#the fear the feeling of responsibility has burned its way into them

[braveburned]

profoundly normal about guardian / charge relationships in horror media . love when two characters are sent through the maws of hell and one feels desperately responsible for the younger, be it for an actual personal connection or a sense of obligation. when the protector knows they can try to take the brunt of the situation, try to shield the younger as best they can, but they cannot take them away or will this to not be happening. there is no savior, only a companion. only comfort. but it's not enough to keep the monsters away, not entirely. the only way out of the fire is through, and the protector will make goddamn sure the charge makes it.

[starmaidengarden]

hiiiiii hru??? i love your “x reader” content !! :]

anywaysssss can i ask you to do a reverse comfort ?? ( like, the reader is the one who takes care of the characters because they have a breakdown or something similar) with overblot guys pls :)

srry if it something wrong, english its not my first language :((

—overblot gang : x gn!reader. Hurt/comfort. Soft angst. established relationship. dividers: uzmacchiato

note: my apologies that this took a while to write, writer's block has been eating me alive. Reverse comfort or angst isn't my best subject but I did try my best!!

Riddle Rosehearts ༉⋆｡˚

The study was in disarray. Books lay scattered, pages wrinkled, ink bleeding across unfinished notes. Riddle stood rigid at the center, knuckles pressed to his forehead, shaking and feeling anxious. Everything felt overwhelming, turning his usually tidy life into chaos. He tried to act fine, but tears rolled down his smooth cheeks. His face was red, swollen eyes. He didn’t notice you at first. His eyes were locked on the floor as if trying to burn a hole through it as if he could fall through and escape. You stepped forward silently, navigating around the fallen papers. You knelt in front of him, wrapping your hands around his head and guiding him to your chest. He held onto your shirt tighter as he let his guard down. The silence calmed his worries, allowing him to breathe more easily and be a flawed, vulnerable person in your care without fear of judgment.

Leona Kingscholar ༉⋆｡˚

He sat half-reclined on his bed, eyes unfocused, arm slung over his forehead. To anyone else, he might’ve looked like he was napping, lazily enjoying the peace and quiet. But the way his brow was creased — not from sleep but from thought. His tail twitched at uneven intervals, restless. Your footsteps were soft. Deliberate. When you reached him, you didn’t speak. You didn’t ask what was wrong. Instead, you sat beside him. The silence stretched long, thick with everything unspoken — the echoes of old wounds, of voices from a childhood filled with comparisons and unmet expectations. Second-born. Second-best. The crown would never be his. Leona blinked at you, one green eye sliding open to meet yours. There was a quiet challenge in it at first, as if he expected you to scold him for moping or pity him like others did. But your eyes didn’t carry judgment — only calm, grounding warmth. He didn’t say anything. You didn’t either. You simply lay down beside him, close enough that, if he wanted, he could reach you. After a long pause, his tail flicked again — this time curling lightly around your ankle. He rolled over, resting his head on your chest. His breath was warm against you, and his chest rose and fell in a steadier rhythm.

Azul Ashengrotto ༉⋆｡˚

Papers fell from his grip — menus, contracts, financial plans — all his carefully cultivated defenses fell alongside them. His hands trembled, knuckles a stark white against his purple-black pen. His gaze darted unfocused across the mess. His mind fell into chaos — doubts, disappointments, worries. He turned his back to you, ashamed, vulnerable — a side he hadn’t meant for anyone to see. You sat on the floor in front of him and waited. Eventually, his hands dropped away from his face, slow and shaking. His eyes were red at the corners, lashes wet, but no tears trailed down. His mask had cracked, but the pieces still clung to him — just barely. Then, without needing a word, you drew him into your embrace — resting his head against your heart. His grip tightened — first reluctantly, then more desperately — letting your warmth ease his worries.

Jamil Viper ༉⋆｡˚

Night had long since fallen, but Jamil sat alone on the balcony, leaning against the railing, face buried in his arms. The stars above offered no comfort; the weight of responsibility, of endless expectations, was too much tonight. You found him there, silent and still, and sank down beside him without a word. Slowly, you placed a bottle of water by his side, and then you rested your head against his shoulder. Your hand rubbed slow circles along his backhand, He stayed quiet, but you felt the faintest hitch in his breath. He tensed, unused to being cared for but— He was unraveling. In pieces no one else ever sees. Except you. As the minutes passed, he leaned into you, just barely. Under the stars, breathing in rhythm, letting the night carry away his worries. He didn’t let go for a long time. And neither did you.

Vil Schoenheit ༉⋆｡˚

Vil sat in front of the vanity, not a trace of his usual poise in his posture. One hand lay limp on the tabletop, the other supporting his weight as he leaned forward. His reflection stared back at him, eyes hollow and tired. His makeup had smeared beneath one eye. His mouth, usually held with pride or precision, was slack—drawn down at the corners. His pulse pounded under his skin — a chorus of doubts. He turned away, ashamed. You gently lifted the makeup remover pad from the table. It was still damp. Turning, you knelt beside his chair. His lips parted slightly as if to say something — to scold, or maybe to warn you away. But no sound came out. Instead, you reached up, cupping his cheek with one hand — and with the other, you gently swept the stained pad beneath his eye. Slowly, carefully, his hand took yours. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t pull you into a dramatic embrace, He just held it. Not with elegance, not with his usual sense of stage presence. Just a quiet, tired motion — until his forehead came to rest against your shoulder. A shaky exhale fell from his lips — a vulnerable confession without words — that he was not alone.

Idia Shroud ༉⋆｡˚

The room was dark except for the soft light of his monitors. Screensaver spirals turned endlessly, untouched. His chair was turned away from the desk, barely rocking. Idia sat curled into himself on the bed, back against the wall, hoodie drawn over his head. Hair dim and flickering blue like a weak signal. One hand clutched the edge of a game controller, knuckles white, but the screen was off. His knees were drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them — closed in, locked up. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t move. There were empty snack wrappers scattered beside the bed. His tablet is face-down on the floor. You saw the home screen still faintly lit up — a string of messages left unanswered, the last one sent hours ago. You just approached him slowly, giving him time to react if he needed space. You sat on the edge of the bed beside him. You gently placed your hand over his — resting your palm against his knuckles. He froze. His arms came up — hesitantly, uncertain — and then wrapped around your waist in a quiet, broken motion. His head buried itself in your side. He didn’t make a sound. Letting silence ease his worries. Your warmth anchored him, adding a moment of peace in his world.

Malleus Draconia ༉⋆｡˚

He stood solitary under a purple-black thundercloud, rain bouncing off his majestic horns. His magic faltered — growing wild — his confidence shaking alongside his power. He turned away, ashamed — a creature destined to be feared instead of valued. You approached without sound, stepping into his circle of solitude. Carefully, you extended your hand — no words, no demands. Unfurling your umbrella to keep him sheltered. The rain fell all around, bouncing off its surface, safely kept at bay. He turned toward you, Your gaze met his — calm, open, unwavering. You didn’t try to smile. You didn’t offer comfort in the form of shallow words. You just stood there with him. With him. Not the crown prince. Not the fae. Not the feared, revered being with horns and ancient magic. Just Malleus. Closer still, until his arms came around your shoulders, pulling you gently — but fully — into his chest. He rested his chin on the crown of your head and breathed out. And then he crumbled. Not in fury. Not in despair. Just quietly, like a wall that had finally allowed itself to fall — a moment of vulnerable peace forged without a word. You stayed beside him. Quiet. Steady. His magic grew calm, and the storm passed.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Planets in The Sixth House

☉ Sun in the Sixth House You sew your strength into your skin with threads of fire. You do not wait to be saved, you build your own rescue. Every time the weight of life tries to press you down, you grit your teeth and lift yourself higher. You are your own light, even when the skies go dark. And beneath the scars of self-forging, you carry the heat of someone who has always burned for their own survival.

☽ Moon in the Sixth House You feel the ache of life in places no one else can reach. Emotions flood your body like tides trying to pull you under, but you find the strength to breathe through the rising waters. You rock your own heart through the storms, wrapping it in your bare hands and willing it to hold on. Even when the ache throbs like a second pulse, you learn to live beside it, not untouched, but unbroken.

☿ Mercury in the Sixth House Your mind can be a battlefield, sharp with doubts and restless questions. But you wield words like medicine, cutting away poison thoughts and stitching your wounds with kinder truths. You speak to yourself in languages of survival, turning every “I can’t” into “I will.” With every thought you choose to reshape, you bend your life toward healing, thought by thought, breath by breath.

♀ Venus in the Sixth House You fold tenderness into the corners of your daily life, like love letters tucked beneath pillows. You heal by bringing tenderness into moments that feel empty, by slipping love into the spaces between pain. No grand gestures, no performances, only raw, honest offerings to yourself. And though the world may rush past without noticing, you know: this is how you tell life, I love you anyway.

♂ Mars in the Sixth House Your healing is forged in fire. You fight your way back from the edges, clawing through exhaustion and resistance like a warrior refusing defeat. Pain fuels you, not to destroy, but to rise harder, stronger. You do not rest in surrender, you move, you push, you burn through limits. And in every step forward, even when your muscles shake, you prove: I am not finished yet.

♃ Jupiter in the Sixth House You trust that what feels barren now will bloom in time. You heal by holding onto the vision of expansion, even when your current ground feels cold. There is hope stitched into your every effort, a rising energy that whispers: there is more ahead. You keep your eyes on horizons unseen, knowing that growth comes not all at once, but through the steady stretch of your spirit.

♄ Saturn in the Sixth House You know the heaviness of healing, the weight of responsibility, the ache of discipline. But you carry it like a crown, not a chain. You heal by committing to the climb, step by step, with no shortcut in sight. Your scars tell stories of perseverance, not pity. And when you look back on the mountain you’ve scaled, you see not burden, but proof: you carried yourself all the way here.

♅ Uranus in the Sixth House You heal by refusing to live caged in old wounds. When patterns start to suffocate you, you tear them down with bare hands. Change isn’t optional for you, it is survival. You shake the dust from your bones and invent new ways to rise. Even when fear whispers to stay small, you choose to fracture the past and let new light pour in. Freedom is not given to you, you fight for it.

♆ Neptune in the Sixth House You drift into realms where healing feels like music, like color, like rain against tired skin. Reality may bruise you, but you soften its blows by dreaming of gentler landscapes. Your imagination stitches tenderness into harsh days, wrapping you in visions of beauty not yet real, but deeply felt. And those dreams? They save you. They keep your soul alive when the world feels sharp.

♇ Pluto in the Sixth House Your healing is an inferno. You do not mend wounds softly, you incinerate what no longer serves you, rising from your own ashes, forged new. Transformation is your medicine, even if it costs you your comfort. You know that true healing is messy, consuming, and sometimes ruthless. But in the blaze of your becoming, you find power you never imagined. You were always meant to rise from the fire.

🔍 My book The Sky Within breaks down your full natal chart

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 15

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (piv, fingering, double penetration, cock warming) violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys i think hes trying. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You don't know how many times you and Daemon walked around the fountain. Truth be told, as the seconds bled into minutes, you began to fear he would get impatient with you and ask you to stop your walk before you were ready to. It didn't help that every time you looked to examine his demeanor, he was already looking at you. His gaze was scalding. You could not keep it for more than a second.

You could not help but pick at the flower in your hand until all its petals were scattered on the floor. You felt uneasy around him.

At some point, you became too restless walking around with him that you opted to sit down and be done with it. "Very well," you mutter, sitting on the wide ledge of the stone fountain, "I shall tell you."

Daemon sits next to you, brows furrowing at the way your breath hitches.

You suck in a deep breath, "our children are-"

"You need not speak of them this instant," he takes your hand, squeezing it, "not if it is unbearable."

You look at his hand. You look at him. You see the softness of his gaze. You feel nothing. You mutter his name.

He mutters your back in response, reaching for your cheek.

You pull away, both your head and your hand.

He gulps, watching you scoot back. He retreats and digs his nails into his lap.

"If I do not tell you now," you shake your head, looking over your shoulder, "I do not know when next I will be willing."

Daemon watches you watch the water trickle. He shifts, "I do not mind."

"I do," you whip your head back, "I do not want to keep you waiting."

He watches your dark hair flow with the wind. He so badly wants to brush it out of your face. He shakes his head, "you have waited enough for me."

You chuckle dryly, "you misunderstand," you look away and reach for the flower drifting over. You grunt as you stretch your arm out, "you make me uneasy."

Daemon's face twitches. Poison spreads through his thorax and an invisible noose tightens around his neck. He opens his mouth, but only a shudder leaves him. You say this so casually too... what horror.

You manage to reach the flower and relax back in your spot after grabbing it. You stare at the rose before turning to your husband. He looked so unlike what he did the day he left you. His hair, which was once nearly the length of yours, now couldn't cover his ears. And his eyes... they were uncharacteristically soft. You lower your gaze, "there was once a time I put a flower in your hair... do you recall it?"

He knits his brows.

You brush your rose petals.

He does not recall. "I recall the day you littered your brother and your ward with blossoms you picked from the field."

You chuckle as you fidget with your rose, "pity."

Daemon swallows a thick lump in his throat, "would you help me recall it?"

"Twas the same day," you smile, looking up at him.

He is winded, "I-"

"I pity you, I really do."

Deep lines form on his face. He shakes his head as his voice breaks, "I... do not mean to forget."

You chuckle again, though there was no trace of amusement in your chest, only tightness, "I know you don't," you tentatively raise the flower and take a deep breath. It takes a few moments for you to gather the nerve to secure the rose by his ear.

Daemon stills as you do so, then helps you put the flower in place.

You pull away, looking at him and his rose. You noticed the way his breathing grew heavy, how his eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall. You sigh and shrug, "I remember placing a bud in your hair and thinking you-" you stop to chuckle. Youu shrug and shake your head, "-were devastatingly handsome I could not help but stare."

His lips part and his nostrils twitch.

You wait for him to react.

He does not.

"Do you not recall this either?" you raise your brows, "those were your own words."

He knits his brows, sheepish over how you were seemingly teasing him so suddenly for his vanity.

"You came from the City Watch," you clarified, "I did not know it yet, but you had razed King's Landing and executed criminals in the streets—"

His jaw slacks, "ah."

"—you were covered in blood. I stared because I was concerned and that," you point to nowhere, "was what you told me."

He shakes his head, "a poor jest of a man who thinks himself funny," he turns to the bushes, "forget the memory."

You knit your brows, "I do not want to forget."

He looks back at you.

