#posting this here too because this needs to stop

[gurugirl]

DILF [2] | older!harry

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Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again months later on Valentine's Day. It's unexpected, but very much welcome.

A/N: First part here! This isn't really super focused on Valentine's Day, it just happens to takes place on Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light), spanking, a touch of jealousrry

. .

Y/n wasn't big on Valentine's Day. She'd never dated anyone long enough for it to be of much importance. Though she did fondly remember the little heart-shaped candies and tiny Valentine's cards that would get shared in school when she was little, things were different as an adult.

So, instead of celebrating the holiday (if it could be called a holiday), she'd be going out with her single girlfriends and celebrating being a single girl instead. A single girl with a few drinks in her belly and a little dancing to get the blood flowing. Tara tried to do some kind of seductive dip to the beat of the song while Warren and Y/n laughed.

"This is how you do it!" Warren shouted over the loud club music and grooved her way down with the beat. She was the one with all the rhythm. Y/n and Tara were fighting for their lives to keep rhythm, but they were having fun, nonetheless.

"Priya commented on the post. Look…" Tara held her phone out to Y/n to look at the comment on her Instagram account.

"J said Y/n's looking yummy tonight!"

Y/n laughed and looked at Tara. "J? Oh my god, I haven't talked to him in ages. Let me respond!"

She took Tara's phone and typed a comment.

"You both should come out with us!"

After another round of drinks and dancing, Priya and J had joined the group at the club. Y/n wasn't necessarily interested in J. In fact, she hadn't really been interested in anyone since Harry. It'd been a couple of months since she'd seen him. Their night together was engraved under her skin and in her brain. She thought that with some time she'd forget about the older man, but her fingertips tingled and her chest grew tight whenever she thought about him, which was daily.

She didn't know why she had never called him. Maybe she was just stubborn, hoping he'd find her somehow and reach out himself. She had his number, but he didn't have hers. When he dropped her off at her place the morning after, he gave it to her and told her to call him.

And the more time that had passed, the more awkward it felt to randomly reach out to him. Now the window was surely closed, and she'd blown it. Which she regretted. She regretted that she was stubborn and wanted him to chase her that time. Wanted him to work to find her—which wouldn't have been all that hard. She had every social media account known to man, and everything was public. All he had to do was type her name into a Google search bar, and he'd find a dozen ways to contact her.

But she didn't call, and he didn't search her up, and that felt like the end of that. Unfortunately. It was unfortunate because he'd been so good. So exceptional compared to every other man she'd been with (if she could even call anyone who came before Harry a man). She was way more into him than she realized. Of course, by the time she realized it was too late, and now she was kicking herself.

"Hey, you here with us?" Tara took Y/n's hand and moved her away from the dance floor.

"Yeah. What do you mean?"

"You were zoned out there for a sec. Staring off toward the exit. You okay?"

Blinking her eyes and looking around, she nodded. "I'm good. Just started thinking. Sorry. Maybe I need a water. Probably should slow down a little anyway."

"Of course. Yeah, go get water. And stop thinking. I know who you're thinking about. He's in the past now. Okay?"

Tara knew that Y/n was kind of stuck on Harry. She'd confided in her a couple of weeks later. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was eating away at her.

"You're right. I'll be right back."

No sooner had she stepped away from Tara than J was on her heels. "I'll come with you!"

The oak bar was cast in reds and pinks for Valentine's Day. A sappy, upbeat song played loudly as she waved toward the bartender to order a water. J stood next to her, leaned into the veneered wood. "Just water?"

Yn nodded. "Need to cool off a little. Not interested in getting sloppy, ya know?"

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, turning her head to peer around the space and pretend she wasn't aware of where his eyes were wandering. She could deal with J. He was nice enough, and she knew he wouldn't push or anything. He was a bit too mild for that.

When her water was handed to her, the pink straw inside was tucked next to a stirrer with a heart at the top. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a drink as J slid in a little closer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She really didn't want to, not with him. It wasn't that he was ugly or unlikable or anything… she just didn't want to give him the wrong impression. Leading men on wasn't her style.

But before she even had the chance to tell him no, she saw a familiar hand attached to a familiar arm placed down on the bar next to her. She slowly turned, looking upward at the man whom she'd just been thinking about. He wasn't smiling as he leaned closer to speak. "You never called."

Turning so she could face him, she placed her elbows behind her on the bar top and lifted her brows in an attempt to feign complete control and calm. "Correct."

She watched as Harry looked past her to J and then back down at her. "Who's this?"

"A friend. Why? Jealous?"

She didn't know what angle she was going for with her hard-to-get act, but that's all it was—an act. Deep down, under her cool facade, she wanted to finish unbuttoning his shirt, the top three buttons already free, so anyone could see what he was working with underneath.

"Jealous of a boy? No."

Y/n reached for his button and pressed at it, her eyes on his. "Now, Harry. Honestly… He's my age. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to find someone my age. Thought you'd be happy for me."

"Thought you said he was just a friend."

She laughed and looked back at J, who was just standing by silently, looking between Harry and Y/n. Far too mild. She turned back to Harry. "See? You are jealous."

"Why didn't you call?"

Clearing her throat, she shifted her footing to get a little closer. "Because I wanted you to find me. I worked so hard to get you to crack that night we met and thought maybe you could put in a little effort if you were interested."

"That's not how it works," he spoke as he dipped his head closer, placing his other palm down on the edge of the bar to cage her in. "I gave you my number. You didn't give me any of your contact info. Didn't want to overstep. Ball was in your court."

"I'm easy to find, Harry. All you had to do was Google my name."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Saw your post on Instagram."

She lifted her brows, and a smile pulled at her mouth. "Is that so? And did you select this outfit just for me?" She reached again for his shirt, letting her pointer finger trail down the cotton edge along the button slits before she ran the pad of her finger on his warm skin.

Harry looked down at her hand and then back into her eyes. "Was gonna go on a date tonight. That's why I'm dressed like this."

She blinked, moving her hand away.

"Hey, uh… should we like… go back? Or, uh…" J spoke tentatively as he stepped closer.

"She's with me. You're welcome to go wherever you please, though," Harry responded, his gaze locked on Y/n's.

"I think—actually, um…" J stumbled on his words.

Y/n lifted her hand and looked over at J. "It's fine. Harry and I have a lot to discuss. You can go back to our table."

J opened his mouth and searched Harry's face, then looking back at Y/n and nodding, he scuttled away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She felt a little bad. Clearly, he thought he might have had a chance even though he never did.

"See? A boy. Couldn't even form a sentence. What are you doing with him anyway?"

"We were having fun is what we were doing. Hanging out with people my age. Why do you care anyway? You said you were gonna go on a date. Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Maybe at home. I didn't want to go out with her, so I cancelled."

"Then why did you plan a date?"

"So I could try and move on from you."

She hadn't expected that level of honesty from him, but his confession had her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Coming here to find me doesn't make it seem like you want to move on."

He shook his head, his eyes shifting downward over her dress before pinning them back on hers. "I didn't think we were done yet. Really expected you to call."

"And I really expected you to figure out how to find me. Should have been easy."

"You like the chase, then. Is that what you want? For me to chase you? Follow you around like a puppy dog?"

She laughed softly. "I don't think being a puppy is quite your style. But I do like that you came all this way just to see me."

He edged his hand toward her arm, running a thumb over her skin. "I'm too old to play games, Y/n. If you expect me to run after you, jump through hoops just to see you, and beg you for your time, then I'm not your guy."

"But you came here to see me."

"Yes, I did. Consider this your freebie cause I won't do something like this again. Ball's in your court now. What do you want? To go back and play with that little boy I sent away? Or to stop fucking around and come back home with me tonight again?"

Her lips parted as heat rose up her spine. A wanton need wrapped itself around her throat as she swallowed thickly. She enjoyed being the one with all the power and feeling like she was in charge. But it was different with Harry. Despite everything, he was the one calling the shots. And she wanted him so bad she could taste it. After all, he'd ditched a date so he could come find her.

"You like me." She grinned.

The tension outlining his posture softened as he rolled his eyes, and she watched as the edge of his lips turned upward. "What gave it away?"

"I like you, too. But my place is closer this time."

Y/n's friends were already watching the whole thing go down before she returned and told them she was heading out. Tara smiled. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Her apartment was only a few minutes' drive away. The small talk they'd been making before they stepped inside her place all but vanished the moment Harry pushed her to the wall and placed his knee between her thighs with a desperate kiss.

She even gasped in surprise when he moved her and she felt the plaster of her wall behind her back. He ran a rough palm up her bare thigh, the skirt of her dress shifting upward until the stretchy material was at her hips and he groped her ass.

"Wanted to do this the second I saw you standing at the bar. Show everyone who's taking you home…" he spoke against her mouth as his thumb caught on the slinky elastic string of her thong. She felt his thigh inching up between her legs as he moved in closer.

She was pinned to the wall as he worked his mouth down her neck and continued kneading at her ass. But then she felt the material of his pants against the crotch of her panties as his thigh pressed solidly into her.

A small, weak-sounding whimper fell from her mouth when he nudged against her, signaling for her to move her hips. The spot where his mouth kissed and sucked over her throat had her head spinning and it was almost involuntary as she began to rub herself on his thigh. She gripped onto his shoulders when he began to guide her hips.

It was kind of pathetic, the way they hadn't even made it into her bedroom. Barely'd made it past her door before they were all over one another. And now, there she was, grinding her pussy against his thigh like she was in some kind of dire need, a pitiful girl so wrapped up in desperation that she was reduced to humping his thigh like a pup in heat.

The most embarrassing thing was how good it felt. His lips on her skin, his thick thigh pressed against her, his hands on her ass. "Oh god…"

Harry moved his face and looked down at her with a smirk. "Making a mess, Y/n. Guess your tough girl act was all fake. Now look at you…"

Slowing her hips, she reached up to his face. "You started it."

A boyish dimple scored into his cheek as he lifted his brows. "Did I now? Clearly, you like it. Soaking right through my pants."

"Mmm… You like it too, though. Love how wet I get, don't you?"

He licked his lips and shook his head like he couldn't believe how tenacious she was, even when pinned against her wall. "So sure of yourself, Y/n. When my day started, I imagined I'd be doing this with someone else by the end of it. Bet she'd get just as wet for me."

Y/n let out a serrated breath, though she never stopped grinding over his thigh. "Doubtful. You wanted me. Practically dragged me out of the club 'cause you knew that other chick wouldn't do it for you like I can."

"Do what for me? Huh? Hump my thigh like a desperate, horny little girl?" He teased as she moaned at the way he nudged his leg up harder.

"You wanted me a little desperate, and that's what you got. You knew nothing was gonna feel as good as me. You missed it."

"Maybe. Maybe I kept imagining you every time I got off for the past two months. Maybe the only reason I agreed to a date with that other woman was because she kind of resembled you. Wanted to pretend I was fucking you again."

Y/n let out a moan. "I want you to fuck me."

"Do you deserve that, Y/n? After that little stunt you pulled? Huh? Leaving me high and dry like that? Wasn't nice."

"I wanted to call you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Hmm… but you wanted to play games. Not sure sorry cuts it."

He moved his leg away, and Y/n stumbled forward, her hands on his shoulders as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" She looked at him with rounded eyes, hoping that he wasn't changing his mind as he pushed away and took a step back.

"Not sure. Maybe that's something you're gonna have to have to figure out. This is a lot of work, you know? Telling you what to do and how to do it. Might be nice for you to try and use that brain of yours for once."

She scoffed as he grinned at her. She knew he was mocking her, and it was meant to be playful, but still. "For once? You don't think I use my brain?"

He shrugged as he paced into her living room, and she watched him look around like he was assessing. Following behind him, she kept her eyes on his strong build and turned a light on. It was clear he was sporting a thick erection under his pants at that point. She smiled when she stepped toward him.

Taking his belt, she gripped at the leather and pulled it through the buckle before she opened his pants and cupped around his length. "You can fuck my mouth. I won't even complain. I'll let you use me however you want."

She got onto her knees and kept her eyes on his as she peeled his underwear down. His big cock had been straining against the material of his boxers and it nearly hit her in the face when it was released. She cooed and gripped around the base of him to lift it upward and began kissing gently along the underside and down to his sac.

Harry stitched his brows together, and his lips parted as he watched her. He placed a hand at the back of her head and moaned. He didn't really care about an apology, but he was going to make damn sure she understood he wasn't into the little games. He'd had plenty of that kind of thing when he was younger. When he was closer to her age, and he'd never been a fan of it.

If she really did want to be with him, or at least date a while, she'd need to learn that he wanted things clear and well communicated. "That's a good girl. Keep going."

She stroked from root to tip as she tongued along his skin, making a wet path as she went. But suddenly, he grasped her chin and tilted her head back before he shoved his thick head past her lips and slid it down her tongue, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he went. She steadied herself, quickly, gripping his muscled thighs as he held the back of her head and worked himself in and out.

He was going easy on her, not pressing his full length down her throat. Not yet. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use. Show me you can work for it, yeah?"

Harry thrust in, his mushroomed crown glided over her tongue and back out to her soft lips before he did it again, a little deeper that time, the slit of his cock kissing the back of her mouth just before it curved into her throat. He kept his eyes on her face and the way her lips wrapped around him just right.

"Fuck you're so pretty, Y/n." He thumbed at the edge of her lip as he drove into her, feeling the saliva from her mouth coating his cock. He moaned when she blinked her eyes up at him. "Didn't want anyone else to suck my cock but you. Didn't want to even touch anyone else. Know that?"

She hummed over him in answer as he pushed deeper, making her gag lightly as the metal on his buckle clanked with his movements. "I know you know that. Proved it to you by making a fool of myself, stalking your Instagram so I knew where you were gonna be. Got me all wrapped up in you after just one goddamn night."

Y/n felt her eyes blur as tears roll down her cheeks when he nuzzled his dick in deeper and she swallowed around his tip with an embarrassing wet spluttering sound. She'd let him choke her with his cock if that's what it took. After hearing his confession, she only wanted to show him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not calling.

So, she leaned into him further, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to force the rest of him into her throat. The gagging and gargling noises she made were loud. It sounded like someone was being waterboarded.

"Fuck…" he gasped as she sputtered around him. He bent his knees the slightest as he let her suck and swallow around him. She was treating his cock so good he didn't know if he should just let her continue milking him like that until he was nutting down her throat or if he should reward her by returning the favor.

But damn did she feel good on his dick. She was giving it her all, and he'd decided she was forgiven.

Pulling her back, his wet dick slid past her lips and hung heavy in front of her face as he helped her stand up. She inhaled sharp breaths between little coughs as she wiped her face. "Was it okay?"

"Better than okay. You're a fuckin' star, Y/n. I need you in your bed, though. Got a condom?"

Knocking her head up and down affirmatively, she blinked her bleary eyes. Harry followed her to her bedroom and watched as she pulled a small box of condoms from her underwear drawer, and he took it from it before he pointed at her dress. "Clothes off. Then get your ass on the bed."

The thrill of having him there made her shaky. She yanked at her dress and removed the fabric before shedding the rest of her underthings.

Harry kicked his pants and his boxers off before his shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He watched her climb onto her bed and sit at the middle in wait. He tossed the box of condoms onto her mattress (secretly pleased it was unopened, unused) and crawled after her on the bed, adjusting her legs and pushing her thighs apart before he thumbed her clit smoothly.

"Do you deserve to come? Think you deserve my cock?"

Y/n blinked at him as she nodded. "Yes. I just want to be good. Make you come too. Please…"

He grinned as he let his eyes coast down her denuded body. She rolled into his thumb before he took his other hand and pressed his middle finger inside. Everything that touched her pussy was glistening wet. The gushy sound his finger made as he fucked into her was lewd. She spread her legs apart further for him and dropped her mouth open as she kept her eyes on his.

She was so pretty like that. Naked and spread apart for him, lusting for him, wanting him. He added another finger and pumped into her harder. Her tits swayed as her pussy swallowed his fingers whole. She was so confident and bold it had his insides pulsing with need.

With his eyes pinned to hers he dipped down to replace his thumb on her clit with his lips and his tongue. Y/n fell backward to her mattress and moaned from the pleasure. His tongue stroked her clit and pressed flat over it before he pulled at it and repeated all while he fucked her as deep as his fingers could reach.

He held her down as she arched her back. His chin and his nose were wet, slurping and groaning into her as he worked her so close to the edge she was already seeing stars. "Yes… right there… right there…"

But he suddenly moved away. His fingers, his mouth, his body. She sat up to look at him and watched in satisfaction as she saw him digging into the box of condoms. His face was flushed and matched the shade of heat on his heaving chest.

He rolled the tight rubber down his shaft and then looked at her with dark eyes. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

With a smirk, she got to her knees and made sure to let her eyes linger on his cock before she turned and placed her palms flat onto the mattress. "Like this?" She wiggled her ass at him.

Harry moaned deeply and placed his hands on the curve of her hips, smoothing his palms over every inch slowly. "Exactly like this."

She felt him lean over her back, his mouth at her ear as he palmed at her tit. "How do you feel about me spanking you a little?" His dick was warm between her thighs as she pushed back against him.

"Whatever you do, I'm gonna love." She reared back again and turned her face to look at him as he sat back. She watched him raise his arm before his palm struck her bum with a sting.

She keened sharply and jolted forward. He did it again in the same spot as he locked his irises with hers. "Other side now."

As promised, he landed his hand over the globe of her ass again, once and then twice, a burning sensation left behind making her inhale sharply.

Then he kneed in closer and she felt him line up his dick with her entrance, fitting himself into her slowly before he plowed in with one thick, harsh thud that had her bending forward face down.

She yelped into the soft comforter when he issued her another spanking, one to each side, as he began to thrust in and out of her, long and languid with heavy palms burning into her skin.

The bite of pain blossomed with heat and curled outward, spreading along her flesh until she could almost feel the detail of his fingerprints searing into her, marking her. He groaned as he drove in deep, glutes flexing as he forced his cock through her sensitive insides.

Her bottom was stinging, aching, burning with every smack of his hand… until it wasn't. Until the gooey, pleasurable warmth of her walls that stretched around his cock deliciously melded with the sharp barbed pain of his swats… That was—it felt like her body was thrumming with a lusty, satisfying ecstasy that sent liquid fire through her veins.

"Fuck, oh god, fuck…" she mumbled into the blankets as her body was spanked and fucked and swatted and pounded. She loved it.

Harry halted, planting his palms down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock buried whole into her. They were both panting, reeling… Y/n's muffled moans pulled a smile onto his lips.

"Apology accepted," he spoke quietly as he kissed the center of her back between her shoulder blades and then reached forward to gently wrap his big hand around the front of her neck to lift her head.

"Hear me?" His deep voice sounded in her ear.

She nodded, the column of her throat bobbing into his palm, eyes still closed as she let out a feminine grunt that was probably meant to mean yes.

"You okay?"

Again, she nodded slowly, this time her eyes fluttered open. "Mmhmm. Yes."

"Hurt?" He punctuated his question with a rock of his hips forward, nudging into the end of her sharply.

She hissed, and her spine bowed. "Yes."

Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding out and in when he felt her swallow thickly before her moans vibrated into his palm. She was dripping. Every time his hips met her skin, it wetted his lap and the front of his thighs.

She had been all he wanted. Ever since the morning he dropped her off. Thought for sure he'd hear from her by the way she was acting around him. All flustered and soft and dreamy-eyed as she looked at him. Pouted when he said he couldn't come in but gave her his number. And then she just never called.

That was a hit to his ego. That he thought he somehow had the upper hand with her. But now he had her drooling, moaning, and sobbing his name as he railed her deep. He would see to it that she didn't leave him hanging like that again. He'd give it to her so good she wouldn't be able to even think about another man. At least for a little while.

But Y/n was feeling the same kind of way about him. And now he was at her place, in her bed, fucking her with his big cock like he had something to prove.

"Mmm… Harry…"

"Yeah?" He pushed in firmly, swiveling his hips to let her feel all of him. "Is that good?"

"Fuck… it's deep—sh…shit!"

Letting go of her neck, Harry used both hands to guide her rhythm as he fucked into her, tilting her into an angle that had the big crown of his cock hitting a tender spot inside her. She tensed and clawed at the blankets in response to how he commanded her movements.

He loved watching her pussy slickly spread apart on his cock, how tight it wrapped around him, how wet she made everything, the way her ass wobbled. He was tempted to give her another swat but thought better of it, knowing that he'd already done a number on her backside. Her skin was raised just enough that he could feel the small welts from his hands. He didn't want to break the skin.

His abs clenched as he plowed his dick through her, their bodies clapping together, her bed wrenching under them from the force of his thrusts. She was mumbling nonsense, straining to keep herself steady as he worked her over him with his hands gripping the meat of her hips tight.

But he slowed his motions, loosening his hold on her as he pushed in deep and stilled. He stared down at the space where they were connected as he thumbed softly at the flesh of her ass. When he was buried in like that, he couldn't see the end of the condom at the base of his shaft, so it looked like he wasn't wearing one. The dirty thought trickled warm down his chest and made his cock throb before he pulled himself out.

He pulled her up and helped her turn before he positioned her flat on her back, her tits spreading softly as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. He sat back on his haunches. "Still okay?"

She nodded, a smile slowly turned her lips upward. "I'm fantastic."

"Good. Gonna pull you up like this…" He took her thighs and dragged her up so her hips were off the bed and the backs of her thighs were draped over the tops of his. "Fuck you nice and deep, work your clit til you come. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…" Y/n nodded and squeezed her tits as she bucked her hips upward. "Yes."

He grinned down at her. He loved how confident she was. How unashamed of her body she seemed to be. Liked the way she carried herself. It was sexy to see a woman happy in her own skin.

He reached down and slowly stroked her clit, eyes connected to hers to watch her expression soften and then her brows arch as she parted her lips and moaned. "Yeah?" He murmured with a grin.

"Yes… You're so good. Fuck…" she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, a soft gasp fell from her lips as he slid his fingers in circles on her clit and mushed into her swollen hood. She pushed her breasts together and arched her back before shifting her head to look back up at him. "Fuck me. Please."

"Want my cock, Y/n?" He nudged his hips forward, poking his condom-covered tip to the tight ring of muscle that would stretch nicely around him once he pushed his way back in.

"I need it," she pleaded in a breath, canting her hip toward him.

The harsh line of his brow as he took all of her in, spread out for him, was that of a man ready to devour. Y/n watched as he wrapped his long fingers around his base and shifted his pelvis, dipping his thick cock head just inside of her.

"Fffuck…" she stretched her neck and moaned as she took every inch he fed into her.

He slid deeper, taking his time as if he hadn't just been pounding into her and pushing her to her limit moments before. He moved his thumb over her bud as he went, her arousal smeared filthy on his fingers and all over her pussy lips.

Y/n shifted her sight to Harry's face, admiring his handsome features and the way his lips parted, how his muscles tensed as he rolled into her. He was enjoying her body, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. "Does it feel good? My pussy's good for you?"

"Your pussy feels incredible. Even with this fucking condom…" he laughed softly. "The kind of pussy I'd chase after and make a fool of myself for."

