#be safe around chemicals

[sillybitchdisorder]

hey guys fun tip please wear a mask if ur cleaning w bleach/bleach based products

i accidentally inhaled a Lot of the fumes from it n now it feels like i have an Awful head cold n from the bit of research i did itll prolly be like this for like a week or two !! i feel like such shit !! runny nose, headache, sore throat, coughing, sneezing !!

please be careful when using cleaning chemicals cause i was not and i am facing the consequences of my own actions <3

[fishymedic]

Something, something he's always pulled into people's orbits but also- that he pulls people into his orbit too; how he comes across probably not so social (for survival in piltover) But as a previous street medic/the only one really; a huge part of that job is socializing with people- it's knowing a lot of people even if just by directing them to safety it's about community and the compassion.

In genuinely caring for people, means knowing & knowing about them especially in his case. It's if you mention a loved one he'll bring it up softly when you next cross paths. "Well let's get you back in mostly one piece to them, how about that?"

That he's always the first rushing in to help others/protect them and he never asks for anything in return. Never expects it returned but sometimes helping others builds a bond that gets them to help you out too. To trust you in the middle of a heated conflict or direct people your way.

[greaseonmymouth]

Greetings dearest Tumblr user greaseonmymouth. I recently saw your 'smelly bra washed in vinegar to remove smell' post. Borax works just as well. Throw some borax on top of your clothes in the washer and it takes smells out great. I use it on my white undershirts and heavy duty loads (socks, underwear, etc). If I forget something in the washer overnight, I know Borax will save me. It's a powder, like baking soda and it comes in a box. Assuming you're in the US, you can usually find it in the same aisle as detergent and stain removers. In the summer, I throw a little in my mopping water and general spray cleaner to deter ants. It's good stuff, cheap too.

Happy washing

Thank you but a) I’m not in the US and don’t know what borax is and b) I’ve already solved the smelly bra problem. with regular laundry detergent and hot water.

[sincerity--extreme]

What a day...🙃

[teaboot]

TOP 10 PERSONAL FAVE MOVIES TO WATCH WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE ASS

I don't like movies that stress me out because life is already stressful but I DO love catharsis comedy found family friendship fantasy and violence so here are my top 10 movies and series to have a good time watching

Numbered for convenience but not in any particular order

John Wick 1 and 2: An ordinary man grieving the loss of his wife gets dragged back into his past as a shadowy, invisible world of international killers for hire is slowly revealed to be living among us. A love note to set design, lighting, and choreography. My favourite part is fixating on the symbolism. DO NOT WATCH 3. 4 is okay. DO NOT WATCH 3. There is a dog death in 1 that will make you cry so skip that part if you have to. DO NOT WATCH 3.

The lord of the Rings, all 3, extended edition best watched if you're on the couch with the flu and expect to fall asleep OR if it's your day off and it's raining outside OR if you have like 5 people lounging around in pajamas

Six Underground: Essentially an hour and a half long car commercial music video with found family and a fresher take on acommon plot. Ryan Reynolds essentially writes and directs a Michael Bay movie where 6 independant criminals gather together to overthrow a violent foreign dictatorship. You show up for a dumb heist and walk out ready to build a guillotine. TW for violence, car crashes, chemical warfare, and genocide. A very cathartic ending. Does unfortunately do the whole "vague, impoverished middle-eastern country" thing but the citizens are actually show as human beings which is a nice change of pace and oh wow that's depressing isn't it

The Princess Diaries 1 and 2: A sort-of-a-loser teenage girl, played by a 2001 Annie Hathaway, learns that her late father was a king of a foreign nation and must become a confident and responsible leader for his people. There is a scene in the rain where you will experience emotions. Best watched with snacks. 2 features an enemies-to-lovers type deal with Chris Pine.

Ella Enchanted: A shrek-style semi-musical fantasy romance in which a young woman is cursed at birth to do everything anyone tells her to do. Features several Queen songs and dance numbers sung by Annie Hathaway and that guy who plays the sad dog guy in Hannibal.

Stardust: A huge loser travels from 1800s England (?) to a magical world in order to fetch a fallen star for the insufferable love of his life before she marries a massive douchebag. The huge loser? Charlie Cox. The star? A living person. Also a whole bunch of princes are ALSO looking for them as a race for the throne while discreetly killing each other off. And also a bunch of witches want to eat her so they can be young and sexy. 11/10. I used to watch this 10 minutes at a time on a YouTube channel that posted it in chunks filmed on a digital camera in their living room

The Last Holiday: Queen Latifah, playing someone played by Queen Latifah, has been working an underappreciated minimum wage job for years, living a safe and conservative life trying to lose weight and save money. Then she finds out she has months to live, and decides to finally quit her job and blow it all on one massive luxury holiday vacation complete with five-star dining, making friends and finding love and confidence along the way. It's definitely corny but it makes me so happy thank you Queen Latifah

Zathura: It's the plot to the original Jumanji but in space instead of the rainforest. But listen to me: There's a twist reveal at the end that you need to pretend isn't there. It is vitally important when you get to that part- and you will know what part when it happens- that you pretend it didn't. Otherwise, a fresh and enjoyable adventure for any age!

Redacted cause I haven't seen it in a long time and it may be worse than I remember, gotta rewatch

Bullet Train. You go in expecting a ham-fisted find-the-mcguffin style action comedy and are blindsided by excellent narrative symmetry and genuinely likeable characters. Fresh takes on old themes and creative action sequences. My little brother said "It's good", and he's a man who once sincerely argued that Lord of the Rings could have been better. It's fun and punchy violence with just enough smart stuff to not let your brain get bored

[bunjywunjy]

are humans the only mammals that can eat chocolat? what about reptiles (birds included)?

in general, mammals are the only vertebrate family that has even a few members that can safely process the toxin theobromine and eat chocolate!

these species are basically just humans and a large chunk of the rodent family tree and its relatives (one of these things is not like the others). nothing else can have chocolate though, not fish or birds or turtles or lizards. just these specific mammals.

and here they are together! awwww.

birds are even extra-susceptible to the toxin, meaning that even a very small amount will kill them stone dead!

theobromine is absolutely not messing around. it's a very potent explode-your-heart chemical and it evolved to PREVENT vertebrates from eating cacao seeds, because those are the cacao tree's children and plants show parental love through chemical warfare.

humans don't care, though. humans will eat your children.

so, yeah. this is just another case of humans specifically being very weird.

and that's wonderful.

[parfaitblogs]

making the bed ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night crumbles around you, and spencer is happy to pick up the pieces. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort  tags: established relationship. (prior) alcohol consumption. reader is semi-drunk (but sobers up). post drinking depression. healthy alcohol information/discussion 🫡 word count: 2.1k a/n: do not read too much into this for you will begin to question why i still enjoy going clubbing. (joke...) 😄 plsss tell me if u liked this or even if u didnt thank u i love uuuuuu

Alcohol is a depressant. 

You remembered the God awful lecture your boyfriend had given you when you woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of existential dread, and nothing to pin it to. A ramble about how alcohol can temporarily increase the body's production of dopamine and serotonin when entering, causing a worse crash of both chemicals when it leaves. Leaving you, evidently, depressed and anxious after a big night. 

You knew that. 

You also knew how quick you were to seclude within your mind when you were with people. Too many drinks and not enough social interaction tended to lead to your own isolation, sitting on the outer edge of the booth, absentmindedly playing with the charm on the end of your phone. 

The room no longer spun the way it had an hour ago. You missed when it spun. When it spun, you weren't thinking about how little you had to contribute to the conversations your friends were having. You weren't tallying up how many drinks you had already drank, then falling flat when you realised you couldn't remember, and that was a thought more horrifying than knowing it was over ten. You were fun, when the room was a carousel. 

Now, it's simply overwhelming. Loud chattering from both your table, and the surrounding ones. Clinking of glasses at the bar. A sports game on the television across the room. Balls on a pool table being dispersed for the first time in a game. Dancing feet. Music. People. So many fucking people.

Your phone buzzes against the table, and you pick it up before any of your friends could turn their heads to see where the vibrations were coming from. You figured they were too drunk to conclude it was you, anyways. Or to care. 

Spencer had texted you fifteen minutes ago to check in on you, and though it wasn't long ago, you not responding immediately in a flurry of half strung together sentences and emojis was worrying for him. That was probably why his name was now lighting up your screen, a funny photo of him mid-bite of an ice cream as his contact photo, enlarged. 

You hadn't responded for no reason other than the fact that you had no will to. Which should've been a big enough red flag to yourself that you should text him, and you should ask if he can pick you up. Thankfully, he loved to prove how well he could read you, and he was calling you anyways. 

"Hi," you mumble into the phone, angling your body away from your friends, hand held up to your other ear to block out some of the noise the best you could. 

"Hi," he parrots back to you. "You okay?"

An automatic yes manifests on your tongue, but you're quick enough to keep it to yourself before you can lie to him. Instead, you let out a quiet, "No."

He seems to have expected that answer, for he leaves no silence in between your admission and his response. "What can I do to help?" He also seems to be expecting your hesitance at asking him for anything that would require him to move, because he adds, "I can pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yes. Please?"

"I'm already leaving," he tells you, and you can hear his shoes against the wooden floor of his apartment to confirm that. "Did something happen? Are you safe?"

"No, nothing happened. I'm safe," you reassure him. "I started feeling sick so I stopped drinking an hour ago. Now I'm just sad."

"You remember what I told you about it being a depressant?"

"Vividly," you mutter, and while it isn't meant to be funny, you hear him huff a short laugh anyways. It makes you feel a little better. 

"It's important to know," he defends. "I'm sorry I shared important information with you."

"Mm."

Your lack of a verbal response was expected, but he still hated the sound of it regardless. You heard him sigh. "I have to hang up now. I'll be there in forty minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

No matter how much time had passed, your head lifted every time the door — that your group was so conveniently close to — opened, letting in a rush of cool air and sobering you up with every hit of it. 

True to his word, Spencer was entering the bar after forty minutes, face scrunching up at the sudden onslaught of noises and visual stimuli. Same boat as you, only he had not a drop of alcohol in his body. At least you weren't crazy about it being overstimulating. 

"This is why I don't go to bars," he says once he's approached your booth, and you had stood up next to you, his hand finding an automatic place on your waist. 

"It's usually not this bad," you tell him, but he decides not to ask you anything else upon hearing just how exhausted your voice sounds. You're grateful for that.

The goodbye to your friends is quick, Spencer rattling off a lie about him needing you home for he had work early the next morning, and you only had one key to the apartment. Even the friends who knew that wasn't the case didn't comment on it, and you made a pointless mental note to thank them for it later. You knew you wouldn't. 

The drive home was even faster. Silence, aside from the rush of the wind from your slightly cracked window as Spencer drove, that helped the sick feeling in your stomach from the alcohol you had consumed. 

It didn't seem to help the hollowness of your chest, though.

You weren't sure if anything would, really. A chemical imbalance in your brain — even one as temporary as the deflation from being drunk — was hard to fix without medication. It would go away, yes. But then you would make the mistake of drinking once more, and you would find yourself back in this brain peeling predicament. 

You showered alone. Despite Spencer's offer to join you, and your own personal desire for him to be there with you. It didn't help your fogged mind at all, and you were exiting the bathroom feeling like you had retreated further into your bones. Every movement felt clunky, your skin a heavy coat to your skeleton, restricting your movement down to short shuffles and barely lifted arm movements. 

He was reading when you reentered your bedroom, and you've never seen him put a book and his glasses back on his bedside table faster. He looked visibly tired. Keeping himself awake a seemingly difficult struggle, that you could feel your body heading towards to as well. 

"Hey," he says as you climb into the bed, and he's very patient as you figure out what position you want your bodies in. Head on his chest, but next to him, you had decided on, and his fingers entangled into your hair.

"Hi," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, counting brush strokes of the paint, as if it were possible to.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You huff at the phrase, tilting your head upwards so your eyes could land on him. "Do you have a penny?"

He pauses, then angles his head closer towards yours. "Okay, kiss for your thoughts?"

"That'll just distract me."

"Is that what you want?"

You should say no. Arguably the last thing you should be doing when you're sad is let intimacy with your boyfriend distract you. But then again, you're not the best advocate for healthy coping mechanisms anyways. 

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he muses, and his lips brush against yours. Your heart flutters. 

"I don't really know what I want," you settle on telling him, honestly. "I want my brain to shut up."

His body deflates beneath you, and you feel guilt chip away up your spine at the killing of the less depressing atmosphere. 

"Sorry," you mumble.

"No. It's good. Be honest with me," he reassures you, quietly. His fingers tap at your scalp, "What's going on up here?"

"I'll cry if I try to verbalise it."

"Crying's good for you, you know," he hums.

"I'm pretty sure I still have eyeliner in my waterline. I'll just stain your sheets," you retort. 

"Yeah, probably. That's fine."

You're silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts in your brain the best you could despite yourself, before you sit up, his hand dropping to the bed beside you.

"I just don't like being... here? Out? I don't know. I'm just really sick of being sad every time I drink. Is there something wrong with me? Did you get sad whenever you drank? Everyone else I know loves going out for drinks because they have fun and they're giggly drunks, or they're clingy drunks. And if I drink too much then I'm a fucking sad drunk, and I'm the only person I know that gets that way. I want to be normal."

He's silent your entire rant, and then some, waiting for your heaving chest to slow, having caught the few tears that slipped down your cheeks. You were grateful — you needed that time.

He reaches a hand out, and you let him tug you back down to the bed, slotting your body atop his own, just so he could see you properly. 

"To answer your question, no, I didn't get sad when I drank," he says, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hands rest on either side of your face. "But I wasn't really happy, either. I just talked more."

"You already talk a lot."

His lips twitch. "I do. Double whatever you think my worst is, and that was me drunk. Focus on the part where I said I wasn't a happy drunk, please."

"But you weren't sad. So there is something wrong with me."

"No, there's not. Alcohol is a depressant," he punctuates his words with a kiss to your nose, which you gratefully accept despite your emotions. "Are you willing to give up alcohol as a whole?" 

"My friends will think I'm boring, then."

He hesitates in his response, but ultimately settles on asking, "Do you think I'm boring because I don't drink?"

"No. Obviously not. And you have a real reason for not drinking, so—"

"—and being sad isn't a real reason to not drink?"

Taken aback by his sudden sternness, you go quiet, breath hitching within your throat. He was right, ultimately. No reason is reason enough. You knew that. 

Sensing your discomfort at his tone, he expels a breath of air and lowers his hands down to your hips. His voice drops to something a little less harsh, as he murmurs, "You are allowed to not want to drink alcohol if you don't like the way it makes you feel. If your friends think you're boring for that, then they're not worth it."

You silently nod your head, beginning to curse your emotional regulators. For while you had kept your tears at bay for the vast majority of this conversation, it seemed all it took was the gentle rubbing of circles onto your hip bones, and a fact checked piece of life advice from your boyfriend to make you cry. 

"Sorry," you sniffle, dropping your head to the crook of his neck to hide your newly tear stricken face. 

"Crying's good for you," he repeats his earlier words, and feels you nod your head. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'd encourage you not to, actually. You're technically still intoxicated."

"I'm sober," you protest, weakly. 

"Okay, honey." He's only agreeing with you to wane any further argument. "I don't think your friends will think you're boring, though, if that's any help."

"I don't think they will either."

He nods his head, and you're relaxing against him a little more. 

"Are you just trying to not be the only loser who doesn't drink?" you mumble, voice muffled by his skin.

"You've caught me."

He relishes in the laugh that leaves your lips, and he places the gentlest of kisses on the side of your head, which prompts you to lift it to look at him again. 

"You're not a loser for not drinking," you say, and his lips pull into a smile. 

He leans his head up, brushing his lips against yours, despite the mix of mint toothpaste and alcohol on your tongue. "I know. You wouldn't be either."

"I know."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[rapplesart]

Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

[azzayofchaos]

Since my other Nether worldbuilding post was received pretty well... I'm back on my bullshit!

This time featuring zoning and biomes of the Neath: Lore below cut

Nether (noun): the formidable hellscape straddling the boundery between the Fragments of the Overworld and Death's Realms.

Derived from Beneath -> Neath -> Neth -> Nether.

The Nether is most easily accessable through outer regions of the nether, regions that are comparatively closed-off, and lacking in biodiversity compared to the Deep Nether where most Neath civilizations are centered.

The Neth is divided into three primary zones, distinguished by altitude and general climates.

The Calfactory Zone: the largest and most iconic of the three, the Calfactory zone is blisteringly hot and bone-dry, it's most prominent features are its abundant seas and lakes of magma, and the massive Supermagmas atriums that are common above the magma. In the largest of these atriums, the ceiling may be so high above as to be completely invisible from the ground, obscured by an ever present smog of toxic vapor and minerals formed in the self-generated micro-climates that are generated from the rising heat of the lava that begins to cool at a higher altitude.  

In the Basalt Deltas and other biomes around the edges of these lakes, massive pillars of rock and crystals bulwark the more-visible ceiling. 

The most common of this zone’s biomes is the Crimson woods, home to hearty thermal-philic fungi and plants that grow on the minerals and vapors of the lakes. Many are carnivorous in their lack of access to water or sunlight, and these forests contain many sub-biomes and ecosystems of flourishing life. 

The Wastes are perhaps the most desolate regions of the Neath, irradiated deserts of red-rock, brimstone, and sharp sand. Even the vast majority of nether-folk avoid these deserts due to the leftover radiation that rots and destroys anything that waits too long. The only forms of life are particularly robust lichens and bacteria that are happy to sit by the boiling pools of sulfur and mud and toxic sludge that dot the landscape. Growing within the rocks themselves are colonies of amorphous fungus, called geocorpus molds, they get their spores into cracks in the soft netherack and slowly feed on it; the ‘rock meat’ is considered a delicacy in nether cuisine. 

The Temperate Zone: Cradled in the heights of the Neath’s atriums and sat below the roof is the temperate zones; the rising heat of the zone below begins to cool and by doing so, distinct weather patterns form within this zone, leaving it, while still sweltering, a cooler though much more humid climate.