"I did agree," you mutter, "though instead of devastatingly handsome, I would have called you beautiful."

Daemon wanted to speak, but then the flower in his hair was being blown off by the wind. He keeps it in its place, forfeiting the moment to respond.

"It must be terrible to have only the capacity to recall things that cause you rage or suffering."

A wind blows between you and the air in his lung is pulled along with it. Daemon shivers when you reach a hand out to him. He looks at your outstretched palm before taking it in both of his. His heat causes your skin to prick with goosebumps. His hand felt as hot as dragon fire.

"I recall your scent and the feel of your skin," Daemon scoots forward, "I recall your tenderness and your fire. I-"

"You must understand," you cut him off, placing your other hand atop his, "I do not ask you to recall merely to reminisce," you take a few deep breaths, "I do this to explain I no longer feel that way."

His stomach drops. He realizes then this stoic countenance you held was not that but indifference to him. He whimpers and lowers his head, "no, please-"

"I feel nothing for your sadness," you mutter, "I cannot lend you any more of my pity, for where I once saw beauty, I now see only grief..."

Tears stain his cheeks.

"And loss," you pull away to wipe his face, "my babes looked so much like you."

He presses his hands atop yours and pushes them into his cheeks so that you would not let him go.

"Our babes," you correct yourself.

He whimpers. He screws his eyes shut, trying to recall their names. He cannot.

"I did not write about them for I knew you took many lengths to avoid having children with me."

His eyes are suddenly wide open. He is blindsided.

"I, myself, could not believe it when the maester told me I was with child. He explained to me that it is possible to conceive with premature ejaculation."

Daemon's hold on your hands loosen. You knew what he was doing all along? You pull away.

"I was deeply afraid you would doubt me, doubt their parentage because you never spilled inside of me, but... you should know that my tw— our twins both had silver hair," you sniffle, "and violet eyes."

You begin to weep as the punishing memory plays in your head. He feels helpless to see you this like this, twice over because he knows if he touches you, you will retreat.

You whimper and shake your head, "many bore witness to my... miscarriage."

The thought horrifies him.

"Your brother being one."

Daemon's face is aghast.

"You can go to him if you ever wish to accuse me of infidelity."

"You think the worst of me," he groans.

You stare at him for a moment then burst into dry laughter, "I do not. You attacked my guards for something you misheard me mutter in my sleep— I think exactly what I know of you."

He makes a sound, "but I-"

You wait for him to continue.

There is nothing left for him to say.

"You must," you sigh, "understand... I am only trying to make you understand. Where you yearn presently I yearned for three years."

"But I don't understand," he shakes his head, "had I not returned today, would you have still written to me?"

You inhale deeply, "I would."

"Then why don't you want me?"

"Because, Daemon!" you come to a stand, "had you not returned today, you still would have ignored me!"

He looks up at you.

"And my children would remain unburied!"

His jaw drops, "w-what?"

"I did not have them buried!" you point to the side, "I had them kept rotting in a box so that they would be acknowledged once by their father and be sent off in the traditions of their house."

Daemon slowly rises to his feet. He gulps, raising a hand.

You step back, "do you understand?"

He clenches his fists, then relaxes. He nods, "what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to prepare the funeral rites for my children and I want their bodies honored tomorrow."

He stares at you for a moment before nodding again. He mutters under his breath, "eminna ziry gaomagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." I will have it done, my love.

"Ȳdra daor yne brōzā bona." Don't call me that.

He is taken off-guard, forgetting that you now speak his mother tongue.

You wipe your face and smoothen out your robe, "I nightly have supper with my sister and nephew."

He watches you shake your head. Something happens to his heart as he imagines how you've lived without him.

"You are more than welcome to join us, so long as you promise to keep your manners."

He perks.

"But you ought to know I normally invite whichever ward is keeping me guard to dine with us."

His eye twitches. He aimlessly examines the sky, "I..."

You watch his expression closely.

"I do not think I can stomach being around your wards, let alone dine with one."

"But I've explained that-"

He raises a hand. You clench your teeth, watching him shake his head. He releases a deep breath, "it is not my desire that you resent me more than you already do."

You watch him reach a hand out to you.

"Let me walk you at least?"

You stare at his hand for a moment. When you take it, you feel your stomach drop and Daemon feels his spirit lifted.

The walk you take is silent. When you arrive to the solar you dined at, Daemon rubs your hand before pulling away. You watch him fade down the hall and you feel conflicted to see him go.

He walks off to gods know where and aimlessly continues to do so until he hears someone call his name. When he turns, he sees his brother's face.

Viserys had been smiling, up until he got close enough to see Daemon's face. The king's brows furrow. He places a hand on his brother's arm, watching tears stream from his face, "skoros iksis pirta?" What is wrong?"

"I could not ask her... but she said you saw them," he mutters, gripping Viserys by the arms. His lips wobble and his brows tighten, "vestas ao ūndan ñuha riñar." She said you saw my children.

Viserys tenses when Daemon's grip tightens, out of aggression or desperation, he was not sure. To his brother, sometimes the two were one in the same. He places his hands on Daemon's shoulders and tries to calm him down.

Daemon shudders, "what did they look like?"

It hits him. He thinks of the moon you left for Oldtown after Daemon left for the Stepstones and how Alicent worried that it would cause conflict between in your marriage. A sourness spreads in the king's mouth as he recalls Alicent worriedly relaying her sister's worries to him— that Daemon would accuse her of fleeing to Oldtown because she had strayed. Viserys clenches his jaw, "they're your children, brother."

Daemon's brows furrow, "w-what?"

"They're Valyrian— silver hair, violet eyes-"

The prince shakes him, "you misunderstand me." He shakes his head, a whimper leaving his lips, "what did they look like?"

Viserys watches Daemon's eyes water all over again.

"Did they look like me? Did they look like her? Did they have her nose? Her lips? Her brows? Or mine?" He shudders, "were they beautiful?"

Viserys feels his lungs tighten when his brother sobs into his chest. His own eyes water and he throws his arms around Daemon. He leans into him as his brother's arms tighten around him. Viserys does not recall the last time Daemon's wept in his arms.

"Shijetra nyke. Nyke shifang aōha ōdres sir," Daemon says through tears. It forces tears to fall from Viserys's eyes. Forgive me. I understand your pain now.

Viserys holds him a little tighter, "ñuha valonqar." My (younger) brother.

The two remain this way until Daemon was calm enough to part from the embrace.

After supper, you make your way back to your chambers, frowning to see it empty. You take a candle and light it, heading out of your room to look for your husband. In truth, you did not know why you were doing so, for all you knew, he was out in Fleabottom, reliving the early days of your marriage. Still... here you were.

You pad quietly down the halls and ask the occasional servant you pass if they had seen Daemon. The response was the same between them all: no, princess. You nod and bid them good night each time before walking off.

You realize soon your feet were silently leading you somewhere, which is why you stop when you reach the hall to the Kingsguards' quarters. You find your eyes falling to the door that lead to the shared room of the Cargyll brothers. You momentarily recall the rather cold dismissal you gave them, which was so unlike you. Your heart calls for you to check on them. The next thing you know, you're knocking on their door.

You watch the light on your candle flicker as you wait for an answer. You watch it go off when the door opens with a, "princess."

You look up, finding Arryk's worried face, and soon, Erryk behind him.

"Has something happened?" Erryk asks hurriedly.

You shake your head, "no... I," you look at the smoke wafting from your candle, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Arryk, even through the darkness, could see your bare décolletage. His eye lingers before he shakes his head, "you needn't worry about us. My brother and I are well."

"It was your husband that ended up badly injured," Erryk quips.

Arryk looks over to his brother. Erryk has his eyes on you, or rather, your candle. He reaches out, "allow me to relight it, my princess."

You watch him take your candle and a shiver runs down your spine as the wind blows down the quiet hall.

Arryk notices and steps aside, "it will not take long, but please, take a seat."

You walk into their room and Arryk motions to one of the beds. You take a seat and watch Erryk look through his drawers, grumbling, "where the bloody hells did I put that damn flint?"

Arryk drapes a blanket on your shoulders, rolling his eyes at his brother, "hang on."

You tighten the blanket around you, immediately feeling warm, not only because of the added layer, but because it smelled like your ward. You watch Arryk dig through his own drawers and the moment he grumbles like his twin, you realize you it was going to take long. You didn't mind at all though.

You decide to lie down and make yourself comfortable. You yawn, knowing then you were, in fact, exhausted.

Erryk decides his flint is lost and snaps at his brother, "where's your fucking flint?"

Arryk glares at back at him, "mind your manners, worm."

Erryk immediately tenses, remembering why he was looking for flint in the first place. His eyes turn to you, throat tightening to see you lying down. He steps forward, calling out your name.

Your heavy eyes open wide, only to fall again at the sight of Erryk, "hmm?"

Erryk kneels beside you, "you cannot sleep here." His hand twitches, dying to touch you.

Hearing his twin's words, Arryk turns. He rubs his chest and curses under his breath.

You merely hum again, snuggling deeper into your blankets.

Erryk speaks your name once more.

You sigh, "yes?"

"Princess," Arryk says, clenching his fists in an attempt to steel himself away, "I do not think we will find flint to light your candle."

Erryk ignores reason and listens to desire; he places a hand on your cheek, belly burning when you lean into his touch.

Arryk gulps at the sight of it. His voice is soft and shaky, "y-you cannot sleep here."

You sigh once more, finally pushing yourself up from the bed. You tighten the blanket around you with a groan. Your heavy eyes look upon Erryk, knelt on the floor, his own eyes were blown, wholly opposite to yours. You then turn to Arryk, stood rigid by his drawers. You notice the way his fingers twitch.

You place your hand on Erryk's shoulders, intending push yourself up on him, that is, until you feel the heat of him; he is impossibly hot. You examine his face, lips parting at the sight of his furrowed brows. Erryk whimpers when your colder hands come to his cheeks. He wants for nothing else than to warm you.

"Do you want me to leave?" you mutter.

Erryk immediately shakes his head. Arryk immediately calls out your name.

Erryk ignores him, eyes lowering to your neck, or what was left uncovered by your blanket.

You turn to Arryk, licking your lips before asking slowly, "do you want me to leave?"

Arryk gulps, lowering his head.

"You're welcome to leave, brother," Erryk mutters, hands coming atop yours. He hisses at the coolness of your skin and mutters rather pathetically, "please."

You ignore Erryk, eyes on his twin, "Arryk?"

Arryk scoffs, lifting his countenance. He does not say a word. He merely walks to the door and locks it before walking in front of you to kneel beside his brother.

Erryk whines when your hand leaves him. You shush him as you take Arryk's cheek, "the gods gave me two hands to hold you both at once."

Arryk leans into your touch, nearly choking on his spit at the smell of your fragrance on your wrist.

"Please," Erryk begs for the second time, "my skin grows hotter. I need to warm you."

You relish the feel of their cheeks a moment longer before pulling away completely. Their eyes watch you like a hawk and you bask in the attention before pushing the blanket off your shoulders. You sigh and nod, tilting your head back.

They are immediately upon you. Four hands roam you at once, two hot mouths on either side of your neck. They move in sync, never colliding with a hand that did not belong to them, their touches somehow contrasting yet complimenting all at once.

Arryk, ever the more level headed and patient, kisses against your throat slowly and gently. His hands work to undress you, to massage your breasts, to assure you of his devotion. Erryk, ever the more hungry and eager, licks and nips against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, though not in a manner that would ever be unpleasant. His hands work to pleasure you, to make you moan, to make known his yearning.

Like clockwork, each twin finds your most sensitive part, loath to part from your skin. Though one was as greedy as the other in their desire for you, your own desire came before theirs, and never has there been a moment where either of them kept you wanting.

You lean into Arryk, eyes screwing shut as you chase after his mouth. He does not make you wait; his hand comes to the back of your neck and the other moves to the opposite breast, pinching your nipple, knowing it will get you to moan. He immediately feasts on your moan, tongue dancing into your open mouth. His hand kneads your breast to warm it like he did the other.

Erryk, now that you were tilted to one side, takes this opportunity to part your thighs more by bringing your leg over his lap. He easily finds his way past your bloomers and rubs your clit, moaning at the feel of your building wetness.

The twins work in efficient tandem, and soon you're all three of you naked and hot. The bed for the guards are unlike your own; it was barely just enough for one, let alone three, and yet, you made it work; the desire to be close to each other made it work.

It was not enough to have Arryk pressed behind you and Erryk in front, you were desperate to have them inside, and you relayed just that by reaching for Arryk's cheeks and throwing a leg over Erryk's hips. Receptive as ever, Arryk kisses your hand and Erryk rubs your thigh.

"I need you both," you mutter.

"You have us," Arryk assures, rubbing your belly.

Erryk manages a kiss on your jaw, "who do you want first, my princess?"

"Both."

"Fuck," Erryk tightens his hold on your thigh.

Arryk's brow furrow, "are you certain?"

You whimper at the feel of fingers brushing between your legs. You mewl as someone pumps in and out you. You arch your back and ride out the sensations, "please."

"She's more than ready, brother."

"We should make her peak first."

"No," you whine, eyes opening to look at them both, "I can take it."

They are about to protest, but their words are smothered by how you grind back into Arryk and grab Erryk's cock, each as hard as the other. You pant, "we've done it before."

Arryk squeezes your hip. His voice is heavy, "a-are you certain?"

"We do not want to hurt you," Erryk softly offers.

You nod and turn to Arryk, kissing him reassuringly. You then turn to Erryk doing the same as you stroke him a few times before guiding him into you. His reaction is instant, he moans when his tip feels your wetness, and the only reason he does not plunge into you is because he holds your comfort higher than his own need.

Arryk kisses your shoulder as he leans into you. The first stretch is the one met with most resistance and he, along with his brother, always ensure you have ample time to adjust to them before even thinking of their own comfort. It's all worth it in the end, because, gods, when they're both sunked in, the feel is maddening.

The sounds that you emit when they begin to move starts soft, but both of them know better than to think it would remain. As soon as they begin to pick up the pace, they muffle your mouth with their own, assuring you have enough room to breathe though your sounds are garbled.

In truth, they could only dampen the noise so much, as there was the sinful sound of wet skin slapping to account for. Soon, the thrusting and squelching became unmistakably lewd. Soon, dampening the uncontrollable sounds scratching up your throat became near impossible.

Faster and faster and deeper and deeper and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter— then snap.

