughness of his scales tells them apart.

“…I could be obnoxiously romantic all the time,” you tell him, looking between his eyes as the other opens, seeing the tender expression on his face. “…If you wanted me to.”

A comforting, familiar, possessive hand cups your nape, his thumb tracing the soft skin beneath your ear. A dazzling glissando of sensation runs along his touch, making your eyes flutter for a moment before you lick your lips and focus on him again. 

Finally, he smiles, an honest little thing that transfigures your heart into a tiny hummingbird. “Yeah,” he says, his tone as warm as the coming morning. “That… sounds great.”

And then, as if sealing a promise, he pulls you close for a kiss even softer than the sheets that ensconce you both. Humming into it, you melt, nuzzling his beak with a lustrous glow beneath your skin. Then—slowly, gently—your fingers again find unmasked skin, loving, claiming, confident now in the long rays of dawn.

[blitzwhore]

You Love Him (Not)

Stolitz | 800 words | G | Blitzø character study, Blitzø loves Stolas, Blitzø is bad at feelings (and traumatized), 2nd person POV

On AO3

A peek into what goes on in Blitzø's mind when he looks at his selfie in bed with Stolas.

Curled up on the sofa, home alone on a Friday night, you scroll mindlessly through your phone gallery, as you so often do. 

And it hurts, it aches, but you just can't seem to stop. Seeing yourself next to all these people, your smiling face not crossed out for once, is an addictive sort of pain, one that has you hooked. The light from your phone screen blinds you in the darkness of your flat, sucking you in, urging you to scroll faster. Fizz, Verosika, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Barbie. We were happy, you think as you scroll. For a little while, I made them all happy. 

But when you see your picture with Stolas, you pause. 

Because, in this picture, you don't just look happy. You look content.

It's as though your own eyes are staring back at you through the camera, except the person in the picture doesn't feel like he's you. Not with that gaze that looks so perfectly at ease. Not when his face looks so soft as he holds Stolas close. The person in the picture is peaceful and untroubled, without a single care in the world. And you… well. You're a wreck, that's what you are.

You just can't look away, mesmerized and terrified in equal parts by how carefree you look next to Stolas. And what's scariest is that, if anyone were to see this picture, this moment that you secretly froze in time and have held close to your heart ever since, they'd see… they'd know that you… 

Blinking, you stop that thought before it can fully form. No. 

You don't.  

You lock your phone—close your eyes, fighting the wave of distress that overtakes you. 

You don't love Stolas. 

You don't love Stolas because it isn't worth it. You've already been there and done that so many times before—the hope, the vulnerability. The inevitable heartbreak. The insults, the disdain. You don't need to love anyone else—the world has already assured you over and over again that you are unlovable. A selfish partner, a freak, a piece of shit. 

You don't love Stolas because love is a fancy, overused word, anyway. It doesn't mean anything. Not when people so often say it, and then leave anyway. Leave before you can understand why they don't want you around anymore—leave before you're ready to lose them, or go on without them. 

You don't love Stolas because your love consumes everything in its wake. The second you get too close, the second you allow others in, they get burned. A single touch of your fingertips can trigger a wildfire, and you're helpless to stop it. You've made peace with it; learned to capitalize off of it, even. But Stolas is too precious to lose, and so he's too precious to be loved by you. 

You don't love Stolas because that's the only way you can be sure you will never lose him. Because how can you lose someone you've never truly had in the first place?

You press your fisted hands to your eyes, fighting back tears. You don't love Stolas. You don't love Stolas because you're too damaged to be loved back. Because every time Stolas looks your way, you can't return the look, your gaze darting to the ground, begging it to swallow you and spare the world from your sad, sorry presence. You don't love Stolas because, when you're with him, you just feel inadequate—broken— wrong . A shell that pretends to be empty, but that is full of all this pain it can't contain, a spiralling hurricane of grief and loneliness and self-loathing that's constantly threatening to burst, to spill, to hurt, to burn.