The main biome are the luminescent warped-fungal rainforests that collect the high-rising minerals and odd moisture from the lakes. Liquid is actually present here, though, if it’s not safely filtered through the innards of the various plants and fungi, this water is usually aggressively corrosive, and it is best to shelter from the acidic precipitation to avoid chemical burns. The nether folk and ender local to these rainforests are suited to deal with these conditions and the ender especially do not have trouble with the extreme pH of the water here like they would in the overworld. The zone is lit almost exclusively by the biolumincense of the organisms there and have often been described as false-stars.

In the Deep Nether, the ceiling may give way, allowing one to pass onto the plateaus of the Nether Roof and the yawning void above. The bedrock of the nether roof is jagged and layered in huge slabs, sometimes broken up my mazes of pillar-like structures and shallow, thermal pools of crystal-clear liquid. The kind you don't want to touch of course. fogs may hang low to the ground, but when its clear, or above the fog, the entire universe seems to spill out into the sky. The nether roof was culturally significant and a source of much knowledge and inspiration in the early days, but I'll get more into that in a later post 0.0

The Rime Zone: Plunge deep enough and one might find themselves bellow the lava beds. Here, where the heat can't quite penetrate, the temperatures will drop rapidly to sub-zero.

Namely, the Rime Zone is made up of the soul valleys, flat steppes of cinder and clotted sand, you can imagine it almost with the blindness effect, a fog that pools by your feet, and a heavier darkness hanging from the sky, it feels massive and endless and claustrophobic all at once. Frost collects as crystals on the irradiated, soul-soaked barrens, and the bones of the massive nether wyrms lie fossilized, breaking up the landscape. The sands are also split with patches of crazing on the ground and vents of blue fire that spills out and sets the sand ablaze.

These same wryms can be found sometimes, ancient things that dig through sand and soft rocks and the magma lakes, far and few between and treated with both fear and reverence.

And in the deepest pits of the Neath are the glowing frozen lakes that are colloquially and rightfully called the Gates to Death, glowing blue from beneath their surfaces. Indeed, any further down and you pass into limbo, the edge of Death's Realms.

Extra Notes??:

Soul sand/soil is tread on carefully or not at all, is one form of remnants from the apocolyspe. Like the general radiated rubble present through the Nether, it's a fault of nuclear fallout. Unlike other areas of radiation, its also been infused with the souls of those who didn't survive the joining of worlds. That said, unlike soul sand, soul soil is used productively to grow certain nether crops. It’s minerally and magically dense.

This infused quality is also precent in Nether Debris, resulting in a material that takes magic particularly well.

Iron cannot be found in dense veins and crystals like gold or quartz in the nether, but it's a pretty rich mineral a lot of netherack, giving it its ruddy coloring.

Sorry for this massive rant that no one asked for. If you have questions please feel free to send an ask, I may not have an answer yet but I'll certainly come up with one if I can.

I'm also hoping to do a pass on my headcanons about history and culture in the Nether and then we might start talking about character headcanons since this is also an actual AU.

If you read this far, here's some notes on striders and ghast

[malleleothreesome]

Azul Ashengrotto x afab Reader - Aphrodisiac + Breeding

💜 summary: After an alchemy accident, you and Azul end up covered in an aphrodisiac potion ༶༶༶ 💜 warnings: afab reader, smut, LOTS OF BREEDING KINK, pregnancy mention, porn with plot??? ༶༶༶ 💜 word count: 8.4k words I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED ༶༶༶ 💜 song: Vapor - 5 Seconds of Summer "I wanna feel you in my veins I want to breathe you in like a vapor I want to be the one you remember I want to feel your love like the weather, all over me" ༶༶༶ 💜 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

As a magicless human, Alchemy had always been your favorite class at Night Raven College. Despite lacking an innate aptitude for spell-casting, mixing and crafting potions was an artform that didn't require magic in order to bring spectacular effects into the world. Alchemy classes provided a refuge—a safe space with no barrier for entry where you could excel instead of feeling singled out for being an oddity in a sea of talented mages. You relished in the opportunity to learn about new components and elements, excitedly observing as volatile chemicals bubbled in heated pots to produce glowing, glittery pastes.

Much to your suspicion, Azul had always been particularly enthused to help you with potions, boasting how he was the most adept in the class due to his academic proficiencies, and that he was certain you'd find success with his aid. He took special interest in mentoring you, watching your delicate, nimble movements as you worked, walking you through procedures and detailed steps, and speaking knowledgeably about the ingredients in a tone that oozed expertise. His tutelage had helped you reach impressive grades on even the most challenging assignments. It wasn’t long before you found yourself spellbound by his charming intellect, deceivingly sweet demeanor, and the addictively intense gaze of his unique blue eyes.

There was always a subtle mischief hidden behind the smiling eyes and the easy charisma that suggested an ulterior motive lurking beneath his silver-tongue. Based on your observations of his interactions with other students, you assumed this was a ploy in hopes that if you had taste of the sweet, intoxicating elixir of power and success, you'd become desperate for more of his help, consequentially making you subservient and open to the idea of contracting yourself to him. In defiance of your paranoia that his motivations are not entirely altruistic, you did always feel an odd prickle in the air when he stood right behind you to monitor your actions. That sensation, a fiery buzz that hummed in your lower abdomen, always gave your heart flutters and kept you on edge as Azul's calm breaths ghosted against your hair and sent ripples of warm pleasure tingling through you. Your breath hitched in your throat as his large, gloved palms gently guided you through your motions, brushing over the bare skin on your knuckles or arms, leaving electric jolts where you felt his warmth. He smelled crisp like ocean breeze, an inviting fragrance that enveloped your mind and wrenched you out of reality and into his heady fantasy—a scene in which all you can taste are the thick, sweet notes of his dark intentions, and all you could do was choke on his cloying, dominating allure. He didn't ask permission to touch you or indicate an appropriate method to teach—no, his hands simply snaked around your waist and ran along your curves, slowly learning the feeling of your soft flesh through his gloves. Each time, you couldn't help but sink a little closer to his chest, instinctively chasing the seductive ambience radiating off of him, drowning in his captivating presence as though he was the tide pulling you under. There was no denying it—you wanted more of him.

Today's lab was no different, the air was tense and thick with charged attraction, filled with sexual tension so palpable it could be cut with a knife. The assignment was to experimentally combine various liquids, mixing and adjusting for better consistency, until you found a formula to concoct a viable, bountiful healing potion that would greatly ease the effects of injury. This assignment was a notoriously difficult, energy-draining procedure that required extreme vigilance to avoid an adverse chemical reaction that would result in a completely different type of potion, although Crewel didn’t elaborate on the exact details. After carefully pouring two compounds—one a milky white, and the other a vivid magenta—into a tall, cylindrical flask, Azul cautiously peered over your shoulder to check your concoction's progress as you stirred them. With one arm outstretched against the table to secure a good vantage point, he rested his other on your waist and leaned in closer as he studied the bubbling pink mixture. After adding an infusion of ground powder, a burst of sparkles clouded the interior of the flask, a telltale sign you were on the right track. This is the portion of the experiment where you needed to take extra caution to mix the elements together in perfect precision without faltering or taking your eyes away from your project, a delicate operation requiring the utmost concentration. Suddenly, Grim barges in and jumps on the lab station in excitement, yapping about how he wants to help, despite you and Azul explaining multiple times he has a proven history of destroying your projects.

The moment the little cat-monster attempts to extend his claws into your precious potion, Azul reacts automatically with surprising speed, his hands fly in a frenzy to scoop Grim away from your chemistry equipment. "Get off that this instant, Grim! You have no business here! Get your little paws out of that glassware this instant before you ruin another assignment! Do not interrupt us! Get away from there immediately!" Azul scolds him repeatedly while chasing him around the room, attempting to steer him to the door. "Why you foolish beast! You're far more of a liability than an asset! This experiment requires extreme care and concentration to avoid failure—a common result of your erratic, clumsy behavior!" His expression hardens with anger, eyebrows drawing into a line as Grim hisses defiantly. The little monster still hasn't relented, his hind legs clumsily scrabbling and slipping in Azul's grip as he tries desperately to cling onto the edge of the lab table, hoping for a quick paw-hold. A heavy, frustrated sigh escapes Azul's nostrils, his face morphing into one of desperation, pleading with the troublesome cat-creature to just leave you to focus your project in peace.

"How very annoying... To think he would willingly place himself in danger without even stopping to consider the consequences... what a foolish and irresponsible creature," he exhales irritably, struggling to wrestle Grim from his precarious position as his composure begins to slip, agitation creeping through his voice and shattering his typical polished and suave illusion of unflappable equanimity. He continues to scold Grim as he chases him around your station, gritting his teeth and losing his cool as the monster's cries of distress and denial ring through the entire room. Grim is an unrelenting little bastard who won't quit squirming. There isn't the slightest semblance of remorse or pity on his stupid, feline face, and Azul feels his resolve crack as he becomes utterly fed up with this spoiled brat's behavior. Grim continues to kick and howl his way through Azul's grip, determined to aid with your Alchemy project, but his clumsy movements start causing your potion to bubble and ripple in an unsettling manner. You shriek his name, begging him to just settle the hell down and be a team player.

It happens in a matter of seconds—a fizzling sound grabs your attention. You turn back around quickly and notice your reaction beginning to froth violently. Your eyes widen in horror and your mouth drops in disbelief. Azul notices your fear-wide eyes and immediately stops his futile efforts to reprimand Grim. In an instant, his gaze reflects the alarm in yours and the blood drains from his already pale cheeks. Grim runs out in a screaming huff as he exits in a frenzied flurry, knowing when to take a hint and make a clean getaway. At this point, the compound is pouring heavily from the top of the flask, spewing out onto the heating device and coating the table below. The chemical reaction is completely beyond your control now, its speed increasing exponentially, bubbling and exploding, kicking out thick, unmanageable clouds of murky pink and purple fumes. Within seconds, it covers the lab tables in an almost misty haze as you choke and sputter in a coughing fit, Azul gasping and choking right alongside you, panic flashing across his face. An eerie glow seeps through the thick liquid as a swirling mist appears from inside the glass. Without warning, it erupts directly toward the two of you before either of you have time to take cover—shattering the flask and showering the fronts of your faces and bodies in its noxious, intoxicating fluids. Both you and Azul choke out muffled yells and groans, the sticky, glittering mixture clinging to the fabric of your clothes and the exposed skin on your faces.

The next thing either of you register is Crewel's obnoxious bark as he spits out sharp commands to open the windows and clear out all the air from the room. Coughing, you gasp for fresh oxygen, suddenly becoming very aware of how fast your heart is racing. It thumps so hard and so forcefully inside of your ribcage that the noise reverberates loudly in your ears, overwhelming your senses. However, no amount of labored inhaling can free you from the toxic, vaporous gas; every molecule in your lungs has already been bombarded and completely overcome by the potion’s effects. As its intoxication takes hold of you, a wicked fever seems to roar within you, followed by a horribly slow heat that makes your limbs ache. Every orifice of your body is saturated by the miasma—liquid slips between your lips, gushing down the front of your body to coat your exposed neck and chest. You taste the surprisingly sweet potion on the inside of your mouth; its taste lingers sweet and tacky on the flat of your tongue, coating your throat. You'd panic that you just consumed some horrific cocktail with traces of corrosion or stomach-rotting acid, if it weren't for the fact that Crewel seems more frustrated than concerned for your well-being. Rather than damaging you, whatever substance was expelled seems to be having quite the opposite effect; you feel your body becoming more energetic, your head becoming lighter, and a bubbling rush of warmth seems to radiate all over from the inside out, changing your physiology into a fertile garden in need of sowing. Adrenaline rushes through you and awakens your basal instincts, forcing you to acknowledge every excruciating detail of your body in an erotic manner. Arousal slithers through your veins like venom, poisoning all remaining thoughts and rationality, as a throbbing, almost blinding wave of pleasure overtakes your body. You become intensely, achingly aware of your physical needs, and all those needs center upon an impassioned desire to be filled, stretched, and seeded full—the frantic urge to be bred nearly splits you in half and makes your lower belly cramp in a hot flash of want. For a second, you hear Azul stutter something to you, his voice wavering on the verge of cracking with the desire that the aphrodisiac had triggered. You lock eyes with Azul, pupils blown wide as lust makes his oceanic gaze shimmer. The front of his slacks have grown embarrassingly tight with the straining girth of his aroused cock. You meet his clouded eyes, almost embarrassed by your wanton thoughts and the desperate throbbing between your thighs.

It is only a split second of recognition, a blurry, sweaty haze of unfathomable passion, before your shared moment is interrupted. Crewel shouts at you to look him in the eyes, snapping you out of your sexual frenzy, even if only for a split second. He stares at you, his gray-streaked hair framing the contoured features of his face as he cocks an eyebrow. The elder gives your flushed skin and trembling body a once-over.

"Just as I thought. It's a dopamine-based aphrodisiac. At least nothing fatal or life threatening, but enough to send you both into a delirious, euphoric-fueled rut," he assesses calmly, unfazed. "What's more, the way the explosion altered the structure of the compound has made its properties even more potent and uncontrollable. In terms you incompetent pups will understand, we're past the stage of antidote or reprieve, and you both have mere moments before the hormones will reach maximum capacity and you two will need to find some private location to release the effects..." He trails off. From his expression, you can tell there is more he would like to add to the situation, yet a worrisome crinkle furrows his brow as his eyes remain on Azul, as though assessing whether the situation is really as under control as he wishes. "Both of you bad dogs listen carefully. Do not even dare to even breathe a word of what transpired here—you are to wait in isolation for five to eight hours until its effects wear off. Under no circumstances should you share physical contact with anyone else for the remainder of the day." He holds Azul's gaze longer than necessary, silently threatening him not to take advantage of this situation—but Azul seems far too caught up in the spell and too infatuated by the burning image of you, sweating, panting, and splayed before him.

"Should anyone at all realize that the two of you have taken any sort of love potion or been afflicted in this manner, it could create a massive scandal, and I'll punish you both so mercilessly for causing such an indiscretion, you'll be licking my boots in front of the entire school!" his deep voice booms in threat. "Have I made myself understood, dear pets?" Crewel snaps, the sting of his whip making both you and Azul wince and nod profusely. He leads you and Azul to the decontamination area of the lab, ushering you two into separate stalls so you can change into fresh, dry garments and wipe off the evidence of the explosion from the potion. When you both emerge, it takes Crewel less than a second to glance from the massive bulge straining against Azul's clothing, to where your heaving, quivering chest is spilling over the low neckline, your nipples hard and pressing obscenely through the thin fabric. He glares down his nose at the two of you in distaste.

"Five to eight hours," he hisses, eyes narrowing, almost sizing you and Azul up like he's waiting for one of you to give in to the pressure of the aphrodisiac. He throws open a back door, gesturing for you and Azul to disappear. Azul leaves first, a flushed, jumbled mess of conflicting emotions that are only intensified as he can feel every agonizing beat of his aroused heart pulse in the heat of his hard dick. You follow closely behind, but before you can cross the doorway, Crewel shoots his hand out to grip you by the upper arm, turning you to him as he towers over you, giving you an intense glare before sighing and pulling a small vial of bluish, iridescent potion from his bag and thrusting it into your hands.

"Since I know you won't be able to resist such a delectable temptation from that damn fishy bastard," his words drip with annoyance as he continues, "at least be safe, Pup. Go have a nice screw if that's what you really desire. The serum I just gave you is a contraceptive—just one sip and you will have full reproductive control, in case Azul isn't a decent man about his desires." You blink up at him in utter bewilderment. "Under no circumstances will I allow my star pupils to fall prey to the temptations and consequences of unprotected intimacy in the midst of this reckless hormone rush... I can't allow something like this to affect you or your ambitions. My students can only go to greater places." You feel his eyes burning with concern as he brushes your cheek, sending you a warning in his eyes and urging you to please think it through and consider it. "You are interested in Azul, are you not? I won't allow you to get involved in anything you don't consent to. If you don't feel safe, I can escort you straight to Ramshackle dorm and I will handle Ashengrotto myself." His stare, once cold and imposing, is now warm with protective care, as he looks you up and down with a gentle softness you didn't expect from your professor. The paternalistic expression on his face strikes your soul and pulls on your heartstrings a bit. After all, it's the type of support you feared was lost to you once you found yourself trapped in Twisted Wonderland with no hope of ever seeing your family again. With all the gentleness of a father, he squeezes your shoulder and gazes deeply into your eyes. You assure him that it's okay, you trust Azul. Nodding, your professor finally allows you passage out the door.

You had barely made it beyond the courtyard doors before Azul approached you with a sickly sweet, almost giddy look on his face. His steel-blue irises burned bright with anticipation, accompanied by a hint of something dark and salacious flickering in the shadows. The corners of his lips pulled taut, curling upward in a devious smile. A tremulous shudder passed through you and prickled up your spine at the thought of those hypnotizing eyes studying you while you lay enraptured beneath him, completely at his mercy. As he takes a few tentative steps toward you, his right hand glides and rests softly on your hip, making you gasp with surprise, your heartbeat fluttering and pounding deafeningly in your ears. Azul leans close to your ear, his breath coming out in hot, rapid pants, a carnal excitement that threatens to spill over and devour you whole. You swallow in nervous expectation, hardly daring to look into his lustful gaze. With his elegant index finger, he lifts your chin up and you are left gasping and flushed beneath him, lips parted to beg him for more as his gentle caress lingers. He flashes a devilishly handsome smile before tracing your lower lip with a seductive slowness. "Please, allow me to escort you back to Octavinelle where I can properly tend to you and your condition," the breathiness of his voice and his lack of composure cause your clit to throb, your inner walls pulsating, pleading to be stretched and ravaged. His lecherous advances and insinuations combined with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins is making you so aroused, even standing close to him is threatening to make you cum. The very fabric of his essence seems to burn a shade darker—there is a terrifying intensity to his ardent desire for you, yet also a rawness and exposure you hadn't seen on his usually suave and polished facade.