It was good that Arryk knew your body so well that he clamped his hand over your mouth just before you clenched around their cocks. The sound that left you was loud, loud and to the bone obscene. You make another sound at the feel of them pulsing and twitching inside of you; the twins single-mindedly ride out the pleasure raging across you all with increasingly sloppier thrusts.

Arryk eventually pulls his hand off your mouth, only to replace it with his mouth, and Erryk kisses you soon after. You three remain entangled like this, hot and satisfied. You want nothing more than to sleep in their arms.

An instant stream of hot seed spills down your thighs when they pull out. You whimper in protest, never liking it when they leave you before you are ready. You're rarely ready.

They tell you what they always do, they'd never leave if they hadn't just done so, and they ought to clean you up.

And they do; they clean you up and you whimper some more, this time to complain about the cold. So there, in that tiny bed, all three of you slept, keeping each other warm.

That's when Daemon starts from his own bed, heart racing, body sweating. He is severely disoriented as he turns to the window, blinded by the morning sun, then to space on the bed beside him. He heaves as he scans the emptiness, mind racing with the terrible nightmare he had woken up from.

He scratches his eyes as tears begin to prick in its corners. He jumps, throwing the blanket aside and forfeiting slippers as he marches off. He reaches the door, but then he starts when he hears a squeal.

You gasp, one hand on your chest, another on the door sill for balance. You had just emerged from the bath, startled to see him sprinting off.

Daemon immediately comes to your side, gripping your arm. He notices the smell of your soap first, then the presence of your servants behind you second. He gives them a look and leads you off, silently dismissing them.

Your servants scurry off as Daemon leads you to your vanity.

You look at him, noticing the manic expression on his face, "is everything alright?"

He does not turn to you as he sits you down.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"You," he blurts and shakes his head rapidly, "I was looking for you."

You watch him scratch his eyes. He takes the comb on your vanity and only once he's untangling your hair do you see from his reflection that he looked distraught and teary. You mutter, "Daemon-"

"When did you come bed?"

Your brows quirk and you're about to respond, until he yanks through a tangle, causing you to wince.

Daemon stops and immediately shakes his head as he looks at your reflection, "I did not mean to."

You frown, slowly enunciating, "Dae-"

"Do not answer," he clenches your comb in his hand.

He looks erratic. Your heart rate picks up, "what?"

"I change my mind. I do not want to know when you came to bed," he shakes his head, combing through your hair again. You swear you see his hands shake as he does. He whispers to himself, "or if you came back at all."

You do not catch it, but you do catch his hand, forcing him to stop combing.

Daemon shivers as you come to a stand. You look at him, face falling at the tears so suddenly streaming down his face. You furrow your brows and reach for his cheek. You are taken aback when he pulls away.

You gulp, unsure if you should step forward or back. You decide to stay put and slowly call out to him.

Daemon wipes his face, "I-"

"Is it the wake?"

"..."

Your own eyes begin to water, "... did you, perhaps, have a nightmare?"

He is at a loss for words. He flinches when you take a step forward.

You watch him closely as you raise your hand. He does not move away up until you touch his arm. You must admit, the way in which he shrugs you off stings. Still, you compose yourself with a sigh and nod. "Very well," you step back.

His hand raises, "wait."

You are rendered frozen when he grabs your arm. Your chest begins to tighten and your eyes begin to water against yourself. You shrug and chuckle dryly, "I do not understand."

Daemon's face is pained as he releases you. He lowers his head and steps back, "neither do I."

You both stand there for a moment. You wait for him to say something but he never does. In truth, Daemon was waiting for you to do the same.

He was rather disappointed to hear you say, "perhaps you should take a bath."

He watches you wipe the tears off your cheek and wonders why it was tears found you so easily. Was it your affliction? Or just him? He nods, "very well."

Your gaze is fixed upon him as he heads to the bathroom. You sigh deeply, sitting back in your vanity chair to gather yourself.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Elixir - pt.ii

wednesday addams x female reader

part i | part ii

summary: Wednesday’s sudden affectionate behavior has you feeling all sorts of conflicted… You need to find a way to reverse this elixir, and fast!

word count: 4.4k

————

Wednesday looks at you expectingly awaiting a response. Her dark eyes look at you in a way that feels...different.

"Wednesday, what was that?" You ask, trying to keep your voice calm while gesturing to the empty glass bottle.

For the first time since you've known the girl, she hesitates. "It was... nothing," she replies, though her voice lacks its usual certainty.

During this entire exchange, you notice that Enid is unusually quiet, not her typical inquisitive self, and you find it strange since this situation especially should call upon those traits of hers.

Almost like she read your mind, Enid speaks, "Wednesday, why did you drink from that bottle?"

But Wednesday isn't listening. Instead, she steps closer to you, her gaze inviting and seductive. "You know," she begins, her voice unusually soft, "there's something about you that I find... compelling."

Your heart skips a beat, confusion mixing with a hint of fear. "Wednesday, what are you talking about?"

"I mean," she continues, her tone almost... tender?  "I've always appreciated your spirit, your defiance. There's a fire in you that's hard to ignore."

You blink, utterly bewildered.  Your eyes widen as realization starts to hit, "Enid, I think that bottle wasn't just any potion. It could be a love potion!" You whisper the last part.

"Oh my god a love potion?!" you exclaim, letting the words you spoke settle in.  You take a step back as Wednesday moves even closer, her eyes still locked onto yours.

"Wednesday, snap out of it!" you say, your voice a mix of panic and desperation.

But Wednesday just smiles, an expression so out of place on her usually stoic face that it sends chills down your spine. "Why would I want to snap out of it?  Being close to you feels... right."

Wednesday steps even closer leaving little to no room between you two.  She grips the knot of your tie while maintaining eye contact with you, and slowly wraps your tie around the fist of her other hand. Just as she was about to tug on your tie, Enid quickly steps in, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from Wednesday's reach. "Come on, we need to figure out how to reverse this, now."

You nod, your mind racing. You both run out of the dorm room and bolt to the East Wing library knowing that it will be empty.  The vampires think they're too elite to hold their book club in any place other than the grand library and that worked in your favour for once.

You and Enid frantically catch your breath as you collapse onto the couches in the library.

"You okay?" Enid asks, "You're quite red."

"I-I just, that was so out of character for Wednesday, did you hear the things she was saying to me?" You say flustered, gripping the knot of your tie, the very spot Wednesday was holding a moment ago.  Loosening your tie, you cover your face with both your hands and groan into them.

Enid laughs, "Hmm are you blushing Y/n/n?"

"Absolutely not," you feel your face burn up even more and refuse to take your hands away from your red cheeks until you've cooled down a little. 

"Okay we need to find that book with the potion recipes. It has to be here somewhere."  Enid nods and jumps up into action, heading towards the dusty bookshelves trying to find anything that could help.

Meanwhile you go to another bookshelf, hoping it would give you faster results.  "So we think it's a love potion right?" You yell across the library to Enid.

"Uhh yeah," Enid mutters while flipping through books.

Minutes pass and it's dead quiet in the library. "Found it!" You pull a thick, ancient book from the shelf, the cover worn and faded, with the title Elixirs. "Let's see... love potions, love potions... ahh, here it is!"

As Enid walks toward you, she can't help but notice your blushing cheeks, the way you're fiddling with the edge of your tie, and the panicked state you're in. It's a stark contrast to your usual composed self, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

You start reading aloud, "The Amore Certo, commonly referred to as the Love Potion, is a potent and rare elixir known for its ability to intensify and bring forth feelings of love and affection in the drinker."

Enid nods confirming that this matches what Wednesday seems to be experiencing.

"Upon consumption, the potion works by subjecting the drinker with a deep sense of affection towards the first person they set eyes on. This connection feels natural and all-consuming.  The drinker's heart will race, their thoughts will be consumed by the object of their affection, and they will feel a powerful urge to be near them, showering them with adoration and devotion."

As you read, your heart begins to pound. The words resonate with what you've seen in Wednesday, the way her eyes linger on you, the subtle but undeniable pull between you two.  A part of you wants to rush back to the dorm, just to see if reality aligns with what you're reading.  Only to confirm if this is truly the potion affecting her, of course... no other reason.

"Does it say anything about an antidote?" Enid says getting impatient, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"The only known antidote to the Amore Certo is the Elixir of Clarity, which must be administered within three days of consumption to fully negate the effects.  However, it is said that true love cannot be entirely undone, and a trace of the potion's magic may remain in the heart of the drinker, even after the effects have worn off. Blah blah blah, and look here's a list of ingredients to make the Clarity Elixir." You point to the long list of ingredients while looking at Enid.

The blonde lets out a sigh of relief, "Okay I'm glad we're getting somewhere.  I say we call it a night today, and we'll spend tomorrow making the Clarity Elixir and getting Wednesday back to normal."

"Wait why can't we just start now?"

"Y/n how in the world are you going to get Solar Sun Whiskers at 2 a.m in the morning?" Your friend crosses her arms with a laugh.

With that you and Enid walk back to her dorm room, so you can grab your bag and she can keep an eye on Wednesday for the night. You two decided it was probably for the best if you didn't spend the night sleeping over.

Enid pushes the door open to see Wednesday intently watching the movie that you two had put in earlier.  You look to the tv to see the credits now rolling.

She watched the movie to completion...

"Y/n!" She exclaims finally noticing you and Enid at the door. You freeze as the excitement when seeing you catches you off guard. A very large part of you can't help but secretly enjoy the way her eyes light up when she sees you.

"Wednesday, hey," you respond nervously. "We were uhm, just grabbing my bag."

She stands up from the bed, and walks towards you with a light smile tugging at her lips. "You left before we could finish our evening together. I took the liberty of finishing the film. But we can always start another one if you'd like? Or perhaps we can discuss the film and what we enjoyed about it? If I remember correctly you've seen this one before right?"

It's hard to hear the girl with the sound of your thumping heart. God she's so adorable right now. Watching the girl before you fiddle with her fingers because she's nervous around you, has made you nervous yourself. Discuss the film? That's such a Wednesday expression of love you smile to yourself. You're intrigued that this love potion has shown you what a love sick Wednesday would do and not just make her do the generic romantic things.

Wait what are you thinking. Did you just think Wednesday was adorable? You scold yourself mentally. None of this is real Y/n, this isn't Wednesday, she doesn't actually love you. This is the girl that released spiders in your room to prove a point.

"...in the film he learned a language for the girl he loved. Would you like that Y/n/n? Enid mentioned that you were studying Greek—I could learn it for you if that's what your heart desires.

You ignore the pang in your chest reminding yourself that none of this is real.

Enid looks over to you and sees you struggling, she can understand why, and steps in to break the tension. "Actually, Wens, we were thinking of calling it a night. It's late, and Y/n/n needs to get some rest. We'll hang out more tomorrow, okay?"

The thought of Enid having to console Wednesday over spending time with you feels surreal, but then again, you are friends with a werewolf—anything is possible.

Wednesday's expression falters for a millisecond, a flash of disappointment crossing her face before she masks it with her usual stoic look. "If that's what Y/n wants," she says her tone soft.

Grabbing your bag, you make your way out the door, but something makes you pause, "Goodnight Wednesday," you smile softly, not entirely sure why you felt compelled to do so.

She steps forward, the same intensity in her eyes you've seen for the past couple hours, "Goodnight Y/n."

————

That night you couldn't sleep at all. You were alone in your dorm room twisting and turning disturbed with the events of the day. Not necessarily with Wednesday's actions, but with how they make you feel. Realizing it's in yours and Wednesday's best interest to get some sleep, you finally close your eyes thinking about how in the world you were going to get Solar Sun Whiskers tomorrow.

The next morning began like any other. After getting dressed, you texted Enid, who agreed to meet you outside your dorm. As you gathered your things, a commotion outside your door grew louder, making you roll your eyes in frustration. Why couldn't people be more considerate at 7 a.m.?

Curious about the noise, you opened your door to find dozens of curious eyes staring back at you. Glancing down, you noticed a bouquet lying at your doorstep. Quickly, you scooped it up and retreated back into your room, eager to escape the prying gazes.

You carefully place the bouquet onto your bed and just stared at it. You realize very quickly that the people outside weren't buzzing because they thought you had a secret admirer, but because of the unique arrangement you received.

The bouquet in front of you seemed to be fresh black roses intertwined with small, gleaming knives and arrows, all meticulously wrapped in a blood-red bow.

That's when you notice a small index card stabbed by one of the arrows, with writing on it. Picking it up carefully you begin to read: "Good morning, Mia Cara. I hope you appreciate the flowers. I've included some weapons for your protection, given the recent attacks at the academy. Stay safe."

"Mia Cara?" You repeat back to yourself in a whisper.

"Yeahh," you hear a tired voice drawl behind you. You jump at Enid's voice startled by her appearance. Seems like she let herself in. "She heard me call you Y/n/n yesterday and decided she needed a nickname for you too. After three hours of intense discussion, she finally settled on 'Mia Cara.' Said it was perfect," the werewolf yawns.

A warm blush creeps up your cheeks as you imagine Wednesday sitting there, stubbornly insisting on the perfect name for you. It's both baffling and oddly touching. You shake your head, trying to dismiss the fluttering in your chest. "I can't believe she did that," you murmur, more to yourself than to Enid. You clear your throat, "Come on let's go get those ingredients."

And so you and Enid spend the next four hours, grabbing the ingredients for the Clarity Elixir, some more challenging to obtain than others. After defeating the sun goddess in an intense game of checkers, you've obtained the Solar Whiskers, the final piece needed to brew the reversal potion.

"How are you so good at this?" You ask as you intently watch Enid concoct the potion back at your room.

"Webbers potion making class?" she shrugs, giving the potion one last swirl before using a funnel to pour the liquid into a glass bottle identical to the one Wednesday drank from.

Determined to act quickly, you and Enid rush back to her dorm room. According to the Elixir book, the reversal potion must be administered within three days of consuming the love potion. Time is of the essence, and you're already on day two of this fiasco.

As you approach the familiar hallway you see Xavier Thorpe on his knees pleading for his life, and of course standing in front of him is the Wednesday you're typically used to seeing with a knife in hand.

"I told you! I haven't seen her at all today. There! Look! She's right behind you!" As Wednesday turns to look at you, Xavier scrambles to his feet and runs in the opposite direction.

"Y/n," she hurries over, gently cupping your cheek as she looks you over with concern, as if checking for any injuries. "I was worried when I couldn't reach you today. I even tried contacting Enid, but had no luck," she adds, nodding towards her roommate with a hint of relief.

"Come on, let's head inside," you whisper, keeping your voice as soft as possible. Wednesday's touch has you feeling unusually flustered, and you don't want your voice to give away how affected you are.