With their eyes connected, Y/n felt her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She understood what he meant. Because, while she didn't think he'd made a fool of himself, he had chased after her to find her at the club. And he said that wasn't something he normally did. She was grateful he had, though.

His rough palm pushed her hand to the side so he could grope her tit. He continued working at her clit as he stuffed himself in to the brim and they both panted hot breaths as their connected bodies throbbed in unison.

He pressed down as he circled her wet bud, and the extra friction had her skin buzzing, pulsing with desire. Heat stretched over her thighs and curled viciously through her insides.

Harry slowly inched back and then pushed in deeper, his thighs flexing as he plunged wetly, gently smacking into her. A breathless sob fell from her mouth as she took him to his root over and over again.

His slow thrusts were deliberate, calculated. Every stroke of his rigid cock through her soft walls, every press of his thumb on her sensitive clit, every brush of his fingertips on her nipple had her rippling around him, trembling. The luscious stretch of her pussy around him as he drove in and dragged out made his tip leak into his condom.

Y/n began circling her hips to press harder into his thumb, using her leverage to get him deeper, to feel the biting pressure of his thumbprint. The soft, wet spread of her pussy around his shaft ached and squeezed and slushed.

His moan vibrated deep from his chest as he felt his balls tighten when he buried in and pressed himself flush to her. The shadows in her bedroom cast a moody expression over his features. He tilted his neck back, angling his face toward her ceiling as if he were in ecstasy.

And the languid thrusting suddenly turned into a heated pace. Harry's eyes darkened on hers when he looked back down at the girl he was fucking. He stroked her clit and released her breast, yanking her hip to meet his powerful thrusts. He battered her tender insides with his brutally thick column of rigid flesh. The sounds of plapping skin, her mattress springs bouncing, Harry's rhythmic grunts and groans as he drove in faded to a white noise as Y/n realized she was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside her.

She cried his name and her body shivered with every harsh plunge of his cock, the orgasm dotting white stars behind her eyes. Harry's own desperate moans were a giveaway that he was about to come just as hard.

"Fuck!"

Her body bounced and gushed as he drove in and in. The deep, ragged sounds he made were erotic, and a convulsive shudder wracked his powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. His cock jerked inside her and then he was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into her clutching cunt.

Somehow, she'd found herself lying on top of him. He'd brought them to lie back together, and her chest was pressed to his. She felt his hand on her naked back, slowly caressing her skin as their hearts began to slow and calm.

"Mmm…" Y/n smiled as she nuzzled into his chest.

His hand drew down over her ass gently. "How's this feel?"

Lifting her head to press her chin into his pec, she raised her brows. "Sore. But that's what you wanted. To show me I was a bad girl. I deserved it."

Harry pushed a breath through his nose. "You're not a bad girl. Just stubborn. But now you know better than to play games."

Y/n shifted her gaze toward the edge of the room and pushed herself up from him as Harry watched her get off her bed and traipse to her dresser. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him and lifted her phone before pressing a few buttons, and then Harry's phone rang from his pants.

"There. Now you have my number, too. We've got no excuses anymore."

He reached his hand out toward her as she walked back to her bed and curled up next to him. "You shouldn't need an excuse. If you want to see me, then that should be enough."

She placed her palm on his chest and angled her head back to look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I mean it when I say that. I regretted not reaching out. I promise no more games."

"Mmm…" He ran his hand down the back of her head. "Sounds like I finally fucked some sense into you then."

Y/n laughed. "Guess I needed that, too."

"I think you did. So did I, to be honest."

"You needed some sense fucked into you?"

Harry chuckled, his handsome smile making her heart flutter as he shook his head. "No. I meant I needed to fuck some sense into you. I'm already chock full of good sense. Don't need any more."

"Can't argue with that. So what now? You gonna stay the night with me?"

"Yep. Then, tomorrow, we'll make plans for a date. A real one."

"Why not make plans now?"

"Because we're gonna do it tomorrow. Cause I said."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Y/n teased and bit her lip.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He grinned.

"Hmm… It looks like all my plans have suddenly been canceled. Guess I'm all yours."

. .

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[marvelstoriesepic]

Soft spot

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Alpine is determined to gain access to your room while you are resting.

Warnings: Bucky’s conversation with a cat lol; Bucky being jealous of a cat; fluff; feelings; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: I just needed to write a little something and this came out. Hope you enjoy! Also, I probably will be posting the next chapter of like a Phoenix tomorrow.

Masterlist

“Nah, Alp, c’mon now.”

Bucky sets his mug of tea down on the kitchen counter with a quiet clink - he never used to drink tea before moving in with you, but living with you changed that.

The little white kitten Bucky and you adopted from the shelter a few months ago paws insistently at your bedroom door, tiny claws scratching against the wood. She lets out a sharp, impatient mewl.

Bucky sighs, before striding over to her hurriedly and scooping the little ball of fluff into his arms before she can make more of a racket.

“Alpine,” he warns, almost too firmly considering he is talking to a cat. “Cut it out, yeah? You’re gonna wake her up.”

The kitten wiggles in his hold, clearly unimpressed. She meows again. Loud. Indignant. Bucky huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and scratching her behind her ear.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, glancing at the closed door to your room. “Ya miss her. But she’s had a rough couple weeks, alright? Stress n' exams, you know, the whole damn deal. She needs the rest. Can’t have you climbin’ all over her like the little menace you are.”

Alpine stares at him with those big blue eyes, as if she understands every word but refuses to accept the reasoning. Another sharp meow, this time more of a protest.

Bucky sighs dramatically, shifting her into one arm and rubbing her chin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t gimme that look. I ain’t the bad guy here, buddy. Just tryna let her sleep.”

Alpine doesn’t seem to hear a word.

Before Bucky can react, the little furball twists her tiny body and slips right out of his grasp, landing softly on the floor.

In an instant, she is back at your bedroom door, paws crawling, tail flicking, and meowing like she is under torture.

Bucky groans quietly, dragging his hand down his face. “Jesus.” He crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees as he watches her.

He reaches out, rubbing slow and soothing circles on her soft white fur. “You just wanna be near her, huh, girl?” His voice is softer now. He sighs, deep and heavy, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I get that.”

Because Alpine loves you. She doesn’t hide it - follows you everywhere, curls up in your lap, meows until you give her attention. She’s got no hesitation when it comes to showing how much she adores you.

And that is what Bucky envies.

Because Bucky loves you too. He just can’t show his affection that outright. He’s your best friend. Your roommate. And that’s the part that stings.

He would do anything for being able to show you how much he adores you without crossing the line he is afraid to.

His chest tightens long enough for him to really feel the ache and he stands up, exhaling through his nose with a resigned breath.

“Alright, you little punk,” he mutters, shaking his head as Alpine turns those blue eyes back up to him. Expectant.

Slowly, he reaches for the door handle, giving the kitten another warning glare. “Just for a quick visit, yeah? No bouncin’ on her. No wakin’ her up, got it?”

Alpine meows.

Bucky huffs, pushing the door open carefully.

The small cat whooshes past Bucky the second the door cracks open, a blur of white fur darting straight for your bed. He barely stops himself from calling out, biting back a curse as he runs a frustrated hand down his face.

Damn cat’s got a one-track mind.

But he can’t really blame her. You’re on his mind probably even more often.

He steps inside, deliberately avoiding the creaky floorboards. He’s been in your room often enough to have memorized them by now.

Alpine reaches your face and bumps her small head against yours with a high chirp before rubbing along your cheek.

You don’t stir in your sleep.

Curled up on your side toward the direction of the door, hands tucked near your face, you’re completely dead to the world, your breaths slow and even.

Bucky guesses the stress from the last weeks must have finally caught up to you because you don’t even twitch when Alpine starts licking at your fingers.

“Alpine,” he whisper-yells, stepping closer, ready to scoop the little cat up and drag her outside before she wakes you.

But Alpine starts to circle, once, then again, before settling right against your hip, tucking herself into a comfortable little ball. She lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Bucky stops in his tracks, hands on his hips, shaking his head with an amused smirk on his lips.

“You’ve got no idea how jealous you’re makin’ me right now, Alp.”

Something tugs and turns in his chest, watching the way you sleep so peacefully, completely unaware of anything. Of how easy it is for Alpine to curl up against you and claim you like it’s the most natural thing to do.

He lets out a breath, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Alright,” he utters in a whisper. “Guess I’ll just stand here like an idiot while you get all the cuddles.”

Alpine flicks her tail.

Bucky stands there for a moment, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you.

The way your brows are at ease, your face soft and relaxed - peaceful and serene in a way he hasn’t seen in too damn long.

And oh how it calms something deep inside him.

The past few weeks had been brutal on you. It was a mess of late nights, long assignments, and that damn stubborn streak of yours keeping you from slowing down, no matter how many times he told you to.

You pushed yourself too hard - always do - and every time it drives him up the wall.

He hates seeing you stressed and he did what he could. Brought you tea, draped blankets over your shoulders when you were too caught up in your work to notice the chill. Left food by your side when he knew you’d forgotten to eat.

And you accepted it all - gave him those sweet little smiles accompanied by a thanks, Buck in that soft voice of yours that always knocks the wind out of him - but you never really listened.

Never listened when he told you that pushing past exhaustion isn’t the solution. That not having a clear head is worse than not being prepared at all.

But now you are finally resting.

For the first time in what feels like months, you are letting yourself breathe.

And Bucky feels like a weight is falling off his shoulders, a tension he was gripping finally loosening.

He exhales a deep, relieved sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

Alpine stirs slightly at your hip but stays balled up, her soft purring filling the room beside your deep breaths.

It’s then that Bucky notices the book half-tucked against your arm. You must have been reading before finally crashing, trying to quiet your mind enough to let yourself sleep.

He steps closer, cautiously, eyes flickering to your face to make sure you don’t wake up.

For a second, he worries it’s one of your damn textbooks - because if you fell asleep studying for god knows what now, he is going to have to give you some words.

But as he leans over you slightly, fingers brushing the covers and gently pulling it away from your arm, he lets out a pleased breath. Just a novel. Good.

He carefully marks the page, folds the book shut, and sets it on your nightstand.

Bucky straightens, and he knows he should walk back out - really, he should - but his eyes stay on you a little longer. He almost feels like some kinda creep just standing here, watching. But hell, he can’t help it.

You look so damn adorable with your little pout. So damn beautiful with your hair falling just so, features so soft, color in your cheeks.

His breath hitches unintentionally and his pulse skips, his heart only a trembling thing in his chest.

Taking in a deep breath, he takes a hold of your blanket and gradually tugs it up over your shoulders, up to your chin.

The fact that Alpine gets dragged along with it and the grumpy chirp she lets out gets ignored by him. She glares at him in annoyance but does not move from her spot.

“Mhm… Buck…?”

Your voice is thick with sleep, soft and drowsy, and it nearly knocks Bucky off balance. Literally. His foot catches on the floor and he stumbles slightly, heart lurching in his chest like the idiot he is.

His gaze snaps to your face. You blink up at him, slow and unfocused, brows scrunching in confusion. Eyes half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, your voice slurring slightly.

Jesus. You’re so damn cute like this.

Bucky clears his throat, forcing himself to school his expression. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he coos in a whisper, gentle and soothing. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He shoots Alpine a pointed look, but the cat, as usual, doesn’t seem to give a damn.

You shift slightly, nestling deeper into the sheets, eyes fluttering shut again. Without thinking, Bucky brushes his hand through your hair, over your cheek in slow and soothing motions to coax you back into sleep.

You hum in contentment. That little sound does something to him, settling deep within him.

And hell - if his heart doesn’t clench at the sight of you like this. So soft, so sweet, so damn beautiful it hurts.

A lightness swells beneath his ribs. An airy flutter dances.

He focuses on the way your breathing evens out, the way your body melts back into the bed.

And when he’s sure you’ve slipped under again, Bucky lets himself lean down, lips ghosting over your temple in the lightest of touches, giving you a soft kiss. He lingers just a second, long enough to whisper against your skin, voice barely more than a breath.

“Sleep tight, doll. You better dream of me.”

And with one last glance, so full of longing, he forces himself to pull away. He lets Alpine stay with you, despite the fact that he wants to be the one who gets to do that.

But he slips out of the room as quietly as he can, shutting the door behind him with a faint click. Leaving with you the racing of his heart you caused and the ache of something he isn’t sure he’ll ever have the guts to say out loud.

“Her, because she makes life poetry, she turns every bit of it into art.”

- butterflies rising

[natsaffection]

You're last post got me thinking....what would happen if somehow someway another vampire got to Reader and turned her. I know Nat watches her obsessively but like shit happens. Like what would Nats reaction to something like that happening be?

You’re still mine. | N.R

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

Warnings: kidnapping and forced turning

Word count: 2,5k

The sound of your ragged breathing filled the dark room, broken only by the rattling of chains and the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps echoing against the cold stone.

Natasha was fighting against the restraints that bound her, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air as the silver seared her wrists. But she didn’t care. She didn’t feel it.

Because you were in his hands. And she was helpless. He took his time. He savored moments like these..the ones where he got to watch Natasha suffer. And tonight? Tonight, he was going to destroy her.

His lips curled into a smirk as he lowered his head, his breath ghosting along your throat, making you shudder violently in his grasp. “Poor little thing.” he murmured, his fingers tightening around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You’re shaking. Tell me, is it fear? Or is it knowing what’s about to happen?”

A sharp sob escaped your lips, your entire body trembling against his hold. Your nails dug into his arms, desperate, panicked, pleading. Natasha snapped against the chains. “Stop!!” she snarled, her voice breaking. “Victor, let her go, she has nothing to do with this!”

Victor hummed, pretending to consider her words, before he let his fangs graze your skin, just enough for you to feel the sharpness. You whimpered, your hands gripping him tighter, your body trying to curl away, trying to disappear.

Natasha lost it. “VICTOR!” she screamed, her body thrashing against the restraints, her face twisting in desperation. “Fuck, please!” The plea left her lips before she could stop it, her voice hoarse with something that was almost a sob.

Victor grinned. “Did you hear that, little one?” he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. “She’s begging. The great Natasha Romanoff is begging for you.” Your breathing hitched, your chest rising and falling too fast, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

You could feel his fangs hovering just above your pulse. You could feel death breathing down your neck. You sobbed, gripping onto Victor even tighter, nails raking against his skin in raw, primal terror.

Natasha’s stomach twisted violently. “Malyshka (Baby), look at me..” she whispered, her voice cracking. You were shaking too much. Your body was too rigid, your fear suffocating you.

Natasha’s heart shattered. “Y/n..” Your wide, terrified eyes met hers. And Natasha, despite everything, forced a soft, broken smile. “Breathe. I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.”

Your hands trembled violently, your grip on Victor never loosening, not because you wanted to hold him, but because your body was begging for something, anything to cling to.

Natasha felt like she was dying. Victor chuckled, his fangs trailing lightly along your skin, feeling your pulse beneath them.

“She’s holding onto me like I’m the one protecting her.” he mused mockingly, his lips brushing over your throat. Natasha saw red. “You sick son of a bitch-”

“Careful..” Victor murmured, his fingers tilting your head just slightly. “You don’t want me to lose control, do you?” Natasha clenched her teeth, forcing her expression to soften for you, despite the rage burning inside her.

“Moya lyubov (My love)..” she whispered, voice so soft it cracked. “I need you to focus on me. Just me. Not him, not what he’s doing. Just keep your eyes on mine, okay?”

Your gaze locked onto hers like it was the only thing keeping you alive. And maybe it was. “I’m scared..” you whimpered, voice barely audible. Natasha exhaled sharply, her throat burning. “I know. But you’re not alone. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

Victor let out an exaggerated sigh. “How sweet.” Then, his fangs pressed in. You let out a strangled gasp, your body stiffening as the sharp points broke the skin but didn’t bite. Just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to send your body into a state of pure terror. Your nails sank into his arms, hard enough to break the skin. Natasha sobbed.

“You don’t have to do this..” she whispered, begged. Victor grinned. “Oh, but I do. You’ve kept her human for too long, Natasha. You’ve been selfish. And now? Now, you’ll watch as she becomes one of us.”

“NO-” Then, he bit. Your scream ripped through the room. Natasha howled, her body shaking, her wrists bleeding from how hard she was pulling against the chains.

“Y/N!” Your entire body arched in agony, your pulse slamming against Victor’s lips, your hands clutching onto him like he was your last anchor in a storm.

Natasha’s entire world shattered. Your breathing turned ragged, your limbs trembling violently, your blood pouring into Victor’s mouth. And Natasha felt it.

She felt the moment your heartbeat changed. The moment your body stopped being yours. Her vision blurred, the sound of her own screams echoing around her, her rage, her grief, her entire soul breaking into something unrecognizable.

“No, no, no-” she choked out, shaking her head, her body collapsing under the weight of everything. Victor exhaled sharply, dropping you to the ground, your limp body hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.

Natasha’s arms dropped, the silver finally giving way under her relentless struggle, but she didn’t care. She was already too late.

She crawled toward you, her hands shaking as she reached for your face, cradling you against her. “Open your eyes..” You twitched in her arms. A faint, broken breath left your lips. Your veins darkened.

Natasha choked on a sob, pressing desperate kisses to your forehead, her fingers trembling as they brushed through your hair. “I should have turned you myself..” she whispered, voice barely there.

Victor smiled, satisfied. “And that, Natasha, is exactly why I did it first.” Natasha didn’t even register the moment she killed him. She didn’t feel her hands tear into him, didn’t process the screams, the blood, the vengeance that overtook her.

Because none of it mattered. None of it would ever bring you back. And when your eyes finally opened, something in Natasha died. Because they weren’t yours anymore. They weren’t hers. And that? That was something she would never forgive.

“I’m here, lyubov’. I’m not leaving.”

“I should’ve protected you. I should’ve done more.”

The only sound in the room was the faint, ragged breaths slipping past your lips. You weren’t asleep. You weren’t awake. You were something else—something caught between death and rebirth, trapped in the hunger of your new existence.

And Natasha hated it. She had never wanted this for you. Never wanted you to be like her. She had spent years protecting you from this curse, from this hunger, from the eternal darkness that had consumed her soul.

But Victor had taken that choice from you. And now, she was left with the aftermath. Her hands clenched into fists, her rage simmering beneath the surface like an inferno ready to consume. Victor was dead, but that wasn’t enough.

Because his actions still lived on. Inside you. A sharp inhale pulled Natasha from her thoughts. She froze, her grip tightening around you as your body stirred for the first time since your turning.

You twitched, your breathing shallow, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. Natasha’s heart clenched. “I’m here-” Then, your eyes snapped open.And Natasha stilled. It wasn’t you. Not really.

Your irises were still the color she had memorized, but now? Now, they were darker. Your pupils were too wide, your gaze too sharp, your body too tense as your senses flooded with the overwhelming hunger.

Natasha knew the signs. You were starving. And you had never felt anything like it before. Your hands shot out, clutching at your chest, at your throat, at anything to make the burning stop. “N-Natasha-” your voice cracked, raw, breathless, desperate. “I’m here, just breathe-”

“It hurts!” You gasped, curling in on yourself, your hands trembling violently. The hunger clawed at your insides, tearing through you like fire, like nothing you had ever known.

“Make it stop!” you sobbed, your fingers digging into your own skin. Natasha grabbed your wrists before you could scratch yourself raw. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, I know, I know it hurts-”

Your breath came in sharp gasps, your entire body shaking as you clung to her like a lifeline. “What’s happening to me?” Natasha swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to tell you. She didn’t want you to know.

But the truth was already there, settling in your bones, seeping into your mind like a toxin. You weren’t human anymore. And Natasha could see it in your eyes..the growing fear, the way your body recognized its own monstrosity.

“I don’t-” Your voice broke. “I don’t feel like myself.” Natasha’s fingers curled under your chin, tilting your head up, forcing your gaze onto hers. “You are still you.” she whispered, her voice thick with something desperate, something aching.

Your lips trembled. “Then why do I feel like I’m dying?” Natasha inhaled sharply, her grip tightening. Because in a way, you had.

And the thing left behind was no longer the same. A quiet, broken sob slipped past your lips as you buried your face against her shoulder. “I don’t want to be this!” you whispered, pleaded. “I don’t want to be a..monster..”

Natasha’s arms wrapped around you so tight she thought she might break you all over again. “You’re not a monster.” she said, but even she wasn’t sure if it was true.

“You’re still mine.” You sniffled, your fingers clutching at her clothes like she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. I’m scared..” Natasha shut her eyes, pressing her forehead to yours. “I know..” she whispered. “But I won’t let this break you.”

She exhaled sharply, her thumb grazing over your lips, her gaze flickering to the sharp tips of your fangs now fully bared. “I won’t let you go hungry either.”

Your body stiffened. Fuck, the hunger roared inside you. Natasha felt the shift before you did—the way your pupils dilated, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your entire posture changed as the need for blood overtook everything else.

You needed to feed. And Natasha was the only one you trusted to give it to you. She inhaled deeply, her hands sliding to the back of your neck, holding you steady.

“Drink from me.”

You froze. Your body trembled against hers, the sharp inhale of breath making Natasha’s stomach twist. Because she could feel your hunger. It was clawing at you, screaming at you to take what you needed. And Natasha Natasha wanted you to.

She needed to be the first blood you ever tasted. She needed to be the one to give you this..to guide you, to make sure you never craved anyone else the way you craved her. “I don’t-I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You won’t.” Her fingers tilted your chin, her lips ghosting over yours before she turned her head, exposing her throat to you in a silent offering.

“Take it.” she whispered. “Make yourself mine all over again.” Your body shuddered. Your lips brushed against her pulse. And then..Then you bit and Natasha sighed in relief. Because even if Victor had stolen your humanity-

Natasha’s entire body lurched forward as she gasped for air that she didn’t need. Her hands clenched the sheets beneath her, gripping them so tightly her nails nearly tore through the fabric. Her entire being felt like it had been ripped apart, like she had died a thousand times over in a single breath.

Her lungs burned, even though she knew they didn’t need to. Her mind spun violently, disoriented, lost. The scent of blood still clung to her senses, the echoes of your scream still piercing through her skull.

Her heart pounded in a way it never did anymore. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. She didn’t recognize the dim glow of the bedroom, the soft sheets beneath her body, the familiar warmth beside her. Everything still felt wrong, like she was still trapped in that dark, suffocating nightmare.

Victor’s laugh still rang in her ears. She could still see your body, the way you clung to him in fear, the way your eyes begged her to stop what was happening. She could still feel the moment your heartbeat faded into nothing, the way your body stilled in her arms, the moment you were no longer you.

And then she saw you. Her stomach twisted violently. You were beside her, curled up in the sheets, your breathing slow and steady, your body warm and untouched. Your face was soft in the dim light, your lips slightly parted in deep sleep, your hair falling messily over the pillow.

She turned, her movements frantic, her mind still too lost in the nightmare to believe she was free of it. You were here. You were alive. You were still hers. A choked breath left Natasha’s lips. Her fingers twitched, hesitating before she reached out, afraid, so afraid that if she touched you, you would disappear. That this was just another illusion, another cruel trick of the mind.