Your whole body flushes when your gaze lands upon the size of his aching erection, an impressive tent straining tightly against his immaculate slacks, begging for attention through the dark material of his trousers. There is a manic, primal gleam that's spreading rapidly across his entire visage; he looks rabid with uncontainable greed, and you shudder at the thought that Azul will use your body to satisfy his own dark and twisted curiosities. "Please... It's the least I could do. After all, our most unfortunate situation is all due to my own recklessness," Azul pleads. His tone of voice is unwaveringly convincing in its sweet charm, yet you cannot escape the licentious twinkle that betrays his intentions, eyes ablaze with passion and lips quivering at the thought of making you his forever.

"Please... Just let me serve you and tend to your every whim," he begs. Even though the tone of his voice suggests innocence, you're reminded once more that Azul Ashengrotto believes the true intent in a plea is only to benefit his own ambitions—how ironic, then, that you find yourself overwhelmed with the desire to listen to the velvety cadence of his whispered sweet-nothings until you orgasm multiple times around the girth of his hard dick. Before you can speak, he reaches out and threads his fingers between your own. It was impossible to say no to the lilting honey of his tone, nor was there any will to fight as his firm and commanding hands ushered you towards the teleportation door. He practically pulls you into the mirror with him, and with a twinkly, delighted laugh, his covetous hand grasps you harder than ever as the portal draws closer, his eyes and touch almost reverential—eager, desperate, craving. The surface of the mirror swallows both of you up as the shadows distort the edges of your vision. The whole world spins around you both before the smell of the sea overwhelms your senses—the crispness of ocean air fills your lungs, and a feeling of cool relief washes over your flushed skin. In seconds, Azul is shoving you into an elevator and hitting the button to his suite. When the metal doors slide open, he gently shuffles you forward as he urges your body closer and closer toward his bedroom.

After his dorm door slams shut, your bodies mindlessly work to free the other's of their pesky and offending clothing, eager and restless fingers tearing and ripping at each article as though your lives depended on it. As each piece of clothing is discarded on the floor, new heated skin presses desperately into another as your erotic moans reverberate through the air. It feels electric, the way your sensitive, exposed bodies seek each other out, pawing and grasping at any available flesh and kissing any naked skin you can reach. Your hot, yearning mouth hungrily seeks Azul's for an urgent, feverish kiss—it is sloppy, desperate, almost savage as you share the intensity of your lusty feelings, gasping into each other's mouths, sucking, nibbling, tasting the sweet and sticky aphrodisiac concoction still lingering on both of your tongues. When Azul finally sheds his trousers, his painfully erect member juts out, throbbing and eager, bouncing happily and proudly as it quivers with eagerness. His knees weaken at the sudden release of the tension he'd suffered since the accident, the air a bit brisk against the heat of his erection, which begs to nestle itself securely into an inviting heat and fill your womb with the lusty seed it desires to spurt forth. His cock is ruddy and reddened, and his sack hangs swollen and tight with pent-up pressure. He doesn't think it possible for it to throb and swell even larger, yet its angry head and veins grow dark and twitch from his hot blood pumping. His hand mindlessly falls to his cock, and at the first stroke to his aching member, a needy whine catches in his throat. There is no time for shyness or apprehension. Whatever spell you were both under was driving you forward—like two planets caught in the gravity of an irresistible force, each gravitationally pulled toward the other with no means to stop. The rational part of his brain has been overwhelmed by an urgent instinct. Azul knows without a shadow of doubt that the only cure for this overwhelming haze of sexual depravity is to thrust himself deep inside the hot, velvety cunt of his precious lab partner.

Next thing you knew, you were pushed roughly, falling backwards before connecting against the smooth, luxurious blankets covering his mattress. He follows eagerly, letting his entire weight drop against your form and trapping your supple body beneath his. It was then, right then, when Azul found that the feeling of his aroused cock pressing against your thigh was unbelievably divine—a warm and pleasant tingling sensation spreading all over his hot, hard shaft and emanating out from his loins. With a contented hum, Azul can't resist the urge to buck his hips against your warm skin, stroking his arousal a little further, groaning at the exquisite friction. What a delicious sight you are—all nude and aroused—splayed and exposed across his bed. The effects of the potion have left you looking thoroughly wrecked, legs open, dripping and hot with an aroma so alluring, it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. You are positively lovely, just as he'd always dreamed, with your petals unfurled and beckoning, enticing him further and drawing him in as your soft moans coaxed his cock in closer. To see you writhing and panting, the flush of your skin as you burned with longing for him...it was exactly as he'd always wanted it, almost as though someone had crafted the perfect image just to fulfill his darkest wishes. A surge of erotic fantasy comes upon him, and Azul's breath hitches in his throat as he ponders, briefly, about your womb filled with his seed, his beautiful angelfish round with child. He wants nothing more than to unceremoniously bury himself as deep within as he can, to push his thick, pulsating shaft as far as you could manage and stay buried to the hilt for days. His body quivers with excitement as a particularly vulgar dream reenters his mind. He had longed, always, to possess a most lascivious power over you—the power to make you writhe and squirm in bliss, and more importantly, in total and unbreakable dependence and submission for him—the neediest, sluttiest mess imaginable. Perhaps he'd have to thank Grim later for consequentially bringing about this fortunate chain of events.

Azul begins stroking himself fully, unabashed in his view of the sight before him. You don't protest the show. In fact, a high pitched, whimpery moan escapes you as you bite into your thumb to stifle the volume, but the sound is not missed, the harsh pang in his cock proof enough. After some thought, he realizes that he much preferred when you had been writhing and moaning quite uninhibitedly a moment earlier. You shift uncomfortably underneath his heated gaze as his eyes drink in every little curve, every little wrinkle and fold of your dripping pussy. Your toes curl inward and the ache deep within you demands attention. "You're so perfect, my little angelfish. Your body is exactly as I imagined," his saccharine voice admits as he leans forward, letting his fingers dance across the swell of your breasts. His left hand cradles your jaw and throat as his right continues its delicate massage across the plush pillow of your breasts, toying with the perked nubs of your nipples as his thumbs swirl small circles against the delicate flesh.

Azul's gentle touch ignites flames under his fingertips that follow his descent down to the juncture of your legs. The first brush against your swollen bundle of nerves and slit has your spine arching upwards, making his cock throb even more painfully, stiffening under the visual of your trembling body. A whine escapes and your hips grind involuntarily, the heat building intensely as his fingers begin to experimentally spread your folds slowly, running the tip of a finger from your core to the hood of your pearl. Without warning, Azul swipes upwards, expertly pulling back the hood and exposing the raw, sensitive flesh of nerves underneath, pinching down on the fleshy bud and causing you to yelp loudly in shock. With a satisfied grin, his forefinger begins to toy and tweak the hardened bud, rubbing gentle, rhythmic patterns over and over against the bundle as a chorus of delightful, high-pitched squeals fill his dormitory. After a few more ministrations, his hands continue down, delving his fingers straight into the moistened and heated opening, swiping up the slick mess you had coated his palm in. Two long fingers deftly slip right between your folds, caressing their way around your labia, your wet walls clenching around his fingertips desperately. "This wetness, for me?" Azul chuckles wickedly, crooking his fingers upward and brushing your g-spot with a knowing curl of his fingers, sending you spasming, gasping, and writhing in ecstasy, eyelashes fluttering wildly. "Oh, my dearest—so precious, my angelfish. That's it, so beautiful, just for me..." His voice drips with lecherous intent, his body moving without even the slightest hint of hesitation as though you were merely an extension of his own and not even a separate entity. Your wetness coats his fingers easily as Azul keeps sliding his fingers into your wet heat until the pads of his fingers touch all your deepest, hidden places, causing more sweet moans to fall from your lips and echo through his room. He scissors and curls his digits inside, stroking you slowly as though wanting to feel every bump, crease, and ridge along your walls, claiming his ownership over your deepest parts with a sinister delight.

A pressure builds and teeters precariously right at the precipice—the curling of his digits work feverishly to milk every drop of pleasure he can from your shuddering body, the warm flood of wetness drenching his eager fingers and making his head fall back with a sensuous moan. He continues with his relentless assault against your pussy, whispering filthy compliments about how badly he wanted to fuck you and how sexy it is when you take his fingers so well. Your legs flutter open wider, inviting his slim and nimble digits deeper within you, fucking them vigorously as your release begins to pool, rising closer to the boiling point. The aphrodisiac grips its poisonous talons deeper into your mind, warping and bending everything into an unshakable desire to submit yourself and your pleasure to the hands of the devious sea creature above you. He leans down, his silvery eyes roving over your face in an intense appraisal, his features drawn in with concentration, mapping out how to unravel you—there wasn't an emotion or micro expression that slipped past his vision as he carefully considered all the factors of how best to please and overwhelm your body with incomparable rapture. There isn't anything else beyond the present—no outside forces, nor worries about the consequences of being intimate. There's simply no room in your mind to think at this point, the cloudiness of the effects rendering your body vulnerable—you give yourself up entirely. He drinks up every breath, every shake and shiver, as he continues calculating your climax, relishing in each tiny noise or action he drew from you, meticulous with the acquisition of your bliss.

"Yes. Give in." he laughs maniacally, his face fully consumed in the intense madness of his lustful insanity. "Give in to every sensation. Let me drive you wild... Do as I command and cum," Azul demands you through his laughter, his breathing rapid and heavy as he watches your eyes rolling back. He moans in awe as the loud, slick sounds of his hand filling your soaking cunt meet his ears and a deep flush travels across his collarbones. His own needy cock leaks, eagerly anticipating what's next as its engorged state bulges obscenely, its every vein throbbing with virile desperation. Your high-pitched moans continue for some time as his pace stays fast, until you can finally feel your entire body tensing up, the fire coiling inside your gut ready to explode any moment. Everything builds higher and higher to the peak, every muscle and nerve fiber in your body primed to receive that last push that would send you catapulting over the cliff. As he feels your walls tremble, Azul moans along with your high-pitched wailing. A deranged smile stretches across his face and his silver eyes fill with amusement and fascination. 

Azul leans into your ear, whispering sweet nothings mixed with commanding, demanding words to finally succumb, "That's it...Let go..." He twists and digs deeper, stroking the perfect places inside you, hitting the correct spots relentlessly in an overload of mind-bending, debauchery-fueled, electric-spark pleasure, forcing your senses to dissociate from reality. His thrusting hand matches the frantic racing of his own heart, unable to keep the carnal fever down. "Give in... submit yourself fully, and surrender that orgasm. It's mine. I've worked for it, and now it belongs only to me." He whispers in a devilish growl, nibbling on your ear as his strokes become rougher, harder, faster—you can hardly stand the overwhelming force of your pleasure before its sweet relief crashes like waves. A broken moan leaves your mouth, a pure exaltation of uncontrolled passion. Noises come tumbling out and spilling over until you finally dissolve into a messy orgasm, shrieking his name in pleasure as his hand slows its motions but doesn't stop, keeping its pressure steady and rocking the whole of your existence until your mind goes blank. "Such a good, obedient angelfish, giving me all of your sweet, succulent cum... all for me, yes?" Azul hums sweetly, teasingly. "Oh, this is so precious," he sighs, feeling the quaking and trembling of your fluttering walls. His expression melts into one of deep satisfaction and pride.

"There you go, my lovely angelfish. Just as I said I would," Azul croons. Without another word, his hand, wet with your desire, abandons its ministrations, pulling from your depths with a slick pop, leaving your empty cunt to tremble from his absence. Azul brings his fingers to his mouth for a lewd taste test, licking the juices from his hand as a self-indulgent smirk plays upon his lips. As he rolls the digits around his tongue, sampling the essence of your cunt, a sharp groan rumbles deep from within his chest, the vibration coursing down his spine and directly into his throbbing member. Even as his breath grows heavy from the feeling of his needy cock, the smug, triumphant smirk doesn't disappear. He enjoys the honeyed, tangy sweetness and savors the lingering sensation on his taste buds—another string attached, making it utterly impossible for him to let go. A low chuckle is heard from deep in his chest, dark and hauntingly mirthful. From his pleased sigh, you could easily read the insatiable hunger growing within his gleaming eyes—clearly the lust in his loins has only been ignited further—a starving, manic beast hungry for even more from your yielding form, an insatiable craving that can't be satiated so easily. His cock visibly twitches, begging for him to mount you and thrust his painfully aroused length as far as he can manage deep into your eager, spasming pussy. The aphrodisiac courses through his veins with all the potency of a tropical storm, whipping every nerve into a frenzy as the instinct takes hold in Azul's most primordial thoughts and drives all those cravings with an irrepressible urgency—he simply has to get your pregnant. Azul's cheeks flush with a reddish-pink shade as he fixates on you, the hunger in his gaze absolutely feral, filled with a single-minded lustful determination to breed you.

When your eyes meet his maddened, love-struck stare, you are overcome with the same desperation radiating from your womb, urging to be stuffed and claimed by his thick load. At last, the two of you had connected in this all-consuming fire—a conflagration of desire so severe and a love so encompassing that both of you could do nothing more than dance on the ashes and burn with the flames. In that moment of recognition, an irresistible, bewitching aura emanates from him and mesmerizes you as the air of mystery dissipates from his visage, the eroticized specter of the fearsome and dangerous, devious mogul melts away to reveal the raw intensity of the young man underneath, exposed in all his ardent, unfettered passions. Here stands Azul, naked with vulnerability, desiring only a love that no other has been able to truly give. He's always tried to prevent access to his real emotions, afraid of the kind of cruelty they would reap upon him if they were found. He didn't believe himself to be worthy of their regard, let alone capable of receiving someone's genuine affections. With you, though, there were none of his signature theatrics, no polite deflection, nor charming evasiveness; he gave you full permission to view him and all of his repressed feelings on full display. An open book, Azul trusts you enough to expose his heart fully, so transparent in his neediness. Since he brought you to his bedroom, there was never the slightest hint of deception in his tone—not once had he attempted to distract you, nor used a tactic or trick. Perhaps his true intentions for getting close to you were more admirable than you thought, his desperation to get close to you was merely just a pining for your love rather than a sordid trick. His earnest, loving gaze, combined with the grip of your desire, makes something finally shift within, like the turning of the tide—a sense that it was fated for you to fall and crash so desperately, madly, and completely for him—a long-awaited inevitability, just as he had already done for you long before this Alchemy accident. Azul was an adoringly gentle yet brutally powerful force, a pillar in your life you can lean into without hesitation. All of your fears, worries, and frustrations are suddenly null, evaporating into the thin air of Octavinelle, carried into the gentle waters outside the window and disappearing into the seas.

Nothing is more erotic than seeing his carefully maintained veneer crumbling before you and letting himself fall apart at the seams. No longer hiding his desires or his ambitions for you, Azul's lusty hunger has you excited, aroused, and turned on like never before. You return his lustful, hazy expression and Azul is drawn right into the softness of your inviting stare. Your mouth parts to allow a needy moan to pass as you buck your hips slightly, inviting him to finally claim your body as his, a beautiful sacrifice you're eager to make for a beautiful siren such as him. With a deep, lewd groan, Azul pushes off your trembling body, propping himself onto his knees and groping at your chest, making you mewl. There's no trace left of the smooth businessman persona, not even a hint of it lingers when his wet mouth kisses at your mounds and his large hands explore the contours of your curves, his fingertips desperately memorizing the way you're put together, tracing every bit of available flesh. His eager tongue swirls at your peaked nipples, moaning in appreciation and delight. Your mind is being swallowed by a bubbling wave of bliss that has no end as his hand trails across your hips, his touch is as gentle as a ripple in the water. With a shyly embarrassed flush and a sigh of wanton abandonment, you surrender entirely to him—letting the sea creature drown you in ecstasy, deeper and deeper, into the endless ocean. He caresses your stomach gently, the calloused pads of his fingers exploring the sensitive skin where he knows your womb lies. Your heart stumbles as his lips twist upward in an impish smirk at the thought of all the cum he's soon going to pump straight into the cavity. He palms your belly, which would soon carry his progeny as an inevitable result of this union, imagining his angelfish's stomach rounded and taut with his unborn child, perhaps, even more than once—Azul's thoughts are full of fantasies about filling you and fucking your pretty little womb over and over until he succeeds and you're blessed with his babies. Azul hums at the image of your pregnant body, worshiping the slope of your thighs and rubbing his hands up your waist and the undersides of your breasts. Azul knows that even if it doesn't work right away, he is more than prepared to breed you again and again as many times as necessary. He is more than certain you'll eventually give him a consortium of little octopus-human hybrids. After all, you'd offered yourself up in the end. Who was he not to take what was freely given?

He grasps the back of your knee to prop up your leg in the air, shifting closer. In one fell swoop, your tender thighs are flung open, revealing your glistening cunt. Azul moans, running the rough pad of his finger right up the slit of your lips. You're already a mess, his slick hand had not been able to satisfy your heat at all, it only created a further yearning deep within that could only be satisfied by his aching cock. Azul settles against the fronts of your thighs, letting the stiff heat of his bulging erection nestle against the dripping lips of your cunt, already poised and eager for insertion. The anticipation causes the two of you to tremble slightly at the intimacy, your lips wet and sticky as they run against the length, his cock drooling freely from the tip and leaking beads of sticky, precum fluid right across your folds. With one more affectionate, sweet peck against the corner of your lip, and another one right upon your forehead, Azul slowly glides inside. A shared cry of euphoria leaves your mouths simultaneously as Azul buries the full length of his throbbing cock into your sopping entrance, thrusting powerfully to hilt balls-deep. The pure, erotic rapture of finally consummating your love floods both of your veins. His dick is filling you in the most indescribable way and stretching your cunt so deliciously that stars appear behind your eyes. A glorious symphony of relief sings in your blood while his hard girth massages your innermost walls as though he were meant for no other—like he was perfectly made to be the puzzle piece filling your immaculate pussy. You both gasp sharply in unison as the sensation sends tremors down his shaft. Every vein, ridge, and inch of his length drags deeply with each thrust as he grinds you thoroughly, bringing your clits into tantric connection and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves back and forth in perfect time with the rocking motion. Each snap of his hip makes the two of you share a joyful sob as he pleasures you in the most divine manner.