"Did you receive my flowers?" Wednesday questions suddenly with a quirk of her head.

"Yes I did, thank you," you respond, while you take notice of Enid laughing to herself. Sometimes you forget to realize how unusual this behavior of Wednesday is, since you're too busy being flustered half the time.

Wednesday hums in satisfaction, "Were you able to see the moon last night from your dorm room?"

You raise an eyebrow, not knowing where she was going with this, "No my window doesn't face that way."

"Such a pity," she begins, glancing toward the balcony on her side of the room. "As I was out there yesterday, all I could think about was how much I longed to ravish you under the moonlight, Mia Cara." She finishes with sincerity, and her eyes even darker, not knowing that was possible.

Enid breaks out into laughter, cackling at the subject matter of Wednesday's words. Never in a million years did you think you'd hear the word 'ravish' come out of Wednesday Addams' mouth. Clearly at a loss for words, Enid takes over.

"I think we should give her the Elixir," Enid says in between laughs, "It seems like the potion's effects becomes stronger as time passes.

All you could do is nod. Enid passes over a vial of the potion to her roommate, and Wednesday takes it in her hands cautiously, looking back at you, almost as if asking is this safe?

Once again you nod, urging her to drink it. You could tell that she was confused, but in the state that Wednesday was in you could tell that she would do anything that you asked of her.

As you wait for the elixir to reverse the potion, you can't help but slightly frown. A small part of you was going to miss this Wednesday that cared so strongly for you, but you also knew that you missed the real Wednesday even more.

Twenty minutes have gone by and Wednesday has moved to sit on her bed. You alternately look at Enid and the girl. "Has it worked?"

"I don't think so," Enid says defeated, "She would've scolded us for staring by now if it did."

"The book said that the clarity elixir works immediately," you say to yourself. "Maybe it'll work gradually?"

Wednesday suddenly speaks, "That tasted horrible."

You and Enid look at each other, "maybe the potion did work," Enid whispers.

"I apologize if my comment about ravishing you under the moonlight made you uncomfortable. But please, don't feel the need to torment me by making me drink these dreadful concoctions, my love," she adds gently.

"Nope, did not work," you groan with a faint blush on your cheeks at the mention of ravishing again.

You hated the inner turmoil you were experiencing.  It was confusing to have Wednesday Addams be the first girl to ever get you flowers and make you blush like you are now. It made you angry that the same girl that thrived off of making you lose control, is the same one you're worrying tremendously about.

Storming out of the room you go back to the library hoping you can figure out how to treat Wednesday fast because you didn't know how much more of this confusion you could take.

Pulling nearly every book you can find about potions out, you were now surrounded by papers and books all about the art of potion making.

"Y/n," Enid's voice gently approaches you after fifteen minutes. You don't respond, still immersed in your search for answers, though it's clear you're not making any progress.

Sensing your frustration, Enid places a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on?"

You sigh, closing the book in front of you. "I don't know, Enid. I don't like seeing Wednesday like this."

"None of us do," she agrees softly. "She's acting like the polar opposite of herself. Poor thing."

"Yeah, there's that," you admit, "but what's really throwing me off is how it's affecting me. I don't hate it, Enid. I don't hate how caring she's being. In fact, it's confusing me... I wouldn't mind experiencing more of it. And that's bad. I shouldn't be getting used to this because none of it's real," you finish, voicing your thoughts for the first time.

As you start to lose hope in finding a solution, a sudden realization hits you.

That potion was originally on Enid's side of the room. She moved it to Wednesday's desk when she almost knocked it over. But why would there be a love potion in Wednesday's dorm? And why hasn't Enid seemed surprised by any of this?

"Enid, did you make that potion?"

Enid freezes, a guilty look crossing her face. "Wait... let me explain, okay?"

You turn to her, desperate for answers. "What is it?"

"Y/n, the potion wasn't a love potion. It was an enhancer. It amplifies pre-existing emotions."

You stare at her, trying to process this revelation. "So, you're saying..."

"Wednesday already had feelings for you," Enid explains gently. "The potion just brought them to the surface."

The realization hits you hard. Beneath all the arguments and tension, there was something more—something neither of you had acknowledged until now.

"But why? Why would you even make something like this?" you ask, genuinely confused and a little hurt.

"It's frustrating that my two best friends can't get along," Enid says sadly. "We learned about this potion in class, and I thought if you drank an enhancer potion, you'd better understand your issues with Wednesday. Maybe then you two could start getting along."

"Wait... hold on. The potion was meant for me?!"

"Yeah," Enid admits, lowering her head. "I thought it would help you figure things out, and maybe if you talked to me about it, I could help bridge the gap between you and Wens so we could all be happy," she finishes with a nervous smile.

You shake your head, trying to make sense of it all. "So why did you let us waste time making the clarity elixir?"

"I honestly thought it might work," Enid says defensively. "A part of me even wondered if I had messed up the potion and accidentally made a love potion instead. I had no idea Wednesday had feelings for you."

This is all too much to take in. You sigh, "Okay, so how do you reverse an enhancer potion?"

"A heartfelt conversation."

"No, seriously, Enid. How do we get Wednesday back to normal?"

"I'm serious, Y/n," Enid insists. "The whole point of an enhancer is to amplify what's already there or reveal what was hidden. A heartfelt conversation, one where you address the things that were left unsaid, will make the enhancer's effects wear off."

"Stay here please," You tell Enid, as you slowly get up and leave the library, walking towards the room where a lovesick Wednesday Addams shall be.

You didn't know what you were doing or what you were going to say, you didn't know how you felt yourself, and how you were going to get Wednesday in the state she was in, to talk about her genuine feelings for you. But you wanted this to be solved sooner rather than later. The weekend was almost over, and you can't have Wednesday making a fool of herself when the school week starts and all students are back on campus.

With a deep breath, you gather your resolve and head towards Wednesday's dorm room. When you reach the door, you pause for a moment, your hand hovering just above the doorknob. What would you even say to her? How do you navigate this tangled mess of emotions and misunderstandings?

And holy shit Wednesday likes you?! You haven't even let yourself process the fact and now it's got you feeling all shy.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you twist the knob and step inside. Wednesday is sitting on her bed, flipping through a book, her expression more serene than you've ever seen. It's unnerving, in a way, seeing her so calm and... content.

She looks up as you enter, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Mia Cara," she greets you warmly, her voice sending a strange flutter through your chest. "I was wondering when you'd come back."

You force a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside you. "We need to talk, Wednesday."

Her eyes narrow slightly, sensing the seriousness in your tone. She sets the book aside and gives you her full attention. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

You take a seat at the edge of the bed, your heart pounding. "This whole situation... it's complicated. I know you're feeling things intensely right now, but I need to know—how much of this is really you? How much of it is the potion?"

Wednesday tilts her head, studying you with that familiar, analytical gaze. Her jaw tightens, her gaze moves to a point just beyond you, as if avoiding your eyes might make the conversation easier. "I don't see how discussing this will change anything."

Hmm so the potion doesn't necessarily make the communication aspect easier.  You are slightly annoyed though, since this means that you have to take more of an emotional burden when talking about your feelings with Wednesday.

"Because it's important," you press, feeling your heart race. "I need to know what's real, Wednesday. This whole weekend, I've seen a side of you that I didn't think existed, and now that it's out there... I need to understand it. I need to understand you."

She's silent for a long moment, her face a perfect mask of indifference. But you can see the tension in her posture, the way her hands are clenched tightly at her sides. Finally, she sighs, a rare sound that tells you how much she's struggling with this.

"I've spent most of my life burying emotions," she admits, her voice low.  "They complicate things, make people weak. I've always believed that.  But then you came along, and for some inexplicable reason, you've managed to... disrupt that order."

You swallow, sensing that you're getting closer to the truth. "What do you mean?"

Wednesday's eyes finally meet yours, and there's a flicker of something vulnerable in them, though she quickly tries to hide it. "You irritate me," she says bluntly. "You make me feel things I'd rather not feel. And that's... problematic."

You let out a soft, almost relieved laugh. "So, I irritate you?"

"Yes," she replies, though there's a slight softening in her tone. "But not in the way you think. It's... more than that. I've tried to ignore it, tried to push it away, but the potion made it impossible."

"So the potion?" you drag out in question, needing Wednesday to explicitly say what you already know.

Wednesday looks down at her hands, clearly struggling to say what she feels despite the help of the potion, but after a minute she speaks, "I didn't fabricate feelings that didn't exist.  It merely amplified what was already there."

You feel your heart skip a beat at her words, the realization slowly settling in.

Wednesday's expression remains inscrutable, but there's a slight hesitation in her voice that you've never heard before.  "What I'm saying, Y/n, is that my feelings for you aren't solely the result of some alchemical concoction. They were there long before."

Finally, you meet her gaze, and in that moment, you know you have to be truthful—not just for her, but for yourself.

"I- I think I like you too," You stammer, the words still being difficult to hear yourself.  I guess there was always something behind those arguments we've had, you were right all along.  Maybe I did want to have those banters with you," you nervously laugh.

"But I'm scared, Wednesday. This is all so new and confusing." You quickly add.

Wednesday reaches out, taking your hand in hers, she gives it a light squeeze, "You're right.  And maybe this is the potion making me talk but I think we'll figure it out."

"Yeah we will," you smile lightly.

"So does this mean the potion will wear off?" Wednesday asks still holding your hand.

"Yeah, according to Enid, a heartfelt conversation was the antidote, and if that wasn't what we just had then I don't know what to tell you," you chuckle.

Wednesday's lips curve into a small smile, and you find yourself mirroring it. Your hands remain clasped together, a silent acknowledgment of the fleeting moment you both know is slipping away. The effects of the enhancer will soon fade, and Wednesday will return to her usual stoic self, guarded and reserved, her displays of affection rare and restrained.

But you're okay with that. Because it's in those quiet moments, in her subtle glances and the unspoken understanding between you, that you've come to cherish her the most. It's the Wednesday you've grown to care for, the one who doesn't need grand gestures to show how much she feels.

————

You wake up the next morning, unsure if the heartfelt conversation had the intended effect. After leaving Wednesday's room when Enid arrived, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you two.

Rolling over, you reach for your phone on the nightstand.  A notification from an unsaved number catches your eye.  As you read the message, a small laugh escapes your lips.

"Looks like the potion wore off."

unsaved number Please tell me Enid was making up that absurd notion about me desiring to 'ravish you under the moonlight.' Such theatrics are beneath me.

[realisticjupiter]

haihaii!! your profile has been like.... THERAPY to me bc the aib fixation is back AND ITS STRONG ESPECIALLY TOWARDS CHISHIYA 💔💔💔 i love the way u write as well !!

so with this could i request a touch starved chishiya... like a chishiya that needs readers attention so bad but is too embarrassed to downright tell them "I WANT CUDDLES" or smth... still he does everything in his power to get readers attention atp the only thing left is to just BEG

also could i be 🎶 anon ? i picture myself being very active here from now on... have a nice day!!

Summary: Chishiya can't sleep without you.

Genre: Fluffy

Pairing: Chishiya x gn!reader

Warnings: None! :)

Word count: 784

a/n: Aghhhh i hope this is okay!!!!! That is actually so sweet of you, I'm so glad you've liked my account!!!<3 And ofc you can claim an emoji, hello 🎶!!

Chishiya tried everything to get you into bed with him. He tried seducing you, gaslighting you, and of course his manipulation tactics didn't work either.

All you were focused on was trying to fix the phone from last night's game. It was still on, so you thought it would be easier to get into before it powered off.

Every time he'd call your name, you'd brush him off. Mostly because he always used a certain tone of voice you've become far too familiar with when he tries to get what he wants.

All he wanted to do was kneel at your feet to tell you exactly what he wanted. To tell you he just wanted you to hold him, to tell you all he needed was your attention.

But he couldn't. He never has been able to ask for help, or ask for anything without feeling vulnerable for that matter. He was closed off, that's what people knew about him; that he didn't show those types of emotions in fear of being belittled.

Chishiya could feel his eyelids getting heavy and his eyes burning from keeping them open, but he knew no matter how hard he would toss and turn; he wouldn't be able to sleep without you.

It was pathetic, he'd admit that. It was a loop he found himself getting stuck into, and found there was no way out of it. He hid it pretty well, though. Through late nights where you'd fall asleep alone and wake up to him beside you. You truly had no idea he struggled so much.

He was so tired. He'd do anything if you'd just stop and sleep already.

And he found his last option, the one thing he dreaded the most.

"Y/n?" Chishiya whispered, his voice husky as he climbed out of bed and walked towards you with slow steps.

"What?" You hummed in response, never peeling your eyes away from the task at hand.

"Please," He spoke underneath his breath in an almost incoherent whisper as he stopped to stand beside the chair you sat in.

"I don't know what you want, Chishiya. No one is keeping you awake." You sighed, watching from the corner of your eye as he stood by your side, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"You're keeping me awake." He murmured, watching your hands as they played around with the device's motherboard.

"How?" You said in defeat, finally turning your attention to him. You looked up at him with your hands thrown in your lap, clearly waiting for his response.

He let out a huff as he looked around the room; avoiding eye contact. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were soft and glassed over.

His next sentence was incoherent.

"What?"

[inaudible]

"Chishiya. Speak up, please." Your words were soft as you stood up from your seat, placing your hands on his upper arms.

"I can't sleep without you." He finally spoke, his words finally registering in your mind.

When he realized you had finally heard him, he felt like he could say anything. And with his new found confidence he continued to speak.

"Why is it so hard to ask you to touch me?" He breathed, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

You smiled at his soft demeanour. You knew how hard it must've been for him to admit something so close to himself, especially since it was about you. You've found a new side of Chishiya you haven't seen before.

You brought a hand to comb through his hair as the other scratched up and down his bare back, "I'm sorry, Chishiya. I should've just read your mind." You whispered against his shoulder as you held him close to your body.

Your words were an obvious tease, trying to humor the situation at hand. Which did make Chishiya snicker.

"You should have. You've always been able to." He muttered, wrapping his arms lazily around you.

You smiled warmly as he spoke, pulling away to drag his hand towards the bed. You climbed in with him closely behind you. He waited for you to get comfortable, before he joined you under the covers to tangle his limbs with yours.

"I'm proud of you, Chishiya." Your sultry breath hit his forehead as you mumbled against his skin.

He stared down at the way your bodies fit together, processing your words with a smile he knew you couldn't see.