But then her fingers brushed against your skin. Warm. Soft. Real. Her breath shuddered, her chest tightening with something so raw, so unbearable that she thought she might collapse under it. Her other hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your skin, just to make sure.

She had never felt relief like this before. Her hands trembled as she traced the line of your jaw, her touch featherlight, careful,desperate. Her mind was still spinning, still caught somewhere between the nightmare and reality.

Her instincts screamed at her to hold you tighter, to never let go again, to make sure no one could ever take you from her. “I almost lost you..” she whispered, though you couldn’t hear her. Her voice was raw, barely there, but even in the silence, it was painful.

Her fingers moved to your wrist, pressing against your pulse point, needing, needing to feel it. The steady, rhythmic beat under her fingertips made something deep inside her crack wide open. She needed you. Her body moved before she could think, shifting closer, curling herself around you. She buried her face in your hair, inhaling deeply, letting your scent calm the raging storm in her mind.

But it wasn’t enough. She pressed herself closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, her fingers slipping beneath your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. The contact sent a shiver through her, grounding her, reminding her that this was real. That you were real. Natasha swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut as she held on.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, wrapped around you, her grip almost too tight, like she was afraid you would slip away if she loosened it even a fraction. She didn’t know how to stop feeling like she was still losing you.

“I won’t let anyone take you from me.” she murmured into your skin, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of something unbreakable. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her lips lingering, her breathing unsteady.

-

-

-

A/N: Under no circumstances will I let anyone else turn Y/n. 🙂‍↔️

[morganbritton132]

Because one person asked!

Here is how you make a 'Steve Has Superpowers' AU from this post I made about Corroded Coffin ransoming Steve.

I'm not a big fan of this type of AU (despite the fact that I did write one), but I think for it to work (in a way that specifcally appeals to me) is that Steve's power is either completely useless or so subtle that Brenner doesn't think he has one.

Like, El can move things with her mind and Kali can cause hallucinations but Steve can...sense when bad things are going to happen? Not in the sense that he can see the future or that he knows what the bad thing is. It's more like a feeling, like....anxiety.

Steve's superpower is general anxiety.

So, Brenner gets rid of him. He's a failed experiment and a blight on the progress he has made. The whole project could get shuttered because of this kid, so Brenner hands him off to one of his scientist to dispose of. That scientist handed the kid to his sister who wanted a family, not neccessarily a child.

And thus, The Harrington have a son.

They leave Hawkins as they please but the boy - Steve - never does. He's monitored. They keep trace of him in case his powers manifest but they never see it. Never notice how lucky it was that Steve left that party before the police showed up, or that he slammed on his breaks right before a car blew a stop sign, or that he showed up at Jonathan Byers' house at just the right time to save his friends.

Somewhere along the way, someone finds out that Steve isn't exactly who he thinks he is or El shows up and sees the brother she used to know, but everybody finds out. Hopper already has one experiment living under his roof, he'll take another.

And Steve.

Well, he's adopted and his adopted parents don’t give a shit about him, and his 'Papa' didn’t give a shit about him, and probably whoever gave him up the first time didn't give a shit about him either. And if no one can give an ounce of a shit about him, then why shouldn't he ruin their lives?

So when the Corroded Coffin boys kidnap him, something kinda snaps in Steve in the funniest way. He doesn't feel anything here. His chest isn't tight. He doesn't feel heat behind his eyes. He's safer here as a hostage than he ever was at home, and he wants to keep that.

When the boys say they need money. Yeah, Steve can get them money. All he has to do is stand in front of the keypad at his dad's office and see if he feels nervous before pressing a button.

When they say they're going to Chicago? Steve's never left Hawkins before but Chicago settles in his chest shiny and new, and he wants that too. So, he goes.

They practice a new song on the way that makes Steve feel electric. He insists they play it and they win the battle of the bands. A record label tries to sign them and Steve feels that tightness in his chest, he insists his lawyer (Erica) should read the contract before they sign. Good thing too because they would've got screwed.

That's how Steve becomes their manager and how Corroded Coffin takes all the right steps to stardom, and who knows. Maybe these powers were always going to lead him here.

[bi-planeandsimple]

I see so many posts worrying about boys and men, and their mental health and their body image issues and be kind to men and men are good and men are hot and it’s okay and good to like men and if you’re really a feminist you can’t hate men and don’t worry men we don’t hate you …and vanishingly few posts about how feminism is actually about freeing women from the hell we exist in. It’s about liberating all women from patriarchy. Vanishingly few about if you are a feminist these are the things killing and hurting women and here is what men can do to stop this. Putting any responsibility on men for the system created by for and of men is too far, I guess.

Like yes, all that is true about men, men are not inherently evil and body positivity is for men too. Sure all that is correct. But can we talk about men as beneficiaries of misogyny and the patriarchy? Women still do the majority of childcare and cleaning/keeping the house while also working full time - and that’s just in America. In other countries it’s even worse. And there are absolutely not enough legal protections for domestic violence victims globally. In America Republicans want to remove no fault divorce which was one small protection for victims of domestic violence. And there is not gender parity in the perpetration of domestic and sexual violence. And It’s not biological - it’s 100% cultural. Rape culture is perpetuated by women too, yes, but that’s likely because we see what happens when we don’t toe the line. At best it’s pointless and at worst we lose our entire world and even life for daring to suggest a man should choose to behave better.

Like so many women came forward for me too. We did our part. We did the scary thing, the brave thing, the right thing. And what happened? Not a lot. A few individuals got charged, but man more women got yelled at for daring to speak up. For daring to tarnish a man’s reputation for “only” for doing xyz. something every man does (which is the problem) or it’s not a big deal or you’re lying for attention etc etc. and there has not been a larger cultural shift for the better I have seen. Andrew Tate got more popular after me too. and many many women are still routinely abused and raped and routinely not believed when they come forward and talk about being abused or raped. We saw amber heard ignored and mocked and belittled by tons of men and women online who fell for the smear campaign Depp paid for. Roe v Wade is gone and now in some states it’s a crime to seek an abortion. And those who rat you out for even wanting one can be rewarded for their trouble. (Which of course means as taxpayers we are paying men to rape women - rape a woman repeatedly until she gets pregnant, call in her desire to get an abortion, get $10,000 - easy peasy for any one who thinks women aren’t human - which is too many men)

Ending patriarchy needs to be the goal. Not passively “believing men and women are equal” that’s not feminism. That’s not an action. You aren’t doing anything. a belief is nothing. Men need to highlight women coworkers who are talked over, give them credit for their ideas publicly, push them forward for raises and promotions, do more around the house, take care of their own kids, provide transport to and pay for abortions, not stalk or attack women who reject them, not spread rumors lies or personal information shared with them in private, not share nudes, not send dick pics unprompted, not create deepfake porn of their exes, and stop perpetuating and supporting rapists and abusers and rape culture.

Stop defending Andrew Tate and Louis CK and Johny Depp and Woody Allen and R Kelly and P Diddy and Cosby and Roman Polanski and Neil Gaiman and and. The list is so long and it’s not even the half of it. Stop defending your cousin your uncle your father your brother your friend. Cause these perpetrators are not all loners born fully formed out of the ether - they have families and friends. Who don’t listen to the wives the girlfriends the sisters the daughters the friends. And so they continue to harm. For years and years and years. Traumatizing dozens of people, or the same people over and over. children too often included. with no consequences and no one to stop them.

This is what it means to be a woman. It’s not about genitals or chromosomes. Of course trans women are women. There are many ways to be a woman. But something we all share is being an ignored inconvenience to larger society. It’s about our harm being expected and accepted. As the cost of doing business. We are An afterthought. For no one to act on our behalf. Most rape victims are women and most rapists are serial rapists. So one individual is hurting lots of women. And is never caught. Or stopped. Or even slowed. But saying “I hate men” because of their collective inaction on liberating women from the hell they benefit from is the real crime. That’s what’s really keeping so many male feminists away from the cause, from doing the work. If we were just slightly nicer then maybe they wouldn’t hurt us would help us.

So I will say to all men: Stop minimizing what abusers and rapists did, listen to women, and take action. Women cannot end the patriarchy on our own. We have been trying, believe me, since so few men join us, and those that do are chased off by other men. But we need all men to step up and take action. Take accountability and make change happen. Stop asking for our sexual histories, stop forcing your creepy friend on us, stop telling women to give him a chance, stop ratting us out for wanting an abortion or otherwise keeping us from getting medical care, whether abortions or hysterectomies, or vaccines or anything else. stop commenting on our weight stop expecting sex ever, start learning more about menstruation start carrying tampons and pads start cleaning up after yourself and cooking your own meals and parenting your own kids and making your own appointments and believing women who say they are being abused or were raped. And then help them. Ask them what they need. Do that.

When the patriarchy ends, everyone benefits, yes even men. When there is no more rape culture male victims will be believed about their rapes too, and treated with the care and respect that all victims/survivors deserve. When there is no more patriarchy and ppl’s worth and rights are not determined based on looks, or passing, this will help cis and trans fat balding men as well as cis and trans fat women to not be discriminated against.

until we seriously address these cultural pitfalls, and until men and boys seriously address their failings in themselves and and in fellow men and boys around them, and until men realize our toxic misogynistic culture is the problem and permanently change the culture, and change their own behavior, we won’t get anywhere. And women globally will remain in hell.

Men shouldn’t feel bad for being men - they should feel bad only if they don’t actively work to destroy the patriarchy every single day. Action vs inaction. That’s what matters. A little perspective is what I would like to see on this site.

The toxic masculinity epidemic and machoization of America is why I'm even less willing to entertain a lot of niceness and cordiality to the "we need to be nicer to and understanding of men these days!" argument because the problem is that these men think they don't need to experience negative consequences for their behavior and I'm tired of it.

As a trans woman who struggled with my identity and experienced a lot of this up close while closeted (and veered from very masculine to somewhat androgynous), and continued to experience it from the other side now that I'm out and actively embracing it (and have been for years now, actively and very feminine-presenting) a lot of this is bullshit and the same pleas for understanding the challenges of women, or of non-binary or intersex people are not extended in the same way, to the same level, with the same fervency.

Why isn't it an alarm bell for society and culture that women aren't being understood or listened to or regarded? There's no movement calling for the reorganization of education and employment on behalf of women who might not be succeeding or progressing as there is with the fucking Richard Reeves motherfuckers and their Men and Boys Crisis invocation.

I'm not saying I'm perfect, or have everything figured out, but I've had to work on myself and grapple with myself to be comfortable and present in society, and I don't see why a lot of men can't be told they should do the same.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hii new here and love your work already!

May I request Something about Junhui

Y/n being sick during her pregnancy (if you are comfortable) and Junhui brings her with them while they filmed “In the Soop” to keep an eye on her and unknowingly their relationship gets exposed once the episode air and she cries real bad and the group help him calm her down!

Unexpected Reveal | idol!Jun x Reader | angst, fluff

Filming In the Soop was supposed to be a peaceful getaway. A chance for the members to relax, reset, and spend quality time together away from the usual chaos of idol life.

But for Junhui, this trip had an entirely different purpose.

"You sure you’re okay with this, baobei?" (A/N: For everyone who don't know what baobei means, it means something like Darling) Jun asked softly, kneeling beside the couch where Y/N lay, bundled in a thick blanket. His hand brushed against her forehead, checking for any lingering fever. "We can still go back if it’s too much for you."

She shook her head, offering him a weak smile. "I’d rather be here with you than alone at home."

Y/N was in the early stages of her pregnancy, and it had been far from easy. Morning sickness hit her hard, exhaustion came in waves, and her body ached in ways she hadn’t expected. Jun had barely let her out of his sight, and when filming In the Soop came up, he insisted on bringing her along—secretly, of course.

The members had been incredibly supportive. Seungcheol and Jeonghan helped distract the cameras, Woozi pretended not to see Jun sneaking into Y/N’s room every night, and the younger ones took turns delivering food to her cabin so she wouldn’t have to move much.

It worked.

Or at least, they thought it did.

When the episode aired weeks later, the internet exploded.

Clips of Jun carefully adjusting a pillow in an empty room. A faint silhouette in the background of his personal vlog. The way he seemed distracted, always checking his phone.

And then, the biggest mistake of all—one of the GoPro cameras accidentally left on inside the cabin.

It wasn’t much, just a short clip of Junhui entering with a warm bowl of soup and a soft, “Baobei, you need to eat.” But it was enough.

The comments flooded in.

*Who’s in Jun’s room??? *Did he just say ‘baobei’?????? *Wait, is this why he kept disappearing during the show?! *Jun’s married?! JUN HAS A WHOLE WIFE????

The speculation spiraled out of control. Some fans celebrated, some felt betrayed, and some simply refused to believe it.

But the damage was done.

Y/N sat curled on their couch, knees pulled to her chest, as she scrolled through the endless posts. The anxiety swelled in her chest until it was unbearable, and before she could stop herself, she burst into tears.

"Y/N, hey—" Jun rushed to her side, alarmed. "Baobei, don’t cry. Please don’t cry."

“I ruined everything,” she sobbed, voice shaky. “Everyone’s talking about you. About us. What if—what if it affects your career? What if people hate you because of me?”

Jun’s heart clenched.

He gathered her into his arms, rubbing slow circles on her back as she cried into his chest. “Shh, that’s not true. You didn’t ruin anything, okay? If anything, this was my fault—I should’ve been more careful.”

The door suddenly burst open, and in came Seungcheol, followed closely by Jeonghan and Minghao.

“Is she okay?” Jeonghan asked, concern etched in his features.

“No,” Jun answered honestly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Seungcheol crouched down in front of them, resting a gentle hand on Y/N’s knee. “Hey, don’t read the comments, okay? People will always have things to say, but they don’t know you. They don’t know how much Jun loves you, how much he’s willing to fight for you.”

Minghao sat beside her, his voice soft. “You’re not alone in this. We’re family. We’ll handle this together.”

Y/N sniffled, looking up at them. “But… what if they—”

“They won’t.” Jun cut her off firmly. “Even if they do, I don’t care. You and our baby matter more to me than any of this.”

She let out a small, choked laugh. “That was really cheesy.”

Jeonghan smirked. “He’s been watching too many dramas again.”

Laughter rippled through the room, lightening the heavy atmosphere.

Jun wiped her tears, cradling her face in his hands. “We’ll be okay, baobei. I promise.”

And looking at the warmth surrounding her, the love in Jun’s eyes, and the unwavering support of their family, Y/N finally let herself believe it.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the taste of you

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "there is never a time or place for true love. it happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single, flashing, throbbing moment." - the truth about forever by sarah dessen

rated m | 1717 words | cw: blood, canon adjacent events | tags: eddie lives, steve has a crush on eddie, first kiss, getting together, post-vecna

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The sky is red. It’s dark, the air is damp, and Steve hates the Upside Down.

This place genuinely sucks.

It sucks even more when he can hear Dustin yelling, but can’t see him.

It sucks the most when he finally sees why Dustin is yelling.

Steve’s heart stops, but his legs don’t.

He runs.

He runs so fast, his legs nearly give out.

They do, when he sees how bad it is.

Eddie’s dying. He’s bleeding too much.

Dustin knows it, that’s why he sounds like he’s in pain. Dustin’s seen enough near-death and death alike. Steve’s not letting him see it now, not with this guy he looks up to.

Steve starts CPR, wipes blood off his lips before he starts compressions. It’s a taste he’ll never forget.

When he thought about tasting Eddie, it wasn’t like this.

He keeps going, and the time keeps ticking, and Eddie’s heart doesn’t quite beat right, but he is breathing. Steve has no idea how he’s going to keep him breathing while they get him out. He can’t think about that when he’s trying to maintain his own oxygen levels to keep Eddie alive.

He’s keeping Eddie alive.

“Somebody get us out!” Steve manages to yell before he starts giving Eddie the air from his lungs.

Nancy is yelling and Dustin is screaming about not leaving them, but then Robin’s hand is on his back.

“Let me take over for a minute,” she says, voice shaking with nerves. She knows CPR because Steve insisted she learn after the Russians. He insisted everyone learn, but he hasn’t been able to teach everyone yet. He leaves her space to take over.

Nancy is tugging Dustin back to the trailer. He knows she’s coming up with a plan.

He wipes blood from his lips.

Nancy is gone for long enough that Steve starts taking over again with CPR. Robin is keeping an eye on things, making sure she doesn’t need to tap in again, making sure no rogue bats are coming back for seconds. Or thirds by the look of Eddie’s mangled body.

A warm hand touches his back as he’s trying to keep the life inside Eddie’s chest.

He pulls away. He wipes blood from his lips.

“C’mon kid, I gotta get him out of here,” Hopper is nudging him away. He doesn’t know how or why Hop is here. He doesn’t ask. He just needs him to save Eddie.

Hopper takes Eddie into his arms, lifts him up, and starts walking to the trailer.

Robin is holding his hand while they follow behind.

Eddie’s eyes open as they walk and Steve sees it, feels it.

There’s a zap of electricity between them.

Steve tastes blood again.

He wipes his mouth, but there’s nothing there.

Eddie’s eyes close again, but Steve doesn’t look away.

****

Steve’s head is pounding, but he refuses to leave. Robin brought him water and a sandwich about an hour ago, tried to convince him to go home and shower, take some Ibuprofen. He refused.

He wipes his mouth. There’s nothing there.

He wants to taste Eddie without blood in the way.

He wants to know Eddie without the fear of the police arresting him or Vecna cursing him or bats eating him alive.

He wants to touch Eddie with soft hands, knowing that he’s breathing on his own.

He wants to know what it’s like to love Eddie.

But Eddie’s still in recovery from surgery, and no one is allowed to see him, not even his uncle. Wayne is soft spoken, kind, but won’t take any nonsense from anyone. He gives Steve a nod every time a nurse gives him an update, a silent confirmation that Eddie’s still alive.

It’s enough for him for now, but his chest pulls tight at the thought that the only time he’d have Eddie close is when he’s dying.

“Mr. Munson?” A doctor calls for Wayne.

Steve knows better than to walk over there, but his ears tune in as much as possible.

“He’s in a room. I’d be shocked if he wakes up anytime in the next 24 hours. It was touch and go for a while, but we managed to find all of the internal bleeding and stop it. The external wounds are stitched up, but the scarring will be extensive. He had a skin graft done on his side, and that will be a painful healing process for the next few months. He currently has a fever, so we’re monitoring for infection. Whatever attacked him did enough damage that I am concerned he may have permanent muscular damage. It’s hard to know until he wakes up exactly how functional he will be, but be prepared for the worst,” the doctor explains. He’s straightforward, facts only, and Steve kind of appreciates it.

“The worst being?” Wayne asks.

“We don’t think he’ll be paralyzed, but enough damage has been done to his left side that he may be unable to walk. His neck had enough damage that speaking may be very painful or impossible for him. We aren’t going to know about his ability to hear or see until he wakes up, but his left ear was bleeding, which leads me to believe his eardrum is damaged enough for some hearing loss to be present. We just want you to be prepared.”

“Right. Anything else?”

Steve is standing much closer now, hadn’t even realized he moved until he was practically right behind Wayne.

“Not at this time. You may go back to sit with him, but I do ask that you don’t touch him. We don’t want to increase the risk of infection, and we don’t know what parts of his body are hurting at this time.”

Wayne nods. The doctor tells him the room number and general directions and walks away.

Steve wipes his mouth.

“Well? You comin’?” Wayne asks him.

Steve jumps. “Huh?”

“I expect you wanna see the boy after all you did to make sure he lived,” Wayne is smiling at him.

“But they said…”

“I heard him. I’d like to see ‘em stop us. They got a lot goin’ on right now anyway. Won’t even notice.”

So Steve follows Wayne to Eddie’s room, which is dimly lit and at the end of the hall, out of the way of a lot of the chaos happening around them. Wayne hasn’t asked questions, almost like he knows he shouldn’t. Steve won’t be able to answer.

Eddie’s asleep, and a lot of his body is covered in bandages. What isn’t still looks dirty, his skin caked with remnants of mud and dirt, with dried blood.

Steve wipes his mouth, grateful there’s no blood on his lips.

Wayne sits in the chair next to his bed. Steve stands by the door.

He feels like he’s guarding him, doing everything he can to protect him while he rests.

****

Eddie wakes up four days later.

He can move, but it’s extremely painful. He can hear, and see, and mostly talk, though his voice is raspy from disuse. Steve’s been in and out at Wayne’s insistence.

He sleeps at home for a few hours, showers, eats, then comes back.

No one comments on his presence, not even Eddie.

Not at first.

He stays in the background while the kids visit and find normalcy where they can. He stays out of the way when Wayne visits, happy just to see Eddie giving him a hard time from his bed. He keeps quiet when the doctors and nurses and Hop all sit down to talk to him about his progress.

Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by him hanging around. If anything, he seems to be trying to entertain him, maybe keep him here longer. Steve feels a fondness settle in his chest, and it stays there, makes a home in his lungs and his heart.

Eddie is reading, alone for the first time all day and enjoying the quiet. Well, he’s alone in the sense that Steve is sitting off to the side, not bothering him.

Steve wipes his mouth.

“You do that a lot,” Eddie says without looking up from his book.

“Do what?” Steve didn’t think he did anything. He’s just sitting, making sure Eddie’s alive.

“Wipe your mouth. I don’t remember you doing that before,” Eddie sets the book down on his lap. “You’ve done it six times in the last hour.”

“Oh,” Steve frowns. He doesn’t remember doing it that much. “Sorry.”

Eddie searches his face for something. He nods when he finds whatever it was.

“Come here,” Eddie sets his book on the table that’s still holding his dinner tray. They haven’t been by to pick it up yet.

Steve stands and walks closer to the bed.

“Closer.”

Steve leans in.

Eddie grabs the back of his head, firm but pulling him in gently. Steve could pull back if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he doesn’t want to stop it.

Eddie’s lips brush his. It’s enough pressure to be considered a kiss, but it’s over so quickly, Steve isn’t sure he registers it right away.

“There.”

“There?” Steve asks, resisting the urge to immediately lean in for more.

“It’s just my lips now. Nothing else. Nothing to wipe away.”

Steve blinks. Did someone tell Eddie about…?

“Robin told me about the CPR.” Eddie smirks. “Well, actually she said that she had to taste my blood and she would never forgive me for it, which led to me asking why Wayne told me you performed CPR. Then she explained and I noticed your little nervous habit.”

Eddie’s thumb brushes against his bottom lip. No one’s ever touched him like this, so soft, so gentle.

“I’m here. There’s no blood where it shouldn’t be. You saved me. You and Robin saved me.”

Steve’s lips part, his breath catches.

“Can I check?”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, Stevie.”

Steve kisses him, feels his lips moving against his, and it’s different. All he tastes is Eddie’s spit, the garlic from the mashed potatoes he had for dinner, and the hint of something spicy, maybe the soda Wayne snuck him after the nurse left earlier.

No blood.

No dirt.

No sweat.

Just Eddie.