A low and sinful groan passes through your lips as your hands grip him tighter, begging him to increase his momentum and pace. Azul's hands clutch you in a tight embrace, his chest to yours with every inch of his hardness fully embedded into your velvety passage, sending white-hot sparks of pleasure shooting to the deepest recesses of your innermost being, triggering the sudden rush of a climax that is starting to rise to its precipice. Azul groans as your juices run down his balls, pooling around his sack and providing more lubrication for his relentless drive inside of you. You clench and flutter around him, squeezing your inner walls with every desperate urge for friction and movement, drawing Azul's eye right up to yours in a lusty daze. His body is coiling for release, ready to cum, and there's a glitter of utter happiness in his expression. His lips quiver with desire and he smirks as he feels you clamping and spasming around his rock-hard dick, begging him to breed you like the little slut that he secretly knows you are, all while knowing deep down you'd get so unbelievably plump and swollen with his hatchlings, he'd hardly be able to move his tentacles with all the kids crawling over him.

It's more intense, and far more electrifying than the filthy fantasies that had invaded his sleep every lonely evening whenever he gave in to his insufferable yearning for you. He'd envisioned this, over and over—what it would feel like to make you orgasm, just how satisfying it would feel to cum with you at the same time, and how heavenly it would be to stretch your cunt so snugly—and yet, in this moment, it surpasses his imagination exponentially, eliciting a complete flood of sensual pleasure all throughout his senses. Not even his wildest wet dreams had prepared him for the heady intoxication and undeniable high he experiences with you—being passionately and physically intertwined, wrapped around the most sublime euphoria that was possible—a wave so dizzying that there's absolutely no going back to life without the other once your bodies have succumbed and reached that ultimate, highest peak.

When Azul hits the point of no-return, his legs start shaking as though his limbs were going to fall off. His fingers tangle roughly in your hair as he drags your mouth closer to meet his. With each heavy thrust, he swallows every moan that erupts from your throat. His movements become less coherent, rougher, and disjointed as the strength of your cunt's embrace pulses tightly around his shaft and urges him toward the edge. Suddenly, an intense wave of satisfaction takes hold and shoots to the tip of his cock, pulsating violently in need to release its seed. Azul can't help but groan loudly into your ear as he slams his cock into you with ferocious strength, fucking the life and soul right out of your being while a high-pitched scream accompanies the splash and squelching noises of your pussy. Your mouth has gone slack, jaw dropping as you cry out his name and climax with such power that it whips you into a complete frenzy of desperation, sending your vision dancing with lights. You quake and shiver under the force of his fervor and ecstasy, writhing on the mattress and throwing your head backward to soak in your overwhelming, toe-curling rapture. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pounding you fiercely as you wail and shatter with a rush of emotions so intense, you don't know if you will ever put yourself back together. A strained whine and a few sharp pumps later, a surge of hot, wet euphoric heat shoots from Azul's balls and spurts out in ribbons of his own spent climax as he spends his load of pearly cum directly into your waiting womb, splashing your tight channel with a continuous stream—painting every crevice of your silken, fluttering, vice-like depths a glossy white. Azul is unable to help himself as his hips start grinding into yours with slow rolls, fucking and stuffing every drop of his sticky cream deeply and ensuring it remains securely nestled in your folds. Every remaining bit of sexual tension floods out as though you'd been submerged in the most heavenly waterfall of pleasure imaginable. Azul whines weakly into the pillow and your moans join, eventually dissipating into a heavenly silence as you sink heavily back to reality.

Time slows to an almost stop and your vision gets a bit hazy and bleary as the aphrodisiac magic completely pulses away. You two lay side by side on the soft blankets, still in the bed and soaked with sweat. Neither of you move for quite some time. Just in the wake of your post-orgasm, everything becomes intensely surreal. You try to breathe quietly so Azul doesn't hear and as his head rests on your breasts. He, too, is heaving with difficulty, each inhale is a conscious decision. He clings tightly against you, hands threaded together like a lifeline, afraid to let go. One last sentence leaves his mouth—a whisper that could have easily been missed by anyone except for you. It was a question.

"Are we both in love?" Azul asks with such hesitance, you think maybe you've misheard his inquiry. He is lying right by your side. His face is dangerously close to yours, and the way his stormy, ocean azure eyes reflect every emotion swirling inside allows you to see the years of hurt that's plagued him. He's absolutely enchanted, like you are the perfect dream come true—everything he'd ever imagined in one living, breathing, precious human body—a lover so magnificent he could hardly comprehend. He studies your expression with awe and reverence. A look so intensely raw it burns right through your heart and lights up the space in your soul that you never before realized was reserved just for him. "Because I love you... Truly and deeply. So much that I don't know how it was possible, even," Azul admits freely, without the least hint of apprehension or nervousness. You can feel the intensity and honesty of his words radiate through his trembling fingertips, through the places where his naked skin touched yours—he doesn't try to mask the pure unadulterated warmth and delight that leaks through the shaky but firm expression on his flushed face.

A wide, cheerful and genuine grin breaks out against your features as you nod enthusiastically, and it is almost as though a heavenly, soothing light has poured over his entire world. It feels like a dream, a fairytale that is too good to be true. Yet here you both lie, doused in the magic of the concoction, clinging to each other and to that euphoric elation after giving in to the passions and the chemical bonds. It felt incredible, it felt natural and familiar and right. This wasn't anything artificial, rather the long overdue acknowledgement of feelings that were there all along—a kindling of romance that was never forced, but rather fanned to life after many days spent as Alchemy partners. After seeing each other every day, getting to know each other's quirks, and learning of each other's daily habits, the intimacy had bloomed and nurtured into something tender and real. The closeness the potion provided simply allowed the two of you the confidence needed to step across a boundary and pursue things.

"This won't be something short lived... you understand what I am saying, yes?" His tone has a tinge of fear creeping in and you can't help but stroke the outline of his cheekbones. This feeling will not end with a simple fuck, you knew that deep in the marrow. There will be more of that to come. In fact, the thought of it has your cunt pulsing, your sex aching at the idea. "I simply won't have you anywhere else but with me, and here in my dorm. I just won't be able to be happy otherwise..." Azul's voice quivers as the vulnerable sincerity flows.

"Yes, Azul. Yes, I understand and I feel the exact same," you chuckle and cradle his head. His blue eyes crinkle slightly from the beam across his lips, and Azul can't resist pulling you in for a feverish kiss, groaning from the rush. That familiar, sinfully blissful high is starting to take hold again, the rush of the aphrodisiac stirring something fiery back into a pleasant burn. The chemical’s grip on the two of you continues. After all, nothing will stop the magic from bringing you closer together. He murmurs a seductive promise into the curve of your throat that he won't stop until his load drips and slides right out of your swollen cunt—he's going to breed you the rest of the night and spill as much of himself deep within as he can. He has no doubt you're going to give him a child that will cement this loving bond permanently.

Listen I don't know HOW this HAPPENED, I DON'T understand how I wrote this much. I am DELIRIOUS and I need to go pick up some pizza for dinner, so I wish I could say more here but I can't right now. I'll update this part when I get back home. I just needed to get this out into the UNIVERSE. THANK YOU ALL!!! HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!! <3333 Erica Malleleothreesome

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Summary: Things have gone wrong in your pack's absence. Can they make it back in time before irreparable damage is done? Can they fix the damage that's already been dealt?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 10,232...oops

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, panic attacks, very descriptive scenes of panic and anxiety, very heavy emotionally in the beginning, major invasions of privacy, hurt/sort of comfort, very brief mention of violence and death, and most importantly: fluff

A/N: Yeah, so this one kind of got away from me. It's definitely one of my favorite chapters now, and it's definitely the longest so far. It's pretty heavy, so plan something fun afterwards because it will hurt. I tried to catch all the possible triggers, but of course, if I miss one let me know. I promise things will begin to take a turn for the happier after this, at least for a bit. Picks up pretty much right where chapter 17 left off.

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You’re shaking. Your breaths are coming in gasps as you stare at your open door. There’s no scent in the air, nothing that would give you a hint of who invaded your space, or if they’re still in there. You should leave, barricade yourself somewhere and call Dr. Keller, or even Kate. 

What could they do, though? Your pack won’t be home until tomorrow at the earliest. 

No one can help you. 

You slowly push your door open, ready to run in case someone is hiding inside. You stand in the doorway, scanning the small space, but there’s no sign of anyone. There’s still no scent either, just your own mingled with the slight chemical burn of scent blockers. Your eyes scan the room, looking for anything that might be new, anything that might be missing, anything that might be slightly out of place. 

The clothes on the floor are slightly rumpled, but you’re not sure if you did that in your haste to pull on shoes before you left, or if they’ve been that way since the knock sounded on your door. You lift your gaze to the ceiling, scanning it and that’s when you notice it. The cover over the vent is slightly out of place. You likely wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention, if you hadn’t looked. 

The thought sends a chill running down your spine. 

You keep your eyes on the vent as you grab your desk chair, kicking clothes out of the way as you move it under the vent. You stand on the chair, reaching for the vent, but it’s not quite enough. You shove the chair to the side, taking everything off your desk before you pull it under the vent. You climb up on shaky legs, your heart thudding in your chest as you remove the vent cover. 

Nausea twists at your stomach as your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. There, strategically placed between two of the gaps in the vent cover, is a camera. It’s small, and would have been invisible just staring at the vent from below. You feel like you might be sick as you pull it free from the vent cover, staring down into the tiny lens. 

How long has it been up there? 

You drop the camera onto your desk, your fingers shaking and trembling as you feel along the edges of the vent, checking for anything else that might be hiding up there. You replace the cover after you find nothing, a sense of dread filling you. 

Had the guys put it up so they could watch you, make sure that you’re safe? Had they put it up there before you arrived? You think about all the times you’ve changed in your room, your heat. 

You climb down from the desk, tugging it further towards the center of the room before you climb back up, unscrewing the cover off the light. You check the bulb, looking for any cameras or recording devices. You screw the cover of the light back on after finding none, a quiet sob leaving your lips as you look around your room. 

You close the door and lock it before you begin your search, checking every corner and piece of furniture for cameras or recording devices. You empty the dresser and closet, checking every drawer and corner for anything suspicious. 

You pull recording devices from under your desk and the back of your nightstand, the adhesive still fresh enough they pop right off. A cold sweat has overtaken you as you find another recording device and another camera, adding them to the growing pile on your desk. 

A quiet sob of fear leaves your lips as you check the bathroom, tearing your room apart to check every inch. You search up a tutorial on YouTube, using your phone to check for more possible cameras that you might have missed. 

You stare down at the pile of cameras and recording devices on your desk. Someone entered your room and planted them while you were with General Shepherd. It had all been deliberate. Get you away from your room and distracted so they could enter and set up the devices. You wonder if it’s all part of some sick plan, some way to ensure things are going well with your pack. General Shepherd had been very interested in your mark, invading your space without a moment of hesitation to see it firsthand. You would have shown him, had he asked to see it. Instead he’d just done it himself, as if it was nothing. 

Your hands are shaking as you find a ziploc bag in the mess you’ve made of your room, putting the cameras and recording devices into it. You drop it onto the floor before stepping on it, listening to the crack of metal and plastic and glass under your shoe. Tears slip down your cheeks as you pick up the bag of broken pieces, taking it to the bathroom. You hide it far in the back of the cupboard beneath the sink, piling things around it and on top of it to keep it hidden. 

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, your skin crawling as you stare at the mess. You don’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own space. The thought of someone breaching the sacred space, entering your room without a second thought to put up cameras makes your stomach churn. 

Where will you go? You can’t just leave, find somewhere else to feel safe. What if they did the same to the guys’ rooms? There could have been an entire team of people that came in and put cameras up all over the barracks. A sob leaves your lips as you rush to the door, double checking it’s locked before you shove the dresser against it. You flip your desk up to cover the window as much as it can, just in case anyone tries to climb in.  

You sink to the floor in the middle of the disaster that has become your room, sobbing quietly. You want your pack home, you want to feel safe again. You glance at your phone where it’s sitting on a pile of shirts, afraid to even touch it. That woman could have done anything to it while you were with General Shepherd. What if they’re trying to call you and they can’t reach you? 

You should try to reach Dr. Keller, tell her what happened, get her to check if there’s anyone lurking around the barracks that shouldn’t be. What if they try to attack her, though? Can she defend herself? You don’t know if she can fight or not. What if she gets hurt because of you? She could ask someone else on base to look, but what if they were involved in it? What if it was someone already on base that had done it? The thought nearly makes you sick. 

You’re scared to leave again. What if they’ve noticed you found the cameras and come back while you’re gone? What if they come back while you’re here? 

The tears flow freely as you sob, too afraid to even move. You can feel it, the panic starting to bubble up again, the fear welling inside you. Your muscles begin to tense, shoulders pulling up near your ears as you try to defend yourself from this invisible threat. It’s an easy slope from fear to distress, and there’s no one to help you if you start distressing. You press your palms into your eyes, holding your breath to try and shock your body into something other than panic. 

You bite back a startled scream as a knock sounds at the door, your heart rate spiking again. 

“It’s just me,” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door. “Ready for dinner?” 

You take a deep breath, staring at the dresser blocking your door. You’ll have to move it to get out, which she’ll likely notice. You could lie, you could lie easily, but you’re not sure you could keep it up right now. She’ll notice the tears, the obvious signs of panic and distress. She’ll want to know, and you can’t trust yourself not to spill everything. 

You should tell her about what had happened, but you know she’ll be disappointed. She’ll think you were stupid for leaving, for not even sending her a text. She’ll tell John when he returns, too. He should know about it, but there’s no way a high ranking General could arrive on base without them knowing, especially one that’s their commander. Maybe it had all been a test. Maybe they do know about General Shepherd and just forgot to tell you this was going to happen. 

Maybe Dr. Keller even knew about it, and didn’t say anything because she thought you knew too. 

“I-I’m not hungry.” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. 

There’s a pause outside the door for a moment, a beat of silence that’s too loud.

“Is everything alright?” She finally asks. 

“Y-Yeah.” You say, clearing your throat. “Just...not really hungry right now.” 

It’s silent again for a beat, making you hold your breath anxiously. 

“Are you sure? I can come back later, or bring you dinner.” She says. 

“I’m sure.” You swallow the tears welling in your eyes again. “I’ll grab a snack if I get hungry later.” 

“Okay...” She says, and you can almost see the frown on her face. “Text or call if you need anything, alright?” 

“Yeah.” You say, your voice cracking a bit. 

You regret it almost instantly, the urge to shove the dresser out of the way and fling the door open strong as you hear her receding steps down the hallway. You don’t want to be alone, but Dr. Keller can’t give you what you need. The tears start falling again, sliding down your cheeks as you flop onto your back, ignoring the way the edge of a book digs into your spine. 

You just want your pack back. You want John to scoop you up into his arms and wrap you in his warmth and soothing scent. You want Kyle and Johnny to squish you between them, sandwich you so tightly you’re scared you might burst. You want Ghost to wrap himself around you and offer you a blanket of protection against anyone who would even dare cast a glance in your direction. 

You just want to feel at home again. 

You want to be safe again. 

***

The emotional and physical exhaustion pushes you into the state between consciousness and sleep. You’ve moved to your bed, tucked under the covers and stuck between the wall and your giant bear, as if it could offer you some form of protection as you float between awareness and somewhere in the realm of sleep for a few hours.

You’re not sure what time it is, when the disruption comes. It takes you a moment to register why you’re awake. Some deep part of your brain is prickling, sending out warning signals to your body. Something’s happening, something’s wrong, something’s posing a threat. 

You hold your breath in the silence of the barracks, listening to the slow, quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. For a moment you think you might be imagining them, that you’re still asleep and dreaming. Your fingers pinch at your skin, nails digging in to confirm that you are, in fact, awake. This is really happening. 

Your heartbeat picks up, the bitter stench of fear that’s coated your room intensifying as the footsteps pause outside your door. You let out a quiet, shaky breath as you lay there, thinking up every time you checked the door in the last few hours to ensure it was locked and the dresser was still pushed in front of it. 

You cover your mouth as the door handle wiggles, catching on the lock. The whimper of fear threatening to rise catches in your throat as you hold your breath, your body trembling under your blankets. You should reach for your phone, send a text to Kate, call Dr. Keller, do something. Yet, you’re frozen in fear as the handle continues to wiggle before stopping. 

You don’t release a breath until the footsteps fade, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips. Someone just tried to get into your room. 

You’re panicking, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you burrow under your covers, barricading yourself between the wall and your bear, hoping you’ll be invisible in case they come back, in case they force their way in. You can’t fight, not after the day you’ve had. The best you can hope for is that your scent is rank enough in the room it’ll deter whoever is trying to get in. 

You need tomorrow to come, and fast. 

***

Daylight doesn't bring any sense of comfort. 

All it does is shed more light on the disaster your room has become, the physical representation of your internal thoughts and feelings. Your face feels puffy from crying, and there’s a bad taste in your mouth. You haven’t brushed your teeth since yesterday, nor have you showered, too scared to put yourself in such a vulnerable position. 

You glance at your phone, checking for missed calls, but there’s none. Dr. Keller will be by soon to get you for breakfast, but you’re not sure you can stand going to the mess. The idea of leaving your room, leaving it empty so anyone could just walk in and bug it or touch your things or hide out so they can take revenge on you for finding and destroying their cameras and recording devices has you paralyzed. 

That must have been what whoever entered the barracks last night had come to do. Maybe they thought you’d spend the night in one of the other rooms and they’d come to replace them. Or, maybe they wanted you to be in your room. Maybe that was the plan all along. 

The thought sends a chill running down your spine. 

You burrow back under your blankets, curling up against your giant teddy bear. You wish it was Price, that his arm would wrap around you and hold you close, keep you safe and protected in his arms. You’d take any of them right now, even Ghost. At least you know he’d protect you, especially if someone tried to enter the barracks without permission. 