"Now go to sleep, 'm here." You spoke once more into his skin, kissing his forehead and massaging your fingers into his scalp.

His cold fingers danced around your bare skin, trying to bring himself impossibly closer to you before his body fell limp into a night's sleep.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[vunblr]

Tangled (#11)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 8.8k

Note: And we have reached the end. A big thank you to the readers who accompanied me on this journey. As I always say, this may be the story with fewer 'notes' on my masterlist, but the quality of the interaction has been overwhelming -in the best way- asking, drawing, commenting, reblogging, I am so grateful I got to experience that, truly, thank you❤️

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Making the alcove habitable wasn’t so bad.

Bucky had shifted to his human form to help her carry the essentials: an air mattress, blankets, a few rechargeable lights for the pitch-black space, snacks, and water. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it would do.

Shifting during mating season, however, had taken a toll. His body, busy channeling energy toward more primal needs, had little left to spare. By the end of the day, he was sluggish, aching, and quietly grumpy, made worse, she suspected, because she’d witnessed a side of him he didn’t particularly like showing.

“You okay?” she asked, stepping close with a gentle smile. “You seem a little… indisposed.”

He didn’t respond right away, just blinked slowly, then reached out with his limbs to draw her in until her body was pressed against his chest.

“Changing forms during mating season is not... wise,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“Because the body craves only one thing, and its energy is focused on that. We don’t do other things. We barely eat. We just-”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

“Oh,” she murmured, brushing a hand along his cheek. “You shouldn’t have shifted, then. I could’ve brought everything down myself, and you could’ve just set it all up.”

That struck a nerve. He stiffened, frowning. “I won’t let my mate exert herself physically when I am perfectly capable-”

She cut him off with a quick kiss. “I know you’re capable, but I could’ve made three trips. You wouldn’t be feeling like this now.”

After a while, she asked softly, “You said your kind don’t do other things during mating season. Just mating.”

He made a small, tired noise in response.

“Do you feel frustrated because we- I mean, it’s just once or twice a day, but then I…” she trailed off, cheeks warm, voice muffled as she buried her face into the curve of his neck. She didn’t need to end the sentence. Usually, she ended up sore, and he refused to take her again, even if it killed him.

“No.”

The answer came quickly, firmly, but she didn’t miss the way his arms clenched around her.

“But it’s not the same,” she mumbled. “And clearly, you want more.”

He stared up at the rocky ceiling, ticking his jaw as he searched for the right words. “I spent decades doing this alone. So you… being here with me is enough.”

“Better than nothing, huh?” she teased, nudging him gently.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice came out stiff, almost panicked, words tumbling over each other. Damn his poor way with human expressions. He could hunt, fight, track movement through currents, but explaining feelings without tangling them up? Nearly impossible.

She smiled against his skin. “I know what you meant.”

“Besides,” he added after a pause, “even if your body can’t have me inside all the time, you still…” He trailed off, clearly wrestling with the wording. His cheeks tinted pink. “Service me.”

She snorted softly, biting her bottom lip to hide her grin. “That sounds so old-fashioned, and kind of dirty.”

He looked genuinely confused. “What would you call it then? You do things with your hands, your mouth… only for my pleasure.”

She reached up to brush a damp lock of hair from his brow. “I don’t know,” she murmured, still smiling. “Let’s just say I take care of you.”

He hummed at that. Maybe he didn’t fully grasp the nuance of the phrasing, but he understood her tone, her softness. She was choosing to stay. Choosing him, even when he couldn’t give her the most comfortable version of himself.

After a silent moment, she stopped brushing her fingers through the damp ends of his hair.

“Do you want some fruit?” she asked softly, reaching toward the bag by the mattress.

Didn’t get an answer.

When she leaned back to look at him, she found his eyes closed, lips parted slightly, with the kind of peace he rarely allowed himself. He’d fallen asleep mid-conversation, curled around her, completely spent.

Smiling to herself, she shifted back down into the cradle of his limbs, letting the slow pulse of the tide outside lull her into sleep. Wrapped in his embrace, she closed her eyes too, deciding that maybe a nap wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

----

Days came and went, and the pull of mating season finally began to loosen its hold on him. The fevered need that once gripped his body -the aching hunger to touch, to scent, to stay wound around her- eased gradually, like the tide drawing back from the shore. He still wanted her, always would, but the urgency had dulled into something manageable.

With that came a mutual decision: she would return to her home to sleep, to the comfort of her proper bed and familiar things. He didn’t argue, not much anyway, especially after she reminded him he was always welcome there.

She started spending her mornings in town again. A conversation with the old woman who ran the craft shop turned out to be a surprising opportunity, the chance to give beginner crochet lessons twice a week. Just a couple of hours, enough to earn a little extra and maybe help the shop sell more materials.

She hadn’t been sure at first. Teaching felt… official. But she liked the idea of sharing something useful, something she loved. And really, she had nothing to lose.

She printed a few modest posters and pinned them around town, at the bakery, the library, and the community board near the ferry docks. Just a soft-colored flyer with her name, the schedule, and the promise of beginner-friendly crochet. She didn’t expect much.

But the very next day, three people signed up.

Emma, the elderly owner of the bookshop, had always meant to learn. When she found out her granddaughter Harriet wanted to attend, motivated by a deep desire to make amigurumis, she decided it was finally time. And then there was Chris, one of the clerks at the general store, who admitted in a shy, mumbled tone that he was hoping crocheting might help with his nerves. Dealing with people every day, even in a small town, was wearing on him. He needed something quiet to focus on.

It was an odd little trio, but a good one.

----

She dipped her toes into the foamy edge of the tide, wrapped her arms loosely around her knees. Bucky stayed just within reach, half-submerged in the water, with his elbows propped on a rock as he watched her.

“I got three students already,” she said, smiling. “Isn’t that wild? I just put up the flyers yesterday.”

His ears perked faintly. “Three?”

“Mhm. Emma from the bookstore, her granddaughter Harriet, and Chris. You know, from the general store.”

His expression didn’t shift much, except for the slight furrow between his brows and the narrowing in his eyes. “Chris… isn’t it a male name?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning. “Yes.”

He pushed up a little straighter. “But… that’s a secret craft.”

“A secret craft?”

“Only females do it. It’s private.”

She chuckled, moving beside him and reaching over to tuck a stray lock of damp hair behind his ear. “Maybe in the past it was a woman's thing. But not anymore. Plenty of men crochet now.”

His frown deepened. “Why is he doing it?”

“Anxiety,” she said, smiling. “He says it helps with that. I think it’s great.”

The point of his limbs curled and swayed, a sign she was beginning to recognize as disapproval. “He must want something else.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, brushing sand off her calves. “Like what?”

“You.”

She turned toward him, surprised at his bluntness, but the stern, almost sulky set of his mouth made it hard not to laugh. “You think he signed up just to get close to me?”

Bucky didn’t answer, but the look he gave her said exactly that.

She laughed then, swatting gently at his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He didn’t laugh. He just blinked at her, completely serious. “Males don’t do manual, trifling things like that without purpose.”

That was not the best choice of words, as he’ll discover.

“Well, that trifling thing had put a roof over my head and fed me for years, and luckily for me, there are those who find it valuable.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The water stirred faintly around him.

She straightened her back, brushing the last of the sand from her skirt, not looking at him this time. “You might not get it, but that doesn’t make it worthless.”

He watched her walk a few paces down the shore. “I didn’t mean-” he tried.

“Maybe next time, think a little before calling my work trifling.” And with that, she turned and started toward the path.

In a flash of black and blue, two of his tendrils snapped forward, one curling gently around her wrist, the other at her waist. Not harshly. Just holding. Just asking her to stay.

“Wait,” he said.

She didn’t fight him, but didn’t speak either. Her gaze stayed ahead.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” he stated in a low voice. His eyes flicked to the side, like the words were hiding somewhere in the tide. “What I meant was… it’s work for women-”

She turned back sharply, narrowing her gaze. “Oh, so it’s trifling because only women do it?”

“No!” he sighed, frustrated but not at her. “I meant… it’s not a physical trait. Not something a provider would normally do.”

He looked genuinely troubled, his brows drawn and lips parted like he was still sorting through the right phrasing.

She softened slightly, folding her arms. “Bucky… we’re not in the stone age anymore. There aren’t roles like that- not here. Maybe in some outdated societies, sure, but that’s not how things work.”

He opened his mouth again, as his stubborn instinct was brewing, but she held up a hand.

“I’ll give you this: yes, crocheting and knitting are still mostly seen as women’s hobbies. But there are men doing it. And good ones, too.”

“You’re proving me right, then,” he said.

She blinked. “How so?”

“That few males perform such activities. So it’s likely that this Chris wants to be close to you. Some kind of subterfuge-”

“Bucky,” she cut in, already exasperated. “I promise you, not every man who talks to me wants to get into my panties. I’m not exactly Sabrina Carpenter.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he muttered. “But I know you’re not this... whoever.”

“That’s not the point,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “The point is, we’ve talked about this before. You know how things work here, men and women can be friends. They can work together, share hobbies, without any ulterior motives. And that is what happens most of the time.”

She took a step closer, calmer. “I’m going to teach this guy. If you’re that insecure, you’re welcome to come sit in on the classes.”

That seemed to give him pause. The thought of keeping an eye on things clearly appeased something territorial in him.

She lifted a finger before he could get too pleased. “Which is not a free ticket to intimidate him. Or harass him. Or loom in a corner like a judgmental gargoyle.”

“What is a gargoyle?”

----

None of the students had any experience with crochet, so they were starting from square one: how to hold the hook, how to tension the yarn, how to make a slip knot that didn’t unravel immediately.

Emma and Harriet picked things up quickly. The older woman had a natural talent, it seemed, and picked up the instructions quickly, and Harriet seemed determined to master the basic chain stitch with youthful stubbornness. Chris, on the other hand, struggled a little more. His yarn slipped too often, his fingers cramped, and he held the hook like a screwdriver. He needed extra attention, which she was happy to give, crouching beside his chair now and then to guide his hands.

They were about half an hour in when the front door creaked open.

Bucky stepped inside. Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing black jeans and a blue shirt that stretched a little over his chest. His hair was still wet, combed back pretty neatly, for being styled using his hands.

He stood silently for a moment, sweeping his blue eyes over the scene at the dining table.

She caught his gaze and gave a small nod, subtly signaling him to say something.

“Hello,” he said flatly.

Then, without another word, he made his way to the couch and sat down, resting his hands on his knees like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he’d declared his presence.

Three pairs of curious eyes followed his movements. Harriet leaned toward Emma and whispered something behind her hand. The older woman gave her a gentle nudge and a sharp look. Chris squinted subtly, then tilted his head.

“Oh,” he said, as if just connecting the dots. “This is your friend from the city. It’s been a while since we saw him around town.”

Bucky scowled without blinking. “I’m her mat-”

“Boyfriend,” she cut in smoothly, not even glancing at Bucky as she reached to correct Chris’s chain tension again.

The three reactions came in their own little time: Emma gave a satisfied nod, like she’d seen this coming all along. Harriet made a face of teenage disappointment, barely masking it with a sip of juice. And Chris… well, his was harder to read. For her, anyway.

Bucky, however, watched him closely. The second the word left her mouth, he saw the exact thought crossing the man’s mind, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Nice to meet you,” they all said, nearly in unison.

“Oh,” Chris added, still half-focused on his lopsided chain. “Wouldn’t have guessed. You’re one of those couples with zero PDA, then?”

“What is that?” Bucky asked before she could intervene.

Chris grinned a little, maybe not expecting him to ask. “You know. PDA, public displays of affection. When a couple acts like they’re together. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing in public. That kinda stuff.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. “That’s expected?”

“Not expected,” she said quickly, giving Chris a short look. “Just... common.”

He seemed to mull it over, nodding slowly with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for treaties or battle plans.

“I see.”

And then, just to top it all off, he reached over from the couch, hooked a finger in the edge of her shirt, and gave a gentle tug.

When she looked over, he was watching her, not quite sulking, but clearly filing this PDA business into the things to think about later category.

She reached over and grabbed Bucky’s hand, curling her fingers around his reassuringly.

“Well, if you must know,” she said, “we haven’t been a couple until recently. We were just friends during the other times he came into town over the winter. That is why we didn’t erm- seem lovey dovey.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but the tightness in his shoulders eased a little.

“Anyway,” she went on, lifting her voice just slightly to return everyone’s focus, “now that you’ve all met the mysterious newcomer, let’s get back to it, we’ve got twenty minutes left.”

“Oh, Hermann and I started as friends too,” Emma offered, smiling softly. “Been married fifty now.”

“Wow, Emma,” Chris laughed. “Don’t scare the guy. They just started going out.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to him sharply, but he didn’t say a word.

The minutes passed without major disruptions. Harriet caught on quickly, needing only a few corrections. Emma took her time, her hands were slow, but she didn’t need help. Chris… still struggled. He kept missing stitches, his tension was inconsistent, and more than once, he asked her to come over and count with him, tilting his head and giving a sheepish little smile.

Bucky didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss anything.

From his place on the couch, he might as well have been carved from stone, silent, unmoving, sharp-eyed.

And when Chris caught him watching, he had the gall to smile. A little smug thing. Not overt, not enough to make a scene, but Bucky saw it. Knew exactly what it was.

She didn’t seem to notice.

But he did.

And the only thing that kept him from dragging him out of the house, and made sure he never breathed near her again, was the promise he’d made: to behave. To prove he could live in her world without wrecking it.

Still, she could feel his stare, like storm clouds building behind her.

So when Chris finally seemed to grasp the rhythm of the stitch and stopped calling her over every few minutes, she took the chance to wander slowly toward the couch, pretending to examine a basket of spare yarn nearby. Her fingers brushed Bucky’s shoulder in passing, just a brief squeeze.

He looked up at her.

There was thunder in his eyes. And something else, something almost young, uncertain, raw. She bent down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace.

Bucky exhaled against her neck, hiding his face in its curve. He inhaled slowly and deep, greedily, like he needed her scent to calm himself.

When he opened his eyes again, Chris was watching.

Subtle. Curious.

Until Bucky looked back.

Something in the way he saw him -ancient and cold- made the hairs on Chris’s neck stand up. It didn’t make sense. The guy was sitting politely, with his arms around his girlfriend. But the weight of that look felt like being alone on a dark street and realizing you were being followed.

Hunted.

He blinked and looked away, back to his project. It was probably just his imagination.

Probably.

----

Chris didn’t ask for help again. Not once.