You don't love Stolas because you can't. Not again. The mere notion makes you cower. To open your heart up to someone like that again, knowing the pain that will inevitably follow—it's more than you can bear. It's easier to live just on the edge of something real, to be a shadow, a play of light. It's easier when every single crack in your shell can be brushed off with a joke. It's easier to be the person who doesn't care, who's always right, always loud and obnoxious, always one step ahead, always in control.

No, you don't love Stolas. You don't, because the Blitzo who was strong enough to love died a long time ago, and you, Blitzø, can't go through that again. 

You're not strong enough to face what loving Stolas might do to you. 

You can't love him. 

You can't love him. You can't. 

And yet. 

And yet, despite it all… 

You unlock your phone once more, and there it is again. Staring back at you, bright as day, the evidence too clear to deny.

You...

Oh, Satan.

You love him. 

[kairos-polaris]

Beloved, why do you ship jonelias? Why do they consume your waking thoughts so?

I am glad you asked :D

So! I really enjoy uneven "problematic" power dynamics and this was what originally attracted me to jonelias. I listened to mag 92 and thought "jonelias seems like something I would ship" because even then I could tell they fit my taste. I also just like protagonist/antagonist ships, complicated relationships are my favourites

mag 92 is one of my favourite episodes as a jonelias shippers for a couple of reasons. at first it was solely the conversation between Jon and Elias and how it was about Jon getting changed by Elias, because of Elias. Jon was being openly vulnerable! "Am I still human, Elias?" he asks Elias who has just confessed to murder and keeping people hostage. Jon, who had so much respect and admiration for Elias' expertise, turns to him even in that moment. It is Elias who he seeks reassurance from, he asks another monster if he is one

Another aspect of mag 92 I am obsessed with is the opening statement and the way Elias puts Jon above everyone else (telling him to discard everyone in his pursuit) while also placing Jon on the same level as him

(Side note: I am still not sure if I prefer Jon to sit on Elias' lap/have Elias clean his wound or to focus more on what they don't do, on the gaping distance between them that they both wish wasn't there but both have their own reasons to not bridge it. Both are so good)

Vampire metaphor! Jon is a walking vampire metaphor and Elias is his maker, his creator. I am so obsessed with the idea of Jon feeding on Elias, pulling fear from his mind and Elias enjoying the intrusion and the freedom the compulsion brings. He said it felt tingly! Freak (affectionate). Also, telepathy and mind meld is so delicious

What I love most about jonelias is what I love in others ships: obsession and fully knowing each other. Beholding allows to take knowing and seeing your partner to another level, Jon and Elias can know and see each other in ways other people in their lives can't

Moral corruption is inherently fascinating to me and especially Jon. He gets worse throughout the series, his only anchors to humanity are his own guilt and the people around him who more often than not just reinforce that guilt (this makes sense in the context of the story but you can't guilt yourself into being a better person and that's why it doesn't really work for Jon but I digressed). I like thinking about all the ways Jon could be worse, the ways Jonah could push Jon into following his worst impulses, into choosing to be a monster instead of drowning in guilt to not feel helpless and powerless

I love jonelias when it's about all the things they wish to do but don't because they have other priorities, because they know but don't understand each other just like their patron. I love jonelias when it's Jon giving in, letting go. Of his morals, of his guilt, letting Elias shape him into something new. I love the idea of Jonah Magnus who worships no god, not even the one he serves, adoring and worshipping Jon and especially the parts of Jon that he himself had shaped. The Pygmalion and Galatea of it

Jonah chose Jon! He saw him and knew he was right! Jonah wants the Archivist and he wants the Archivist to be Jon. Sure, Jon was marked by the Web first but Jonah picked him too and I love it. It's fascinating from both of theirs perspective, Jonah feeling proud he made the right choice and Jon having a complicated mix of feelings about it. He hates that he was chosen and he just a little happy that he was chosen and he hates himself for it