You’re still lying there when Dr. Keller arrives. You stare at the dresser still pushed against the door, keeping you from opening it. Not that you really want to. You can’t stop the anxiety from taking over, bringing forward the image of Dr. Keller held at gunpoint on the other side of the door, trying to trick you into opening it so whoever tried to get in last night can finally do what they came to do. 

You know it’s a ridiculous thought. No one would be that stupid in broad daylight, and you doubt Dr. Keller would let something like that happen to her. She’d put up a fight, or at least you hope so. 

You can’t move the dresser without her knowing you’d pushed it against the door, which will only prompt questions. Questions you don’t want to answer. 

She calls your name through the door, concern lacing her voice. “Everything alright?” 

No. You want to scream it, tears gathering in your eyes again. You want to push the dresser out of the way, throw open the door and confess everything that’s happened in the last few hours to her. You want to bring her into your space, keep her there until your pack returns so you can feel even just an ounce of safety. 

But what if she gets mad? 

Leaving yesterday was stupid. Going off with some unknown beta without telling anyone was the dumbest thing you’ve done since your arrival on base. She’ll be disappointed and she’ll tell your pack and they’ll be disappointed that you didn’t say anything to her about it. Even if they knew it happened, they’d still be disappointed that you didn’t think to even question it, that you didn’t think to let Dr. Keller know what was going on. 

You made a stupid decision, and you won’t be able to take their disappointment and anger. Not after everything. 

“Yeah.” You call out, your voice shaking. “I-I’m alright.” 

You can tell she doesn’t believe you, even though you can’t see her. She probably has that look on her face she gets when she knows you’re not telling the whole truth. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. You’re afraid it might give out after the stress of the last few days. 

“Are you ready for breakfast?” She finally asks, likely giving up on trying to get any more details from you. 

You’re not hungry, and you know going to the mess will not end well. The risk of distressing is high, and the thought that any one in the mess might have been the intruder last night nearly sends you over the edge. One wrong glance in your direction might cause you to do something reckless. “I’m not hungry.” You finally say, pulling the blankets tighter around you. 

“Are you sure?” She asks. “Did you eat something last night?” 

“Yeah.” You lie, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “I had some snacks.” 

Her feet shuffle outside the door for a moment, and you can almost hear her sigh. “If you’re sure?” 

“I-I’m sure.” You reply. 

There’s a moment of silence before you get a response, your breath catching in your throat from the nerves. “Alright.” She finally says. “I got word that your pack will be landing in a couple of hours and we have permission to go out to the airfield and greet them. I’ll come back to get you when it’s time. If you need anything, call me.” 

You listen to her footsteps recede down the hallway, tears burning your eyes. You hate lying. You feel bad for keeping the truth from her, but the shame of revealing what you did is too strong. 

You hastily wipe your eyes, staring at the mess on your floor. You need to get your room back to at least its somewhat normal state, and you need to put yourself back to your normal state as well. If anyone gets any hint that something is wrong, you might crack, and you’re not sure you could handle the repercussions. 

You start with the desk, flipping it back the way it’s supposed to be and positioning it as close to where it was as you can get. You collect the books and other little things that go on it, trying to arrange it as close to how it normally is. You know they’ll notice if any little thing is out of place, if anything looks suspicious. You can blame some of it on cleaning, if they ask. You did some deep cleaning while they were away. That’s one way of putting it. 

You push the dresser back into place next, putting the drawers back in before starting on the clothes, putting everything back where it belongs. You make your bed last, the urge to nest gone completely. You’re shaking with exhaustion by the time you finish, tempted to crawl back into bed, but you know you can’t. Your pack is coming back, and you need everything to look like it’s fine still. 

They’ll notice. They’ll see it, and they’ll ask, and you’ll have to spill everything and face the shame and anger from being so stupid. 

Tears burn your eyes as you slip your desk chair under the door handle, making sure it’s secure before heading to the shower to get ready for your pack’s imminent return. You shower with the door open, getting done quickly to avoid being vulnerable for long. You try to make yourself look as decent as possible, ignoring the fact that there’s broken cameras and recording devices hidden under the sink. Eventually you’ll forget. Eventually it’ll fade from your mind and become nothing more than a forgotten nightmare. 

One of many. 

You toss your pajamas on the floor haphazardly, just to make things look more normal. You know if it’s too clean, that might raise some suspicions as well. You don’t want to give away that something happened, you don’t want to raise any suspicions. You just want things to go back to normal. You want your pack back, and you want to feel safe again. 

At least, until they have to leave again. 

You sink to the floor, leaning up against your bed as you wait for Dr. Keller to take you to greet your pack when they return. 

***

Every minute seems to drag on infinitely as you stare across the tarmac. They’ll be landing any minute. Any minute now the nightmare will be over and you’ll get to see your pack again after days of being apart. Finally, maybe, you can begin to feel safe again. 

You watch the plane as it comes in to land, your hands already trembling in anticipation. There’s a twisting in your stomach, you’re not sure if it’s worry or fear or excitement. They’re so close, so close you can almost smell them. Your omega is scratching at the back of your brain, your muscles twitching as the ramp begins to lower on the plane. You need to see them, you need to smell them, you need to ensure they’re alright. 

You can’t stop yourself. As soon as their boots hit the tarmac, you’re running. You don’t care if you’re breaking rules, you don’t care if the other soldiers get worried, or see you as a possible threat, you need to be in your alpha’s arms again. 

John grunts from the force of you hitting him, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You throw your arms around him, clinging to him as tight as you can. You’re whimpering, the quiet sounds dragging from your lips but you don’t care. You press your face into his chest, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and musk, the sharp metallic tang of gunpowder burning your nose. Yet, underneath it all, you can make out the earthy scent, the petrichor going straight to your brain. 

His arms wrap tight around you, squishing you up against his chest. His vest digs into your skin, but you don’t care. You can’t feel much of anything but relief. His breath fans your forehead as he leans down, his hand cupping the back of your head. He shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Tears fill your eyes as you cling to him, fingers gripping his shirt tightly like you’re afraid he might disappear again. If it wasn’t for the pain in your chest, you might have thought this was all a dream, that they might disappear suddenly and you’ll wake up alone again. 

“Easy.” John rumbles, gently stroking the back of your head. 

You cling to him tighter as his hand gets close to your neck, the thought of General Shepherd’s hand being so close to your neck where he could scruff you so easily making your insides squirm. 

He’s gone. He’s gone and your pack is here. 

“You’re alright.” John tries to reassure you, squeezing his arms around your trembling form. “I’ve got you.” 

You keep your face pressed against his chest, breathing him in, trying to get his scent to calm the raging storm within you. Your omega is still scratching at the back of your mind, a deep need to claw your way under John’s skin and into his body pushing at the front of your mind. You won’t be safe until you’ve been utterly consumed by him, until you’re safely tucked where no one can hurt you without going through him first. 

“Alpha,” You whine quietly, nuzzling your face against his chest. His clothes are in the way, a barrier against what you need. To feel him, to smell him fully again. 

“Easy.” He says, grabbing your hands as they shift towards the velcro straps of his tactical vest. “Let’s get back to the barracks first before we start that, sweetheart.” 

You don’t want to go back to the barracks. It’s not safe anymore. What if there’s someone waiting there for you to return? What if they get hurt because you don’t tell them what happened? What if you get hurt and cause them pain? 

“You’re alright.” John says, stroking the back of your head as he begins to ease your grip on him. “There’s a couple of muppets here who I think would like to greet you too.” 

Right. You’re so caught up in your alpha, you forgot the rest of your pack. You slowly allow yourself to be peeled away from John, Kyle right there to let you cling to him. 

And so you do. 

Your grip around him is just as tight, ignoring the uncomfortable ridges of his own vest. He holds you just as tightly, projecting his scent just a bit to try and calm you. Someone presses against your back, arms wrapping around both you and Kyle. The scent of citrus lined with beta invades your nose, Johnny squishing you into a sandwich between them. Your eyes squeeze shut as citrus and salty sea air blend together, the beta’s scents reaching deep into your brain to try and ease some of the tension in your body. 

They’re back. They’re safe. You’re safe. 

Now you just have to convince yourself of that fact. 

***

“How was she?” John asks as he approaches Dr. Keller. 

“Held it together longer than I thought she would.” She says. “Things took a turn yesterday afternoon. Shut herself in her room and wouldn’t come out. I don’t think she’s eaten anything since lunch yesterday either.” 

“We’ll get some food in her.” John says. “Thank you, for looking after her for us.” 

“Well, it is partly my job.” Dr. Keller shrugs. “Always happy to do it.” 

“Things will get easier, won’t they?” He asks. 

“Eventually. She’ll learn what coping mechanisms help and she’ll adapt.” 

“Hopefully at least one of us will be able to stay moving forward. I don’t like leaving her here alone.” He grimaces. 

“Separation is hard no matter what, especially with limited contact, on all parties involved.” She gives him a look. “I think the best thing you can do right now is just be together as a pack. Let those bonds heal and let her do what she needs.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” John says, shaking her hand. 

“Call me, if you need anything, as usual.” Dr. Keller says, watching his retreating back before getting into her car to make the short drive back to the medical center. 

John gets into the car waiting to take them back to the barracks, sitting next to Kyle who’s holding you straddling his lap, your face pressed into his neck. “That looks safe.” He remarks, even though they wouldn’t be going very fast, or very far. 

“Couldn’t get her to let go.” Kyle says, tightening his hold around you as the car begins moving. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” John says, rubbing your back gently. 

You turn your face to look at him, your eyes red from the numerous tears you’ve already shed, and the ones still trailing down your face. The guilt nearly makes him sick as he stares at you, feeling the slight tremble still from where his hand rests against your back. 

He’d never say it out loud, but he hates the fact they had to leave you, all four of them at once too. He’d fought, argued. He and Simon could have handled it on their own, even him and the two Sergeants would have been sufficient. Anything not to leave you by yourself during their first deployment. 

Despite his attempts, General Shepherd had been insistent that all four of them were necessary for this particular task. 

So, he had been forced to leave you behind on your own. It’s gone about as well as he expected, from the looks of it. He knew the separation would get to you eventually. The stress would grow to be too much. Every day he anticipated the news to come from Kate that you had distressed and your omega had taken over because he wasn’t there to help you. 

Every day he waited for the news that they’d lost you because the brass that put this initiative into place couldn’t understand why taking them all at once was a bad idea. 

Or maybe that was their plan all along. 

He couldn’t stop the conspiratorial thoughts running through his head as their mission dragged on. What if they were doing this on purpose? It wouldn’t be that strange to push the boundaries of what could be tolerated for the purpose of testing just how effective the initiative really could be. But pushing it like that so soon? Sure, he could rationalize it was possible. War could break out at any moment, which would require most military members to leave, to be separated from their packs for months or even years. His own team could be called out at any time for months working to eliminate a target and stop war from breaking out. 

Yet, he can’t help but feel there was something more, something deeper going on. What if they had called away for more nefarious reasons? What if getting you alone had been the reason behind General Shepherd’s insistence that all four of them were necessary for this particular task? He had refused to entertain those dark thoughts for too long, the fear of leaving you alone already itching in the back of his mind from the moment they boarded the plane to leave. 

He hadn’t been able to hide his relief at hearing your voice on the phone. Though you had sounded upset, and rightfully so, his worries had been lessened in knowing you were alright. You would tell them if something had happened. He knows you wouldn’t keep something that serious a secret. If someone had hurt you, or had tried to hurt you, you would tell one of them. 

Even though he trusts you, he does plan to speak to Dr. Keller more in depth later to ensure everything went as fine as she seemed to imply it did. Obviously their absence has been hard on you, but he needs to make sure you really will be alright, that you will be able to come back from the obvious distress this has caused you. 

***

You finally release your constricting hold on Kyle as the car pulls up outside the barracks. Even with them back, it still doesn't feel like home anymore, not after such sacred space was invaded so easily, so nonchalantly. Kyle climbs out of the car, setting you on your feet on the ground. You look between him and John, realizing Ghost and Johnny are still in the car. Your stomach falls as you realize what they're about to say, tears gathering in your eyes again.

“We still have some things we need to do.” John says, reaching towards you. 

You have the momentary urge to flinch from his touch, but you let his hand cup your cheek. “You're leaving me again.” You say, your voice breaking. 

John almost looks guilty. He almost looks upset by your visible turmoil. His hand drops from your cheek to your back, turning you towards the barracks. Your stomach twists as he guides you inside, the fear of someone being inside spiking. You know you're safe with John, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but you'd have to play dumb if they did catch someone inside. You’d have to act like you didn’t know someone had entered before, like you had been unaware of anything going on. That might almost be worse than telling them the truth. 

You inhale as he stops in front of your door, still closed from when you'd left with Dr. Keller. There's no chemical burn of scent blockers, just your scent in the air, and John's scent coming off him as he stands next to you. 

“We won't be long. Maybe an hour at most, and we'll only be across base. We'll come back and we can get lunch before our afternoon meeting. Then we'll just have reports to do, and you can sit in my office while I work on those, okay?” He says. 

Your brows pinch as you try to hold in your tears. You want to tell him, you want to reveal what happened, beg him not to leave you alone here again, but you can't. You can't face that shame, the disappointment you know he'll show on his face at the knowledge that you let that happen. You willingly left with a stranger without telling anyone. You let someone invade your pack's space so easily. They were gone for a week and you screwed everything up. 

“Tomorrow we'll spend the day together. All of us. I promise.” He says wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. 

Even though they're back, you still don't have them. 

You inhale shakily before nodding. “Yeah. Fine.”

John's thumb brushes your cheek for a moment before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You watch his back retreat as he leaves the barracks, leaving you alone again. You think back to when they’d left you, watching his back as he boarded the plane to be taken from you. You stare at the door as the cars drive off, a cold chill running down your spine. What if General Shepherd is still here? What if they're going to meet with him? What if he tells them he met with you while they were gone and they had no idea? 

Maybe you should have been honest with them from the start. 

You stare at your closed door, your hands shaking. What if there's someone inside? What if someone is waiting to take their revenge for you destroying the cameras. What if they put new ones up? 

You should have opened the door while Price was here so you could have at least screamed when someone would hear you. You back away from your door slowly, deciding to wait in the rec room. At least there you might have a chance. You could break a window and run, or at least have a higher chance of making it to a door. 

Would anyone help you? Would anyone come if you screamed? What if they’re all in on it? 

You're shaking as you sink onto the couch, sitting so you can see into the hallway. You want to see them coming so you can prepare yourself, or at least give yourself a chance to make an escape before it’s too late. 

You run through all the things Ghost has taught you in your head as you sit and wait, the minutes dragging by painfully slow. You can feel every second, though that may just be the anxiety and fear pulsing within you. You wish you could sleep, you wish you could relax, you wish you could do anything to make the time go by faster, but yet you remain hypervigilant, staring so hard you flinch at every little shadow your brain convinces you is moving. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, tense and coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. It can’t be more than an hour as John promised, yet it feels like a lifetime before you hear movement. 

You hold your breath as the barracks door opens, boots thudding with every footstep coming down the hall. You nearly whimper when a figure rounds the corner, before you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Ready for lunch, kitten?” Johnny asks, standing in the doorway of the rec room. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your hands still clenched into fists. You're breathing hard, your entire body tense. You know you're reaching dangerous territory. Any more panic, you may start distressing. What a welcome home for them, coming back to a distressed omega. They're probably exhausted, and here you are making a scene. 

Hands close around yours. Warm, calloused hands apply gentle pressure, slowly uncurling your fingers. Your hands are shaking, trembling just slightly. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, kneeling in front of you. When he moved, you're not sure. 

“I-I'm not...” You start, your voice shaking. 

“Ye need tae eat.” He counters, as if he had read your mind, expected the answer.  

He's right. You're beginning to feel it gnawing in your stomach, something deeper than the anxiety. With all the stressing you've been doing, you know you need to eat something. Being hungry is not helping that any, either. 

“I don't want to go to the mess.” You say quickly, the words almost mushing together incoherently. “Too much.” 

Johnny sits back, staring at you for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Alright. That's fair. I'll let the lads know.”

He stands up, leaving you alone in the rec room again. You listen to his footsteps fade, the door opening and closing for a moment. You hold your breath, practically on the edge of your seat. There's no reason they would make you go to the mess. You've eaten in the barracks many times before. 

You blame your worry on your hunger. You know omegas don't do well when hungry. Omegas don't do well being uncomfortable in general. 

Saying these last few days have been uncomfortable for you is a bit of an oversimplification. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway, a familiar hulking figure approaching the rec room. You never thought there would come a time when you would feel relief upon seeing Ghost. Yet here you are, the tension easing from your shoulders as he steps into the rec room. 

“They're grabbing us food.” He says, moving to sit in his usual spot in the chair facing the door. He sighs as he sinks into the cushions, and you can only imagine how tired he must be. 

And here you are making things worse. 

“You're stressed.” He says, staring at you. His eyes are still painted black beneath his mask, adding to the eerie vibe coming off of him. You're beginning to understand why they call him Ghost. “Stinking up the barracks.” He says, pulling out his phone. 

“Oh.” You say quietly, sinking in on yourself as you sit there. “Sorry.” 

You pick nervously at your sweatshirt as you wait for the others to return, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as they enter the rec room, food in hand. 

Johnny sits you on his lap as you eat, making sure you get your fill, likely aware that you haven't eaten yet today thanks to Dr. Keller telling on you. It's quiet in the room as everyone eats, even the TV off. They all look tired and tense, and you can only imagine what happened during their time away. The things they did, the things they saw. You wonder how much blood is on their hands now, hands that have touched you, hands that are holding you. 

They can just go off and kill people and come back and act like nothing has happened. 

You could almost laugh at how psychotic it all sounds. 

This is your life now. This is your new normal. 

“We have a quick meeting. Shouldn't take too long.” John says as they stand, Johnny placing you gently on your feet. 

You tug at your sweatshirt, avoiding his gaze. They're leaving you again. They won't be far this time, but still. You just want to curl up in bed with them and lay there until you feel safe again. 