Harriet, on the other hand, lit up near the end, asking if she could try making a little Pokémon. “Something easy,” she said, “like Jigglypuff maybe?” She promised to bring some colorful yarn next time.

When the hour wrapped, everyone gathered their belongings. Emma kissed her cheek goodbye and Harriet gave a little wave. Chris on the other hand didn’t leave right away.

He lingered in the yard, standing awkwardly near the front gate, holding something in his hand.

“Um,” he started, when she stepped out to check. “I actually signed up for this class as sort of a trial.” He extended a folded bill, just the amount for the hour they’d spent. “Uh… I reckon it’s not for me. And when I take over the afternoon shifts at the store, I won’t be able to come anyway. So…”

He trailed off, like he was waiting for her to say something, maybe expecting her to ask him to stay.

She didn’t.

Behind her, the door creaked faintly as Bucky leaned against it, watching without blinking.

Chris noticed.

He hesitated a beat longer, then gave her a faint smile. “Thanks, though. You’re a good teacher.”

Then he nodded once and turned, walking down the path without looking back.

----

The second she clicked the door shut, Bucky's body crowded her against it, suddenly and overwhelmingly. He rested his forearms flat to the wood, bracketing her head and pressing his chest flush to her back.

She barely had time to exhale before he clicked his teeth near her neck, a sharp little sound, half warning, half claim.

“I told you,” he said, low and gravelly.

“Bucky-”

“I told you.” His voice didn’t rise, but she could feel the restraint vibrating against her. “But I behaved.”

“Yeah, you did.” She tilted her head slightly, trying to look at him. “Thank you.”

“You don’t know…” His lips brushed the curve of her neck. Not a kiss, something rougher, hungrier. “…how hard it was not to-”

He bit back the rest with effort. Tear him apart. That’s what he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“-hurt him. For defying me. For pretending to steal my mate.”

Her breath hitched as he dragged his nose on the shape of her throat.

"Well," she managed to breathe, "I'm not a thing to steal. I have a mind of my own. And I wouldn't-"

He growled, low and rough, deep in his chest. “Don’t twist my words, mate,” he murmured. “I’m talking about his intentions. There’s a reason he fled, and you know it. He came with a purpose and was informed you were taken.”

She shifted slowly until she could turn around and face him. His arms still caged her, but she maintained his gaze with something firm in hers.

“And do you think I’d just indulge him if he tried anything?”

“No,” he said, voice suddenly lower, darker. “But he wouldn’t even be able to try.”

His expression was lethal with certainty. Not rage, but possession. The kind forged from instinct, not ego. And yet, behind that hard glint, there was a flicker of something else.

“Is that why you came today?” she asked quietly. “To make sure he saw you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “He needed to understand. They needed to understand.”

She studied his face for a long, quiet second. There was no bluff in his attitude, just the rigid, primal edge of someone who’d grown up in a world where claiming something meant defending it with tooth and claws. Where lines were drawn in sand and blood, not conversation.

Her hand lifted slowly to his chest, resting just over his heart. “I know,” she said gently. “I know you come from something… older than all this. Something wilder. I don’t expect you to see the world like I do.”

His eyes searched hers, still stormy but no longer threatening.

“I know what it means to you. To protect. To claim. I’m not mocking that.” Her thumb brushed his shirt soothingly. “But in my world, it’s enough that I choose you. That I stand beside you, not behind.”

His brows twitched faintly. She tiptoed and pressed her forehead to his.

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, warm and shaky, and nudged his face along hers, nuzzling slowly like a creature trying to soothe himself.

“Still hated how he looked at you,” he mumbled, half-pouting, half-exhausted.

“I know,” she smiled. “But you were good. You kept your promise.”

She reached up and cupped his jaw, brushing the edge of his cheek.

“I understand,” she said softly, “I know your instincts are different. I know this is all... learned behavior for you.”

His eyes flicked over her face, searching, hungry, wild, restrained by the thinnest thread of discipline. His hands pressed at her waist, and for a moment, he didn’t speak, just breathed against her cheek.

“I hate not feeling you,” he muttered. “Not the way I should.”

“You’re here,” she murmured, dragging her fingers down the front of his shirt, feeling the heat of his body beneath it. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he snapped, not cruel but desperate. “I need more of you.”

And before she could answer, he pressed her back harder against the door, finding the line of her throat with his mouth, trailing it with sharp kisses that teetered too close to biting. His hips pinned her in place, and his breath came fast, as his hands slid up to fist her hair.

“I don’t want to pretend I’m like them,” he growled into her skin. “I’m not. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t want you to pretend,” she stated. “I want you. However you come.”

His grip became tighter, and he kissed her like it hurt, like the human shape could barely contain the hunger that lived beneath it. But as her hands slid under his shirt, as her body arched into him, as she pulled him into her bedroom for the first time -not as a creature of sea and storm, but as a man- he began to discover something else:

She didn’t just feel different under human hands. She felt new.

And new could be dangerously good.

He didn’t wait for the bed.

His hands were already under her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing, softly tugging her back against the hallway wall. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, locking her legs around his waist without a second thought.

“Still strong,” she whispered, awed.

“Not even close to how strong,” he growled, mouthing at her collarbone, dragging his lips over the line of her neck, then lower. “But here, I don’t have to hold back the same way. I don’t have to think every time I touch you.”

His palms gripped her hips, tightly, almost bruising, like he was testing what he could take. What she could take. She moaned, shifting in his hold, and he felt it in his bones. Her need, her surrender.

“I could throw you over my shoulder,” he muttered against her chest, his breath hot through the fabric, “spread you open on that bed and not worry about your ribs snapping, or your hips dislocating.”

His words made her ache. She arched into him, dragging her hands through the messy ends of his hair.

“So do it.”

That earned her a sharp sound, deep in his throat. His fingers fumbled at her clothes, impatiently, not bothering with finesse. He wanted skin. Now.

She barely registered crossing the threshold of the bedroom before her back hit the mattress, and his weight followed, pressing her into the bed. Her clothes were half-off, half-wrung around her limbs, and he didn’t care. He peeled the rest away with single-minded focus.

His hands roamed through her body like he was learning her all over again. He gripped where he wanted, pushed and pulled where he pleased, not restrained like in the cave, no bracing or shifting weight around sensitive places. Just him. Human and hungry.

“I don’t have to measure how deep I go,” he rasped, nosing the edge of her shirt as his fingers tugged it up and over her chest. “Don’t have to think about your skin splitting when I grip you. Can go as far as I need to.”

“You’re still holding back,” she said, as his mouth trailed lower.

His gaze shot up to meet hers, with something feral simmering behind it.

“Not for long.”

He peeled her shirt the rest of the way off, dragging it over her head in one swift pull, then paused, and just stared.

His eyes dropped to her chest, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

It hit him harder than expected, that swell of hunger in his gut. Maybe it was the way she always kept her breasts covered here, wrapped in soft fabrics and loose sweaters. Maybe it was the contrast, the novelty of unveiling something she guarded in daylight.

His kind didn’t think twice about nudity. Breasts were just another part of the body. But hers…

Hers were warm and heated from his touch, and he couldn’t stop staring at the way they lifted with each breath. Full and soft and real beneath his hands. Something she showed only to him.

He sank lower, bracing one hand on her waist while the other cupped the weight of her breast, slowly dragging the thumb across the peak until it stiffened. He bent then, wrapping his hot mouth around her nipple, and groaned as she arched beneath him.

His hand slid to her other breast, kneading it gently, grazing it back and forth with his thumb until both were stiff and aching under his attention. He flicked his tongue, slow and deliberate, drawing another one of those sounds from her, breathy and sweet and just for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, gently grazing his teeth before soothing the spot with his tongue.

She shivered when his mouth released her with a soft, wet sound. His breath was hot against her skin, his hands still roaming, still greedy. But she pressed her palm to his chest and pushed just slightly, enough to make him pause, confused.

"Take it off," she said, huskily. “Not fair, I’m the only one naked here.”

Bucky blinked, then growled low in his throat. "You want me naked, mate?" His smirk was all teeth.

She raised an eyebrow and started tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You’re in my house. Strip.”

He let her pull it over his head, lifting his arms to help as the soft cotton slid up his torso and his muscles flexed under her touch. She brushed her hands down his stomach and watched the way his breath caught when her fingertips ghosted past his waistband.

He worked on the button of his jeans, growling when her hand slipped inside before he could push them down. Her palm found him, hot and straining, and she cupped him fully, feeling him twitch against her skin.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and in that moment, he felt it. The flicker of surprise. The subtle widening of her gaze, like she’d just realized this part of him was still big.

His chest puffed just slightly, and pride flickered behind the hunger in his eyes.

“Surprised, little mate?” he rasped, and his voice tightened as she gave a slow stroke. “Even like this, I can still ruin you.”

And God, he wanted to.

“Lie down,” he muttered with intent. She obeyed, trailing her eyes over his body as he shoved the jeans down, revealing himself, broad, thick, and every inch of him tensed and aching.

He crawled between her legs, pushing her thighs open with a hungry sound in the back of his throat. No teasing smile, no patience in his gaze.

“I want to know what it feels like… like this,” he murmured, ghosting his fingers up her inner thighs. “Want to taste you without the sea on my tongue, without other senses.”

She shifted, but he pressed one large hand to her lower belly, firmly but not harshly. “Be still,” he said, voice low and trembling with control. “Let me learn you this way.”

Then he dipped his head and parted her with his tongue.

His mouth was greedy from the first stroke, his wide tongue dragged through her folds with a growl that vibrated deep into her pussy. He gripped her thighs tightly, pulling her closer, still pressing her belly down with his hand when she tried to arch. “Still,” he reminded, voice half-lost against her skin.

He licked slowly at first, savoring the difference, then faster, sloppier. The flat of his tongue worked her clit, again and again, and when he felt her twitch, he groaned and pushed two fingers inside her, slow but firm.

She gasped, and he felt that. No claws, no careful restraint this time. He could curl and stretch and press into her as deep as he wanted.

His jaw flexed as he fucked her with his fingers, tongue never leaving her. Every moan escaping her lips made his own hips buck down into the mattress, chasing friction like he couldn’t help himself. The rough fabric of the afghan grew damp beneath him, smeared with the thick mess he kept leaking, desperate.

When her thighs trembled and she sobbed his name, he pushed his fingers deeper, held her down firmer, and sucked harder around her clit. She came with a cry, clenching tight, and he groaned against her like it hurt him to feel it: his mouth, his fingers, his cock all aching for her.

But he didn’t move.

He stayed there between her legs, licking up every drop, dazed and possessive in the aftermath. He then rose onto his knees, chest heaving, his face still wet with her pleasure. His eyes -dark, glassy, starving- fixed on her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Mine,” he rasped.

She barely caught her breath before he pushed her thighs open again and reached for his jeans, shoving them down the rest of the way. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed, slick already from how he’d rutted into the afghan. He grunted as he gripped the base, angling it toward her, dragging the head through her folds with a deep, shaking breath.

“You know I understand,” he said low, almost a growl. “I do. I try. But he came here to have you, and you welcomed him in.”

Her hands cupped his face, soft but firmly. “I welcomed him to learn, but I yielded to you.”

That was all it took.

He moved forward, driving into her in one thick, claiming push. She gasped as her body stretched around him, and he dropped his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“So tight,” he gritted. “So wet for me.”

He started to move with deep thrusts that rocked her under him, gripping her hips with his strong hands, pulling her onto him as much as he pushed forward. His restraint frayed with every sound she made, every flutter of her walls around him. He wasn’t rough yet, but the need gauged at his body with every thrust.

“You were made for me,” he whispered. “Me. No one else. Say it.”

Her palm slid up to his cheek, brushing her thumb just under his eye. “No one else’s,” she whispered, her voice thick with pleasure. “Yours.”

A snarl tore from his throat as he pushed forward, wrapping his arms beneath her knees and pressing her thighs up toward her chest. She gasped, but didn’t pull back, and he felt it, that yielding in her body, that aching stretch as he pushed in again.

Deeper now. She was hot and tight and utterly his.

He folded her beneath him, slamming his hips into the cradle of her body, sheating his cock again and again with a ferocity he’d never dared to unleash in his true form. But now, this body could take her without holding back, could give without fear. The wet slap of skin filled the room, raw and primal, and her cries were swallowed by his mouth when he dipped down to kiss her, panting into her lips between thrusts.

She moaned against him, and he answered with a low, hoarse growl.

He shifted his angle, grinding deeply, and a sharp cry escaped her lips. That sound spurred him on, and he rammed in again, rougher, harder, relentless. His grip bruised her thighs as he kept them pinned, opening her wide to every inch of his cock.

The wet slide, the stretch, the heat, it all blurred into sensation. His jaw clenched tight, veins standing out on his neck, as his muscles trembled with the force he poured into her body.

“Say it again,” he panted, voice dark, nearly broken. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Bucky,” she breathed again, wrecked and barely coherent.

That was all it took.

He cursed, snapping his hips forward so brutally that it knocked the air from her lungs. Over and over, he thrust into her, shaking the mattress, shaking her, and all she could do was take it, moaning, trembling, completely at his mercy.

Her body welcomed it, wet and swollen, clenching greedily around him like it knew who he was. What he was.

His mate.

“You were made for me,” he snarled into her throat. “No one else -no one- will ever take you like this.”

He pushed her knees higher, angling deeper, folding her tighther beneath him. She sobbed his name, as her legs trembled in his grip, and her hands scrabbled for purchase across his back, his shoulders, anywhere she could hold on while he took her.

Every muscle in his body was straining, and sweat slicked his skin. He was so close. His hips stuttered for a beat, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with her looking like that, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth open, hair fanned out wild on the sheets.

Her walls fluttered around him again, and he groaned, raw and desperate. “You gonna come again for me, mate? Let me feel it?”

She nodded -whimpered- and that was enough.

He slammed in, rougher and faster, grunting with each punishing thrust, grinding his pelvic bone against her swollen clit until she broke with a cry, digging her nails into his back, spasming around him. That was it. That was it.

He hissed and growled against her neck as he came, hips jerking out of rhythm, buried so deep he swore he could feel her heartbeat around him. Hot pulses of pleasure wracked his body, thick and heavy as he emptied himself inside her, claiming her all over again.

For a moment, all he could do was breathe -harsh, ragged- and hold her close, with their bodies still tangled, slick and messy and utterly spent.

She was his. Marked and filled and ruined for anyone else.

And he’d never let her forget it.