And that moment is all Steve needs to know he loves the taste of Eddie.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #18 THE ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT BURNOUT

i feel exhausted. And I don’t mean like "Oh, I need a nap" exhausted y'all know exhaustion that sits in ur bones that makes even the smallest tasks feel like moving a mountain Even when I do get some rest like sleeping for 8h do breathing techniques I still wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. And not a small one I'm talking an 18-wheeler, full speed (call it whatever u want) . I was tired all the time yet somehow also restless. I wanted to do something, but I also didn’t want to do anything. I was stuck in this weird, miserable limbo where everything felt pointless, but at the same time, I was stressed about not doing enough. Like, how does that even make sense?And honestly, it got to a point where I wasn’t even living anymore I was just existing. Just floating through days waiting for the next one hoping I’d feel better but never really doing anything about it. Because when you’re that deep in burnout, it’s hard to even believe that you can feel better.

But you can. And I know that sounds cliché as hell but listen to me for a second. If I could drag myself out of that deep, dark hole, you definitely can too. And I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy, but I swear to you, it’s possible.

ᡣ𐭩 sᴛᴇᴘ ᴏɴᴇ: sᴛᴏᴘ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ

If someone talked to you the way you talk to yourself you’d probably wanna fight them Like imagine your younger self sitting right in front of you. If they were struggling, feeling drained, feeling like a failure, would you yell at them to “get their shit together” and call them lazy? No, right? You’d probably comfort them, tell them it’s okay, tell them they don’t have to be perfect.

So why the hell are you so mean to yourself?

Burnout doesn’t happen because you’re weak or lazy but it happens because you’ve been pushing yourself too hard for too long bu experience cuz when I study every single day like NOO stop wake up early,homeworks,school and the same loop go for 1 month I burn out for maybe 15days after (like rn) And let’s be honest, most of us don’t even realize it’s happening until we’re knee-deep in exhaustion. You keep telling yourself, “Oh, I’ll rest once I finish this” or “I just need to push through a little more,” until one day, your body and brain just quit on you.

So the first step? Start being nice to yourself. Start talking to yourself the way you’d talk to a best friend who’s struggling. Because you are not the problem burnout is.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ᴛᴡᴏ: ʀᴇsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅs ᴏɴ ɪᴛ (ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴅᴏᴇs)

I know resting sounds like the most obvious advice ever, but do you actually do it? Because scrolling on your phone for five hours doesn’t count as rest. Lying in bed while spiraling about everything you should be doing? Also not rest.

Real rest means giving yourself permission to slow down without feeling guilty. It means doing things that actually recharge you so don't force urself to do ur hard tasks like intense workout at 6am saying yes to extra tasks or project ... But say yes to take walks , listening to music, watching a comfort show DO ANYTHING THAT MAKE U HAPPY not everyone have the same (happiness detox) so yeah . And most importantly, it means not punishing yourself for needing a break.Because pooks you’re not a machine. You weren’t built to be productive 24/7. Even your phone needs to be charged, and you’re out here expecting yourself to run on 2% battery every day? Yeah, no wonder you feel like shit.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ғʀᴏᴍ sᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ

i know. "But I just use it to relax." Do you? Do you really? Because last time u checked, scrolling through Instagram or tiktok for hours and comparing your life to a bunch of people who only post their highlight reels doesn’t exactly scream relaxation.

Social media is draining u .fr u don’t even realize it half the time, but it’s constantly feeding your brain unrealistic expectations. One second you’re watching someone’s “That Girl” morning routine, and the next, you feel like a failure because you don’t wake up at 5 AM to drink matcha and do yoga on a balcony.

And don’t even get me started on doomscrolling. Like, do I need to know every bad thing happening in the world the second I wake up? No. But do I do it anyway? Also yes. And then I wonder why I feel like shit before my day even starts.

So hear me out pookie log off. Even for just a day. Delete the apps if you have to limit time . Go touch some grass. Read a book. Hell stare at the ceiling if you want. Just give your brain a break from the constant noise. Trust me, you’ll feel a million times lighter.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ғᴏᴜʀ: sᴛᴏᴘ ᴍᴇᴀsᴜʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ

I used to think that if I wasn’t being productive, I wasn’t worth anything. Like, if I wasn’t working, studying, or doing something “useful,” I was just wasting my life. And if I had a day where I didn’t get anything done? the self-hate would kick in.

But fr your value is not based on how much you do. You are not just a machine made to produce work and complete tasks. You are a human being who deserves to exist without constantly proving yourself.

Think about it .. do you judge your friends based on how productive they are? Do you stop loving someone just because they took a lazy day? No. So why do you do it to yourself?Taking a break doesn’t make you a failure. Resting doesn’t make you lazy. And slowing down doesn’t mean you’re falling behind. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is give yourself space to breathe.

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛʜᴇ 𝟷-ʜᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ: ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʙᴜʀɴᴏᴜᴛ

U feel exhausted, unmotivated, and even simple tasks feel like a challenge. You know you need to do something, but damn you can’t even bring yourself to move. I get it.

So here’s the deal We’re not fixing your whole life in one day buuuut Instead, we’re using the 1-Hour Method—because when you’re burnt out, committing to an entire day of productivity feels impossible. But one hour? That’s doable.

Step 1: The One-Hour Reset

You don’t need to “fix” everything. Just commit to one hour of doing something that will make you feel 1% better. That’s it.

⏳ The Rules:

Set a timer for 60 minutes.

Pick 2-3 small things that will make you feel lighter.

Do them with zero pressure. Imperfect action > no action.

Examples:

⏰ Minute 0-10: Get out of bed. Wash your face. Brush your teeth. You don’t need a full “that girl” routine, just refresh yourself.

⏰ Minute 10-20: Make your space 5% cleaner. Not a full deep clean—just clear the trash, fold a blanket, or open the window. Small changes, big difference.

⏰ Minute 20-40: Do one small productive task—answer an email, write one sentence of an essay, organize one folder. Just something that reminds you that you can do things.

⏰ Minute 40-60: Move your body. Stretch, walk around, dance to a song—anything to shake off the mental fog.

One hour down, and I guarantee you’ll feel even slightly better than before.

Step 2: The 1-Hour Rule for Self-Comparison

Nothing drains your energy more than constantly feeling behind in life. Comparing yourself to others? Yeah, that’s a fast track to burnout.But the people u’re comparing yourself to? They have bad days too. They feel lost too. They struggle too. You just don’t see it.

So for the next hour try this:

Write down 3 things you’ve accomplished last days or months No matter how small. Maybe you learned a new skill, took care of yourself on a rough day, or simply kept going when you wanted to quit. That counts.

Unfollow or mute accounts that make you feel “less than.” If it doesn’t inspire you, it’s draining you Simple.

Shift your mindset. Instead of “Why am I not there yet?” ask “How can I grow at my own pace?”

You’re doing better than you think. You don’t need to rush. Your journey is yours.

Step 3: The 1-Hour Rule for Overwhelm

Burnout often comes from having too much on your plate. So, instead of drowning in to-do lists, use this:

→ Pick 1 hour a day to focus on just ONE thing. No multitasking. No distractions. Just one task that actually matters.When you train your brain to handle things one at a time, everything feels less overwhelming.

You don’t have to “get your life together” overnight. You just have to start.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ғɪᴠᴇ: ғɪɴᴅ ᴊᴏʏ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ (ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟᴇsᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢs)

I know what you’re thinking “ I don’t even remember what joy feels like.” And I get it. When you’re burnt out, everything feels dull, like life lost its color.But you can bring it back. And no, I’m not saying you need to go on some self-discovery journey. Sometimes, it starts with the smallest things listening to a song you used to love, rewatching a movie that made you happy, making a dumb inside joke with a friend, buying yourself a little treat just because , go through ur old photos, remember ur high grades or whatever makes u joyful and full of love

Joy isn’t always some big Sometimes it’s just a tiny moment that reminds you life isn’t all stress and exhaustion.And the more you find those small moments, the more you start to feel alive again.

ᡣ𐭩 ʟᴀsᴛ sᴛᴇᴘ : ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ, ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Damn, I don’t even know where to start,” that’s okay. Just start small. Start with one thing whether it’s being kinder to yourself, taking an actual rest day, stepping away from social media, or just reminding yourself that burnout does not define you.Because you will get through this. You’re stronger than you think. And one day, you’re gonna look back at this version of yourself and be so damn proud that you kept going.

Until then? Take it one step at a time or even an hour at the time be gentle with yourself pookie and remember: you are not alone in this.

@bloomzone

[nanamineedstherapy]

Your jjk caveman crack fics are literally the best thing ever 😂 do you think we could get a part 3???

Thank you for the ask, I was already gonna post this. Happy Valentine's Day!!!

Ooga Booga Sukuna gets Reverse Bonked

Previous Chapter 2: Ooga Booga Gojo tries to Court you (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies courting you with grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication. Just prehistoric buffoonery.

A/N: Listen. I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just know that prehistoric Sukuna is going through it, and honestly? Good for him. This chapter is dedicated to all the idiots in love who have the combined IQ of a rock & the tension of two angry stray cats fighting over a single chicken bone. As usual, => This is a different reader, but the same Sukuna—unfortunately for you. => Some bits are suggestive (in regards of mating), but nothing in detail, only in comedy. => This is Sukuna’s chapter, but don’t worry—the other guys are also getting their solo stories, with guest appearances in each other’s on a regular. So I recommend reading all of them, but I can’t force you to make good life choices. Now, let’s begin.

Sukuna, the undisputed apex predator of the prehistoric world, wakes up.

This is already unacceptable.

Sukuna does not wake up confused.

Sukuna does not wake up with a headache the size of a mammoth's behind.

Sukuna does not wake up in a cave that is not his.

Yet here he is.

His nose twitches—this place smells wrong. The fire is too small. The air lacks the familiar stench of victory. And worst of all, the pile of furs beneath him? Not his.

Then, he sees you.

The audacity.

The sheer, reckless audacity of you.

Sitting there, cross-legged, casually sharpening a rock, as if you didn’t just bonk the most dangerous being alive on the head and drag him here like a sack of mammoth dung.

Sukuna moves to sit up—except he doesn’t.

His brain short-circuits.

His wrists and ankles are tied.

Him. Sukuna. The strongest. Bound like a common prey animal.

His first instinct? Murder.

His second? Murder, but angrier.

You glance up. See him glaring. Raise a smug eyebrow.

Then, with the infuriating calm of someone who does not fear death, you reach out and pat his head.

Oh.

You will pay for this.

He—a god among men, the most dangerous being alive—has been bonked and dragged to a cave like a defenseless animal.

By you.

But Sukuna is smort so he will find a way to escape.

He gets an idea immediately.

Sukuna is also stronk. These flimsy ropes should be nothing.

He flexes. Twists. Yanks.

He will be free in mere seconds—

The rope does not budge.

You observe him silently.

Your expressions unreadable.

Then you slowly grab a stick from beside you—

AND BONK HIM ON THE FOREHEAD!!!

His entire being vibrates with rage.

This—this has never happened before.

A second bonk follows.

His eye twitches.

Fine. You want a fight? Sukuna will not even need his hands.

He leans forward, bares his teeth, flexes every muscle he owns. His glare alone has sent cavemen running.

He exudes menace.

You yawn.

Then. Without hesitation.

You reach out and grab his chin.

He stops breathing.

Your grip is firm, but what’s worse—you squeeze his cheeks.

…Like he is an adorable little animal.

Rage. Shame. Disbelief.

You boop his nose.

HUMILIATION!!!

He will try again. NOT BECAUSE THIS FEELS NICE, but because he’s exhausted.

---

The next morning, you leave the cave.

Sukuna, apex predator, descends into rabid, frantic gnawing.

His teeth work overtime. His dignity is irrelevant.

He is almost free—

Then.

You return.

Carrying food.

His stomach betrays him.

Loudly.

You know. You heard.

You smirk.

Then you feed him.

Not throw the food at him. Not let him grab it himself. No. You hold it up to his mouth.

You expect him to take a bite.

Like some helpless captive wife.

He contemplates death.

Then. With slow, soul-crushing defeat—

He takes a bite.

Disgraceful.

---

Now that you have secured the beast, you begin the ritual.

Sukuna, still bound, watches with narrowed, suspicious eyes as you approach—arms full of rocks.

You drop them in front of him like a sacrificial offering.

Not just any rocks.

Sharp ones. Deadly ones. The kind that could easily pierce flesh, shatter bone, and end lives. (Unlike a certain white-haired idiot who collects useless shiny ones.)

Sukuna blinks.

Stares at the pile.

Then at you.

What is this? A challenge? An insult? An attempt at trickery?

He grunts. (What is this nonsense?)

You grunt back. (Good rocks. Kill things. Useful.)

His fingers twitch. Even bound, he is a warrior. And a warrior recognizes quality weaponry when he sees it.

This is… acceptable.

You nod, satisfied.

Then, just because you can, you pat his head.

Sukuna’s entire body stiffens.

You leave again and return moments later, dragging an actual, freshly hunted animal carcass.

Bigger than you.

Not stolen. (Unlike certain white-haired idiot. Maybe you learned what-not-to-do by watching him.)

Not leftovers scavenged from some beast’s kill.

This is primal.

Earned.

Dominant.

Sukuna sniffs the air.

His instincts kick in.

This is real food. Warrior’s food.

You tear a chunk of meat, toss it into a flame, let it sizzle and cook—the rich aroma fills the cave.

His stomach makes that sound again.

You hear it.

He knows you hear it.

You smirk and bring some cooked bits to his mouth.

Sukuna scowls, looking anywhere but at you.

His entire existence is suffering.

Then, with murderous reluctance, he eats.

It is good.

Too good.

Too competent.

He hates it.

---

It is time.

Sukuna does not know it is time. But it is.

You grab him by the scruff like a misbehaving cave bear cub and drag him to the river.

He thrashes.

Snarls.

He is Sukuna. Apex predator. The most dangerous being alive. He does not need cleaning.

You grunt. (You stink.)

Sukuna snaps his teeth at you. (I will kill you for this insult.)

You dunk him in the river.

It is instant chaos.

He thrashes like a drowning bison.

Water explodes in all directions.

A fish gets yeeted into the sky.

Birds evacuate the trees.

Somewhere, in the distance, an elder caveman sees the commotion and rethinks his entire existence. (It was just Yaga.)

But Sukuna is still tied.

So, in the end, it is just dramatic splashing.

His pride? Destroyed.

His dignity? Evaporated.

His hair? Now suspiciously soft.

You grunt approvingly. (Worthy mate.)

Sukuna glares death.

You pat his head.

He roars in betrayal.

---

The moment of truth.

You drag him back to the cave.

The fire flickers. The air is thick with something tense.

You crouch down.

And, without hesitation—

You untie him.

Sukuna freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

He is free.

He should run.

He should crush you, burn this place down, reclaim his pride, and remind the world why he is the strongest.

But…

He does not move.

Instead, he stares.

At you.

At the organized cave.

At the good food.

At the comfort.

At the competence.

His stomach does a weird thing.

Not hunger.

Something else.

…Oh.

OH.

He has been courted.

By you.

A woman smaller than him?

The realization is devastating.

You smirk.

And, one more time…

You pat his head.

Sukuna growls.

But he does not leave.

---

Sukuna is suffering.

It has been days.

He should be fine.

He should be thriving.

He has good food, a strong cave, sharp rocks, and the privilege of not being bonked daily. (Progress…?)

But there is a problem.

He wants you.

Physically.

Desperately.

Like a fever in his bones.

Like an itch behind his ribs that he can’t reach.

Like an unrelenting cave mosquito bite, but worse because it is YOU, and mosquitoes die easily, but you refuse to perish.

You glare at him across the fire.

He glares back.

The air is thick. Heavy. Crackling with something primal.

But there is one fatal flaw.

Neither of you know what you’re doing.

You move first.

Sukuna tenses as you grab his chin again, your grip rough, firm—like you’re inspecting game.

His stomach does that thing again.

He does not like this.

He likes this too much.

You shove him down.

His brain shatters.

He snarls, trying to flip you over—to dominate. To win. But your grip on his wrists tightens, and suddenly,

HE. IS. PINNED.

His vision goes red.

THE AUDACITY.

THE. AUDACITY. Again for emphasis.

But then…

You do nothing.

You just stare at him.

Waiting.

Sukuna stares back.

…Now what?

Sukuna, desperate to reclaim dominance, growls.

Flips you over.

You flip him back.

He flips you again.

You reverse.

This goes on for ten minutes.

At this point, it is not romantic.

It is not primal.

It looks like two prehistoric idiots trying to invent wrestling.

Somewhere outside, an elder caveman hears the commotion, shakes his head, and decides to write cave poetry instead of mating this year. (It’s Ijichi and he’s not an elder, just looks like one.)

Inside the cave, the match continues.

Grunts.

Snarls.

Dirt flying everywhere.

At some point, you both just stop.

Panting. Staring. Confused.

Sukuna frowns. (This should be instinctual. Why is it not happening?)

You squint. (Maybe… different approach?)

He grabs your toes.

You instinctively kick him.

He growls.

You growl louder.

The problem is, neither of you know where to put things.

Hands? Everywhere.

Mouth? Nowhere near the right spots.

At one point, Sukuna headbutts you by accident.

You elbow him in retaliation.

Then he chokes on his own spit.

This is not going very well.

You pull back.

Stare at each other.

Both of you look deeply disappointed in the other.

Sukuna exhales sharply and grunts. (What now?)

You grunt back. (We… thonk.)

A silent, wordless truce is reached.

For now.

But the tension remains.

You glare.

Sukuna glares back.

This is not over.

Sukuna is determined.

You are determined.

Neither of you will be defeated.

---

So, the next night, you and Sukuna do what any couple of prehistoric idiots would do.

You watch Nanami.

For research.

This is a flawless plan.

A foolproof plan.

A brilliant plan.

It is not.

You and Sukuna are in the bushes.

Close.

Too close.

Way too close.

You are practically inside Nanami’s cave.

Sukuna’s arm brushes against yours. His breath is hot against your neck.

The scent of raw violence and bad decisions lingers in the air.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

You are professionals.

Well.

You are Neanderthals.

Same thing.

The fire inside Nanami’s cave casts perfect shadows on the walls.

A masterclass performance.

A step-by-step tutorial.

A once-in-a-lifetime learning opportunity.

Your tiny prehistoric brains absorb the data.

You both squint.

Sukuna nudges you and grunts. (That look right?)

You tilt your head. (Maybe…?)

You lean in.

Then Sukuna leans in.

Then you lean in more.

Then Sukuna leans in more.

You are practically between Nanami’s legs.

And then—

Nanami notices.

Nanami stops mid-....

Turns his head.

Narrows his dead, exhausted, so-done-with-life eyes.

Sukuna freezes.

You freeze.

There is a moment of tense silence.

A life-defining moment.

A moment where you both reconsider your entire existence.

Then.

Nanami picks up a rock.

A very big rock.

You both start to back away.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Retreat.

Disengage.

Escape.

Nanami does not care.

He hurls the rock.

Hard.

(Because unlike you two and a certain white-haired tribe fool, Nanami has a concept of privacy. And money does not exist yet, so no, he will not be starting an adult site. No. Thank. You.)

The rock sails through the air.

The trajectory is perfect.

The angle is flawless.

The impact should be devastating.

It should crush one of you on sight.

But instead—

It misses.

And instead—

It hits Gojo.

Who was minding his own business.

(Also watching Nanami with his woman for research.)

Gojo collapses instantly.

Directly onto his woman’s chest.

His woman looks down.

Pauses.

Then just shrugs and drags his lanky ass back into their cave.

Like this happens often.

Like she is used to this.

Like she has accepted her fate.

Meanwhile, you and Sukuna, still recovering from near-death-by-rock, decide that maybe this particular research method is flawed.

And with whatever dignity you have left,

You. Retreat.

Nanami’s woman yanks his hair back.

Nanami sighs.

Shakes his head.

Goes back to it.

As if this is normal.

As if he is unbothered, unfazed, and entirely too used to it by now because Gojo exists.

But now, you both have studied.

The blueprint has been acquired.

The forbidden knowledge is yours.

It is time.

Back in your cave, you and Sukuna recreate the motions.

At first, it is awkward.

Very awkward.

There is fumbling.

Some miscalculations.

At one point, Sukuna forgets what legs do.

He just stands there, confused.

You overcorrect.

And by overcorrect, you mean you accidentally knee him in the stomach.

Hard.

He folds in half like a poorly constructed shrubbery tent.

This is not going well.

Then—

Something clicks.

Sukuna growls.

Pins you down.

His grip is tight.

His eyes are dark.

His muscles flex.

He grunts. (Submit.)

You flip him over.

Your grip is tighter around his throat.

Your eyes deadlier.

Your muscles flex harder.

You grunt back. (No, you submit.)

Silence.

Sukuna pauses.

Then—

He lets you.

His pupils dilate.

His breath hitches.

Oh.

OH.

He likes this.

You smirk.

Something clicks (aka Evolution in Real-Time).

Then finally, it happens.

It is violent.

It is chaotic.

It is not historically accurate.

But it works.

Afterwards, Sukuna.exe has crashed.

He is a mess.

Sprawled out.

Chest heaving.

Staring at the ceiling like he just witnessed the invention of the calendar.

His brain is fried.

His life has changed.

Meanwhile, you stretch.

Feeling accomplished.

Victorious.

Like a goddess.

Sukuna, however, is still processing his entire existence.

He has been tamed.

Fully.

You pat his head.

He glares.

Weakly.

Then you crawl onto his chest and fall asleep like a starfish.

He just sighs.

This is his life now.

A/N: Well. That happened. I don’t know whether to feel proud, concerned, or vaguely threatened. Sukuna has officially entered his “I don’t know what just happened but I liked it” era, & frankly? He deserves to suffer.

Vote wisely. Or don’t. Nothing is wise in this story. 💀

Next chapter will be out soon :)

All Works Masterlist

[knitmeatardis]

Making Up for Lost Time

I can't believe I am actually posting this, but you all have given me such lovely Hotch x reader fics, I felt the need to add my own contribution. I do not usually write this kind of thing, usually slash all the way, but here we are. For my favorite Hotch smut dealer @aureatelys

Words: ~6.9K; Rating: 18+; Aaron Hotchner x fem bau!librarian!reader

Warnings: safe p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), canon typical violence, reader is being stalked and threatened, smut, no use of y/n

There’s a certain anonymity involved in being the research librarian for the BAU. No one really takes notice of you, and you assume no one even knows your name, while you get to watch and observe everyone and get to know them from afar. Spencer and Derek, messing with each other like brothers. Emily, so assured and beautiful, confident in everything she does, especially the way she moves. JJ, open and warm despite the daily horrors she deals with. Rossi, the pater familia of the whole crew. Garcia is the only one you have any real rapport with, but she spends so much time in her cave that you rarely see her.

The only one you can’t get a read on is Hotch. In fact, you only know he goes by Hotch because that’s how you hear the rest of the team refer to him. You know he has a son and his ex-wife was killed. You know he’s often the first one here and the last one to leave. But his stern expression never really seems to change. He’s always polite to you, nodding his thanks when you bring the files he needs, but rarely speaks. 

So it is all a bit of a shock when JJ stops me in the hallway. “Hey,” she greets you, but her face is pinched, worried. “We need you in the conference room.”

“Me?” you blanch, frozen to the spot.

“Yes. You. Right now,” JJ says, taking files out of your arms and walking quickly toward the conference room. 