Tomorrow, John had said. Tomorrow they will be yours. 

It might have been easier if you hadn't been told they were coming home until tomorrow.

***

You tense under the blanket as the door closes, quiet footsteps approaching your position on the couch. There's a quiet sigh as a figure drops to a knee in front of you, their figure visible as a shadow beneath the blanket. 

“Can you breathe under there?” 

You slowly lower the blanket just enough to peek over the top of it. John is kneeling next to the couch, his brows furrowed in a frown. You're in his office, having shut yourself in there while they went into the meeting. John had made you swear not to go snooping as he’d let you inside. You had promised, as you still feel no desire to dig through the likely classified files that were locked in the cabinets and on his computer. Instead you had parked yourself on his couch, burrowing under a blanket that smelled faintly of petrichor and tobacco smoke. 

“There she is.” He says as you peek above the blanket, gently running a hand over the top of your head. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?” 

“You left me.” You say quietly, trying not to burst into tears and confess everything. 

“I know.” He says, wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. “But we came back, just like we promised.” 

He is right in that regard, yet you can’t help the tears as they slide down your cheeks. The ache in your chest that had started to build over the last few days is still present despite their return. Everything is wrong. They feel too far away, too distant. Nothing is safe anymore, nothing is sacred, and they’re just acting like everything is back to normal. 

“Would you like to kneel for me?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. 

You’re tempted to say no. For the first time you feel wary of your alpha. What kinds of things would you admit in your dazed state? If he questioned you, would you give him enough to put together that something had happened and you’ve been trying to hide it from him? Maybe it would help, though. It would at least ease some of the tension that’s built up. Maybe it could pull you back from the edge of distress you’ve been dangling over for almost two days. Maybe he’ll accidentally scruff you and you can forget the whole thing happened. 

The dark thought sends a chill down your spine. 

“Okay.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit. 

John offers you a hand, helping you up off the couch. You don't want to let go of his hand, you don't want to be parted from him. The omega in the back of your mind is screaming at you to get close to him and stay there for the rest of time. If he leaves you again...you're not sure you can handle it. 

He settles in his desk chair, getting everything he needs ready. He'll work on his reports while you kneel, a familiar position, a familiar situation. You've done this before several times. You're not sure why you're suddenly nervous. 

You set the pillow down, dropping to your knees beside him. The chair creaks as he shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. You fight the urge to flinch, to move away as he gently strokes his hand over your hair. You've done this before, he's done this before. You're not sure why your heart is thudding in your chest. 

His hand slowly moves lower, slipping closer and closer to your neck. You can't help it as your shoulders come up, preventing him from gripping the back of your neck. He moves his hand away as you get defensive, his chair turning slightly as he leans down. 

“It's alright, sweetheart. It's just me.” He soothes you, his hand returning to the top of your head. “I know it's been a while, but I promise I remember what to do.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp out, trying to relax. “I don't...I don't know...”

You do know. Your brain keeps flashing back to General Shepherd, his hand tugging down your collar, so close to your neck. How easily he could have scruffed you, if he'd wanted to. You would have known if he had, but he could have done anything to you during the time he had control. 

“You're stressed, all worked up.” John says, still stroking the top of your head, trying to soothe you. “It's been a long week for all of us. It was a risk, sending all four of us at once. A stupid risk that shouldn't have been taken.”

You're pulled from your emotional state at the slight hint of anger in his voice. It hadn't taken you long to figure out they likely were all sent in order to get you alone. It would have been impossible to get you out of the barracks and put cameras up with even one of them here. Did he know about Shepherd's visit? Had he put two and two together and figured out they sent all four of them on purpose? You figured he'd be angrier if he knew about what you did, about what they did to you. He would be blazing a path straight to General Shepherd if your alpha knew he got so close to you, put you in that kind of situation. 

At least, you hope he would. There’s still that fear in the back of your mind, that worry that it was all a test and you’ve failed. Would they send you back to the institute? Would they break the bonds and send you to a different pack? Would they send you out on your own, leaving you to fend for yourself until some other alpha crossed your path and decided you were worth it? Does he know you’re lying to him, hiding the truth of what happened while he was away? Is he waiting for you to confess, biding his time to see how long you try to hide it? 

You want to tell him. You really do, but you can't bring yourself to get the words out. You can't bring yourself to confess here on your knees before your alpha. You feel guilty, like a sinner, yet the shame keeps the words trapped inside. 

He continues to soothe you, sliding his hand further down until he reaches your neck. You force yourself to relax, knowing you need this. You need your alpha to take control. You need him to ease the heavy weight on your shoulders, even if he doesn't know what he's lifting. 

You close your eyes as his fingers press into your neck, your brain quieting to a hum as you begin to slip into the back of your mind. You feel the rush of endorphins as your brain begins to calm itself, quieting the storm that's been raging for almost a week. You begin to go numb, relaxing into John's hold as he eases you into a quiet, meditative state. He begins to work on his reports as he holds you, your mind floating off somewhere else, somewhere safer where no one can break in and hurt you, somewhere where the barracks are still secure and safe and your pack never left.

Somewhere where there's no initiative, and your pack picked you because they wanted you, because you were a good omega who did as she was told and didn't make stupid mistakes that put everyone in danger. 

The last of the tension leaves your body, your mind distant from the present moment. You're safe with your alpha. He'd never let anything happen to you. None of your pack would let anything happen to you.

The thought continues to repeat in your head like a mantra as you relax, held up by the strong pillar that is your alpha. 

***

“Report's done, Captain.” Kyle says, placing the stack of papers on John's desk. 

“Thanks.” John sighs, grabbing them. 

Kyle turns to look at you, fast asleep on the couch. “You want me to take her?” He asks, the formality easing between them as they settle into being a pack and not a task force on duty anymore. 

John stares at you, curled up on his lumpy old couch. It’s getting late, or at least it feels that way. You’ve been out, sleeping peacefully on his couch since he eased you out of your kneeling position. You’d clung to him tightly, and for a moment he’d considered holding you, letting you sit with him as you dozed, but he knows he can’t risk you seeing something you shouldn’t. So he’d eased you onto the couch, having to peel your hands away from his shirt. He’d nearly given up and let you keep hold of his shirt before you finally relaxed and released him. 

“Would probably be more comfortable.” He rubs his eyes, feeling the call of sleep himself. He wonders how much you managed to sleep while they were gone. You look tired, though you’ve been looking tired since your heat ended. He needs to rest himself, but he wants to get these reports done so he can keep his promise for tomorrow. “I'll be in there soon.”

“Don't work too hard.” Kyle says, moving to lift you off the couch. 

“No promises.” 

Kyle shakes his head before scooping you up off the couch, blanket and all. You’re still sound asleep as he carries you, pausing in the hallway for a moment. He had just been instinctually going to his room, but would you be more comfortable in your own room? You probably have spent the last week shut inside your space. It might be nice to spend some time somewhere else. 

He takes you into his room, laying you on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable. He needs to shower and throw his clothes in the wash, but he doesn’t want to leave you and risk you waking up without someone there. You’re sleeping deeply, though, not even stirring as he tucks the blanket up higher around you. He doesn't want to crawl into bed smelling like gunpowder and sweat. That might throw you off too. 

He takes the risk, knowing he can do both tasks quickly. No more than twenty minutes to get himself clean and his dirty clothes in the wash, as he prays you stay asleep and won't start panicking if you wake in a strange place. He had sensed how close you had been to distress, how tense you had been when he held you in the car. It’s been a hard week for you, even harder than it had been for them. 

He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as he finds you still asleep when he returns to his room. You haven't moved at all, still tucked under the blanket from John's office. He gets himself changed and moisturized, rubbing some cream on the bruises that dot his skin. He's going to be sore tomorrow, they all will be, but he knows they won't be doing much. John had already told them tomorrow will be dedicated to spending time with you and helping you recover from the stress of them being gone. He’s silently glad for the break, knowing it could only be a few days before they get called out again. 

John had also told him he’d be pushing harder for one of them to stay whenever he can. He’s not taking this risk again, not if it can be avoided. 

Kyle’s pulling on his sweatpants when you inhale sharply. You're sitting up straight on his bed, eyes wide as you look around in fear. They’re hazy, confusion settling into your mind after going from John’s office to Kyle’s room after kneeling. 

“Hey, hey. It's alright.” Kyle says, moving over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge so he’s in your line of sight. “You're just in my room.”

“Kyle?” You whisper, clarity returning to your gaze as you stare at him. 

“I'm here.” He says. “Just went to take a shower and clean up.”

“Where's John?” You ask, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Still working on things.” He says, cupping your face. “He'll be in eventually.”

The tears fall from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. They wet his thumbs as he strokes your skin, your body trembling slightly as you sniffle. 

Something’s wrong. He's known it since you latched onto him on the tarmac. The way you'd held onto him like he might disappear, how you looked almost angry when John told you they still had things to do, the way your scent had filled the barracks, bitter with fear and stress. 

Something’s up, something you're not letting them in on. But, to be fair, they had just left you for a week, up and abandoned you to go play heroes. He wouldn't blame you for not telling them anything. The bonds have weakened. He can feel it, beyond just his natural beta senses. 

“What can I do?” He asks quietly, trying to project his scent a bit to help calm you. He doesn't want you distressing, not after holding it together for so long. 

“I...I need...” You inhale shakily, still trembling in his hold. “I don't know.” You whine, the tears falling faster now. 

He pulls you against his chest, holding you as you cry. He feels the tugging in his chest, sympathy for you and what you must be feeling, along with the guilt of knowing they caused this. They did this just with their absence. 

An idea begins to form in his mind as he holds you, something his family used to do when he was younger. 

He pulls away from you, standing up. “Come on. I have an idea.” 

He strips the blankets from his bed before pulling the mattress off the frame. He drags it to the door and out into the hallway before heading down to John's room. You follow behind him, watching him as he opens the door to John’s room, dragging the mattress in and dropping it on the floor. 

“Stay here.” He tells you, heading back out into the hallway.

“What're ye doin’?” Johnny asks, sticking his head out of his door. 

“Grab your mattress and Simon and meet me in Price's room.” Kyle says as he heads down the hallway, ignoring Johnny's further questioning as he makes for John’s office. 

He doesn't bother knocking, walking right in. John blinks at him from behind the desk, and for a moment Kyle wonders if he'd fallen asleep sitting up. It wouldn't be the first time. 

“Come on.” Kyle says, moving to stand in front of his desk. “Finish those tomorrow.”

“They're important, I have to get them done asap.” John counters. 

“Yeah, well I have something more important.” He leans forward at John's questioning stare. “Your omega needs you.” 

John stares at his beta for a moment, and Kyle can see the gears turning in his head, the debate happening, the conflict in his mind. He so rarely sees his alpha, his captain so indecisive for so long. He's usually so quick to act, analyzing a situation and making a decision in mere seconds. 

If only you knew the things you've done by simply existing in their lives. 

John closes the file on his desk, slipping it into the drawer before locking it. Kyle fights the triumphant grin threatening to form on his face as John stands from his chair after shutting his computer off. Kyle makes his way back down the hallway, John following behind after locking his office door. Kyle stops at his room, grabbing his comforter before heading for John’s room. 

Johnny had obviously gotten the idea of what Kyle had in mind, his mattress and John's laid out side by side so the three make one giant bed for them on the floor. He’s already laid out his own comforter and Simon’s, as well as John’s on the mattresses. They probably wouldn’t need blankets for long with their body heat, but the blend of scents will hopefully begin to ease the tempest raging in your mind. 

You’ve parked yourself in the corner, watching it all happen. You seem so small, so lost, so out of place. It's not all that different from when you'd arrived in their lives. Has being gone for a week really reverted things so drastically for you? Has your stress broken the bonds so much that you feel like a stranger amongst them again? 

Kyle steps over the mattresses, approaching you slowly. You look up from where you had been staring off into space, blinking up at him. Your eyes are still red and watery from crying, your arms clutching one of your stuffed bears against your chest. It’s the one John had scented for you, back when they were trying to get you to nest. He wonders if you’ve nested since they left, if that urge is still there, or if that too has faded. 

Kyle doesn’t often feel angry at his job. Not anymore. He doesn’t often question it. It’s what he signed up for, and he does it because someone has to. He chose this life, so he does his best to be a good soldier, to follow orders. Yet, as he stares down at you, he can’t help but feel anger bristling in the back of his mind. He tries to blame it on his instincts, on the fact that a member of his pack is so upset, so distressed at something that’s happened, and he doesn't know what to do to help. 

Yet he knows they were the cause of it, even if it wasn’t their choice directly. Something happened because of them. He tries to rationalize it. This is an experiment, a test to see how well packs will do with omegas, if it has any effect on how well they can do their jobs, if it makes them stronger, or if it weakens them. Those in charge had obviously put little regard in for how it would affect the omegas. They couldn’t have known how you would react, how badly all of them leaving would affect you. Or maybe they did know, and they simply didn’t care.. Perhaps you weren’t the focus of their study, but you were still a variable, you were still an important piece of this puzzle. 

How can they be more effective if their omega is struggling because of their absence? How can they be expected to function like a team now knowing leaving behind their omega will only cause distress for all of them? 

Kyle takes a deep breath, pushing back the anger and the emotions whirling in his own mind. He needs to focus on you right now, focus on helping you relax, helping you get back to where you were before they left you. He’s doing the best he can do right now for you, giving you what you need, even if you don’t realize it’s what you need yet. 

He holds out his hand to you, staying still as you stare at it. It takes you a moment before you slowly begin to move, slipping one of your hands into his. He guides you to the mattress in the middle, Johnny’s mattress, easing you down to sit on it. You glance around as Johnny and John toss pillows onto the mattresses haphazardly, making sure everything is perfect. It’s not a pretty nest, he’d hardly call it a nest at all, but he knows nesting is not necessarily all about looks. It’s about feeling, and right now, he knows you need to feel safe and secure. 

John quickly changes into more comfortable clothes as Kyle stretches out on the mattress, opening his arms to you. You curl up against his side, resting your cheek against his chest. You press your face into his skin, inhaling for a moment before you settle, slowly beginning to relax in his hold. 

Simon enters the room as John settles on Kyle’s other side, closing the door behind him and locking it, securing the five of you inside. Johnny settles on the other side of you, pressing up close against your back. He pulls one of the comforters up around the three of you before he tosses an arm around you, resting his hand on Kyle’s stomach, sandwiching you between the two betas again. 

Simon stands over the makeshift nest, staring down at the four of you. He’s obviously the most uncomfortable with the situation, and still a bit miffed from your lack of greeting on the tarmac. It was his own fault for being so closed off with you for so long. You had instinctively sought out the members of the pack you felt the most connected to, the most comfortable with in your time of such great stress. 

“Aw come on, ye big bastard, get in the bed.” Soap says, snapping Simon out of his reverie. 

Simon shuts the light off, bathing them in near darkness. You tense for a moment as the lights go off before you slowly relax again. Kyle listens to your breaths even out as Simon gets comfortable on the mattress behind Johnny, the four of them settling in around you. 

It's already warm in the room but none of them would even think of complaining. They’re too focused on surrounding you with their scent and their protection, the very thing you need the most. 

NEXT ->

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[reiding-writing]

Hi :)

Could I maybe get a two-for-one for your work, Deprivation? Maybe where reader takes Spencer home with them and they do some skin to skin cuddles and he just melts and sleeps for more than a plane ride?

Or if you don’t like that idea, just any continuation of Spencer being so afraid of touch but desperately needing it? I feel that in my soul.

I love your work so much, you’re beyond fantastic!

SALVATION — SPENCER REID!

after spencer gets some rest on the plane ride home, you offer for him to stay the night with you.

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.0k | h/c | masterlist.

part one.

event masterlist.

a/n — thank you so much ml, i forgot how much i loved writing stuff like this, spencer needs so many hugs man

Your apartment was warm, a comforting contrast to the sterile jet and the cold night outside.

Spencer seemed out of place at first, standing awkwardly by the door as you set your keys on the table. You could see the fatigue in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the case still clung to him.

“Why don’t you get comfortable?” you suggested gently, motioning toward the couch.

He hesitates, lingering in the doorway like he’s intruding, like he’s unceremoniously encroaching on your space despite the fact that you’d insisted he spend the night at your apartment, insisted that he was going to get a good night’s rest even if it meant not getting one yourself.

It makes him feel bad. Guilty. You should be doing this for him, or feeling like you have to.

“Spencer,” You sigh, “Please,”

He reluctantly relents at the hint of desperation in your tone, toeing off his shoes and sinking into the cushions of your couch. His fingers twitched nervously, his mind still racing even in the quiet.

You brewed tea in the silence, not wanting to push him into talking if he wasn’t ready but wanting to offer him something—something to show that you cared, that you wanted him to feel safe and comfortable with you.

When you came back, you set the mugs on the coffee table, then sat next to him, close, but not impeding on his personal bubble.

The air felt thick with the unsaid, but you waited patiently, letting him come to you in his own time.

After a few minutes of silence echoed only through soft sips from your drinks, Spencer finally spoke, his voice small. “I… I can’t seem to turn my brain off. It’s like, no matter how exhausted I am, I can’t stop thinking about everything. It’s just… always there.”

Your heart ached for him. You could see how much he was carrying, how much he was trying to hold together on his own.

“You don’t have to do that tonight,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to keep holding it all together.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and something deeper. Vulnerability. “I don’t know how to… stop.”

You scooted closer, your fingers gently brushing his. “Come here,” you whispered, your voice gentle but firm. “Skin-to-skin contact can help calm your nervous system. Let me hold you for a while,”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

You were really pulling his own moves against him.

And you weren’t even wrong. It would indeed chemically help calm down his nervous system through releasing oxytocin and serotonin, not to mention promoting activity of the oxytocinergic system.

So there was no excuse to not listen to you.

Slowly, cautiously, he allowed you to take his hand and guide him toward you. You both shed your outer layers—he pulled off his sweater, and you slipped out of your own long-sleeved shirt, leaving the soft barrier of your undershirts between you.