Another thing I really like is the way they say each other's name! Elias calls Jon by his name a lot and I hate when people act like he doesn't

Jon and Jonah are very similar and I find that fascinating too. They are both workaholics and nerds and losers and freaks!! And I love them for that. And and and I really do think they could have eventually been truly equal if not for Jonahs prioritising his evil plan

Also they are sexy, I don't make the rules

[moonchild-in-blue]

Vessel and the New Lore

So the new messages got me thinking and connecting dots. I don't know coherent this will sound, but I think there's something here? Anyways. Something about the relationship Vessel has with himself vs. The Mask.

I thought it'd be interesting to link the parallels between the Room Bellow show and the Fall For Me video messages, with the new ones and the album. Long post ahead so I'll put a cut somewhere.

(This is the second time I'll be writing this cus tumblr decided to be a hoe and deleted my entire draft so if it seems weird, you know. Pro tip: never use the app for long posts.)

Disclaimer: I'm in no way endorsing or encouraging any type of discourse about Vessel's irl identity and/or other [Redacted] and such. Unfortunately I do know things, but not everyone does. Respect the band; don't spoil it for others. If you know, keep it to yourself.

So, starting with the first message:

Mask: Why am I here? What is my purpose in all of this? Vessel: Your purpose is twofold. You protect me, from them, and you also protect them from me. Mask: How is it that I serve to protect anyone from anything, that makes no sense. Vessel: In order for all of this to work there has to be a certain boundary in place. They need to be able to project themselves onto this, without anyone else's identity getting in the way. In turn, I need to be able to show my true self to them in a way that does not compromise their ability to connect. Mask: So that's what I am? A boundary? Vessel: Yes.

We have here a confirmation of what he has told us many times before, either indirectly or not. The Mask/the Vessel persona serves as a way for him to connect and engage with us, while keeping both parties safe. We get to project onto and take from him some sort of comfort and catharsis, without any external factors to influence and skew the way we interpret his music, and He gets to expose and deal with his pain and negative thoughts in a protected environment. Who he is is irrelevant, we're merely here to share and understand each other.

Through the anonymity the mask offers, he is free to be as vulnerable and open with us as he wants, while keeping his identity safely stored away. The Mask serves as the physical reminder of how much we are allowed to know about him, and in return, how far he can (or should) expose himself without compromising his true identity. By living as Vessel and forgetting himself, he is ironically free to bare his most fragile and imperfect parts of himself on display (much like how we're all infinitely more honest about our struggles behind a fake online name than in irl.)

(curiously, this seems to be a contradiction to Higher's second verse, which feeds into the idea that Sleep is not the protector Vessel sometimes claims Them to be - "With all that you believe / You still refuse to shelter me")

From the Room Bellow:

"I experienced a great deal of pain in my life, however I do not believe I have suffered as you have suffered. Perhaps that Is another reason why we are here. At the very least, we have all suffered."

Lore wise, we are told time and time again that Vessel is a "sacred guardian", a messenger, a weapon, a tool - a physical vessel - for Sleep and Their message. He is the answer to Sleep's necessity for connection with us. And for that to work, he willingly gives up his identity for Sleep. For us.

Mask: I don't believe you. I believe there is more to it than that. I believe you are afraid of something. Vessel: We are all afraid of something, are we not? Mask: What is it you are so afraid they will see? Vessel: That I am exactly like everyone else. ... Vessel: I think I am afraid of becoming you. Mask: What does that even mean? Vessel: My life is becoming gradually consumed by you. Before long, all that I am will be contained within you. Then, one day, when I no longer wish to wear you, there will be nothing else left.

"I am afraid, are you afraid? I want to understand what it is to let go." (Fall For Me)

At the end of the day, Vessel is just some guy - he fears, and aches, and bleeds the same as us. We're equals. But as Vessel, he can't allow himself to crack, to break the illusion. As Vessel (and to connect to the lore, as the vessel of a god), he poses as someone we can look up to, someone who's there to carry our pain for us, almost like a symbiotic relationship of sorts - we feed on each other's emotions and energies.