You follow in her wake, feeling like a bug under a microscope when you enter behind JJ and everyone’s eyes turn to look at you. It may be the first time most of them have ever really seen you. 

Hotch stands behind a chair and looks at you. He pats it. “Sit, please.” 

His voice is gentle, soft, almost apologetic. He offers his hand to you to guide me into a chair. His touch makes a strange flutter go through your body but with the way everyone is acting, it’s too hard to focus on it. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, but I need you to confirm,” Hotch says, looking at the screen and pressing a button, “that these pictures are of you.” 

The screen fills with pictures of you outside your apartment, outside the grocery store, on the Metro on the way to work, and most alarmingly, through the curtains into your bedroom while you were undressing. Your blood runs cold. You clear your throat. “Yes. Those – those are all of me. What’s – I’ve never seen anyone…”

“These photos were sent to the bureau,” Hotch explains. “To me, specifically. It’s obviously a threat of some kind, but it isn’t clear exactly what’s going on.”

“Who else knows you work here?” Rossi asks. 

“I mean, lots of people know I work for the FBI. It’s on all of my forms and employment records. Friends and family. But only my immediate family knows I work with the BAU. I don’t discuss it with anyone. Not anyone.”  You can feel your heart racing and your stomach churns. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

You can feel Emily following you as you run for the ladies’ room. She’s waiting near the sink with a wet paper towel as you finish vomiting. You’re shaking violently and it feels like your legs are going to go out from under you.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” she reassures you, pressing the towel to your forehead. “Do you think you can come back to the conference room and listen to the plan?” 

You nod and follow Emily back to the conference room. Everyone else has cleared out, leaving just Hotch and you and the pictures up on the screen. You can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to them. Emily puts her hand on your shoulder for a moment and then leaves us alone. Hotch reaches over and turns off the television. 

“I know this is distressing –” 

“Why you?” you ask suddenly. “We’re not close. I’m not a regular member of the team. You’re only nominally my boss. I mean, technically I report to you but I spend more of my time reporting to the other librarians. We barely speak.”

Hotch’s brow draws together as he looks at you. “That’s a good question. We think that whoever this is has cast me in the role of protector and he has chosen you as the object of his delusion. He wants to draw me out for a confrontation.”

“So, what’s the plan?” 

“We’re going to give him what he wants,” Hotch says, putting his hand over yours.

….

The next several hours are a blur. The team stash you in Garcia’s lair, deep inside the bureau and away from any windows. Garcia arms you with several of her comfort tokens to keep you safe. As soon as the team is ready, you’re shuffled down to the garage and into the back of an SUV. Hotch sits next to you while Morgan drives, Prentiss next to him.

“Once we get surveillance on your apartment set up,” Hotch says to you, “I’ll take the first watch. He’s going to want to see me protecting you.”

“I understand.” Of course he’s watching you. That’s what the photographs were all about. Making sure you knew that he could see you but you couldn’t see him. “And if there’s anything I need, I should call you.” 

“Right,” Hotch says. He’s gone over all of the protocols with you several times, but he seems to understand that you repeating them is your way of dealing with your anxiety. “Agent Morgan will be walking the perimeter as well.” 

You nod, looking out the window at the scenery without really seeing it. When you get to your apartment, Hotch keeps his arm tight around you as Morgan and Prentiss lead and take up the rear, respectively. Despite the circumstances, something about the way he’s holding you makes a little thrill go down your spine. 

The three of them are efficient, almost brutally so. You want to laugh and cry at how comfortable they are with setting up this kind of surveillance. They barely even have to talk while they’re doing it. Still, it’s getting dark by the time they’re done. 

“I can only imagine how invasive this feels,” Hotch says, his voice gentle as he sits next to you on the sofa. “As much as possible tonight, go about your normal routine. In the morning, one of us will pick you up for work.” 

“Normal routine,” you huff. “At the moment, I can barely think of what that is.” 

“Well. I know when I get home, I like to take off my tie, maybe fix myself a drink.” Hotch gives you a small smile. “Just close your eyes a second. Think about what you’d be doing if none of us were here.” 

Obediently, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The first thing I do is change into my pajamas and fix myself something for dinner, I guess. I’m pretty domesticated and boring.” 

“There’s nothing boring about having a normal life,” Hotch says. “We’ll leave you to it. And I’ll be just outside.”

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“C’mon,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a smirk. “It’s Hotch.” 

“Hotch,” you say with a small smile. 

….

You try not to think about the microphones and cameras around the apartment as you go through the motions of eating something and watching television. You work on some craft projects, not really paying attention to any of it. You keep listening for someone outside or trying to come into the apartment. Finally you give up and get into bed, but all you can do is toss and turn. 

You contemplate picking up the phone and talking to Hotch, but you don’t want to distract him. On the other hand, he did say to reach out if you needed anything. And all you really want to do is sleep. You cave in, too exhausted to care about seeming weak or needy. You pick up the phone and call him.

“Hey. You alright?” Hotch answers immediately.

“I’m fine.” You huff. “I just can’t sleep. I keep listening for someone to come in.” 

“That’s not going to happen. I’m here,” he says, his voice calm and certain. It feels warm. “Would it help if we talked?” 

“Agent Morgan can’t hear us, can he?” 

“No, he can’t hear us. Tell me what’s going on.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Oh, you know. I’m just staring up at my ceiling thinking about some random guy out there who wants to maybe kill me or kill you or both, so not much really. What’s going on with you?” 

Hotch chuckles. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’m just sitting outside a nice woman’s apartment trying to make sure that no one hurts her. So not a lot going on here, either.” 

That startles a real laugh out of you. “So yeah, boring.” 

“All totally normal.” Hotch smiles to himself. “Tell me something about you,” he says. “How long have you been at the FBI?” 

“You already know the answer to that,” you say. “You hired me.” 

“So? Tell me again.” 

“I’ve been a librarian at the Bureau for about five years,” you say. “After I got my masters in library science from Georgetown. I never thought that a librarian would be needed for something like the BAU, but once I started working with the unit, I loved it.” 

Hotch leans back in his seat, looking at my apartment, imagining you laying in bed on the phone. “That’s not something I hear very often.”

“I imagine there’s a lot of burnout,” you say. “And if I was an agent, I’m not sure I could hack it. But when you all come home and you’ve saved someone or brought someone to justice, I get to feel like a little tiny part of that. It’s not a bad feeling.” 

“I probably don’t say it enough, but we value your help. We couldn’t research everything we need to on our own.”

“Of course not. You need to get your boots on the ground. I know that,” you say. You pause, worrying at your lower lip. “Before today, though, I couldn’t be sure any of you even knew my name.” 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I know your name. I’ve always known it.” He clears his throat. “We’ve always known it.” 

“Thanks, Hotch,” you say softly. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, just as soft. “How are you feeling now? A little less anxious?”

“A little, yes. Thank you, Hotch.” You smile into the darkness. “Your voice is very soothing. And, forget I said that because that’s just embarrassing.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Hotch isn’t able to keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m glad I can help. Do you think you can sleep now?” 

“I think I’m ready to try again,” you say to him. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

He clears his throat again. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day.” 

….

You’re groggy and grumpy and still in your pajamas when Hotch calls you from outside your front door. You check the peephole like he instructed and then let him in. 

“Good morning,” he says softly, holding out a cup of coffee to stall any protests. 

All you can do is grunt and accept the cup, taking a long sip. It’s perfect. Exactly the way you take it. You look at Hotch, lifting an eyebrow but saying nothing. “Give me five minutes to fix my hair and put clothes on,” you say to him, turning away back toward your bedroom.

“You have at least ten,” he says, looking around your front room. You try to imagine what he’s seeing and the conclusions he’s drawing as he looks over your family photos, nerdy collectibles, books, and stuffed animals. You brush your hair and throw on some lipstick, thanking your past self for having your closet organized in such a way that makes it easy to pick something out and put it on. 

You emerge from the bedroom, put together and ready to go. “Told you I only needed five,” you say, pushing your hair off my face. 

There’s a moment when he looks at you that something surprised and interested crosses his face, but he quickly masks it with his patented professional stoicism. “Let’s go, then,” he says, holding an arm out to usher you ahead of him as he opens the door. Hotch escorts you down to street level. There’s an agent you don’t know driving as Hotch helps you into the backseat.

“I’m going to start expecting this kind of treatment all the time now,” you say lightly to him as he joins you. 

Hotch smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just settles into the seat next to you. This drive is less anxious than the one the previous day, even though you’re still mostly looking out the window. Hotch is a solid, calming presence next to you. 

“You’re so gentle,” you say out of nowhere, immediately blushing. “Sorry. I was just – I’ve seen you during briefings and with the team and you’re direct. Concise. I wasn’t expecting you to be so warm with me. Encouraging and solicitous.” You shake your head. 

Hotch nods in acknowledgement. “Not everyone gets to see that side of me. It’s usually when bad things happen.” He glances at you. “I’m working on it.” 

“Well, just know that I appreciate it,” you tell him, putting your hand lightly on top of his. There’s a small tinge of red across his cheeks, but he slips his hand out from under yours quickly enough that you think you might have imagined it. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence. 

When you get to Quantico and up to the 6th floor, Hotch walks you to your office. “While you’re in the building, you can move around freely. But if you have to go outside for anything, get one of us and we’ll walk you.” 

You take a steadying breath and nod. “I will. Thank you.”

He puts a soft hand on your elbow. “This isn’t going to be forever. We’ll find him. I promise.” 

“I believe you,” you say, offering him whatever kind of smile you can manage. He nods at you and drops his hand, heading away as you go into my office. Without his hand on your arm, you feel suddenly cold, but you try to shake it off and concentrate on your work. You can already see that the messages light on your phone is blinking. 

Trying to recapture some sense of normalcy, you sit at your desk and check your email, looking to see if there’s anything urgent that needs attending to. Then you start with your voicemail. The first ten messages are normal, mundane, then there’s the last one. All it contains is a long exhale and then a low laugh before he says, “I see you have your knight in shining armor giving you rides, walking you into the building. That’s good. It’ll be all the easier to kill you both.”

Your blood runs cold, but you manage to hit save on the voicemail system. Your fingers are numb when you pick up the phone and call Hotch’s extension. It feels like seconds between when you hang up and when he’s there in your office. Penelope has already pulled the voicemail off the servers and saved it to her own system, but he wants to hear it for himself. It’s somehow more disturbing the second time through. When you look up at Hotch, his lips are pressed into a hard, thin line. 

“Does he sound familiar to you?” he asks you. 

“No. But I talk to a lot of people when I’m processing requests. Everyone starts to sound the same after a bit.” 

“He sounds familiar to me.” He frowns and crosses his arms. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll tell you,” Hotch promises, looking you in the eyes before he leaves. 

You feel like you’re at loose ends, not at all sure what to do with yourself. You start to work on requests and email, but your attention keeps drifting away. Every time your phone rings you think it’s going to be him again, taunting you. Eventually you turn off the ringer and turn to stare into space, until Hotch returns.

“Anything?” you ask, looking up at him. 

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. Penelope is working on it.” Hotch takes a deep breath. “Are you okay back here? I could find a desk for you in the bullpen.”

“I’m fine. I can’t really concentrate, so not much is getting done. But I’m alright.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll make sure someone picks up the slack for you,” he says. 

“Hotch, isn’t it safer if I stay at home?” You look at him with wide eyes. “I was hoping that work would be a distraction, but that doesn’t seem to be working out so much.”

“Now that we have confirmation that the threat is to both of us, it’s better to keep you close.” He twitches an eyebrow. “I’ll get Garcia to set you up with some games on your computer.”

You chuckle and duck your head. “Thank you. I’m going to owe you so hard after all of this.”

“You don’t owe me anything. This is what we do for our own.” Hotch lingers in the doorway for a moment and then leaves. 

….

Nothing happens the rest of the day except that you have a new obsession with video games thanks to Penelope. Hotch again rides with you to your apartment, promising to take the first watch again. 

“Hotch, you should go home. I know you have a son. You don’t have to spend another night watching over me when you can go be with him.”

“Jack is on a trip with his aunt and cousins,” he says, ducking his head. “Which is good because since this unsub wants to kill me, too, I’d have to stay away from him anyway.” Hotch looks back at you. “I’d rather stay where I can get to you if I have to.” 

There’s something in his voice, something beyond his professional concern, but it’s too quick to identify. “Okay. Good night, then. If I can’t sleep…”

“Just call me.” He smiles softly. “I’ll be here.” 

Once again you try to go about my evening routine and after you try to go to sleep. When once again you can’t, you talk to Hotch. This time you’re on the phone for almost half an hour before you start yawning and he tells me to go to bed. 

The morning is a repeat of the previous day except there’s no creepy voicemail today. Feeling a little more like you’re on solid ground, you start working. The requests have piled up, despite the help you’re getting from other librarians, so you dig in. Once you generate a list of materials to pull, you head to the archives. 

The stacks are comforting and quiet as they surround you. The smell of paper files is familiar and strangely soothing. You start working through your list, putting files in carts and organizing them per request. You don’t even hear the footsteps as someone comes up behind you. 

“Good morning.”

You jump and whirl, barely biting back a scream. “Jesus! Sean! You scared the shit out of me.” You laugh a little, pushing your hair off your face. “Sorry. Just a little on edge today.” 

Sean looks you over. “That’s what happens when your white knight leaves you alone to fend for yourself.”

That’s when you see the gun. Your eyes go wide, but before you can ask any questions, he pulls you to him, your back pressing against him, the barrel of the gun pressed into your side. 

“Shh, shh, your part in this little drama is almost over. Don’t worry. I’ll kill you quickly. Come on. We have to go see your knight.” 

Sean walks you through the hallways, managing to keep the gun concealed. No one really looks at you, too absorbed in their own tasks to notice. When he pushes you into the bullpen, no one even looks up. 

“They don’t even see you. They don’t care,” he murmurs in your ear. “And it’s a tragedy. So I am going to make sure that they never, ever forget you. Go on. Get their attention.” 

“A-Agent Hotchner!” you call out. Everyone’s heads turn and in an instant he appears at the top of the stairs outside his office. Before you can even take the next breath, the guns of all the agents in the room are pointed in your direction, including Hotch’s.

“Oh, well done,” Sean says to you. He keeps you in front of him, using you as a shield and making sure no one can get behind him. “What are you going to do now, Agent Hotshot!” he says, looking at Hotch. “Huh? You, always in the spotlight, always getting attention! Think you can get me from there, Hotshot? The sniper expert.” Sean sneers at him.

Hotch stares at him for a long moment. “Lower your weapons,” he says, not raising his voice but adding a hard steel. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team slowly lower their weapons. His gun doesn’t even waver. “Yes, I can kill you from here.”

You can’t take your eyes off of Hotch, the relaxed but poised stance, his sharp eyes focused on you and the tip of his weapon steady, trained on you.

“Can you do it before I put a bullet in her?” Sean says, ramming the barrel into your ribs and making you whimper. 

“Before, no. Within a heartbeat after, absolutely. But it’s not really what you want. You want to be recognized, you want me to see you,” he says. “Well, Sean. I see you. Now what?” 

“So you know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed? You walk around here like you’re the king of the castle and we’re just peasants under your feet. You have her, right here in front of you every day and you never see her worth,” Sean says, looking at you. 

His arm is so tight around you that you can barely breathe and you’re suddenly afraid that you’ll pass out. “What are you talking about?” you manage.

“You. You’re amazing and they don’t even consider you part of the team. You do everything for them, and they never see you. Not the way that I do. Not the way you should be loved and adored every minute of every day.” Sean’s eyes are adoring for a moment but then they turn hard again. “So I’m going to take you away from them. I’m going to take you away forever, so they will know what it means to live without you like I do. And then I’m going to kill him for every slight you had to take because of him, every late night and exhausting pace and overloaded work. I’m going to punish him for all of it.” 

“Sean, Sean,” you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You don’t need to do that. Agent Hotchner, he’s been amazing. He’s taken such good care of me, and he always has. He’s never treated me badly or ever raised his voice. When I’m working late, he’s right here, working, too.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sean yells. “He doesn’t see you when it matters! He doesn’t stand up for you! He doesn’t care! And I’m going to prove it.” 

Sean’s grip loosens and he pushes you so that you’re facing him, his gun raised. You scream as strong hands tug you down and away and a shot rings out. You hit the floor hard and you’re immediately covered by the body of whoever pulled you down, protecting you. There’s a terrible silence for a long moment, the sound of your breathing loud in your own ears. Slowly, the body over you – Derek, you realize – starts to move. 

“Hey, sweet heart,” he says, looking down at you as he gets up and then offers a hand down. “How you doing? Are you hurt?” 

“No, I’m alright,” you say, breathless. You keep your eyes on Derek. “Is – is he…?”

“Yeah, yeah he is. I’m sorry,” Derek says, voice gentle. He turns you away and puts his arm around you. 

You hear Hotch’s feet on the stairs as he comes down to the bullpen.

“Put her in my office, Morgan,” he says, still strong but quieter now. “Please.” 

You feel more than see Derek nod and then your feet are moving. He leads you the long way around, through the round table room and along the catwalk around to Hotch’s office, all the while shielding you from the scene below. He closes the door and helps you over to the couch, quickly closing the blinds. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he says, crouching down in front of you.

You haven’t stopped crying, your eyes sting, your ribs and chest hurt from the way Sean had grabbed you and squeezed. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, letting out a wry, slightly hysterical laugh. “I could use a shot of tequila,” you say, sniffling again. 

“How about some water instead?” Derek says, putting a hand on your knee. 

“Water. Yeah. Water is good.” 

“Good. You just sit here and breathe and I’ll be right back,” he says, standing. You can hear activity outside when he opens the door, but when he closes it again, it is perfectly quiet. You sit on Hotch’s couch, wondering how long it will take your hands to stop shaking.

….

When you wake up, still on Hotch’s couch, you realize that someone has come and put a blanket on you. You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but it was sometime after Derek brought you water. You glance out of the window and realize it must be mid to late afternoon now. You sit up, groggy and confused after the adrenaline crash. You’re only sitting up for a few minutes before Hotch comes in. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, turning one of his chairs around to face you on the couch. 

“Exhausted.” You rub your face. “I can’t believe Sean did all this.”

Hotch takes a deep breath. “We found more photos of you on his computer. It seems he’s been obsessing over you for some time.”

“I had no idea. He rarely speaks – spoke – to me. I’d smile at him in the stacks or if I saw him in the hallway, but not much else. Why did he fixate on you? And what was all of that about you not considering me part of the team?” 

He opens the file folder he’d brought in with him and hands you some folded paper. You recognize it immediately as the internal FBI newsletter. Inside there’s a profile about Hotch after he broke the record for Quantico’s long-distance sniper accuracy. The article has a picture of the BAU team, naming everyone. The photo was taken in the bullpen, and in the background, there is a blurry picture of you pushing your cart and delivering files to the desks. “He had this pinned up in his office,” Hotch says. “We think this is where it all started.”

You start to laugh and it sounds hysterical to your own ears. “How do you deal with this kind of thing every day? The bizarre thinking and the leaps… that something as small as this could precipitate everything we just went through for the last 48 hours.” You shake your head. “I want to go home.” 

Hotch nods. “I’ll drive you.” 

“No, come on. You’ve done enough,” you say softly, reaching out and touching his knee. “I can make it home on my own.”

“I should take all the surveillance down. And you’re exhausted. This is going to hit you. Hard. You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere is it?” you ask, smirking. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

You nod and stand. Your legs are still shaky though and you stumble a little. Hotch’s hands are right there to steady you, his breath ghosting over your skin as he holds you. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. 

“Thank you,” you reply, matching his tone. 

He walks you to your office so I can gather your things and then down to the garage. Instead of an FBI SUV, you get into his personal vehicle, you sitting up front with him while he drives. The ride is quiet still, but not the scared, tense silence from the other drives. When you get to your apartment, he escorts you inside, his hand on the small of you back instead of the protective circle from earlier. His body is firm and warm next to yours, and even though the danger is over, you still feel safer with him there.

He goes about collecting the cameras and microphones and putting them in cases as you toe off your shoes and head into your kitchen to look for something to eat. You are still staring into the fridge when Hotch pokes his head in. “I got everything, so…”

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. “I’m starving and my fridge is in pathetic shape. I could order something.” 

“That’s not –”

“Just – it’s the least I can do, Hotch. And you said I shouldn’t be alone,” you say, cocking your hip.

Hotch smirks and crosses his arms. “Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere, right?” 

“Exactly. So. You like thai?” 

Laughing softly, Hotch takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair in your small dining room. “I do. Very much.”

“Good,” you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and starting a delivery order. You hand it to him when you’re done. “Get whatever you want. I’m going to change.”

When you come out of the bedroom in your pajamas, a tank top and knee-length short pants, Hotch is in your kitchen opening a bottle of wine. He turns his head when he hears me approach. You notice that his tie is off, too, and his sleeves are rolled up to show his forearms. Your mouth waters for a moment. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought some wine might be helpful.”

“You know your way around a kitchen,” you say, approving. “Thank you.” You accept the glass from him after he pours and go sit on your couch. You drink in comfortable silence for a couple of moments, just sitting there examining his profile. “I meant what I said, by the way,” you say into the quiet. “About you taking great care of me. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” 

“Like I said, we look out for our own,” he says, turning his head and looking at you. His face is soft and affectionate before he lowers his gaze back to his hands. “He was wrong, you know, about me not seeing you, not knowing your worth. When I saw him there with you, that gun pressed into your side…” He shakes his head. “The idea of living without you in my life really scared me.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, looking suddenly shy.

“Hotch… what are you saying?” Your hands tighten around your glass. It’s no secret that Hotch is attractive, and the way you’ve gotten to know him over the last couple of days has been alluring. 

“I’m saying that I have been trying to maintain my professionalism,” he says, “around you. For some time now.” He licks his lips. “I know a lot about you. How you take your coffee. That you like the burritos from the place 10 blocks away even though there’s a place just around the corner. I know you have a sweet tooth. You get stressed out when there’s a chance of snow in the forecast.”

You laugh at that one. “You have been watching closely.” 

“It is sort of my job.” He gives you a small smile. Then he puts his hand palm up on the couch between you, offering it to you to take. “But I’ll admit that I had additional motivation where you were concerned.”

“Hotch…”

“Aaron. We’re off the clock. You should call me Aaron.” 

You slip you hand into his. “Aaron. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I’m your boss. And I didn’t want the risk of something going bad between us and losing you. You are part of the team. We need you.” 

“Still, I wish you’d said something. We could have been doing this the whole time,” you say, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but his free hand comes up to caress your jaw.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, thumb tracing your jaw line. 

“No,” you say looking him in the eyes. “I’m worried about transference and hero worship and all those kinds of things, but at the moment all I know is that your hand is warm and I want you to touch me.” 

Aaron takes the glass out of your hand and puts it on the coffee table before tugging you closer and over into his lap. He cups your jaw in both hands and pulls you into another kiss. This one is hotter, wetter, his tongue sliding between your lips and exploring your mouth. 