You pulled him into your embrace, wrapping your arms around him as he rested his head against your chest, your warmth surrounding him.

At first, Spencer was stiff, as if unsure how to allow himself to relax into you. But gradually, the tension in his body began to melt.

Your hands stroked soothing circles on his back, your heartbeat steady and grounding beneath his cheek. You could feel the way his breathing began to even out, slow and deep, as if the weight of the world was finally starting to lift.

“You’re safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing the top of his head. “It’s okay to rest.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands curling gently into your shirt as he allowed himself to surrender to the comfort you offered.

He pressed closer, his body seeking the warmth and safety that came with your touch, revelling in what he’d lost from you after the plane had landed back in D.C.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind began to quiet. The intrusive thoughts that normally plagued him began to fade, replaced by the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, the gentle hum of your voice as you whispered reassurances into the dark.

“I’m still so tired,” he confessed, his voice breaking slightly as the weight of the admission hit him. “I know I slept on the plane but…”

“I know,” you whispered back, shaking your head softly and holding him tighter. “You don’t have to fight it anymore. Just sleep.”

And for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, Spencer allowed himself to let go. His body melted into yours, his breathing deepening as the exhaustion finally caught up to him.

Within minutes, he was asleep, completely relaxed in your arms.

You held him as he slept, your fingers still running through his hair, your heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. He deserved this—this peace, this comfort—and you would give it to him for as long as he needed.

And as Spencer slept, you could almost see the tension lift from his features, his body finally at ease. He looked peaceful, truly peaceful, in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long.

You stayed there with him, letting him rest, knowing that when he woke up, you’d still be there, ready to hold him again. Ready to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat Chapter 11: the trap snaps shut

masterpost

Five vans peeled into view, rocketing around the curved road fast enough that they visibly tilted through the turn. They all bristled with weaponry.

Cass felt her lips press into a faint line. She glanced at Dannybaby: scared. I knew it. Here they are.

They didn’t have to talk about it. The three adults stepped out and put their backs to ring Danny, facing outwards to the threat.

“Shoot the racks,” she commanded. The mounted weapons. She didn’t like that. She pulled out a batarang herself and squinted to find her aim. The construction? Sloppy. Exposed wires. Weakness.

A gun cocked. “Aye aye, captain.” Jason hefted a gun in each hand and started shooting as the vans screeched to a stop in a circle around them. Bang! Sparks flew where he hit. Cass and Dickiebird did the same with quieter precision, slicing wires and leaving projectiles sticking into the metal monstrosities. Electricity sparked. Just in time: machines whined as they were powered on. One gave out with a huge bang!  The van attached to it jolted as the machine punched a huge dent into the roof. White smoke floated away, clouding the nighttime scene with a chemical stink.

“Whoa,” Danny breathed.

She felt a twinge of satisfaction.

Jason hit the last set-up with a bang! Bang! Then his foot scuffed across the pavement to knock against Danny’s. Check, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re little.

“They’ll come out!” Danny warned.

He was right. Doors clicked unlocked all around them and men in white suits piled out, futuristic looking guns aimed at the little group. 

She felt a twinge of disbelief. “Can’t shoot,” Cass said. No way. So dumb. They were in a circle. Friendly fire, new concept to losers??

They shot. She hit the ground in a roll and trusted that everyone else would. They did. She turned her head to see that one agent was down from friendly fire. There was no blood as he was lifted off his feet and blasted backwards against the van he came out of.

“Ghost scum!” howled one of the suits.

“We knew it!” 

The victory in their voices set her blood boiling. Cass launched herself to the closest opponent and took him down with a nasty hit. She whirled on the next one, two mean hits. Go, go, clear the area! She heard feet scuffling and weapons whining as they fired, fired, fired on the boys.

She took number 4 down as the smoke was starting to clear. She heard a pained oof from the center, where Jason and Dickiebird were blocking Danny.

“Jason!” Danny said. He sounded very young. “Oh, shit.” Cass cast a frantic glance over at his posture and sucked in a breath even as she bulleted towards the next opponent. Determined. I have to do this. Here we go! 

No, no!

Jason was down. Dickiebird was darting between Jason and the man actively firing. Danny was pale. He opened his mouth. He put his palms out. He flashbanged. 

She blinked away stars and slammed a man’s head into a van before he could aim at her. Slam, slam, drop. She stole another glance. Danny was- Danny had white hair now and he was flashing green light at their enemies. Hm. She couldn’t afford to watch. Cass bared her teeth, angry. 

Air sizzled: GIW firing wildly. Guns fired: Jason was still conscious. Danny yelped: what? 

Cass didn’t dare look more. She moved faster than Batman could ever, brutally taking down these criminals with disdainful ease. They had nothing but numbers and lasers. 

Green shot past her vision. She traced it back: Danny! Her eyes went wide. Wow. He had some kind of organic blast, like Starfire. Very useful! 

 It wasn’t enough. Danny screamed. She heard him hit the ground. Sizzling.

She howled, wordless with fury. She tackled the next agent and cracked his head against the pavement. Only two more. She flung a batarang down the barrel aimed at her and then yanked the weapon away to brutally jab the air out of the agent’s diaphragm. Cass tossed it at him as he fell. Solid thunk. It hit his head.

The last man tried to say something, white teeth flashing in the gloom. Her ears were closed to it. The only language she spoke right now was violence. She used it to get him down and wrench him into zip ties. She could hear Dickiebird talking his soothing sounds at Danny baby. Cass wanted to go there. Cass wanted to soothe him. She wanted to see his hurts. 

But she had to secure the area. She rushed around to the groaning and crying men she had put down. She immobilized them. The foolish ones tried to get up as she approached. The smart one (and there was only one) held his hands out, eyes wide in the night. He talked at her. Beseeching, reasoning, she just doesn’t understand. You’re like me. Not like them.

Cass snarled. She understood just fine. She pressed his face into the ground harshly, fingers digging into his jaw. “Shut up,” she gritted out. She left him with effort, ignoring the mean impulse to smack him. 

All the boys were on the ground. There was no blood. Eyes open. Not dead.

Something in her gun unclenched.

Dickiebird looked up at her from where he was supporting Jason, sitting halfway with a grimace as he holstered his guns. Hands shaking. “He’ll be fine!” Danny pressed his body against Jason like he was trying to absorb his body heat. His hair was black again and his eyes looked tired. “He, uh, it’s shock,” Dannybaby babbled. She knelt to rub at his back, silently encouraging the explanation. “They basically zapped his ecto, stopped circulation. It should start up again in a few minutes and he’ll feel fine.”

“Get off,” Jason grunted. He shoved at Dickiebird. Weak. “I feel fine.”

Lie.

“I feel drained,” he admitted. “But fine. Just weak. I can stand.” He struggled to stand, biting his lip. He swayed only slightly. “Man,” he cursed under his breath. Jason cast an unhappy look at the 14 agents groaning on the ground, on their bellies like the worms they were with hands ziptied at their backs. “Not my best showing.”

“Next time, you could dodge,” Dickiebird suggested lightly. 

“You’re lucky it got him and not you,” Danny snapped. “Didn’t you see that guy go flying?”

Tense. Dickiebird paused. Smile. Soothe. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “It’s fine, Danny.”

“None of this is fine!” Cass swiveled her head to make sweltering eye contact with the scumbag who was cutting in. He was bold, for someone with his cheek digging into the rocks and cement. “By the authority of the US Government, you are required to submit these ecto-entities for testing and capture into our custody. Release us, or face dire consequences!”

Cass looked at him. She felt hate. Disdain. You’re nothing, you’re a worm to me. 

“They’re telling the truth,” Danny whispered. “It’s, uh, it’s legal.” He looked haunted. He rubbed at his chest: some memory of sharp pain.

Dickiebird snorted and slung an arm over Danny’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe by US laws, but Oa has jurisdiction that supersedes. This was a clear case of assault.” He gave an unpleasant smile. Big brother. Big angry. Guard dog at the door. “I’ll make a call.” 

The next minutes felt very long. Cass pressed Danny’s face into her shoulder so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with the fallen agents. She stroked his hair with her free hand, boiling inside with fury. 

Dickiebird called. A Green Lantern answered: coming.

They waited. Jason said he felt better. His body said: mostly better. But strange. They ignored the threats and complaints from the GIW men on the ground.

Hal Jordan came, with one more Green Lantern that Cass didn’t know. He gathered up prisoners in a green veil. He talked with Dickiebird. He nodded, and left.

“I wanna go home,” Danny said quietly. “But I think that we need to get Jason to my doctor. He’s really not right. It’s… It might be time sensitive.”

[lunarforager]

Beginner Witch's Guide: Crystals

Today's witchy lesson is on crystals! Specifically, crystal shapes and their meanings, types of crystals and their meanings, and what you can use crystals for in your practice!

---

Basic Crystals and Their Meanings:

Clear Quartz -> Clear quartz is known for its ability to amplify intention and magnify the energy of other stones around it

Selenite -> Selenite is good for cleansing and purifying the area and objects around it

Amethyst -> Amethyst provides a peaceful and relaxing energy

Carnelian -> Carnelian is known for boosting creative energy and allowing for better creative flow

Rose Quartz -> Rose quartz is known for supporting and amplifying love of all kinds (self love, romantic love, platonic love, etc.)

Pyrite -> Pyrite (also known as 'Fool's Gold') is known for drawing in success and fortune

Obsidian -> Obsidian sucks in negative energy from the surrounding space providing protection from unwanted energies and negativity

---

Crystal Shapes and Meanings:

Cube -> Cube shaped crystals are often tied to grounding and would be good to use during meditation or meditative spellwork.

Sphere -> Sphere shaped crystals are thought to be more balanced with the energy they emit, splitting it evenly in all directions. They are good to use in grounding work (like meditation) or for protective spells/energy.

Pyramids -> Pyramid shaped crystals are most commonly associated with the idea of communing with celestial bodies or with the universe. Pyramid shaped crystals would be beneficial to use in deity worship or working with deities for spellwork.

Tower/Point -> Tower and point shaped crystals are known to amplify intention and point it in a certain direction. In my opinion, they are the most universally helpful shape and so can be used for a variety of spells.

Palm Stones -> Palm Stones are flat disks of stone that can be placed in one's palm and are often used to provide soothing energy. When placed in the palm they can be rubbed to provide therapeutic relief in moments of anxiety.

Cluster -> A cluster is a mix between a sphere and a point. The energy is emitted in all directions, but not evenly. They are most beneficial for spells and powers you want amplified, but don't need to be even or concentrated in one particular area.

---

General Crystal Tips:

When purchasing crystals, make sure the ones you are buying are coming from reputable, ethical sources and are actual crystals!

Before letting any crystal come in contact with the sun or with water, make sure it is safe to do. Some crystals are known to leech harmful chemicals or elements into water when submerged while some will just erode away in minutes. Some crystals can also fade if left in direct sunlight for a long time (amethyst is one of these so keep that in mind!)

If you do not like working with crystals, think something works better for you than crystals, or simply are just not interested in working with crystals, they are not necessary for the craft! Crystals (like any other witchy tool) are optional but can not only provide useful energies or attributes, but also just look super cool and are great to put on altars or in spaces around your home!

---

Well, that's all for my beginners guide to crystals! There are so many more crystals out there with their own unique shapes, attributes and energies that I suggest going and doing more research as you start to collect crystals! If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to reach out, I love talking to people and love making new friends <3

Valete my friends! :3

[ghoulbrain]

Animal Instinct

18+ 3.5k ghoul x f!reader. graphic depictions of violence, wound tending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, feral/protective cooper, cannibalism, blood, dirty talk, vaginal fingering. gif credit. read on AO3. written as part of the Saddle Up, Sweetheart verse, but can be read as a stand-alone.

When you're both ambushed by raiders, Cooper comes to understand the lengths he'll go to keep you safe.

This never would have happened if Cooper was still traveling alone. He would have been more aware of his surroundings, he would have seen the signs of an ambush long before he stepped into it, and he wouldn’t have been so focused on you instead.

It’s lazy to blame you, though. The fault is his. Without preamble or flourish he draws his revolver and starts emptying shots into the spill of sorry sons of bitches that decided they would ruin his evening.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you move forward, weapon drawn. His lip twitches. Your grip is good, but your stance is horse-shit. If this is going to become a thing–you taggin’ along like this–he’ll have to show you how to properly fire a gun.

He refocuses quickly, stepping forward to keep himself angled between them and you. The ambush isn’t anything special: just a bunch of jumpy junkies with twitchy trigger fingers looking for their next score. He takes a shot to the shoulder, another to the sternum. He doesn’t feel anything but the impact and pressure of irradiated flesh being forced apart around the bullets. There’s no pain, not so long his system is flooded with chemicals.

It’s your cry of pain that sets his nerves ablaze. He fires two more shots–dropping the men who hit him–before he whirls around, a hot rush of fire rolling through him at the sight of you with a man pressed up against your back, one arm fitted around your throat while he crushes your wrist in his other hand, squeezing hard, keeping your gun pointed at the ground as he chokes you out.

That’s when he sees the knife sunk into your thigh, blood soaking a wide crimson circle into your clothing around the knife’s hilt. In this infinitely long and horrible instant that your gaze meets his. The pain and fear in your eyes trigger something in him, and the whole world becomes both brighter and slower all at once.

Cooper aims, fires, but his revolver clicks emptily. He doesn’t reach to reload. Instead, he moves on pure animal instinct, bearing his teeth and charging with a guttural snarl.

Adrenaline mixes with the chemical cocktail in his veins and he moves faster than the man reacts, ripping his hands from you and throwing your assailant to the ground with such incredible force it dazes the man, his eyes glazing over. He roars in the raider’s face, spittle and yellow flecks coating his dirty skin, before he lunges, sinking his teeth into the pulsing jugular below.

He lends no thought to how natural it feels to bite into warm, living flesh.

Rearing up, mouth bloodied and full of viscera, Cooper winds his fist back and strikes the man in the face. His first blow hits his jaw. The next strikes his temple.

Straddling him, he doesn’t stop hitting. One fist after the other. He aims for the jaw, the temple, the high of his cheek. He misses and shatters his nose with a satisfying crunch, blood spewing from his nostrils to coat his knuckles. His jaw breaks with a pop. Broken teeth and bone slice flesh, mixing with gore and falling to the dirt in wet chunks.

The violence feels raw and good, like the first deep inhale of a vial or a hot wet fuck. He swallows the blood and meat lingering in his mouth and lets out a rough breath. Gritting his teeth he hits harder, driven on by the scent of blood and dirt. The gurgle of choked breaths. The slip of split flesh against his fists. It's all gasoline on the flames your peril sparked.

Cooper thinks of him stabbing you. Choking you. He thinks of your watery eyes, bright and terrified. He thinks of everyone he’s ever let down, ever failed to save, and he keeps hitting. Even when the man beneath him seizes. Even when he drowns in his blood.

Even when he dies.

Cooper is beating on a hunk of ruined flesh when he finally stops, drenched in the blowback of it.

Wheezing breaths saw from his lungs as he places one hand on the dirt road, lifting himself off of the mess of battered meat. He stares down at his knuckles where pain throbs with every heartbeat. It's a welcome sensation. Not because he deserves it, but because the raider did, and because he delivered. Destruction with his bare hands. Suffering where it’s meant to be found. He drags his tongue along the soaked leather of his glove and greedily swallows what collects on his tongue.

Heart thundering in his ears, Cooper stands, dipping briefly to pick up his gun. The grip slides around in his bloodied hand before he holsters it, cloudy eyes scanning for movement until his gaze lands on you. Down on the ground, clutching your wound, you look like a doe with a bum leg, your eyes blown wide and afraid. You look… irresistible. Not just as a woman, not just as his woman, but as an easy meal.

He takes a step forward, lips parted. The edges of you are blurry to his addled mind. The only part of you that’s in focus is the bright red of your wound seeping into your clothes. His memories of lapping the salt from your skin cross wires in his brain and all he can imagine is holding you safe and sound as he devours you.

“Cooper?”

The sound of your voice acts like a shock to his system that drags him back from the sweet coppery tang of warm, fresh blood in his mouth. He’s standing above you, closer than he realized he got. The sweetness in his mouth sours into putrid rot and he takes a step backwards, rasping out a cuss under his breath. He turns his head and spits, aggressively wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, smearing away blood and little chunks of flesh, abruptly and horribly aware of himself.

Shame blooms in his gut, unfurling all the way up to a tightness in his chest. He looks down at the mutilated body on the ground. There’s no head left, just wet gore soaking into the hungry dry earth below.

He completely lost control of himself. He spits, wipes, spits, wipes, rubs his mouth raw against his sleeve in an attempt to scrub away the taste and feel of it before he dares look at you again. He contemplates shoving a handful of dirt into his mouth just to chase away the lingering tang. He never wants to see you–to think of you–like that again. Like you’re just another hunk of meat.

Your touch makes him jerk away. He looks at you sharply, furious that you would come so close after what he’s done. What he could have done to you.

“Cooper–”

“M’not right,” he says roughly, taking hold of your wrist. You flinch and he realizes that he’s snatched the same wrist the motherfucker he beat into a paste had been crushing. He softens his grip, throat tight like there’s a hand squeezing it. “Fuck, would y’just–m’not right,” he says again, an edge of desperation in his emphasis.

“I know,” you say, voice tender, as if somehow he’s the one in need of gentleness. “I know. So come back. Don’t shut me out.” There’s more authority in your voice than you have any right to have in your position, shaking like a leaf while you touch his face, hushing him with such tenderness it fractures something in him that he thought long dead and buried under the weight of the last two hundred years.

Wish I could, he thinks, wiping his hand on his thigh. That you would look at him like that even now, as if he’s somehow still a man, eats at the very core of him. Makes him want to shy away, prove you wrong, and disappear into you all at once. He takes in a steadying breath before he clutches both of your arms, moving you to the ground. 

“Easy,” he says, voice barely above a rasp. “Y’bleedin’.”

You’re holding onto his elbows as he lowers you, gritting your teeth against the pain. He focuses on your discomfort, on the risk you face, fragile thing that you are, to keep his mind far away from the abyss he walked the edge of while maiming the body behind him.