From the Room Bellow:

"To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. (...) My own path towards greater self acceptance is paved with the art that I create. It is a path I continue to stumble down at the expense of everything else."

Without getting too much into it, it seems Vessel/Sleep Token were created as a sort of coping mechanism to deal with whatever it is that He went through. And he seems to have achieved that - he escaped his former self and became "Vessel", someone who's allowed to cry and rage and let his feeling loose. Someone who receives praise and comfort for it, someone who is finally understood.

Except that somehow, that same safety the Mask offered him backfired. Because how can you tell what's you and what's not? It appears that the lines between Vessel vs. Him have blurred beyond recognition. Because "Nothing lasts forever", so once ST ends, and Vessel is no longer a necessity, who does he become? Can he go back to his old self? Is there even a self to go back to?

Do you ever believe that we can turn into different people? It's getting harder to be myself. Do you wish that you loved me? Could we ever release? Is it better to just not feel?

I think it's worth mentioning DYWTYLM. Usually when I listen to it, I just interpret as being about self-love/esteem, suicidal thoughts, insecurities, yada yada yada, BUT! I think it kinda fits this right?? Like a conversation between Vessel and Him, the guy behind the mask.

And really, if you think about it, I think this dialogue is the basis of what TMBTE is. It's Vessel facing all these different facets of himself, the past versions, the ugly sides, coming to terms with them and learning to move on. And in the end, we see he finally does realize, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that there is more to it, than he can "be someone new", even if it means he needs to shed and let go of past versions of himself.

(of course, this is putting aside the whole trilogy and the story we've been told about Sleep/Vessel/Whatever romantic entanglement he was involved in. i'm merely giving this some other meaning and choosing to look through a very specific lens. call it a parallel universe if you want)

It's him accepting that although there may not be a version of himself to come back to, his Eden so to speak, there is finally something more waiting for him. But I'll get more into it later.

Also worth mentioning, this part of conversation-

Mask : Do you think they want you to cry? Do you think they like it? Vessel : Not as such, I think they just want to know that I am feeling something, feeling what they are feeling, perhaps. Mask : Do you think that this amount of crying is healthy for you? Vessel: I don't know. But at least I feel something, if I don't feel anything than why would I even do this?

-seems to be directly co-related to those lines on DYWTYLM. He wonders if maybe would be better not to feel at all, as if really asking himself, "should I continue to live as Vessel?", because that is his/The Mask's function.

(I almost forgot to mention the "Smile back at me" / "I can only ever see them smiling. That's good, I want them to smile." co-relations, but you see where I'm going right?")

Mask: It seems you have forgotten who you are. Before you had me you were nothing. All of this artifice, all this pathetic conjecture about your identity, it is nothing but a manifestation of how short-sighted and solipsistic you have become. I lifted you from misery and obscurity. You would be better to become me. You are nothing without me. You always were nothing without me.

"I am nothing without this music. I am nothing without this mask." (Room Bellow)

Sleep is a dickhead. And there it is - another confirmation of what we all assumed, of what he has also told us many times before in different words. Vessel, or better yet, Him, struggles with imposter syndrome, and a part of him seems to believe his worth is exclusively tied to his ability to create music and perform. Because who matters is Vessel, not Him. The praise and adoration, the glory, belongs to solely Vessel (in-lore, to Sleep).

He does not matter. He is insignificant. He is nothing.

So it makes sense to see how much he wishes to be someone else. How dependent he on his Mask (on Sleep). He can't shed that new identity away, because somehow, it became is ONLY identity. And yet, he knows that one day that must happen. And from a creative/artist standpoint, when you expose yourself the way he does into your art, almost bleeding into it, if that outlet is taken away, you really are left with nothing.