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, with his chest blanketing her folded body, breathing hotly and unevenly against her skin. Her body was still trembling -tight, spent, and slick beneath him- and he liked it. Liked how full she was. Liked the lazy drip of his seed where they were still connected, sliding warm and slow from where he’d emptied himself into her.

It made something primal in him snarl in satisfaction.

He leaned back just slightly, grasping her hips with his hands to keep her in place, and gazed down at the mess he’d made. Her thighs were marked with faint crescent moons where his fingers had gripped too tightly, and he smoothed over them possessively. Her sex glistened with his spent.

His.

Bucky lowered his mouth and gently sank his teeth into her inner thigh's softness. Not to hurt, just to brand. Just to taste. Her muscles jumped, and her hips gave a little involuntary twitch beneath his weight.

When she squirmed again, shifting like she meant to slide down or straighten out, he just pressed his pelvis more firmly against her, groaning softly as the movement coaxed a lazy twitch from his spent cock still nestled inside her.

No. Not yet. He liked this.

Liked her folded beneath him, open, yielding. Her skin heated and damp, her scent thick in the air, her breathing shallow. She felt so his like this. So utterly owned. He could do it again. Could flip her, press her into the mattress from behind, and take her like he’d seen some of the inland animals rut, gripping her hips and-

“I’m starting to not feel my legs, darling,” she murmured, hoarsely but teasing, her chuckle was a warm flutter against his throat.

It broke the trance.

He let out a huff of laughter, gruff and sheepish, then kissed the bite mark he’d left on her thigh. One last gentle nip for good measure before he finally -finally-eased out of her, careful even if he didn’t want to be. Not really.

He didn’t go far. Just enough to let her stretch out again, to rub the feeling back into her calves with his big hands while murmuring something low, half-feral, half-affectionate, against her skin.

But even then, his body was ready again.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

He should’ve been sated. By all logic -by how hard he came, how thoroughly he took her- his body should’ve been spent.

But it wasn’t.

He looked at her, splayed and soft, dreamy with satisfaction and leaking his seed down the swell of her thighs… and he throbbed with need all over again.

In his true form, it would take time. Her body would be too sore, too stretched. He’d need to soothe her, let her rest, cool the fever in his blood with a swim or a hunt beside her ministrations.

But this form… this dull, dry, two-legged skin… it was weak in many ways. Yet here he was, already hardening again, marveling at how her body didn’t seem to resist him.

Didn’t ache. Didn’t tremble too much. Just lay there, warm and willing.

Bucky leaned close, mouthing kisses between her breasts, then coaxed her with large, careful hands. A gentle tap to her hip. A nudge.

“Turn for me,” he murmured.

She gave a lazy, breathless chuckle, not opening her eyes. “What are you doing?”

He clicked his teeth right beside her ear and growled, “What does it seem I’m doing, mate?”

She let him guide her languidly, as he helped her roll onto her belly. He kissed down the curve of her back, dragging her hips up into place, then sat back on his knees to take in the sight.

Gods.

Her rear was high, thighs parted, and his seed a slow, glistening thread on her skin. His jaw flexed, a hunger flaring hot through his core. This view… this view would have killed him in the sea.

He shifted closer, guiding the head of his cock against her entrance, notching himself into place. The angle was different. New. Promising. He gripped her hips tighter.

And pushed in. Slow, savoring the slick resistance, the tight draw of her walls as she gasped and braced her hands against the mattress. The angle let him sink deeper -fuller- and he growled at the sensation, at how perfectly her body received him again.

Her thighs quivered. Her back arched.

“Fuck, Bucky-”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out partway and slammed back in, snapping his hips forward with a wet slap. Her cry turned into a moan, as she clawed at the covers with her hands.

“This-” she gasped, barely able to get her breath between the hard rhythm he set. “Ah- where did you learn-”

“Dogs,” he grunted, leaning over her back, biting lightly at her shoulder. “In the summer.”

She let out something between a laugh and a whimper, as her body jolted forward when he thrusted particularly hard.

“This is -oh my god- mortifying.”

“You don’t seem mortified,” he growled, slapping into her again, making the mattress groan beneath them.

He was relentless now, driving into her, dragging her back with his hands into every thrust, mouth open against her spine, her nape, the curve of her shoulder. The scent of her arousal, his seed, her sweat, clung to their skin and flooded his senses. And she was dripping for him, making a mess of her thighs, the bedding, his cock.

“Mine,” he snarled into her skin, losing himself all over again in her warmth, her submission, the fact that she let him have her like this. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” she choked out, her breath catching as he rutted into her harder, rougher, almost punishing. “No one else’s. Yours.”

He buried himself to the hilt, growling loud enough that it vibrated against her back. “That’s right. Mine. My mate.”

He bent over her, flattening her to the mattress, heaving his chest against her back as he rolled his hips in tight, relentless thrusts, grinding his pelvis into her ass at the end of every push. Her thighs trembled. Her hands fisted the sheets.

The slick slap of skin against skin echoed between them, his heavy balls smacking against her clit with every drag and surge of his cock. She was soaked, dripping down her thighs, down his length, and every time he bottomed out, his seed leaked around the base of his cock and made a filthy, wet mess of them both.

She whimpered something that might’ve been his name. Or maybe just a sound, raw and mindless.

He bit her shoulder again. Not hard, not breaking skin. Just enough to state a claim.

“You feel this?” he snarled into her ear, rutting deeper, as if he could crawl into her body and stay inside her. “You feel how full you are with me, mate? This is what happens when another man thinks he can come near you. You get bred.”

She sobbed out a noise, clenching around him like her body couldn’t help it, and he lost it again.

His rhythm faltered, thrusts turning erratic. Her body milked him, needy and greedy, and he pushed in one last time with a guttural moan as he came in hot pulses, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades, and his knuckles turning white while he gripped her hips.

He stayed there, panting hard against her sweat-damp skin, unmoving. Then, slowly, he let out a small groan and nuzzled her back, still buried to the root. Still thick and throbbing inside her.

She gave a tiny, dazed laugh. “Starting to not feel my legs again.”

He grunted. Didn’t move.

His hips gave the smallest twitch, already tempted again.

----

She lay sprawled over his chest, with her limbs draped boneless across his body like she’d melted there. Bucky was flat on his back, looking at the ceiling, as the rise and fall of his chest finally slowed.

"So- um," she began, her voice a little raspy from all the moaning and whining. "I take it you enjoyed doing it as a human?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her even closer, as if he still didn’t want to let her go. Then he let out a long, slow breath and closed his eyes.

“It’s different,” he admitted. “It’s not- I can’t feel the same. Not like when I can taste you with my limbs. And the movements are limited.”

She tipped her head to look up at him, already smiling when he cracked one eye open to meet her gaze.

“But,” he went on, voice rough and low, “I don’t have to restrain myself like this. I don’t have to worry if I’ll break you. Or hurt you. I can be freer with what I want to do.”

“Well, look at that,” she murmured, with a teasing grin. “A positive thing you found for this form.”

“Also,” he added, giving her ass a firm squeeze, “I can finally do it all the times I want.”

She laughed against his chest, drawing idle patterns along the ridged scars scattered on his skin. “Speaking of that…”

Her finger stilled.

“You, um- don’t have a refractory period as a human?”

He frowned instantly, wrinkling his nose, clearly not liking the lack of something in the sexual department. “What is that?”

“Usually once you, erm, come… generally men have a period when they can’t get hard again. Could be minutes, could be hours.”

He made a thoughtful little grunt and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t know. Never done this in this form before.”

But the smile that pulled at his mouth was anything but uncertain. It was smug. Lazy. Entirely satisfied. “Doesn’t seem like I need to worry about my aptitude, though.”

She groaned and hid her face in his chest.

He chuckled low and rough, clearly far too pleased with himself.

“It's not that bad,” he muttered, waving one hand in the air to gesture at the room. “This.”

She lifted her head just enough to watch his face.

“Still feels… weird. Incomplete.” His voice dropped as he exhaled. “But not like it did before.”

Her smile was soft, a little crooked. “You’re saying that because you got to have a lot of sex.”

He scowled. “I’m a healthy male with a mate. Of course I’ll have urges.”

“Hey,” she chuckled, “don’t pout. I was messing with you. I wasn’t criticizing.”

She brought her hand to his cheek, trailing the scruff along his jaw. “I’m glad you told me that. Makes me happy… that you don’t hate my world. That you’re more comfortable in it now.”

His expression softened slowly under her touch. His brow unfurrowed, though his mouth still held the hint of a sulk.

“I don’t hate it,” he said. “Did. For a long time.”

He looked around her room again. The pale morning was creeping in under the curtains. Her yarn stash, the quiet tick of the old wall clock in the living room. The calm.

“But not anymore,” he finished, his voice quieter now. “It’s still strange. But it’s where you are. That makes it… tolerable.”

She gave a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “High praise.”

“It is,” he insisted, though his tone was gentler now.

Then, after a beat, he added: “And the sex helps.”

That earned him a smack on the chest, and her laughter muffled against his skin.

She shifted a little, still tracing lazy circles near one of the older scars. The silence had turned warm and sleepy, interrupted only by the occasional creak of the old house.

“So, now that Chris won’t be coming to class anymore, I assume you lost the reason to check in or see how things are going.” She didn’t expect him to answer, not right away.

“What if I wanted to learn?”

That made her lift her head, arching her brows. “Wait. You? Crochet?”

He avoided her gaze, fixing his eyes on the ceiling with seriousness. “Seems interesting,” he muttered. “To create instead of destroying.”

That sobered her smile just a little.

“So it’s not so trifling, then?”

He turned his head to squint at her. “I already apologized about that.”

“I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up again,” she said gently, brushing her fingers through his hair at the temple. “Old habit. I’ll stop poking at you.”

He gave a grunt that meant he’d let it slide.

Then she added, softer, “I can teach you, if you want.”

He didn’t answer with words, just let his hand drift across her back in silent agreement. When he finally spoke, it was almost shy, which startled her more than any growl or sharp retort.

“Wouldn’t mind making something that’s only mine. That stays mine.”

“Right,” she murmured, her cheek still resting against his chest. “You told me your kind doesn’t really do possessions.”

He shifted a little under her, like he was debating whether to speak. Finally, he murmured, “I... I have some.”

That made her lift her head again with curiosity. “Really? What is it?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, slipping his gaze sideways toward the wall. “The… things you crafted me.”

Her heart nearly flipped in her chest. “Oh, Bucky. I thought you’d thrown them away,” she said softly. “Or that maybe they were ruined by the salt water.”

He shook his head once, firmly. “Hung them. In one of the cave’s alcoves. High up where they won’t get wet.”

A beat passed, and her smile widened. “That’s so romantic.”

He grunted. “Didn’t do it to be romantic.”

“I know,” she teased, leaning to kiss his cheek. “That’s what makes it romantic.”

He grumbled under his breath, but his arm curled tighter around her.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, absentmindedly. “I have to do some errands before the stores close,” she said. “Do you wanna come, or are you returning to the shore?”

That soured his expression immediately. His gaze narrowed slightly, and his mouth twisted as he pulled back just enough to look at her properly. Before he could speak, she added quickly, “Or you can wait here while I do them.”

“There is another option,” he muttered.

She arched a brow. “The things I need don’t do delivery,” she said, cutting him off before he could scheme.

“Don’t know what that is, and don’t care,” he grumbled.

His hand was already cupping her breast, circling her nipple with a slow, deliberate pressure of his thumb. “What if I make sure you’re so tired you can’t even walk out the door? Then you’ll stay here. With me. In your nest.”

“Bucky!” she laughed, trying and failing to sound indignant.

“Are those errands essential?” he asked, voice low near her ear. “Is it food you lack? Medicine?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then they can wait,” he said, far too pleased with himself.

She gave him a look. One that was supposed to be firm, unamused. But her breath caught when his mouth brushed softly down her neck, and his thumb flicked over her nipple just a little harder this time.

“Bucky,” she tried again, more of a sigh now than a protest. “I have things to do…”

“Mhm.” His lips trailed lower, leaving a wet, warm path across her chest. “Like staying in bed. Resting. Letting me take care of you.” His tongue circled her nipple now, slowly and reverent, then sucked it gently into his mouth.

She gasped, “I mean it.”

“You say that,” he murmured against her skin, “but you’re not stopping me.”

She huffed a soft laugh, arching into his mouth. “I was trying to.”

“Try harder, mate,” he challenged, grinning against her breast. Then he switched sides, giving the other the same attention, greedy, focused, as though he’d missed them terribly in the short span since he last worshipped her.

She could feel him hard again, pressing against her thigh. Her legs shifted slightly, just enough to part for him, to welcome him without a single word.

He caught the motion, and his eyes darkened as a crooked smirk tugged at his lips.

“Thought so,” he murmured.

And as his mouth found hers again, slow and claiming, the rest of the world -the errands, the daylight, the clock ticking somewhere in the distance- ceased to matter. Nothing mattered but the warmth of the sheets tangled around their legs and the thrum of her heart syncing to the rhythm he wove between their bodies.

FIN

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826 @wintrsoldrluvr @reddesires @ruexj283 @buckvoidsyy @littlesuniee @kimberly-stocks @pandaxnienke @ladypncl @homiesexuallaj @kulteule @awesompawsum @killerwendigo @princessgriffin1998 @helen-2003 @nynxtea @alagalaska @maryevm @kittieboo @otterlycanadian @queergalpal97 @gentlelimerence @moogles93 @tentacle-priestess @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @lemonylover

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[n0rmal-cat]

Gawddd, I hate creepy crawlies sm 😫

When you're not busy, I request our dearest alien owners! Something themed around reader, maybe back on watermelon and garden's home planet, seeing a big ol' bug and freaking out hardcore due to having Entomophobia (fear of bugs/insects)

✨

The alien- fears and doubts

[reader out here being domesticated, also hiiii ✨😻 always love your asks]

Reader gets sunscreen rubbed into their skin. “Blah it smells”

“It smelling is a very small piece to pay so you won’t burn to ashes” garden replied

“Now remember don’t wander off outside the fence because then we can’t see you” watermelon had his hands on his hips looking down at reader.

“I’m not a child, I know what I’m doing?” Reader waved gardens hands off from their face.

“Now let me go so I can have some alone time” reader hopped down the giant steps.

“Alright! Be safe!” Garden yelled

Reader humph, it wasn’t like they were a child they knew how to take care of themselves dammit. They made their way to the gar-backyard of watermelon and garden plant house. It was overgrown and felt like they were stepping back in time on earth.

Reader started to study each new plant they came across, they were an astronaut after all, it's only natural for them to want to learn.