His first priority is to stanch the bleeding. His movements become practiced, hands that of a soldier. He uses a strap from his pack to create a makeshift tourniquet, twisting it around a scrap rod. All the while he’s hyper aware of your gaze on him and the shallow huffs of your breath, the way it catches when he pulls the binding tight.

“Hurts,” you say tightly.

“I know,” he says, drawing his knife. He lifts your blood soaked pant leg–don’t pause, don’t think, don’t breathe it in–and slices open the fabric. “S’about t’hurt a whole lot more. Gimme a count, I’ll pull it on three,” he tells you, bracing one hand on your thigh, the other gripping the hilt of the knife.

“Okay, okay,” you say, sucking in a deep breath. “One–”

Cooper yanks the blade free, startling a yelp out of you that carries into a pained groan.

“What happened to three?!” You ask sharply, fingers digging into the dirt.

He hurriedly smothers the wound with the cleanest cloth he has before he works on tightly wrapping the wound. “S’better when y’don’t know it’s comin’.”

“Asshole,” you breathe.

The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth is reluctant, as if there’s an invisible string tugging at it against his will. “Can’t be that bad if y’still mouthin’ off.”

“It’ll take more than a measly stab wound to keep my mouth shut,” you say, familiar playfulness slipping in alongside the strain in your voice.

“Don’t I know it,” he grouses, glancing up at you. There’s nothing reluctant about your smile. It’s the opposite of his, earnest in a way he’s long forgotten how to be. You’re making an attempt at comforting him, he realizes, looking back down to finish his work, removing the tourniquet once he’s satisfied with the dressing.  “It’ll do for now. Y’need stitches.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say dismissively, shifting onto your knees.

He makes a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, sheathing his knife. “Would it kill y’not to be so damn contrary?”

“It might,” you say, catching the lapel of his jacket and pulling at him, bringing his attention back to you. He looks down at your hand, stained now with the crimson wetness spattered all over his coat. His clothes are soaked heavy with misery and blood, but it doesn’t dissuade you any. You touch his jaw with your other hand and lift his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey,” you whisper. You’re close enough that he should feel the ghost of your breath on his lips, but he can’t. Most of the subtleties of life are lost on a man so close to death. The only ghosts he knows now are those of his past. “You okay?”

Holding your gaze, he doesn’t answer you. Sometimes you feel like one of them, like another specter haunting him. The only difference is that you haven’t died yet.

Yet.

“Come back to me,” you murmur. His vision refocuses, finding you closer than you had been a second ago. The warm pressure of your lips grazing his cheek makes him falter, wanting the tenderness of your touch so viscerally it feels dangerous to admit even to himself. “Stay with me.”

Your hand lightly cups the back of his neck, holding him without caging him. You move closer, settling in his lap, grounding him with the weight of your body against his. He moves at that, grasping your hips and squeezing.

“Stay with me,” you say again, the words as fervent as prayer. His own lips parted, he can taste the breath of each word, sweet and warm, the way a distant part of him remembers things like love could be.

Why? He nearly asks. You won’t.

He had thought himself immune to this sickly feeling. This sense of grief for someone who isn’t yet gone, but you rip it out of him. The truth of the matter is that the Ghoul should never have entertained your company. He should have left you where he found you and been on his way without ever casting a backwards glance. The Ghoul would have.

It’s Cooper who didn’t. It’s Cooper’s hands sliding up your sides, squeezing your ribs and pulling you closer, deeper. He kisses you hungrily, craving you the way the Ghoul can’t. The way a man craves.

I ain’t dead yet.

And neither are you.

Two hundred years of surviving for tomorrow has eroded his ability to exist in the here and now, but your touches demand it of him. Your lips against his bring him into the moment as he lives it. As you live it with him.

“I ever look at you like that again,” he says gruffly, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip, catching yours in the process. He moves you back enough to lock eyes with you. “You put a bullet between my eyes.”

Your lips curve in a bittersweet kind of anguish. “Like you’re gonna eat me? Because right now–”

He gives you a sharp little shake. “Y’know what I mean,” he says, startling the smile off your face. From day one he’s liked your wit, the cavalier way you face life, but on this matter he needs you to hear him. “You ever look at me, and I’m not there, you promise you’ll put me down.”

The set of your mouth turns to a flat line, your gaze somber, and you nod. “I promise.”

Some of the tension in his haggard lungs eases and he kisses you again, need shooting up his spine like a hot geyser. “That’s my girl,” he breathes, leaning back and bringing you with him, saddling you properly astride his lap, his long legs stretched out behind you.

You kiss him back just as hungrily, heedless of the blood and gristle between your melding bodies, and he’s forced to remind himself that this is the only world you’ve ever known. There’s no time before this, not for you. Your life has always been full of horrors, and for reasons he’ll never fully comprehend, you’ve decided he’s one that you want close.

He slips his hands under your thighs and squeezes, hiking your legs around his waist until you’re seated closely enough to feel the growing ache between his legs. You don’t miss a beat, grinding down against him so fervently his breath breaks into a low groan. Not even he can deny his humanity in this. You turn his blood hot and shock the deadened thump of his heart into thunder. You make him feel alive.

He’ll return the favor. He’ll turn his spit to wine on your tongue and make your whole body fucking sing.

Breaking from your lips, he uses his teeth to tug his glove free, letting it fall to the ground. His mouth feels sandpaper dry, but your lips are plenty wet. 

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” he rumbles, parting your lips with the tips of his middle and index fingers. Your eager tongue slips molten wet between his fingers, your eyes hazy on his. He pumps his fingers slowly, cups the back of your head to keep you still while plunging all the way to his last knuckles before drawing them back. “That’s it… Get ‘em good and wet.”

It’s agonizing how easily you fall apart under his touch, and even more so how good you look doing it. Somewhat reluctantly, he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and with practiced ease maneuvers his hand down the front of your pants, curving his fingers to follow the contour of your pelvis until his fingertips slide through hot, wet arousal.

“Cooper,” you exhale, the pitch of your voice canary-sweet. If you have any care regarding the death that surrounds you or the blood between his body and yours, you don’t show it, nor pay it any heed. You’re focused entirely on him, lips parted on shallow breaths of pleasure. He strokes your clit in slow, deliberate circles, the rest of the world falling away the longer he watches your euphoria build.

Fuck, you’re goddamn beautiful. Why the hell you let a creature like him have you is beyond him, but he won’t let go. Not now. Not so long as you still look at him like this.

He swallows dryly, finally slipping his fingers into the welcoming heat of your pretty cunt. You’re soaked, his own personal oasis in the Wastes, velvet walls quivering around his toughened fingers. He angles the pad of his thumb against your clit and starts to finger fuck you in earnest, his cock throbbing beneath you. 

“Fuck,” you keen softly. Your hands braced on his shoulders, you meet every thrust of his hand, huffing divine little sounds while he fucks you with his fingers, crooking them until he feels you shudder.

“Yeah,” he breathes, enraptured. “That’s it. Got y’now, don’t I? Ah ah, don’t get shy on me,” he tsks when your eyes fall shut. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Eyes on me,” he says, voice frayed. You pry your eyes back open and hold his gaze, your own heavily lidded. “Good, s’good. Y’close now, ain’t’cha, sweetie?”

You nod fervently, moans bubbling up instead of words, your sweet features twisted in the exquisite agony that comes just before climax. You roll your palms against his shoulders, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his coat. He wishes he could feel the bite of your nails on his bare skin, wishes it were his cock sinking into you, but all that wistfulness is erased the second you cry out, your back arching, your cunt squeezing his fingers as you’re pitched forward into the throes of release.

Cooper grits his teeth, baring them like an animal as he fucks you through the tremors, grabbing hold of your jaw to keep you from collapsing, to keep your eyes on him. You slide your hands up and cup either side of his face, yanking him into a messy kiss. He falls into it easily, slowing the thrust of his fingers as the aftershocks of your orgasm settle until his hand is still against you, fingers pressed in deep, savoring the feel of you.

You kiss him leisurely with tongue, teeth and barely sated hunger. Your bliss slows you, and Cooper is content to simply feel. Even the lingering ache of his own need is a welcome sensation in a world he so often walks through feeling numb.

After a time, he slides his fingers from your pants, wiping them absently on his own before wrapping his arms around you. You sink into him in turn, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. The sun has almost disappeared completely, and the chill of night is beginning to nip the air. All of this carnage will attract predators soon, but he finds himself unable to rush the matter. His embrace tightens.

“I love you,” you murmur.

There was a time long before his heart became an open grave that he would have been eager to return the sentiment, but hearing those three little words turns his tongue to lead. They flood him with memories of an era where love came naturally–the way only violence does now–and shooting a man in the head was the most abhorrent act he could fathom for himself.

These days, a headshot is a kindness.

His stomach is tight, a bile-like burn creeping up his throat. He screws his eyes shut, swallowing it back. To his relief, you aren’t tense with anticipation. Instead, you pepper butterfly light kisses along the scarred column of his throat, paying special attention to the nicks and scars along the way to his jaw.

You kiss him. He takes your face in his hands and deepens it, pushing into you until your back arches. 

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispers against your lips, the words both a promise and a prayer. Not to God–He gave up on God a long time ago–this prayer is for you. It’s what he knows. It’s what he is. No matter the monster that threatens you, you’ll always have one of your own to bite back. You’ll always have him.

Strained, quieter yet, he says, “I swear.”

Or so help me, I’ll swallow the bullet myself.

“I know,” you say, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. There’s a blissful kind of sorrow in your expression, but so too is there understanding. He kisses you, closing his eyes against the dry burn of them. He’s not sure he’s even capable of tears anymore. He’s been worn down to the bone by sandstorms and bloodshed. Nothing goes untouched by the misery of the Wastes. No one goes through it unscathed.

What he does know is that he will do everything in his power to see that you’re never broken by it.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: surprise! Something to tide you guys over until the heart-wrencher that is part five!! Y'know, gotta have some laughs before everything blows up 💣 or something like that :)

previous chapter ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

What happens when your castmates decide to have a drinking game based on yours and Ewan's interviews? Chaos. Absolute chaos.

"Is it just me or does my head look abnormally large in this?" comes Tom's query as they sit on the floor around the low table in Phia's living room.

Phia, Tom, and Olivia are snug on the carpet, legs strewn in varying postions, their attention on the laptop on the table.

"No, just you, mate," Phia responds.

"Nah, look at 'im," Olivia counters, "Looking like a right old egghead."

"I knew it," Tom clicks his tongue, smiling at the jab.

The friends were just having a nice time catching up in Phia's apartment, and after several coffees and rolled cigarettes, they found themselves nestled on the floor, beers in hand.

Someone made a suggestion to check up on the interviews being released as part of the media rollout. And so they watched the cast's interviews, already having done with the one from Wired, MTV, and the Buzzfeed Puppy Interview.

"I loved those pups," Olivia remarked jokingly. "But they didn't love me back. Story of my life."

"Oh, I love you, Liv!" Phia had exclaimed, pulling her friend in for a hug.

"Aaanyway," Phia says, reaching forward and scrolling through the suggested videos, "how about this one next! I miss those two." She clicks on an interview you and Ewan had done together, in that long press day where you guys were paired by the media team.

"They look adorable, don't they?" Tom says. "Here's to hoping the lad's finally made a bloody move."

"What about the goss on that girl you all were with? The one at the pub?" Olivia curiously asks, not kept in the loop due to her holiday abroad.

"All bull. You know how the tabloids are. She was sweet and everything but Ewan was practically side-eyeing her all the way into oblivion when she kept clinging on his arm. Poor girl." Tom smirks, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"Awww, look! Ewan's looking at her all gooey-eyed. Even then!" Phia simpers, leaning against Olivia.

"Of course, I was extremely excited and nervous to join the cast for season two," you can be heard saying, "being a huge fan of the book and the first season... I mean, it was such a tall order for me to step into this world but you know - "

"She did it so flawlessly," Ewan says to the interviewer. "We were so lucky to have her join the show."

"Oh, come on," you can't help but blush and shake your head. "Everyone was so welcoming, really."

"Well, it's safe to say that the audience loves your character!" the interviewer says kindly.

"Thank you so much, I'm glad to hear that," you beam in return.

"What a character, indeed," Ewan says, looking at you again.

Tom giggles, swinging his beer, "The look on his face, oh my days! Ewan is whi-ipped, I'm telling you. Just look at those stars in his eyes, you'd think she's an angel or somethin."

"She is an angel," Phia muses.

"Lovely girl," Olivia agrees.

"Oh!" Tom sits upright suddenly, leaning forward on his knees, "How about this? They've got a couple interviews up, right? Drinking game then, shall we? A shot each time Ewan looks at her or pays her a compliment!"

Olivia laughs nervously, but she's more than game to participate. "A swig of beer or... "

"Nah!" Tom scrunches his face in response. "Say, Phi, have you got vodka or tequila or whatever?"

"I... think I've got some leftover tequila," she ponders. "Are you proposing a shot of tequila every time Ewan fawns over her? Isn't that a bit dangerous? Should we stick to beer?"

"It'll be fun," Tom reassures, already getting on his feet to fetch the bottle from the kitchen. "Ewan's a professional," he says, when he returns with tequila and three shot glasses. "Surely he maintained his focus during all of that. Can't be more than - what, three or four shots each?"

Oh, how wrong he is.

It only takes another interview for them to realise that they might have been overzealous in taking on the challenge.

Most Likely To with the cast of House of the Dragon, the screen displays. You and Ewan pop up in intervals, and they eagerly await your clips with shots in hand.

"Most likely to be late on set?" you say, raising your hands when you answer with, "I'm happy to say that it was not me."

"No?" Ewan asks.

"Nope, early each day," you smile at him.

"I believe you, I mean, I wish we actually had scenes together," Ewan says, smiling right back, eyes lingering on you when you add something more to your answer.

"Shot!" Tom exclaims. The trio's faces crunch up when the burning liquid slides down their throats.

"Fuck's sake," Olivia mutters. "Ewan better keep his googly eyes to himself."

"Don't get your hopes up," Phia says, knowing the both of you well.

"Most likely to accidentally date a serial killer? What the hell is this question?" Ewan snorts, eyebrows shooting up.

"Are we even in the right show for this?" you joke, and Ewan laughs harder, his hand finding your forearm and squeezing briefly.

"Shot, I suppose," Phia mumbles. "I mean, look at his face, the sweetheart."

Another round, and everyone feels warmer and more lightheaded.

"Wouldn't be me, I don't know about you?" you ask Ewan.

"Oh, I wouldn't. I don't think Aemond would either, he would see right through that."

"Next, most likely to show up in a stunning outfit," you read from the prompts off-camera.

"Hmm," Ewan muses, "I would say maybe Liv Cooke... she's had really good outfits on the carpet lately..."

"I agree," you nod enthusiastically. "Liv's killing it."

"And you, definitely," Ewan turns to you again. "I mean, stunning would be an understatement."

"Shot!" Olivia half-yells. "And bless her, look! She's turned all red from Ewan's flirting."

"Thanks, mate," you say, tilting your head at him. "You as well! Your stylists have outdone themselves this press tour, for sure."

"Half a shot cause she gives something his way?" Tom suggests, comically shrugging. By the end of the video, the group had done three and a half rounds of shots, all growing redder in the face, their laughter turning unhinged.

"I'm actually scared to do another interview," Olivia groans. "Can those two just shag each other already? Goodness!"

"Who knows? Maybe they have? Would be about time," Tom cheekily says, ever the agent of chaos.

"Ewan did fly out to see her," Phia nods. "They're both in America right now, my darlings."

"Another interview!" Tom gets to clicking, landing on the one you and Ewan did with Rotten Tomatoes.

"We ask everyone this question - can you tell me your favourite movie from this year?" is what the interviewer starts with.

"That's a good question," Ewan says. "Uhhmm, well, it isn't from this year I think but her film - " he gestures to you, " - is one of my all-time favourites. I think it came out late last year, if I'm not mistaken?" He looks to you for confirmation, and your flustered self manages to hum a response. "I just think the whole film was brilliant. It definitely showcases her talents and solidifies her as one to watch."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom sighs, and they all bring the shot glasses back to their lips.

"Guys, I might pass out by the end of this." Olivia stands to fetch herself a glass of water. "Ewan's a menace!" she calls out from the kitchen.

"We shouldn't have done this," Tom shakes his head.

"You suggested it!" Phia punches his arm, laughing.

"I guess I underestimated the degree of whipped that Ewan is. That cheeky lad."

Four more rounds of shots later, and the group has their tally up to eight and a half.

Yet another interview plays on the screen, and when Ewan - with all his bloody audacity - pushes a lock of hair away from your face on camera, Tom's eyes nearly bulge right out of his head.

"Oh my god!" he cries out. "He's trying to kill us! I think I'm actually going to puke."

"I quit." Olivia slumps against the base of the velvet couch. "I can't drink any more. Ewan wins."

Phia giggles at the screen, at the sight of her two dear friends slowly but surely falling in love right before the audience's eyes. In some show of celebration, she takes another shot, the last player left in the game.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Meanwhile across the Atlantic...

"Hey, darling," you hear Ewan's voice on the other line. "I just settled in my hotel in New York."

"That's good! Did your flight go well?"

"Mhmm, my meeting's tomorrow afternoon so I've got time to prepare," he takes a breath, before softly saying, "I miss you."

You laugh, "So you keep telling me, Mitchell."

"We're still on that huh, darling? Shouldn't you be calling me something more... personal, by now?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Well... the internet does call you their babygirl."

"Oh come on," he complains, smiling nevertheless.

"What is it, babygirl?"

"That's how you want to play it, bunny?"

"Ewan!" you groan. "Okay, okay."

"Anyway, darling," he says. "I really do miss you. I can't wait to see you again.'

The longing is clear in his voice and it tugs at your heart so much that you need to pause and collect yourself, before finally saying, "I miss you too, baby."

Cheers to all of yous who voted here! Baby it is ~

In the meantime...

Update! ~ part five

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