You moan softly, pressing against him as he moves his mouth to your jaw and the side of your neck. You tilt your head back, encouraging him as his hands grip your waist hard. You can feel him as he starts to harden in his dress pants, and you can’t help rubbing your hips into him. “Fuck, Aaron,” you murmur, running your hands all over his chest. His hands slip under your shirt, caressing the small of your back. “Bedroom. Please, Aaron. I need to feel you.” 

“What about dinner?” 

“It can wait,” you murmur, running your fingers into his hair and claiming his lips again.

Aaron helps you onto your feet, then stands and scoops you into his arms. He carries you into your bedroom and lays you across the mattress, covering you with his body. He kisses you over and over, his hands slipping under your shirt and caressing your breast over your sports bra. You hook your leg over his hip, arching up into him.

“Aaron…” you moan. “God, you feel so good.” 

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his already deep voice dropping into something even darker. “So stupid… wasted time. When I could have been –”

“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. Then a wicked smile curls your lips. “You’ll find a way to make it up to me,” you tease.

Aaron actually laughs, his whole face relaxing. “Challenge accepted,” he says, licking his lips. His hands are deft and efficient as he removes your pajamas, and together you work on his dress shirt and the belt of his dress pants. You can’t help giggling as you get tangled up in a flurry of limbs and discarded clothing, but finally you’re able to press skin to skin, his mouth fastened on your neck and collarbone.

“God, Aaron…” you arch against him, your breasts dragging through his chest hair. “I need you.”

Pulling back, Aaron smirks at you but also tenderly pushes hair off your face. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. He shifts his kisses to the base of your throat and then over the curve of one breast, sucking your nipple between his teeth and making you gasp. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue seeking out any place that seems enticing to him. When he reaches my ribs, he runs his thumb over the skin and you wince, realizing that you must already be bruised badly. Aaron presses a soft kiss to the spot before he moves on. 

Gently, he pushes your thighs open, and you groan as the cool air hits your hot skin. You arch as his tongue dips inside your folds, grazing your clit. He wraps his arms around your thighs, your knees bent over his shoulders as he licks and sucks on you. His chin and the stubble across his jaw rubs at the sensitive skin. His tongue teases at your entrance and then up to your clit. You reach back and wrap your fingers into the pillow as pleasure races along your spine. You’re breathless and panting, waves and waves of intense need and want running through you. 

“Oh, god… god, Aaron. I’m – I’m gonna…”

Aaron sucks hard on your clit in response, slipping two fingers deep inside you. You arch and cry out as my orgasm swamps you. He licks and caresses you through it, helping you come down. Your heart is racing and you’re blinking fast to try to get your vision back online as he crawls back over you, licking his fingers and wiping his mouth. You grab his face in both hands and draw him to you for a kiss. Your tastes are mixed in his mouth and all you can do is moan. You can feel how hard he is, his tip teasing at your skin. 

“I need you to fuck me,” you murmur, still holding his face and looking into his eyes. 

“Do you –”

“In the nightstand,” you say, gesturing at the drawer. 

Aaron lifts his eyebrow and smirks but says nothing as he shifts to reach over to the nightstand. He locates the condoms easily, and kneels up to show you as he rips the packet open. You can hear him sliding it on, his mouth dropping open as he wraps his hand around himself. “Fuck, what you’ve done to me,” he groans as he drags you closer and pushes inside you. 

You gasp as he fills me up, the tip of his cock rubbing in exactly the right places. One hand is braced on your headboard while the other tenderly caresses your skin as he starts to move. Ecstasy settles across his stern features and you pant and moan together. He makes the most delightful soft sounds as he works inside you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Your pleasure is spiralling up again, the coil tightening in your spine, but you push it down. You want to come with him, you want to crash through the barrier at the same time. 

“Close… fuck, I’m so close,” he groans.

You run your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Yes. Yes, god. Aaron. Let me feel you.” 

Aaron’s hips fall out of rhythm as he chases his pleasure. He groans, low and long, as he shudders through his orgasm. The feel of him twitching inside you sends you over the edge. You grind your hips against him as you come, your head thrown back in pleasure. 

“Fuck… are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Aaron asks, braced above you. He pushes hair off your face, his eyes laced with concern. 

“Right now, I am feeling zero pain,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. “I am riding the high of two spectacular orgasms. Jesus.” You caress his face and lean up so you can kiss him again. 

Aaron drags his fingers along your jaw as you kiss. He slips out of you and rolls onto his back before efficiently removing and disposing of the condom. When he returns to the bed, he gathers you into his arms, caressing the curve of your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“You’re so incredible,” you murmur, your hand caressing his pecs and abs. “You make me feel so amazing.” 

“You’re amazing,” Aaron counters. He runs his fingers through your hair and caresses the nape of your neck with his thumb. “I didn’t think sexy librarian was one of my types but then I met you.” 

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Isn’t sexy librarian everyone’s type?” you ask, teasing. You tilt your face up and grin when you get another kiss. “So. Does this make us officially a thing?” 

When you look up, Aaron is blushing delightfully as he smiles. “I wouldn’t begin to presume…”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “If you think I’m letting you go easily after all of this, you have another thing coming,” you say. “We’ll figure it all out. But I’m not giving up the chance to maybe have something great.”

Aaron nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Neither am I.” 

Your breathing settles and evens out and you can feel yourself starting to drift when both of your stomachs rumble loudly. You giggle. “Our food is probably downstairs in the lobby,” you say. 

“I’ll get it,” he says, sliding out from under you. “We’ll need the fuel for later.” 

“Later?” you ask, lifting your eyebrows and biting your lip. 

“I’m not nearly done making up for lost time with you, yet,” he says, grinning. 

[dresshistorynerd]

"Really wasn't saying much" is an interesting response to getting criticised for agreeing with intensely Islamophobic rant. If they weren't saying more than "I like long skirts, but they are impractical in the moors" (which is incorrect as a blanket statement as others pointed out) then perhaps they shouldn't have gone out of their way to agree with Islamophobia?

(For context I'm talking about this post.)

But as was pointed out by @/marzipanandminutiae this idea that skirts, even long ones, can only be comfortable and practical in very limited circumstances is false (point which the OP seemingly failed to understand). The OP said in the original post: "if your mode of transport is foot, bike, or horse, pants are more practical." So in addition to skirts being impractical in moors apparently skirts are also more impractical *checks notes* for walking. I can agree that pants are usually more practical for riding a bike, but most skirt are imo fine for biking, so sometimes when counting in the weather, the comfortability, etc. a skirt is the better and more practical option for me (it of course depends on what you find comfortable) even though I'm going to use a bike. But for walking? There's absolutely no reason why skirts would be inherently less practical for walking. Sure some skirts might be less practical than some pants, but also some pants would be less practical than some skirts. And when it comes to the moors? Skirt is again not inherently less practical. Even a long one. For most skirts you can easily raise the hem by folding some of it to the hip and securing it with a belt, technique which women, especially working women, (at least in Europe) have used thorough history.

You can't do that for pants. So pants would in fact more likely be impractical in the moors by getting their hems wet and stained by the grass. It's true that historically people of steppe environments have often used pants, but that's because in steppe environments horse riding has usually been so central to the culture. (Though horses were introduced outside Eurasia pretty late in the game, but still Eurasia does have pretty large part of the world's steppe areas.)

Historically pants have been used in extreme cold (trapping the air properly with skirt is not possible when you move around) and for horse riding. Without modern comforts you would think practicality was of utmost importance for the pre-modern humans, but pants were only popularized outside horse riding and extreme cold climates in the Early Modern Era (I go through that history in detail in this post). That's because the skirt is in fact the more practical garment in the vast majority of circumstances. Skirts have just gotten bad rep because they have become associated with womanhood, and women am I right??? Women simply can't be the ones used the more practical garment because as we all know women are irrational and vein and women be shopping you know?

In the Victorian Era upper class women used quite impractical dresses, as upper class people have always done (to show you are rich enough so you don't have to do physical labour), while upper class men wore less impractical pants (for reasons that are too complex to go into here, but shortly it was because modern masculinity was build up from romanization of a rural gentleman and a military man), so it was decided that skirts are simply less practical. Of course working women used practical skirts, but they didn't count. It was the mainstream Late Victorian feminists (not all feminists at the time agreed), who cemented this view on skirts, because they accepted the idea that skirts were simply less practical and that men's dress in general was just more rational, because men were more rational, so to free themselves from the confines of womanhood, women needed to stop being vein and adopt masculine dress, including pants. They ended up being very successful with their campaign and they managed to make it acceptable for women to wear pants. It was a legit great achievement, controlling what women can and can't wear is bad actually, but at the same time they conceded that femininity is irrational and skirts are impractical. Eventually the skirt was marginalized to a more formal dress status (which is usually by design impractical), which is why, even after all our feminist progress, the idea that skirt is impractical still persists.

[thefandomexpert]

skipping the ‘women are not a monolith’ bc that’s in another comment. all opinions herein are my own, i’m not prefacing each statement with that so if I say something you personally disagree with it’s not a problem these are just my Onions

first, this seemed very surface level. they’re missing a few big name primarchs for both columns which is baffling.

khan, gman, and vulkan are all standard, loyal, manly men ™️ who also happen to be textually ‘nice’ to mortals/are generally seen as well-adjusted individuals.

This poster has missed the fact that, as far as my corner of the internet is concerned:

1) khan has very little lore compared to his brothers. even if he’s cool he’s not Plot Relevant. there’s no character arc with him? he’s cool. that’s literally it. and i love him for being cool but there’s nothing for me to play with there

2) gman is the most basic white bread unless you like him in which case he’s a sleep-deprived ‘i didn’t ask for this’ ceo dilf scrambling for any sense of security who makes bad decisions in part because he’s sleep deprived and scrambling. i am willing to bet the latter characterization was not really considered when making this post, considering this poster doesn’t think he’s simped over (untrue)

3) vulkan, like khan, also suffers from having brothers that are more plot relevant, though he has more of a character arc (or he could if they brought him back). However, he also suffers from The Fandom Racism Problem. but we don’t need to get into that rn.

42k!Guilliman aside, there’s nothing interesting to be had there narratively, and the other two haven’t been lore relevant since the heresy, unless you want to count tts’ revival of vulkan.

guys i’m surprised are not on this list: corvus really should be up here considering his temperament, and sang?? and FULGRIM???? that says a lot about where the poster is coming from. like fulgrim is for the queers so i get missing out on him if u don’t get him but you didn’t think we’d like sang???? textually prettiest primarch????? the only reason i can think he’s skipped is because he is simped for and therefor is not a surprise

meanwhile,

1) angron is The Single Most Tragic Primarch of the lot, his inevitable clash with the imperium is very good for getting to the core of the Imperial Problem, and he’s a sympathetic and relatable character. i, too, would want to rip my dad apart if he didn’t take the painful metal contraption that made me fuckass mad out of my head even if he could, and made me leave my friends to die to boot. is clearly trying to do right but is forced to do otherwise in a way that’s far more poignant than guilliman or lion making a nasty genocidal decision ‘for the greater good.’ can be either a True Tragic Figure or a beast for a beauty candidate. if you wanted to fix-it one primarch and fix the whole plot by extension, the answer would not be hugging horus or letting gman take a nap: it would be handling The Angron Problem because he is the biggest most obvious example of the imperium Not Working the way it’s being sold. he’s fucking compelling. and he has the biggest rack aight look.

2) corvus is fandom bait full stop. wet cat of a guy who turns into a crow demon and bothers one of the more annoying traitors forever and ever. guilty about his tragic mutated kids. guilty about a lot of stuff actually. again, sad wet cat. and while he’s not plot relevant post dropsite, he’s still textually around and open for a dramatic return. and i mean. look at shrike. tell me they didn’t expect the hot topic kids to be rg players. go on. the only way they could have made him more baity is to put clip-ons in his hair and dress him up in plaid skirts and fishnet gloves. rawr means ily in dinosaur, i made u a cookie but i eated it ass primarch.

3) kurze is again equal parts tragic and potential beast to tame from a fandom perspective. he’s got a cool gimmick with the future sight and who hasn’t wanted to skin a few oligarchs you know? he’s surprisingly witty and he’s got that tall dark and triangle look the tumblr girlies tend to like. there’s a canon example of him keeping a human alive as a pet for multiple years even. you can make this work, easy.

i get the sense some people question why people would like the traitor primarchs, as if telling emps to fuck off and die isn’t the hottest thing a guy can do in this setting (again: one of the major reasons 42k!gman has any appeal is his disillusionment with his father and his genuine struggle to understand why imperialism isnt working out. you’ll get it eventually buddy). they all maim and kill people so that’s also just. way less of a factor than you’d expect, except if they do it in particularly clever or charming ways, which the standard Manly Men primarchs do not, and also we like villains here, sir.

guys i’m surprised are not on this list: mortarion lmao. he’s just as bad if not worse than curze from an appearance standpoint and he’s not a nice guy, neither is he a big scary aggressive protector/hunter/etc dynamic candidate. he’s just there and he just Sucks. and we love him for that. like people are nuts over this guy. which is excellent! but given what poster expected he should be a big surprise. maybe magnus - i can see some people missing his appeal as he’s touted as a nerd and he’s continually a massive loser in every sense of the word…as long as you’re unfamiliar with the wild popularity of the tts version. this may be a sang situation where he’s not mentioned bc he’s expected and proven to be simped over, no surprise.

Lmao

Primarch simps of Tumblr, what is your verdict? (No hate to OP, just poking fun)

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Guide to Literary, Historical, Folklore and Alchemist Themes in "Nosferatu" (2024)

After my post about how the film itself debunks every "popular" view on “Nosferatu” (2024); and the ending explained through cast and crew interviews, (I did full breakdowns on here and on my personal blog), here’s a list of references in “Nosferatu” (2024):

Literary themes: "Dracula" by Bram Stoker (1897); and "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë (1847);

Historical themes: early 19th century (1838), Victorian era. Strict gender roles; views on female sexuality (sickness; contagious; sin) as a marital duty, owned and controlled by their husbands; sexual repression/liberation; Ellen’s mediumship medicalized as “hysteria” and “melancholia”; “love” and “passion” as opposite concepts;

Folklore themes: Changeling (European); Strigoi myth (Balkans); Șolomonari (Romanian); Nachzehrer (Germanic);

Occult themes: Agrippa; Angels and daemons; Enchantress; Babalon and the Beast (New Age of Aquarius);

Alchemist themes:"Sylph" and Paracelsus; Humorism (Humoral theory); Alchemical Gold (Chrysopoeia; Gold-making); Myth of Isis and Osiris.

Literary themes

"Dracula" by Bram Stoker

"The Threat of Female Sexual Expression": Based on 1980's Feminist Literary Criticism (Second Wave of Feminism). the physical figure of the "sick woman" as one of the principal ways in which female sexuality manifests as a contagious disease (Lucy Westenra and her degeneration into vampirism) - Ellen's character as seen by the Victorian characters (especially Friedrich Harding)

19th century "Contagionism" theory: Victorian medicine on disease origin. Disease spread from individual to individual (neglecting environmental issues like polluted water or unhygienic spaces)

"I thought it was agreed you were to keep the girls from her. You mustn’t be swept up in her fairy ways."

Subverted Themes:

Robert Eggers subverted every literary theme in “Dracula”, like he said in one interview: “My influences are all very clear, and Nosferatu is a remake, after all,” Eggers says, yet he plays with the canon, with expectations and clichés – “hopefully subverting them to do something unexpected.”

The Promise of Christian Salvation: This is a Anti-Christian story, at its core. Religious items have no power against Orlok; the fact he can’t enter the Orthodox convent has nothing to do with God (but with him not being given entrance); the God-fearing and religious character (Anna) is the first to die; and the female heroine Ellen not only rejects God (calls it “destiny) but also says she needs no salvation (rejecting Christian salvation, completely);

Madness: Neither Ellen, Professor Von Franz nor Herr Knock are “lunatics”, but the Victorian characters think they are. Knock is in full control of his mental capacities, he’s just a religious fanatic obsessed in discovering Orlok’s secret to immortality and he’s behaving the way he does because he wants to become a strigoi, too, and will stop at nothing to achieve it (even seeking a “violent death” to seal the deal);

The Consequences of Modernity: Ellen’s character and the medicalization of her supernatural gifts and mediumship by Victorian society;

Money: in the novel it’s associated with Count Dracula evilness; here with the Victorian characters. Friedrich Harding (the Victorian patriarch) is wealthy and loans money to Thomas, who drowns himself in debt, in his ambition to climb the social ladder and being “no longer a pauper”. Ellen, the female heroine, rejects money. Orlok gives Thomas a sack of gold in exchange for his signature in the “covenant papers” (the divorce papers) as he’s paying for Ellen’s dowery;

The Threat of Female Sexual Expression: Ellen breaks Nosferatu curse and “saves the day” by embracing her sexuality.

"Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë

“I think that what ultimately rose to the top, as the theme or trope that was most compelling to me, was that of the demon-lover. In “Dracula,” the book by Bram Stoker, the vampire is coming to England, seemingly, for world domination. Lucy and Mina are just convenient throats that happen to be around. But in this “Nosferatu,” he’s coming for Ellen. This love triangle that is similar to “Wuthering Heights,” the novel, was more compelling to me than any political themes.”

Dream of Death: Robert Eggers on “Nosferatu” Interview

Love triangle between a free-spirited and medicalized woman (Catherine/Ellen) with a beastly men (Heathcliff/Orlok) and a gentleman (Edgar/Thomas);

Themes of the all-consuming, obsessive and self-destructive passion, wrecking the lives of everyone around them and only stops when they are both dead;

The Destructive Power of Love;

Blend of Hatred and Love;

Separated by death/United by death; couldn’t be together in life, united in death and reunited in the spiritual world.

Historical Themes

Historical context: early 19th century (1838), Victorian era

Strict gender roles: marriage and motherhood as a woman’s destiny; social reputation and provider as a men’s destiny; domestic (women) vs. public (men) spheres;

Infantilization of women: the ideal Victorian woman was a model of virtue, purity and modesty who obeyed their husbands; women were seen as innocent, ignorant and naïve about the world, and were thought to have no minds of their own; the average Victorian woman wasn't allowed to be educated nor possess knowledge outside of domestic life. A woman’s entire life revolved around men: obeying their fathers, preparing for marriage, seeking an husband and as a wife, living for her husband;

Women as their husbands' property; marriage was the institution where Victorian men fully accomplished their male responsibility and privilege: to form a household, provide safety and comfort, and exercise authority over dependents (wife and children) where the trademark of a successful man. This was also connected to their social and professional success, making them respectful in the eyes of other men. A man who couldn’t govern his wife was also seen as unfit, socially, professionally and morally; and the wife’s behavior would reflect on the husband (which is why Friedrich Harding accuses Ellen of being a social embarrassment to Thomas);

"I envy you. You’ve truly taken your father’s place now… it’s incredible."

Victorian views on female sexuality: female sexuality seen as a plague and a monstrosity in need of containment (sickness, contagious, wicked, sin); women should have no sexual desire whatsoever (Ellen's shame; "I'm unclean"); married heterosexual sex was the only socially acceptable sexual expression in the Victorian era, and everything else (masturbation, homosexuality, prostitution, etc.) was considered deviant, “sinful” and “evil”; sex was a marital duty women had to go through to have children and serve their husbands (women’s sexuality owned and controlled by their husbands);

Sexual repression/liberation, represented by her corset, as Linda Muir, the costume designer, reveals in her interview "The Costumes of ‘Nosferatu’ Are Gorgeous - They Also Tell a Story About Female Repression and Liberation": “Her [Ellen] true nature [takes over] in the end. She liberates herself by ripping herself open, ripping her striped dress open. She liberates herself by wearing the same garment over and over and over again when she’s staying at Harding’s home. So she’s liberated herself in that she doesn’t feel the need to dress up completely each and every day. And then she liberates herself completely in the end.”

“Love” and “Passion” as opposite concepts: Victorian love (Thomas) was meant to be chaste, modest and restrained, tempered devotion confined to the household; and the sacrament of marriage ("sacred") was meant to repress and contain "passion". Passion (Orlok), on the other hands, was erotism, sexuality and sexual desire, considered "animalistic" and corruptive.

"Find the dignity to display the respect to your caretaker. And for your husband’s sake, I pray you might learn to conduct yourself with more deference."

Ellen’s mediumship medicalized as “hysteria” and “melancholia”: Robert Eggers tells us: “[Ellen is a] victim to 19th-century society […] she can see into another realm, and has a certain kind of understanding that she doesn’t have the language for,” Eggers said. “But people are calling her melancholic and hysteric and all of these things.” and in another interview: “she [Ellen] has this understanding of this other world, and this other way of thinking that she doesn’t have language for, so she’s isolated. But the pull to it is very strong, and so people consider her melancholic and hysterical, and we can see her fighting within herself. I think having it stem from the realities of a woman who’s a victim of 19th-century society is something that makes it hopefully work."

And in another: “she’s [Ellen] as much a victim of 19th-century society as she is a victim of the vampire. People talk a lot about Lily-Rose Depp’s character’s sexual desire, which is a massive part of the character, of what she experiences — being shut down, and corseted up, and tied to the bed, and quieted with ether. Misunderstood, misdiagnosed. But it’s more than that. She has an innate understanding about the shadow side of the world that we live in that she doesn’t have language for. This gift and power that she has isn’t in an environment where it’s being cultivated, to put it mildly. It’s pretty tragic. Then she makes the ultimate sacrifice, and she’s able to reclaim this power through death.”

“She’s [Ellen] an outsider. She has this understanding about the shadow side of life that is very deep, but she doesn’t have language for that. She’s totally misunderstood and no one can see her […] this demon lover, this vampire, who is the one being who can connect with that side of her." (x)

 “Ellen’s husband loves her, but he can’t understand these ‘hysteric’ and ‘melancholic’ feelings she’s experiencing, and he’s dismissive of her. The only person she really finds a connection with is this monster, and that love triangle is so compelling to me, partially because of how tragic it is.” (x)

The Victorian characters and Victorian society are the actual villains of the story; which subverts, another theme of the "Dracula" novel (where the titular vampire is the villain).

Folklore Themes

Changeling (European folklore)

"Father… he would find me in our fields… within the forest… as if – I was his little changeling girl." 

“Changelings” are human-like creatures from European folklore. They are children kidnapped by fairies, elves or demons and a substitute child being left in their place. Ellen's father called her this because she she enjoyed playing and being in nature, when she was supposed to be indoors (domestic sphere).

Strigoi (Balkan Folklore)

Count Orlok: quintessential strigoi morti, a undead creature from Dacian mythology and, consequently, from Romanian folklore, who raises from its grave to feed on the living and must return to it before dawn:

Appearance: walking corpse; bald and leathery; skin infested with maggots, cracked and oozing with putrescence and decay; long, spidery fingers; fangs cannot be retracted (sores on his lips and chin); dressed in moldy, torn out clothing (the one he was buried in);

Cause of curse: Ellen resurrected Orlok and cursed him at the prologue (confirmed four times in the film). Connected with his tragic backstory Robert Eggers won't share with the public (but influenced Bill Skarsgård entire performance and gives meaning to the ending of the film); late 16th century voivoide (count) from Transylvania, was married (couple bedroom where he attacks Thomas) and had a family (multiple sarcophaguses on his castle cript);

Characteristics: "psychic vampire"; it's not blood he feeds on specifically, but souls (soul trapped in the blood), and that's what sustains him (and that's why Thomas had to be exorcised). Plague-carrier ("blood plague"); controls animals (rats and wolves); astral projection powers (shadow); and manipulation of dreams (nightmares to create fear).