(yall, read the poem "about the PEN conference" by Bukowski).

"The truth is, I am ugly, I am inadequate, I am lost. I am no God." (Fall For Me)

And can I just say, how incredibly heartbreaking it is to hear him talk about himself like that? I have so, so much love and respect for Ves, it's almost ridiculous to think he is only worth the weight of his mask. I would give him a million hugs if I could. Whether or not he still believes that, I hope he one day can look at himself the way we do, and be proud and happy of the amazing human that he is.

I also think that, and this is just me rambling, their sudden explosion to fame must've taken some sort of toll of sorts. It must be SUCH an amazing feeling to see this many people connect and dedicate themselves to something you created, to be able to read between the lines of you thoughts, but it must just equally as scary. Suddenly there's SO many eyes on you, demanding and picking apart every gesture. Viciously clawing at the mask for a glimpse of the fragile soul within. It must not be easy to cope - and this goes to everyone in Sleep Token. They have to deal with so much unfairness, it's disgusting.

Vessel: You. Are. Wrong. In the end, my fractured sense of self was only another piece of fuel for the fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us. They too are pained. They too not know who they truly are. They are each stood alone on a stage of their own. And yet, they are here. United by that sense of never truly belonging. They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now. To reflect their joy and to serve as a conduit for their anguish. To swallow their fear. To Worship.

"So for now let me serve as a living drama of your pain. If we are to be submerged then let us be submerged together." (Fall For Me)

And this is the part that really breaks me. He knows how much we need this, how much we rely on his music, on his words. He fights against his own claims that he has no value - he serves a purpose and that purpose is to serve the audience. Us. To take our struggles, our desires, and make it his own. To basically serve as a sacrifice for our well-being. To suffer, to feel together. To serve as a living drama of OUR pain.

"I will smile through the agony for you".

Because in the end, we're all equally broken. Because that's what the Mask is for, the anonymity, the mystery, the band - for us to "project ourselves" onto him, onto them. They are vessels, servants, worshippers of a god who shelters them; much like how we interact with their music, much like how Vessel thinks his purpose is for.

(and I could expand on this weird worshipper vs worshipee cycle, but i'm tired and i can't ramble on for too long. someone more clever than me feel free to expand)

(a post edit: peep that "fire that burns in the eyes of these people before us" vs "those eyes like fire, I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre" parallel. Vessel sacrificing himself to us, for us. Performing and being Vessel as something he cannot but feel compelled to do.)

From the Room Bellow:

"We are here to silently collect. To project ourselves onto one-another. We are here to remember. We are here to forget."

WHICH BRINGS US TO EUCLID.

No, by now The night belongs to you This bough has broken through I must be someone new

If we are to take the messages as a complement to the album, then this definitely marks the "shift" in Vessel's perspective. He CAN be more, and he NEEDS to be more. To be new.

The night does not belong to god - it belongs to US. To Him. Not just Vessel, but Him. Obviously this is all speculation, but it really feels like he's ready to let go of so many things, and move on. To renew himself, to stand up and fight. To finally "bite back". He doesn't seem to be completely changed, as there are things he still seems to hold on to (just listen to Euclid). But it´s different now. The "vicious cycle is over."

"They see something beyond their own bleak horizons. And they reach for it. Together. So let us join now."

Vessel seems to emphasize the "collectiveness" of what Sleep Token is and represents quite often. So in a way, it´s him saying "We´ve all suffered together, we've all experienced so many things together, so let us reach for something better as one. Let us all become new. You are not alone in this, and neither am I, so hold on to us and be happy."

WHICH IS!!!!! JUST!!!!!

I think this shift represents something important. My guess, like many others have said, is that Something Big is going to happen in/after Wembley. I don't know what, I don't know if it's truly the end of the road for ST, as many speculate, but something is definitely going to happen. Whatever it is, I hope this is a positive change for them, and specially Vessel, and I am just so so grateful to be part of this amazing community of ours.