Haunting: strigoi haunt the person they loved the most when they were alive, and drag them to their grave. Reincarnation theme.

Strigoi "repelling" blessings and tokens:

“Dau cu ustoroi de strigoi”

Ritual to locate a strigoi grave:

"The means of repelling and destroying vary greatly from region to region [...] Their efficacy is plainly unknown. Boiling wine, a spike of cold iron transpiercing the navel, decapitation, incineration…" Professor Von Franz to Dr. Sievers

A virgin girl on horseback will be attracted to the strigoi grave and locate it. Then the strigoi can be killed. Here with a spike of cold iron. This ritual is all wrong on purpose, because it’s usually a black stallion and done during the day (when strigoi are resting on their graves). No strigoi was killed in this scene because the Roma people work for Orlok (as in the "Dracula" novel) and he wanted Thomas to see this ritual.

Șolomonari (Romanian Folklore)

"A black enchanter he [Orlok] was in life. Solomonari. The Devil preserved his soul that his corpse may walk again in blaspheme."

Șolomonari are dark wizards from Romanian folklore, who were believed to ride a dragon (“balaur”) and control the weather (rain, thunder, storms), and usually lived as beggars. The were frequently recruited among the common people and taught black magic at the Solomonărie (or “Scholomance”, in the Germanic version); some call it “Devil’s school”, others “School of the Dragon”. They are said to be taught by the Devil himself, and their school was located underground, in the Carpathian Mountains, in Transylvania. The name Șolomonari is often associated with King Solomon and alchemy.

According to folklore, there were seven, ten or thirteen students, who didn’t saw the sunlight during the seven or nine years duration of their studies. Some accounts describe them as “strigoi vii” (living strigoi; wizards and witches); but this isn’t Orlok’s case otherwise Robert Eggers wouldn’t be so secretive about his backstory (the reason for his curse is something else). At the Solomonărie, they learned magic (spells), the secrets of nature and the language of all living things; as well as ride flying dragons and control the rain.

As their final assignment to become a Șolomonar, they had to copy their entire knowledge of humanity into a “Șolomonar’s book”, a book of wisdom, which would become the source of their power. Which is what we see in “Nosferatu” with the Șolomonar codex of secrets Professor Von Franz finds in Herr Knock’s office; it was written by Orlok himself.

At the end, it’s said one of the students was chosen by the Devil to be the “Weathermaker” and tasked with riding a dragon to control the weather. This dragon was said to be kept submerged in a mountaintop lake, south of Sibiu. While the other was selected to be servant to the Devil himself; which is what the Orthodox Nuns believe Orlok to be, as does Professor Von Franz.

“Our Nosferatu is of an especial malignancy. He is an arch-enchanter, Solomonari, Satan's own learned disciple.”

However, Orlok is no “devil worshipper”, because like his iconography tells us, he’s a Pagan enchanter, follower of the Dacian god Zalmoxis, owner of the secrets of life and death.

The "demonized Pagan": the connection between Zalmoxis worship and the folkloric Șolomonari began in the early 20th century by Romanian social scientist Traian Herseni, who proposed the “Dacian cloud travelers” and “Șolomonari weathermakers” are connected, and this myth has its roots in Dacian religion. Nowadays, this theory is openly embraced by xenoarchaeologist Jason Colavito. No matter the historic validity, this is the interpretation Robert Eggers is using in “Nosferatu” (2024).

Orlok sigil: an heptagram (seven-pointed star) surrounded by a Dacian Draco ouroboros (rebirth; reincarnation; immortality); the letters are cyrillic for “Zalmoxis”; the center is the alchemist symbol for blood; the symbols appear to be Vinča; archeological findings in Romania with these symbols being over 8,000 and 6,500 years old, and consider by many as the oldest form of human writing, but their meaning is still unknown (they are here either to show Orlok comes from an ancient bloodline; or he has known reincarnations throughout the ages)

Heptagrams are connected to the seven elements of Alchemy but aren’t represented like this. Heptagrams are also connected to divine feminine goddesses, like Babalon and Isis.

Nachzehrer (Germanic Folklore)

When Professor Von Franz discovers the Șolomonari book in Herr Knock's office, he also finds a cryptic writting: "His thunder roars from clouds of carcasses, I feedeth on my shroud, and death avails me not. For I am his.” 

This is based on Germanic folklore, where the "nachzehrer", also known as "shroud eater", is a sort of vampire who needs to devour both its burial shroud and body in order to survive. It's immortal, and lives off humans even after death. In folklore, it's believed the most common way for a person to become a nachzehrer is to commit suicide or die accidentally (which is what happens to Herr Knock and what he was seeking). It's also associated with disease, for in Germanic folklore, when a large number of people die because of a plague, the first people to have succumbed to it would be transformed into a nachzehrer.

Occult Themes

Agrippa

"He [Professor Von Franz] became obsessed with the work of Paracelsus, Agrippa, and the like [...] Alchemy, mystic philosophy… the occult."

Henry Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim was one of the most famous occultists in Europe in the 16th century. He was a versatile scholar, and knowledgeable in the fields of science, medicine, magic, philosophy and theology. However, he was dismissed as a charlatan and self-promoter by many, while others praised him for his pioneer role in the scientific revolution, especially due to his intellectual curiosity (in opposition to the church authority).  

His works incorporated elements of the cabala, numerology, mathematics and theology; a mix of Christianity, Neo-Platonism and occult science. His most notorious treaty is called “The Nobility of the Feminine Sex” (1532) where he asserts the natural superiority of women, and counterarguments Greek and Roman philosophers and even the Christian Bible, advocating for social gender equality.  

Professor Von Franz is probably based on Agrippa, mostly his “reputation” as a charlatan and self-promoter (he’s an outcast in Victorian society and considered a “lunatic”), and he's the only human character who recognizes and respects Ellen’s supernatural gifts, as well as her agency.

Angels and daemons

When Professor Von Franz tries to determine with whom Ellen is communicating with, he uses his Abraxas stone ring to compel her to speak, and he conjures both angels and demons during this scene:

"Who, damn you!? Speak!! I command you, hearken to my voice. By the protection of Chamuel, Haniel, and Zadkiel, impart your speech unto me. In the name of Eligos, Orabas, and Asmoday, impart your speech unto me."

Chamuel: Also known as Kamael, "One who seeks God", is the angel of peaceful relationships, and considered one of the seven Archangels (who have the honor of living in God's direct presence in Heaven) by Jewish Kabbalah and some Christians;

Haniel: "Joy of God", is the Archangel of joy who's known for taking Enoch to Heaven;

Zadkiel: "righteousness of God", is the angel of God's mercy;

Eligos: is a "Great Duke of Hell", ruling 60 legions of demons. He reveals hidden things and knows the future of wars;

Orabas: is a "Great Prince of Hell", with 20 legions of demons under his control. He answers questions and gives one power and control over others;

Asmoday: is the "King of Demons", in the legends of Solomon and the constructing of Solomon's Temple.

Abraxas stone rings were considered magical talismans or charms since the Middle-ages, connected to the Seven Olympic Spirits (Aratron (Saturn); Bethor (Jupiter); Phaleg (Mars); Och (Sun); Hagith (Venus); Ophiel (Mercury) and Phul (Moon)); and to Gnosticism (personal spiritual knowledge above organized religion), who considered Abraxas as “the God above all Gods”.

This is also connected to Agrippa, “Occult Philosophy”, book three, which covers the intellectual world of Pagan gods and spirits (including angels and demons), and gives magical procedures for invocation and communication with them, as well as with God (sigils, amulets, magical alphabets, sound, perfumes, etc.); and the kabbalistic tree of life (hierarchies of angels and Demons associated with each sephirot). The idea behind this conjuring is to infuse the lower angelic orders with the light they receive from God, as they instruct the orders.

Enchantress

Ellen has been a somnambulist since infancy, and she always had supernatural abilities; premonitions (“I know things”), as she would know what her Christmas presents were before opening them, and when her mother would die, which indicates she always had a connection to the spiritual world.

Professor Von Franz recognizes Ellen's spiritual power and ability to communicate with the spiritual world (“I believe she has always been highly conductive to these cosmic forces, uniquely so”). She's a medium (or a psychic); someone with the ability to connect with the spirits of deceased loved ones, spirit guides, and other non-physical entities.

What the Victorian doctors call “hysterical fits” and “epilepsies”, are, in fact, trance-like states of spiritual communication (trance mediumship), similar to Pagan priestesses. Like Von Franz tells the audience, Ellen inhabits the “borderland”, a peripheral area, a portal between the two worlds: the physical (matter) and the spiritual. And this is what Victorian society medicalizes in Ellen, and tries to restrain with drugs and corsets, not only her sexual nature, but her spiritual power, her own nature.

Orlok calls Ellen "enchantress". Historically, enchantresses were practitioners of feminine magic: oracles, healers, herbalists, midwives and shamanic shapeshifters. They were what’s commonly known as “witches”. These female magicians studied and practiced their art in goddess temples, mystery schools, alchemy schools and hedge schools. The alchemists of the Middle-ages studied these dynastic lineages of “wise women”, and they had several names: "enchantresses", "chantresses", "encantrices", or "incantrix". 

Ellen is, then, a "incantrix": uses words, incantations, songs, spells and prayers to shape reality. They were, also, the priestess of an old religion (as Professor Von Franz also calls her "great priestess of Isis"), gifted with magic power and authority to command the elements or the body by the power of their word.

Babalon and the Beast (New Age of Aquarius)

The birth of the New Aquarius was already the occult meaning of the original 1922 “Nosferatu”, because Albin Grau was a student of the occult and a member of the Fraternitas Saturni (German magical order devoted to Saturnian doctrines) under the magical name Master Pacitius. Within the occult leaders there was tension due to their beliefs, and Grau eventually sided with Aleister Crowley Thelema (which views we see in Eggers “Nosferatu”).

While Stoker saw Count Dracula as pure evil, Grau reinterpreted the vampire as a symbol of transformation through confrontation with darkness. Saturn, in esoteric tradition, represents restriction, death, and rebirth (the forces that initiate profound spiritual change). Grau viewed the vampire as a reflection of these principles, a shadowy force that compels the aspirant to face mortality, fear, and their own inner darkness. And his death symbolized the birth of the New Age of Aquarius (Saturn as ruler of Aquarius), a new era of collective awakening and innovation.

Robert Eggers included the divine feminine (Babalon), his heroine is already a dark character, as he describes his Ellen as “dark chthonic female heroine”, who makes the ultimate sacrifice to "reclaim this power through death". Chthonic = gods or spirits who inhabit the Underworld; and, in his version, Orlok gifts Ellen with immortality and rebirth (not death like in the original "Nosferatu").

When Ellen and Thomas are returning home, there’s a man in the streets rambling bits from the “Book of Revelations” (Apocalipse) from the Bible: “And I saw a beast rising out of the sea, owith ten horns and seven heads, with ten diadems on its horns and blasphemous names on its heads.” (Revelations, 13:1).

This passage is about Orlok arrival and his "blood plague", but there's a character (also from the "Book of Revelations") connected to this beast: the Whore of Babylon, the “Mother of Prostitutes and All Abominations of the Earth”, and she rides this Beast, which is the same as Crowley’s Babalon. What Crowley did was a positive reinterpretation of this biblical figure, symbolizing liberated female sexuality by embracing the powers of the Divine Harlot.

Initiatrix, Creator and Destroyer, Babalon is the “Great Mother” because she represents Mother Earth. Like Isis, she’s the Archetypical Mother, the Womb, the Great Sea and the Divine Blood itself. According to Crowley, the “whore/harlot” facet is about enjoying sex without the burden of reproduction; and the “mother of abominations” connects with destruction like natural catastrophes, plagues, etc. She’s the ruler of the cosmological sphere and both good and evil (as evil as elemental forces can be or are considered as). Babalon is the guardian of the Seven Principles of the Underworld, a place of darkness and transformation. Babalon is also the goddess of the liminal point, who can access other realms. As Goddess of vengeance, Babalon punishes when life is out of balance, and exerts violence and corruption upon those who are in the wrong. Ellen ("mother of abominations") unleashes Orlok onto the world, and we can interpret him bringing plague into Wisburg as Ellen’s reckoning against Victorian society, which ostracizes her and will never accept her.

According to the Thelema, Babalon is the “Sacred Whore”, and her primary symbol is the Chalice or Graal (symbolic womb). She’s a consort to the Beast, who has seven heads, which is symbolically represented in her heptagram sigil (parallelling Orlok's heptagram). To Crowley these are archetypes in his Sex Magick beliefs: the “Scarlet Woman” is the High Priestess, and the “Beast” is the Hierophant: Ellen (the priestess, enchantress) and Orlok (priest-shamam; enchanter). Orlok is described as a “beast” several times in the film, and he says Ellen’s passion is bound to him, like Babalon’s passion is united with the Beast.

All rites and initiations of the Underworld Goddesses include rites of sex and death. Which is what we see with Ellen at the end of “Nosferatu” (2024). By Thelemic occult tradition, she, the manifestation of Babalon, has sex with the Beast (Orlok), “representing the passion which unites them” and her womb (Holy Grail; cup) is “aflame with love and death” (sexual climax, orgasm, with an un-dead vampire), to give birth to the New Age of Aquarius.

Crowley described Babalon:

“She rides astride the Beast; in her left hand she holds the reins, representing the passion which unites them. In her right she holds aloft the cup, the Holy Grail aflame with love and death. In this cup are mingled the elements of the sacrament of the Aeon”.

"the cup, the Holy Grail" = womb

"Aflame" = orgasm

"with love and death" = sex with undead Orlok

"sacrament of the Aeon" = the "aeon" in Thelema is a spiritual age, in this case it's Ellen's womb who gives birth to the New Age of Aquarius

Alchemy Themes

"Sylph" and Paracelsus

"Do extend my tardy congratulations to your wife. She is truly a… A nonpareil of beauty. Almost a sylph." Herr Knock to Thomas Hutter

A “sylph” is air spirit (or nymph) from the 16th century works of Swiss physician, alchemist and theologist Paracelsus, with roots in folklore. Sylphs are invisible beings of air (or air elementals), connected to fairies and pixies. On his “A Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies and Salamanders, and Other Spirits”, Paracelsus described the four elemental beings, each corresponding to one: Salamanders (fire), Gnomes (Earth), Undines (water) and sylphs (air).

Sylphs are formed and live in air, and they have power over the air element, particularly the wind and the clouds, where they move freely. They do not fare well outside of their element; they burn in fire, drown in water and get stuck in earth. They are portrayed as the guardians of secret knowledge, and protectors of nature.

During the 19th century, there was a renewed interest in sylphs in European society, especially in theatre, where they appeared in several plays and operas as ethereal, graceful, charming and ultimately unattainable.  

Ellen is compared to a fairy three times in the narrative: by Herr Knock ("sylph"), by her father ("his little changeling girl") and Friedrich Harding ("her fairy ways"). We also see her floating at the prologue when she meets Orlok.

Humorism (Humoral theory)

“You [Dr. Sievers] have bled her to decrease the congestion? […] And her menstruations are also? [Liberal]. Too much blood. Too much.”

Professor Von Franz physically examines Ellen, as her trance is beginning, and determines she has “too much blood”: in connection to “Humorism” (or “humoral theory”) with possible origins in Ancient Egyptian medicine, and then used by Ancient Greeks and Romans. Hippocrates suggested that humors are the vital bodily fluids, and they are four: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. This belief was common during Middle-ages in Europe.

Ellen having “too much blood” means she has a sanguine temperament (not a melancholic temperament); it was believed that, when in good health, “sanguines” are cheerful and loving; but when there’s an imbalance, they are “hysterical”, which is what Victorian doctors also diagnose Ellen as (“hysteria”).

The treatment is bloodletting (bleed the patient, drain their blood; a practice still used in the early 19th century), to remove the excessive blood; which is what Von Franz also advices in Ellen’s case. “Congestion”, in the medical sense of this time period, means “containing an unnatural accumulation of fluid”, in Ellen’s case it’s blood. This diagnose will come full circle when Thomas and Dr. Sievers discover that Orlok is with Ellen when they go to Grünewald Manor. Von Franz tells them “She wills it! Your wife wills it!” and Orlok himself “can’t resist her blood", which means Orlok cannot resist Ellen, herself.

Mutual healing theme: At the end, Orlok drains Ellen of her excessive blood, balancing her “sanguine temperament” and ending her “hysteria” and “melancholy” (he also gives her an orgasm, a nod to hysteria as repressed and frustrated female sexuality); and Ellen’s love and willing sacrifice sets their spirits free from the rotten vessel they were trapped in ("and freed them from the plague of Nosferatu"); as they are reunited in the spiritual realm, now fully healed.

Alchemical Gold (Chrysopoeia; Gold-making)

"I had nearly unlocked the final key of the Mysteriorum Libri Quinque. No… No matter. I miscalculated the stars. Hermes will not render my black sulfur gold this evening." Professor Von Franz to Dr. Sievers and Friedrich Harding

“Mysteriorum Libri Quinque” is part of a collection of mystic writings by mathematician, hermetic philosopher and astronomer Dr. John Dee (16th century). An avid learner of the secrets of nature, he made no distinctions between mathematical research and the supernatural (which he considered mere tools to achieve a transcendent understanding of divine forms underlying the visible world, called “pure verities”). In 1580, he began experimenting with evocations to contact and communicate with angels, and Edward Kelly joined him in this project in 1582. They both documented every interaction they had with angels and wrote about their language, which they called “Enochian”. This collection of esoteric writings was only found, by accident, after John Dee’s death.  

Alchemy, at its core, is the transmutation of base materials (lead, etc.) into noble materials (gold), and the pursuit of immortality (“philosopher’s stone”). Occultists reinterpreted this as a spiritual quest of self-transformation, purification and regeneration of the human soul. Hence physical death being seen as a gateway to another life (rebirth, reincarnation).

Both Ellen and Orlok evolve from a diseased and corruptive state (physical world; black sulfur) into regenerative and perfect state (spiritual world; gold), after being purified by fire (Sun). Their old selves are empty shells, as their spirits ascend. This also finds parallel in the myth of Isis and Osiris, as they both went from “daemons” to Gods in the Plutarch essay.

"I believe only you have the faculty to redeem us [...] You are our salvation."

At the end, Von Franz succeeds in transform black sulfur into gold, as he, too, emerges redeemed and avenged by Ellen’s fulfilling her covenant with Orlok.

In modern occult beliefs, alchemy is considered as a mystical system designed to transmute the soul from a “base” or “leaden” state of spiritual impurity to a “gold” or purified state of divinity, with the chemical procedures of alchemy being an elaborate metaphor for psycho-spiritual development. This idea was popularized by Carl Jung, among others.

In alchemy, this “gold” wasn’t like common gold, it was a miraculous, incorruptible substance, “the true and indubitable treasure”, which could only be perceived by those who can see with their mind’s eye: “Nolite dare sanctum canibus” (“Do not reveal what is sacred to dogs”) and “Neque mittatis margaritas vestra ante porcos” (“Nor cast your pearls before swine”).

Myth of Isis and Osiris

"In heathen times you might have been a great priestess of Isis."

The “Osiris Myth” is one of the major surviving pieces of Egyptian mythology. It’s a ancient tale, with its early versions dating back to the 5th Dynasty (c. 24th century B.C.). It has known several adaptations throughout Egyptian history. The most complete version is in “The Moralia” by the 1st-century scholar Plutarch of Chaeronea, a collection of essays about Greco-Roman culture; that became very popular during the Renaissance era (14-16th centuries) and the Enlightenment period (18th century) in Europe. 

Isis and Osiris were brothers, and according to Ancient Egyptian religion, they were in love with one another before they were born, and enjoyed each other in the dark before they came into the world. They eventually married. They had a brother, Seth (or Typhon in Plutarch essays), the God of deserts, storms, disorder and violence, who murdered Osiris to take his throne. He tricked Osiris into climbing into a wooden chest/coffin, shut the lid, sealed it shut, and threw it down the Nile River, knowing Osiris would never be able to survive. In some versions, it’s said Seth cut Osiris body into pieces and scattered them throughout Egypt.

Osiris had two facets as a God: in life, he was the God of fertility, agriculture, and vegetation, being considered a “Shepherd God”; in death, he was the God of the Underworld, the judge and Lord of Dead, the afterlife and resurrection. The pharaohs of Ancient Egypt were associated with Osiris in death, because as he rose from the dead, so would they unite with him and gain eternal life through imitative magic. Which is also the whole deal between Orlok and Herr Knock in “Nosferatu” (2024), as Knock seeks to gain immortality like Orlok, by serving him.

Isis is the epitome of the mourning widow in this myth, as she mourns Osiris’ death deeply. Here enters the symbolism of the lilacs in "Nosferatu", the symbolic flowers of Ellen and Orlok: in the Victorian era, they were associated with widows because they represented a memento of a deceased lover. Isis sought for Osiris’ mangled body and with help of tree other Gods (Nepthys, Thoth and Anubis), they sew Osiris’ body back together, and then wrapped it head to toe in strips of linen, creating a mummy. Orlok’s corpse appears almost mummified at the end of the story.

In the Osiris myth, Isis uses powerful magic (incantations and magic spells) to bring her dead lover back to life; similar to Ellen who resurrects Orlok with her summoning prayer. In one version, this happened on a night of the full moon; in “Nosferatu” (2024) we also have a full moon connected to Ellen and Orlok, in the prologue, when he reveals himself to her:

According to Ancient Egyptian funerary texts, it’s Isis sorrow, sexual desire and anger that empower her magic to be able to bring Osiris back to life. When Ellen prays for a companion of “any celestial sphere” in the prologue, she’s crying (sorrow), she’s upset because her father recoils from her now that she’s no longer a child (anger) and she’s in her teenage years/puberty (sexual desire). Like Isis with Osiris, it’s the combination of these emotions that power her magic to unconsciously resurrect Orlok. 

However, Osiris can’t remain among the living, because he has to return to the Underworld and become King of the Afterlife. But before he goes, Osiris and Isis conceive Horus, the God of the sun and the sky, who will restore peace and order to the universe.  In “Nosferatu” (2024), Professor Von Franz says that “with Jove’s holy light” before dawn, the plague will be lifted. “Jove” is Jupiter, the “King of the skies”, who’s connected with the Egyptian Horus. Horus and Ra are often merged together in Ancient Egyptian religion, making Isis and Osiris the metaphorical parents of the Sun.

In “Nosferatu” (2024), as Orlok and Ellen complete their covenant, consummate their wedding, the sun is also the metaphorical result of their union. As dawn breaks, the sunlight vanquishes them both from the physical world, as they both die in the material realm. After being buried by Isis, Osiris goes into the Underworld to rule over it. And from then on, Isis herself is also associated with funeral rites, as she would guide the souls of the dead, helping them entering the afterlife. Through her magic, Isis helped resurrecting the souls of the dead, as she did with Osiris, acting as a mother to the deceased, providing protection and nourishment. At the end of "Nosferatu" (2024) we see Ellen fulfilling her role as “priestess of Isis” (or as Isis herself?), as the Goddess of healing, who ends the Nosferatu curse, the blood plague in Wisburg, and also guides her dead lover Orlok with her to the Underworld.

[mikaila-orchard]

How to fix Shadowlands.

So awhile back, I made a post on how to fix BFA which I largely still stand by. I mentioned possibly doing a followup for Shadowlands as it was the culmination of all the bad decisions Blizz made in BFA prior and over two years later, I'm keeping that promise.

1. Fixing the setting.

The Shadowlands themselves are going to have to get perhaps the biggest overhaul. First and foremost, we're nixing everything to do with the First Ones. Zerith Mortus is fucking out. The idea that all the dieties are 3d printed robots? Also out. In their place, we're gonna have it that Titan traveled to the realm of death in an attempt to bring Order™ to the place Mortal Souls go. They created Oribos to organize the souls based on deeds and nature, Bastion where they put the souls to work upholding the grand vision, Revendreth to 'rehabilitate' discordant souls, and the Maw for those deemed too undesirable. And naturally, they left keepers here to oversee everything, including Kyrestia, Denathrius and Zovaal.

Also, yes. This means that Domination magic is Death magic + Titan magic, which is honestly very fitting.

What about Maldraxxus and Ardenweald, M'kay?

Well, we're nixing Maldraxxus because it's awful. But more importantly, Ardenweald is going to represent what the Shadowlands were before the Titans swooped in. It's a safe haven for mortal souls who don't prescribe to the Titans ideals, like the trolls and the Night elves. Loa, Wild Gods and Elune all have a presence there and are crucial in saving the Titan Realms from the mess they made for themselves.

2. Fixing Zovaal

This one's surprisingly easy. First, we stick with Zovaal's look in the concept art because it's way cooler and the Primus has been written out of this version anyway. This is what the Progenitor of the Lich King should look like.

Second, we fix his motivation. Rather than trying to reforge all of reality which is a goal the lore had to break itself in half to give him, we're gonna give him the same motivation as all the other cosmic forces. Dominion over Azeroth's world soul.

So everything from giving the Scourge to the Legion to disrupting the machine of death to pull all those souls into the Maw to the veil being shattered above Icecrown, all of it is done so that Zovaal has a clear shot to channel enough death magic through the Forge of Souls, straight to the core until Azeroth emerges as an entity of Death and Domination. This keeps the stakes ceiling on par with expansions like Legion rather than trying to one up it like a tryhard.

3. Fixing Sylvanas (MOST IMPORTANT)

Fortunately, since we already fixed BFA, most of the work has already been done for us in terms of characterization. We just have to tweak a few things.

Firstly, we're going to make her the hero of this expansion leading the fight against Zovaal while Bolvar is going to be his lackey, as was set up back in Legion. We keep the fight on Icecrown, we keep Sylvanas shattering the Helm. But this time, Bolvar is going to retreat to his master, having been long since been swayed by him. And Sylvanas is going to take the fight to the Maw rather than trying to run from it as she had been since Edge of Night.

To better focus on this task, she names Baine Warchief and names Nathanos regent of the Forsaken, trusting them to handle things on Azeroth while she wages war against the Jailer.

Also, to no one's surprise, the whole split soul thing is getting completely scrapped. I don't care if there was a clever way to do it. It's just not worth it as a story beat. The Sylvanas we've spent 22 years getting to know is the Sylvanas. Full stop.

And there we are. That's all you need to change to make the story work. Everything else, you can keep. Wanna keep Anduin becoming Zovaal's discord kitten? Go right ahead. Wanna keep Torghast? Sure. Wanna keep the Dreadlords being Denathrius' little bitches? Sure. Just stick to these three reworks and you'll have a good expac.

[lokisprettygirl]

Come As You Are (Eric Draven! Bill Skarsgard's Version x Female Reader) (18+) (Slight Au)

Read chapter 6 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 7

Summary : You can't help but obsess over Eric's past relationship with Melody.

Warning: 18+, Smut, more smut, dirty sexual thoughts, Description of self harm, dry humping, Eric is a past drug addict with suicidal tendencies, self harm, use of cuss words, description of claustrophobia, reader is in her early thirties, mention of sexual assault, death and murder, Consumption of alcohol and weed, periods

“Baby? Hi..Good morning. Miss you already and you're still next to me as we speak. Have to take off. Don't want you to worry. I'll come back sooner today. Call me whenever you need me. Enjoy your Sunday. Love, Eric :)

And oh..drew you last night after you slept, hope you like it. Kisses”

You smiled as you read the note before you slumped down into the pillow again. There was a sketch of you under the note, your hair a mess as you slept on his torso, using him like a pillow. He had the sweetest way of reminding you that he cared about you, he didn't often use his words. Didn't really have to.

It's been a week since you two had been together now, last week has been eventful to say the least. When Eric said he wanted to take things slow, he meant it, after that night he wasn't indulging you both with dry humping sesh, three nights ago he almost lost control, he wanted to fuck you and even though you said you were ready for it, he didn't think you were ready for it and whatever he said to you was the law, you just nodded your head like the good girl you wanted to be for him and agreed.

You were a grown woman but as soon as he had you in his arms and you saw those big green eyes looking at you, every inch of you crumbled under his gaze and you just wanted to be his baby.

You immediately grabbed your phone and typed a message for him.

“Miss you. Love you. Be safe. Come back soon. That's all ❤️”

You weren't blind to the fact that you were starting to write like him too.

As you sat up in bed you couldn't help but open his instagram profile again. This has been a thing with you in the past week. You wanted to stop but you couldn't.

This is what you really couldn't stop yourself from doing ever since you had found his profile that night.

He seemed so..happy in those pictures, all he had on his profile was a few pictures of him, one with this guy that you assumed was his dead friend Chance, and then most of them had her. Melody. Melody Banks, the famous singer.

How did they even meet? You checked the date on those photos and they were old, she wasn't even famous back then, he stopped posting suddenly like six years ago.

You remembered your birthday party and how he had left as soon as a song of hers played and it made complete sense now. He had a history with her but what kind?

Were they in a serious relationship? It didn't seem like a casual one at all, his captions for her were so sweet, he called her his melody, the love of his life and what not. But then what happened between them? Why weren't they together anymore? Was she one of the reasons he was so reclusive now? Or was she THE REASON?

You had plenty of questions but none of the answers unfortunately and you didn't want to ask him either because you knew he'd take this the wrong way and would probably try to push you away again, he had told you to not snoop into his past life but curiosity had killed you.

You were also very jealous of this woman now, a week ago you didn't really care if she even existed or not. A part of you wanted to go back to that state.

In the longer scheme of things 6 years weren't much but how come he looked exactly the same as he did now? His username was EricDraven90, you figured 90 was his birth year, so he was thirty five like he had told you but you didn't look the same as you did when you were 26 as compared to now, there were changes or maybe you were overthinking and it was the grainy quality of those photos that made him look that way.

He really needed a new hairstyle though, you thought.

Perhaps you needed to cut back on the obsession you had with his ex but you couldn't. When you looked her up you found out that she had struggled with drug addiction, just like Eric. Maybe that's how they met each other? You watched her interviews and she never mentioned knowing any Eric and that bothered you. Did they end up on bad terms? Whose fault was it?

You even typed their names together but nothing came up, his profile didn't have much following so you weren't surprised that her fans hadn't picked up on this.

She had been dating some famous actor now and you wondered how Eric felt about it or if he felt anything at all.

****

Eric was in the middle of slicing someone's throat when the stupid phone buzzed in his pocket, his mouth curved into a small smile as he knew the only person who could message him was you.

“Now stay like that until you bleed out slowly..maybe I'll see you in hell someday” he said as he got up, he felt no mercy for the monster beneath him, this ugly fucker had been trafficking children and dealing in child pornography for years now.

The horrors Eric was accustomed to would make anyone run for the asylum but he was used to it now, he had become a monster himself, just because he hurt bad people that didn't mean he wasn't committing a crime against nature by taking lives, but then the gods wanted him to play the god on earth so who he was to defy them?

He had no other purpose in life anymore, he had given up on the possibility of living a normal life long back but then you turned up and flipped it upside down.

He couldn't believe it still, every day he woke up now he just stared at your warm body being so close to him and he couldn't believe his luck. After Melody he didn't think he'd ever have a woman in his life again, he didn't want it either, at least that way he wasn't putting anyone in danger but you had broken all the walls he had put up around him with your incessant personality.

He could have pushed you away harder if he wanted to, he was definitely capable of such cruelty but he didn't want to, he couldn't go on forever knowing he had hurt you deliberately.

If you wanted to care for a moron like him he wouldn't stop you, he just dreaded to see the day you'd have enough of him and would turn your back on him because eventually he'd become too much to handle.

The constant nightmares, the usual run-ins with the law, the new enemies that he made everyday, the truth about Melody, his own death, his immortality, all of that made him so unlovable he wouldn't even be surprised if one morning you'd wake up and lose all the feelings you carried for him now but if he was doomed to suffer for eternity he might as well cherish these moments you were willing to spend with him.

He knew it would crush him when you'd get so sick of being around him but he hoped he wouldn't have to see that day anytime soon.

There was a water tap outside the illicit building so he managed to get rid of as much blood as he could from his face, especially when he knew you'd run to greet him as soon as you hear the loud thrumming noise of the elevator.

After cleaning himself up he took out his phone and read the message and it made him smile. He was excited to spend the day with you since you'd both be home now.

As expected the moment he reached the eleventh floor, he found you standing at the other side of the elevator like a puppy with your legs crossed and arms behind your back.

“What are you hiding?” He asked as he opened the grill so you shook your head.

“Nothing” you mumbled before you jumped into his arms to kiss him so he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to your apartment.

As you kissed his forehead, he rejoiced the lingerie touch of your lips before he put you down on the couch and leaned down to kiss you.

“Let me shower then I'm all yours for today” he said to you so you nodded.

“Mmm okay”

As he stepped into the bathroom you made your way into the kitchen to make tea for him, he had been staying at your place alot, he found it homely. His words.

To make his life easier you had laundered the clothes he left at your place so he'd not have to go back to his apartment to grab his clothes.

He came out of your bedroom wearing his pants but his t-shirt was still in his hands.

“Did you wash them?” He said as he took a whiff of the fabric “smells fresh” you nodded in response so he shook his head before he put them on.

“You don't have to baby” he said as he placed his palms on the other side of the counter.. facing you.

He had a hard time being taken care of and you didn't blame him, he had been alone for so long, he was hyper independent and probably didn't want to get used to this.

“Just let me take care of you okay?” you said softly as you poured the tea in a cup so he smiled. God he had the cutest smile you had ever seen in your life.

“Want to help me workout?” he asked out of nowhere so you chuckled.

“Absolutely”

A few minutes later he was on the floor and he asked you to get on top of him..

“I thought you wanted to work out in a more traditional way” he chuckled as you said that.

“I definitely am..hold onto my wrists” you chuckled before you grabbed his wrists “legs straight out okay..don't drop them..keep your core braced” He said as he wrapped his big hands around your waist and lifted you up. A gasp escaped your lips as you found yourself levitating suddenly.

“You’re doing it like I weigh nothing” you said, making him chuckle, after what felt like forever he laid you back down on him so you got on your knees and caressed his temple before you kissed him softly. Immortality came with its perks like super strength and regeneration.

“Your core is very strong..good job” he praised you.

“Oh you should take my core for a ride” you answered him immediately and that made him laugh again.

“You have no respect for my gentlemanly behaviour with you, do you?”

“Its not my fault you're so hot”

His face flushed at the compliment, sure he had been called hot before but hearing it from the girl he adored so much made him feel very bashful.

He cupped your cheeks and pulled you closer to kiss you, his tongue slipped into your mouth for a moment, he just needed a taste of you to keep himself grounded. To remind himself that he was holding onto something precious and rare in this moment.

As he pulled away he tapped his palm over your cheek.

“Help me do pushups now”

And you did.

You sat on his back while he pumped those muscles, though you'd have preferred to stay underneath him while he did them.

The words were on the tip of your tongue, the questions and curiosity you had regarding Melody was eating you up more and more everyday. You couldn't stop staring at those pictures, he looked so happy, so completely in love. Did he even feel with you half of what he felt for her? Did he even look at you the same way? And worst of all you wondered if he still had feelings for her.

Later that night he at last had a nightmare again, he didn't want to have them in front of you, didn't want to appear so weak but it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Your eyes opened when he struggled and moaned in pain next to you.

“Eric?” You called out his name as you placed your palm on his shoulder, he was drenched in sweat, his fist clutching onto the sheets as he shook and mumbled something you couldn't really figure out.

“Baby?” You whispered again as you gently turned him on his back, that's when he opened his eyes, his body suddenly went limp, he couldn't move at all, his eyes rolled back and eyelids fluttered incessantly, that's when you realised that he was having a sleep paralysis.

You had them too at times so you knew, you leaned down and cupped his cheeks to make him look at you.

“You're safe, you're okay baby, just a nightmare okay?” You whispered softly, his eyes welled up as he looked at you, you pecked on his lips, your thumbs brushed over his cheeks, a moment later he breathed in deeply as his muscles awakened and finally got in sync with his brain. .

“There you go..you're safe baby.. i love you” as his tears rolled down you wiped them before they'd reach his ears, he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you.

Turning on your side you pulled him into your chest to comfort him.

In the past six years he had suffered through them alone so when he felt your comforting embrace he felt as if he was having an out of body experience, it felt surreal to have you next to him right now, he couldn't believe how sweet and gentle you were being to him at the moment.

Melody. She loved him, she comforted him at times too, but not like this. It was never like this. He didn't want to compare her with you, that was cruel, it wasn't fair to her, she loved his pathetic self in her own ways and that was more than he had ever had in life but you? The way you treated him, it made him feel as if he was worthy of all this love, even if that feeling lasted merely for a second, he felt worthy of it

“I'm sorry i woke you up darling” his voice came out all muffled as he was squished in your chest.

“I'll make you truly sorry if you ever say sorry to me after a nightmare ever again” your words were threatening but the voice was as tender as he was used to.

He wasn't able to go back to sleep after that, he couldn't.

“Talk to me” you mumbled as he turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“I'm ruining your bedsheet, i should take a shower” he said as he looked at his body drenched in sweat but before he could get up and put that plan in motion you held onto his arm.

“You're not going anywhere okay?” he let out a chuckle at the tone of your voice.

“You're so bossy” he said as he turned his head to look at you so you placed your hand on his cheek and lifted your head up to kiss him before you climbed on top of him.

Placing your palms on either side of his head you stared at him so he gave you a small smile. He then placed his hands on your waist, fingers gently grazed over the exposed section of your lower back between your tank top and pyjamas.

“I don't want to talk about it” he said finally so you sighed.

“Mmm okay..what do you want to do?”

“I want you to sleep baby, you have to work tomorrow” he answered honestly, he despised waking you up like this.

“I'm too charged to go back to sleep” you said to him and his brows quirked up in response.

“Mmmhm?”

“Do you want me to suck your cock?”

“Jesus christ baby-” His brain short circuited at the words, he had been trying to stay in control for your sake but you were making it very difficult these days. He tried to keep his expressions neutral but his grip on your waist tightened, his voice a strangled rasp "You can't just say such things”

“I can..I find myself saying things I never thought I would. I should warn you though.. I'll suck at sucking it..i have never done it before”

He tried his hardest to not moan like a desperate whore but his eyes darkened just thinking about you doing that to him, his brain already fueling the image in his head.

“You don't have to babe”

“I want to”

You leaned down to kiss him before your lips trailed down from his jawline to his sternum, you left open mouthed kisses over his damped skin, tracing his tattoos with your tongue, tasting the salt from his skin.

God you felt like a whore for him, he made you want to do things guys had begged for before, begged and were denied, you never wanted to suck a man's cock before, it didn't arouse you, but this man beneath you? He didn't even have to ask for it, you were willing and desperate.

His mind was a storm of thoughts as he felt your lips on his skin, he was trying to remain in control but it was too much.

His chest rose up and down as you trailed your lips but when he felt your tongue on his skin, he finally let out the strangled moan he had been stifling.

As you reached the edge of his sweatpants you sat up and stared at his bulge so he propped himself up on his elbows.

“You don't have to do anything you're not ready for..we have all the time in the world baby” he said softly so you sighed. Men had tried to force you into this before and here he was asking you to not do it when you had already shown him how desperate you were for him.

“We do?” You asked him as you placed your hand on his cock, his breath hitched at the touch but he composed himself.

“You got me as long as you want me”

“Mmmhm? What if I want forever?”

You asked him, ever since you had seen those pictures and realised how happy he seemed in them, you had been afraid and insecure.

A part of you feared that if she ever comes back in his life and wants him back he'd leave you immediately. She was everything you were not or could ever dream of being.

“Too soon for you to be asking that” he said, his own insecurity was evident.

“Mmm i think you need to lie back down baby” Your hands were shaking as you pulled him out of his pants, you had never seen one before, you had never touched one before, not without the barrier of clothes at least. Sure you made out with your so called boyfriends but it never progressed because as soon as they touched you in that manner you stepped back, it didn't feel right.

You had seen porn though and his cock looked nothing like that, it seemed natural, he wasn't huge but he wasn't small either, the more you touched him the more he swelled in your palm and the more you watched him grow in your hold the more you realised that having that cock in your cunt was all you needed in life to feel sane.

You lowered down his pants and took it off completely, he aided you by pressing his hips up, you wanted him all bare for your view, wanted to gawk at those muscular thighs, you then slid down from his thighs to sit over his shin before you leaned down, the tip of his cock dribbled with precum so you rubbed your thumb over it before you sucked him in.

The loud groan from his throat was all the encouragement you needed to keep doing whatever you were doing.

His fingers curled into your hair as you sucked him deeper into your warm mouth, he never thought he'd ever see this day with you, he had planned to keep you at arm's length the moment he saw you but he had failed and how.

You were being very bold and confident for someone who had never done this before, none of you knew where this was coming from and none of you were complaining about it either.

He wanted to keep his eyes solely on you but you made it difficult, so difficult, his head rolled back every time you took him deeper into that mouth of yours.

“God you're so beautiful - I can't believe you'd let me destroy you like this”

He murmured, his voice raspy and husky. He wasn't going to last, he knew that. Well if this was your destruction you'd happily take it and revel in it.

And If this was how you planned to make him feel better after a nightmare then he wouldn't mind having them more often.

“Baby..I'm..gonna–”

The moment he felt your tongue running over his balls he crumbled down completely, a gasp escaped your mouth as his cum dribbled down and touched your lips, you didn't hesitate for a moment before licking it up from his balls to the source itself.

He tasted good, salty, creamy and savoury.

After cleaning him up with your mouth you sat up and stared at his beautifully long and large naked body splayed out on your bed, every muscle under his skin flexing and tout.

After wiping your lips you crawled up at him, he immediately had his hands wrapped around your neck as he pulled you closer to kiss those lips that had made him lose his mind just now. God those lips, he'd go to hell and back for this mouth of yours.

He wanted to return the favour but you denied, this wasn't about give and take, this wasn't transactional for you, besides pleasing him had pleased you enough, you took pride in your ability to make him cum like that, a man like him falling apart because of you was good for your ego..

You were officially sexy now.

“I'll be right back” you had to use the bathroom so he nodded but he didn't ease his hold on you until he had his fill of kisses.

He needed to go too so he sat up on the bed and waited for you to come out of the bathroom, that's when your phone buzzed on the side table so he picked it up.

“Baby.. you have a message from Dina, seems important” He yelled as he picked up your phone and opened the message. She had a drunken emergency and she needed you to go pick her up from some club because she couldn't find a cab.

“Coming right out” you yelled back so he was going to put your phone down on the table but then his fingers swiped to the left accidentally and he saw his own face staring back at him. His blood ran cold.

EricDraven90. That was the recently searched profile opened up on your Instagram. You snooped around in his messed up past when he had warned you to not do it.

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

Note: What do you think he's going to do?

Taglist: @m-riaa @erebus-et-eigengrau @peachychyy @enchantresss97 @fandomxo00 @a-differentbrandof-beans

[cogmented]

hi cogmented! love the art. do you have any tips for beginners? thanks and have a good day

HI YES YOU TOO i think most of these are applicable to beginners and non-beginners

i learned these tips from two low level art classes based on charcoal so i find some of these a lot easier through traditional means, but the skills learned from them should be transferable through any medium

i wont be touching on color or perspective too much, here's a past post i did on colors.. more so values, but it didnt go in-depth as i would have liked

shape and form are fundamentals for visual art. you need to think of form to get your shapes around it

mass and additive are kind of the same thing, just the filling of the shape, no lines involved. gesture is more so for the feeling of the same, and line gets further definition

here are some of my digital examples:

mass, gesture, line

subtractive

the top left drawing started as mass, where i formed the two people's positions into one blob and then colored over it

once you start getting those down, you can start applying it. but, you may want to look at what other artists are doing too

tracing, doing master copies, and using references are all fair methods of learning off of another, just dont pass off traced or copied art as your own

tracing tends to make your lines appear stiff, especially if you are tracing a more gestural drawing. you don't get the same motion as when you are simply referencing

mastercopies are replicas of the art work, made to look exactly like it in an attempt to emulate the same techniques the original artist might have used. i find this personally the most tedious, but beneficial method, but it may not be the easiest thing to do as a beginner who is not used to quick hand motions or confident lines.

this mastercopy sucks because mimicking traditional on digital is not the easiest thing in the world, and i on god just fucked it up, but you can see how that form and shading is much more similar than the other two

using an image as a reference is the most widely known method, but it may not look exactly how you want it to at the start! you might simply not know how line weight, textures, or line methods work yet, which is something figured out through practice and observation

and speaking of observation,

this looks okay, doesnt it?

but there is something much more structured to this, right?

it is hard to not assume you know how things look. you see things every day! your reference is right there! but really think about what you're drawing, and what it looks like.

references are always helpful, be sure to glance back frequently and really look at the distance between things, how things are rotated, how things curve around each other, and where shadows add definition

and even the bottom drawing does not capture everything correctly (the top left is not pointed enough, the middle is too high, the bottom right back fabric is too low, the bottom left is missing a fold, etc etc) i gave myself 5 minutes max for these, but it certainly looks more correct and it is not just more well developed shading

(the box is something i do often to get the size of shapes down, or to see how much space something will take on the canvas)

and always always always experiment

you do not have to draw every line, you do not have to put every detail in its right place, you are only trying to get visual information across in a manner that you enjoy

if you have an idea, but dont think you can do it, the most important thing is that you try it anyway. if it looks like shit and you dont like it, try again another day, just dont stop drawing because one day you will be able to do it

dont be afraid to erase things, to start over if you dont like it, even if you spent time on it, because you can always redo it better the next time and each time it is another thing learned or whatever. or keep it cause it looks funny or interesting who cares, as long as youre doing something