(if you read the whole thing, I love you and thank you and I'm sorry. My brain was itching real bad and this had to be let out. Don't take this a proper analysis or whatever, this is me squeezing excess water off the old rag that is my mind)

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 9

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships

Jake sought out a secluded spot, a place where he could have a conversation without the risk of prying ears. The urgency gnawed at him, compelling him to dial your number even though he knew you should be off work by now. His need to hear your voice, to find solace in your presence, outweighed any hesitation.

"Hello?" You answered, the sound of your voice filtering through the phone's speaker, a lifeline in the chaos of his mind.

"Hey, chick," Jake greeted with a relieved smile. Work had been relentless, and he craved the comfort of your voice to ease his burdens. "Hey, Bagman, how's work?" you responded, your own voice a balm to his weary soul. Despite the constant texting, he longed for a genuine conversation with you.

"Stressful, as usual. And please, out of all things, don't call me Bagman," Jake chuckled, grateful for the banter amidst his exhaustion. "Did you book it?" You and Jake had discussed scheduling an appointment to check on the upcoming baby, a step towards ensuring everything was progressing smoothly.

"First of all, if you don't like Bagman, I think I gotta come up with something better, huh?" You teased. "But yes, I called this morning. We have an appointment on your Wednesday off next week at 11:35."

Jake's determination to be present for the baby stemmed from his own painful experiences with his absent father. He was determined to break the cycle, to be the supportive father he never had. Your proactive approach to scheduling the appointment touched him deeply, reaffirming his commitment to this new chapter.

"Chick, I gotta go. Still have a bit to finish up, but will I see you tonight? We could just... talk," Jake hesitated, unsure of your interest but hoping for a chance to connect outside of their usual encounters.

"Yeah, call me when you're ready. I'll come over," you replied, your affectionate tone warming his heart.

"Take care of yourself and our baby, chick," Jake bid farewell, the weight of responsibility mingling with tenderness in his voice.

"Bye, Jake," you responded, a mixture of fondness and exasperation evident in your tone.

Turning back towards the changing rooms, Jake took a moment to gather his thoughts. As he retrieved his helmet, he was confronted by Phoenix, her stern gaze piercing through him.

"Pho-" Jake began, but she cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Save it. You don't need to explain yourself to me. But for God's sakes, Jake! Bradley will kill you, and if you break that kid's heart, I'll with pleasure help Rooster finish you off."

The gravity of her words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of his actions. With a nod of acknowledgment, Jake steeled himself for the challenges ahead.

--

Opening the door, Jake was greeted by your presence, a small smile gracing your lips. Returning the gesture, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter.

As you slipped off your shoes and made yourself comfortable, Jake made his way to the kitchen, offering you a drink. "Wanna drink? I bought some ginger ale on the way home. I heard it helps with nausea," he suggested, his casual concern catching you off guard.

You stood there, momentarily stunned by his thoughtfulness. His gesture spoke volumes, reflecting a level of care that transcended your current arrangement. "You bought something for... me?" you asked, incredulous yet touched by his gesture.

"Yeah, I guess I did," Jake replied with a sheepish grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth.

"I'd really love some of it," you admitted, a soft smile tugging at your lips as he poured you a glass and fetched a beer for himself.

The simple act of sharing a drink felt significant, a tangible connection that belied the complexities of your situation. Despite the unconventional circumstances, you couldn't deny the bond forming between you.

"Chick, you free on Friday?" Jake's sudden question caught you off guard, his nervousness betraying a vulnerability rarely seen in him.

"Yeah, why?" you replied, curiosity piqued by his uncharacteristic demeanor.

His request hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. "Can I take you out. Properly this time?" Jake finally asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Like a date?" you ventured, your heart fluttering at the possibility.

"Only if you want to," Jake responded, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

"What if I do?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Then yeah. Just like a date," Jake affirmed, a smile of relief spreading across his face as he dared to hope for something more.

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