“Ha I bet no one else on earth has seen, they’re all gonna be so jealous…when I tell them about this…” they stopped walking.

Did they want to go home? They hadn’t felt these feelings for a long time. Earth was their home planet and its was where they grew up but those two…reader needed to sit down.

They sat at the base of one of the plants. They took a minute to look at what they were wearing shorts a neon harness and a sun hat. Were they going soft?

“I even let them put sunscreen on me?! I’m I stupid?” They put their knees up to their chest and closed their eyes.

They sat there for a few moments before they felt something move closer to them, “I’m fine guys I’m just tired so I say- what the fuck are you?!”

It was something similar to a bug on earth but it was massive and was way more sharper.

Their eyes widened in fear as they looked into its stupid face. A shiver ran down their spine as they imagined bugs crawling up their skin, into their ears, their mouth, their skin.

Reader hurry to their feet before slowly backing away.

The bug slowly follows as we’ll keeping the same pace as reader “p-please just back off, freak”

It opened its mouth and sprayed green acid beside reader's face, melting the plant behind them.

“Holy shit!!” They scream out then scramble back to the porch.

It chased them down pinning them to the floor with its sharp legs ripping into their clothes.

Reader struggled as its face got closer “stop get away from me!!” They cried trying to kick in off of them.

The harness they were wearing started to beep, not a moment later they were covered in green goop.

A figure stood above them, holding half of what was left of the bug.

They wiped goop off their face with a sniffle, two arms wrapped around them pulling them to their chest.

“Oh you poor thing…I knew we shouldn’t have left you alone out here before explaining what was out here to you”

The hand wipes the rest of the goo off reader. Reader shakes in their hold, not moving their head from gardens chest.

They rub readers back “dear, I’m gonna take them back to the ship”

Reader doesn’t hear a response other than the loud breathing.

Once inside the ship they were placed on the bathroom counter “are you hurt anywhere?” garden moves reader head around.

Reader looks up at them to respond but quickly flinches back in fear. “Reader, sweetheart what’s wrong?”

“I-I can’t look at you right now” it was the first time reader had ever shown fear in front of them, it made them even more worried.

“What do you- oh” they pause in realization as they touch their face “would you like me to put a mask on, I need to make sure your ok baby”

“I know…I’m sorry”

“You were scared huh?”

Reader pulled their knees to their chest “back on earth our bugs are small and stuff or at least smaller than whatever that was, but I’m still scared of them..”

“And that’s ok we’re all scared of something”

“When you’re an astronaut it’s not exactly expected…I was made fun of for it a lot back then”

“Well you're not on earth are you? Your home with us, why would we make fun of you”

Reader looked away in embarrassment

“How about this next time we land, we’ll make sure there’s nothing that look like ‘bugs’ there”

Reader was silent.

“You don’t have to, I’ll just be more careful next time. Plus I’m not scared of everything that looks like a bug” they smiled up at them

They smiled back “ok reader”

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

PAC—Shadow work and self discovery 🦢

Hey friends! Been a minute since I last posted anything related to a PAC. Here’s another post, dedicated to helping you understand yourself deeper :) enjoy! Feel free to like, comment and reblog it always helps this blog grow <3 thank you all to everyone who has been here.

 

ꪆৎ Pile 1: What part of yourselves do you refuse to acknowledge, but needs your attention?

9 of cups: I feel as though you guys have been aching to get some alone time to really think, and not just think about your plans and goals, but to access your inner fire again. You may have been surrounded by a lot of distractions, work responsibilities, last minute obligations is what I hear. And spirit doesn’t blame you for being unable to tend to yourself, it all happens, we’re souls having a human experience is what I heard. Im picking up on possible resentment, frustration, burnout, anxiety from your end. This feeling of: when will it get easier? I believe soon there will be an event in which a task, or a few gets taken off your shoulders. So you could have some external help, whether its from someone or spirit helping to alleviate the energies around you. I heard “work around,” so, there will be changes in which you’ll be taking less of a workload and you’ll get to relax. Putting work or responsibilities on the back burner.

As for what needs your attention, it’s this passionate, moving, and inspiring part of you that wants to make a return. You may find yourself feeling at odds though, like you’re stuck in burn out or a place of transition. You’re not lost, you’re meant to be here to come back to yourself. You’re doing what you can, surviving. Meditation can help you come back to yourself strongly and reconnect you to your roots, so maybe your ancestors if you work with them. I feel like you have strong support from their end—they’re mostly women, older, and wanting to govern you their motherly support. Im hearing south America, Morocco, India, Persian roots, Afghanistan, I know it’s vague, but maybe this will mean something for someone here. For those who don’t work with ancestors, id imagine this can be your spirit guides too! There is this motherly energy wanting to surround you, I think its a matter of accepting it and letting it enter you. They want to be here, im being told. They want to, not out of obligation. But because they wish to be.

I see water. A lot of water. And im being told that some things need to be still, boundless, undefined. Like water has no shape or definition until given one. This is where you need to be right now, no judgement or limitations placed on yourself. Its more hurtful in the long run to blame yourself.

 ꪆৎ What hidden talent do you underestimate?

Connection. Not just with anyone, but I’m seeing a mirror. Its this vision where you’re holding a candle as a tribute to your past selves, and you’re face to face with all you ever were. I feel as though you have a deep connection with your past (sometimes feeling like you’re too entangled with it) but there’s this wisdom, deep inner knowing that you know who you are and who you could be. You’re able to meet yourself so deeply in ways society has shunned. This is your power and source of fuel. I also feel like your connection with spirit is only going to thrive the more you pursue yourself, they are apart of you.

 ꪆৎ An unconscious fear driving you:

Obligation. Or a feeling of obligation. This could stem from people pleasing patterns, needing to prove how good you are at work or a skill, or a social aspect of your life. Who you are, your presence to others. This could be why you picked up others slack, I’m hearing, or work. Having to constantly be “pushy,” on others or moderate other people who aren’t responsible. Or you could be in a highly competitive environment that doesn’t feel good, its generating more scarcity than inspiration. It’s also 12:12 as I write this, so a sign from spirit. I do believe its a sign from spirit to let go of these responsibilities that were never yours to begin with. Let spirit figure other people out the way the system works. The spiritual system lol. Give into spirit and let go of control. Thank you so much pile 1 for being here <3 I hope this resonated with you!

 ꪆৎ Pile 2: What part of yourselves do you refuse to acknowledge, but needs your attention?

The Fool: So for you guys I see you’re wanting to break free. Let go of some traditional values, upholding whether its family related or tied to your sexuality is what I’m hearing. Someone could have been researching puritanism and how thats been affecting societies view of women specifically, and how thats still a role today. Super specific lol but someone here definitely is working on themselves. I feel like someone here wants to let go of the ideals of a woman should be. Maybe someone wants to be alternative goth, or take inspiration from that and change. They want to embrace this, “macabre,” and moody side, so you guys might have an eye for the aesthetics and such. But its also deeper than that. Its family tradition and values, expectations, roles, constantly enforced onto you that you’re ready to break out of. Yet you feel like its holding you tightly. I think you already know you’re ready for this change. You want to try something new. It doesn’t even have to be goth related, it could be a new hobby/class, putting yourself out there socially. It could help changing your name, simple as that. It could be embracing a cultural change, a cultural identity. Maybe you found out you have a different culture identity, lineage, etc. Maybe you’re more reserved and quiet, and putting yourself out there is strange and unfamiliar. Remember, it isn’t dangerous, just unfamiliar is what spirit is saying. New and unfamiliar things doesn’t always have to be bad. I see a lot of “catastrophic” thinking or doom thinking. Intrusive thoughts about the future, and past feelings of guilt and anger coming up. Its very deep. Acknowledge this change, see what inspires you now. Maybe its better to ask yourself this: what do I feel inspired to do now in my life? Instead of: what do I want to do for the rest of my life?

 ꪆৎ What hidden talent do you underestimate?

Peace. Your ability to create this “homely,” feeling wherever you go. Even in yourself. Your ability to make friends. You’re actually better at it than you thought, its just your mind that has a way of overruling your heart. Work on your heart space and allowing it to express itself without needing to make sense (at least in logical terms) its more so about, letting your heart sing is what they call it lol. Sometimes, its okay to not fully understand everything. Including yourself. You’re beautiful like a masterpiece of art, still whole, and yet building yourself. Building yourself doesn’t mean you weren’t worthy to begin with. Im sensing this warm energy especially from your chest, and its emanating. You’re probably great at jokes, emotional depth and such, I think you criticize yourself to the point where its detrimental. Im hearing from spirit it’ll only stunt your growth on this path, so please practice mindfulness and acceptance <3 I think you also underestimate your ability to shift timelines. To evolve, change your energy, and create a completely new “world,” around you. Not gonna lie your guys energy is really cool, its giving spell caster in some kind of way 😭 but honestly? Ethereal. Witchy. I love it. Use it to your benefit. The world is filled with manipulation already, not in the way you think, but I mean this: every step, every decision we make is already influencing the future outcome. Nothing is set yet. So, some of you may have been dealing with guilt, feeling like you’re cheating for using manifestation to move forward. It isn’t, not when you’re connecting so deeply with yourself to heal. Give yourself permission to dream and create.

 ꪆৎ What unconscious fear is driving you?

Not knowing where to go. Trying to see the way completely, ensuring safety and comfortability. I hear you, its a human thing to want predictability. What if its holding you back? What if instead of helping you feel inspired for your next move, its keeping you confined in the same box you’ve been in for so long? I also heard fear of not being accepted if you do change. Either by your friends or family. This change seems drastic, but spirit says this, if they truly mean they love you, they’ll embrace you through all the seasons anyway. The moon has phases. She disappears from the sky. Sometimes we need to focus on ourselves and give ourself that time of day to heal. We need to allow ourselves to change and others to bear witness, not because its about approval, but so we can share our deepest experience. Gather support & trust. No one is perfect, you may have a perfectionism mindset. It’s a distorted lie lol, the way adults tell you to grow up and you’ll feel older, completely leaving out your inner child. It isn’t always the case. We are all the ages we ever have been. Make time and space for your inner child. You also might be a virgo, have strong mercurial placement, Capricorn/aquarius/scorpio/ saturn, in your chart. Thank you so much for being here <3

 ꪆৎ Pile 3: What part of yourselves do you refuse to acknowledge, but needs your attention?

Judgement: For you guys, I see you know things are about to go down. Either this is a cognitive distortion, anxiety, and “doom” thinking. Its like you know there’s an inner change to be had, and it scares you deeply to think of it. Which is valid—change is scary. Its unpredictable. I also feel this could be a physical change, maybe you’re moving to a new place, home, changing schools is what I heard, and its like you’re being thrown completely out of left field. Maybe you got fired, or something feels like you’re being blocked internally. You may have this habit where you see the events happening around you, and compensate for it by blaming yourself, even though these events are out of your control. I think truly, apart from all the changes externally, you want this. You need this change. You need to expand, grow, and leave this box. I feel like for some of you theres this job or hobby or something you’ve been wanting to end, and now it is. Its coming to a head. And you’re trying to look to see whats next for inspiration! Keep it up. Channel your ideas, maybe writing them can help or answering journal prompts can get you thinking deeply. Or talking to someone about what you truly see for yourself will give you answers. A friend could have great advice for you. I also feel like you know its time to get out this “club madness” is what I heard, drama filled environment, and into a tranquil one. Its time for you to switch gears. Get out of survival mode and into living mode.

 ꪆৎ What hidden talent do you underestimate?

Your emotional capacity for growth. This new and improved mindset, not perfectionism, but this idea that, “i can make mistakes and learn from it, this is teaching me something.” I also feel like you guys are animal lovers of some kind? Not only that, but sweet, caring, empathetic and loving. Maybe people mistook your kindness for weakness, you know? I feel its time to transition to your ability to set boundaries. I think you underestimate your wants and needs, and think “im cool, i dont really have much to say,” but you do. You do want to move things forward, you want change. You want realness, stability, and value commitment. So what are your values? Relationship wise, healing, etc. I also feel you guys are proactive people, when it comes to others. Others needs, wants, but what about yours? People see you as generous and kind, but perhaps you don’t see yourself as such. Work on self image & self esteem, it’ll help a lot. Also your root chakra, feeling grounded in your body is another important aspect. I think you might underestimate the way your body holds trauma too—it remembers. Your hips especially can get tight, jaw, etc. doing some stretching can help a lot, and mindful stretching! Opening your hips can release emotions too. This can feel intense. You guys have an airy floaty energy, and its cool. Its like you’re kind of there, but not really lol. But ground yourself for sure.

 ꪆৎ What unconscious fear is driving you?

Feeling afraid to say the truth. To speak up, to face your inner demons. Your fear of going inward is taking the front seat right now, and causing you to struggle to face situations head on. You feel confused, unsure, and flighty. Your feelings are valid, and I think spirit is saying dancing around topics can only work for so long in the short term. It comes to a point where you want more. You expect more. You expect better from yourself mostly. So what behavior is contributing to these feelings? It could be, stopping yourself from putting down a boundary, saying no, quitting that job instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop, etc. i also think being surrounded by people who are irresponsible, immature and selfish don’t help as well. Its a leechy kind of energy and it doesn’t feel good. Its promoting an unhealthy environment, so do what feels right to you. Spirit is saying to cut those people off, if it is reaching that point. These people could be “party” friends and when it comes to emotional stuff, they’re just NPCs basically. Lol. You value emotional truth and connection, so, speak up to the universe about what you desire and take yourself out of those relationships that dont serve you. Thank you pile 3 for being here <3 i sincerely hope this helped ya out!

Thank you guys for being here! Pls dont be afraid to like comment and reblog <3 love you all!

Extra

Paid readings 🤍

[yearofthesnape]

Meta: "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" as Grief Response

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward —" "DON'T —" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them — "CALL ME COWARD!" -HBP ch. 28

This scene is not, primarily, about Snape's dislike for being named a coward.

I'm not saying there's less going on than that very real and warranted dislike. Many excellent metas have been written about why Snape doesn't like being called a coward, and that does make sense; he has just performed a feat of moral courage, after all, and it has to hurt to have that attributed to cowardice. He has also just been provoked by Harry's trauma-triggering attempt to use Levicorpus — but, interestingly, that isn't what tips him over the edge into uppercase instability. Nor is it, I argue, the term "coward." McGonagall and Harry both call Snape a coward in their canonical last words to Snape, but Snape doesn't react this way to McGonagall. Nor did Snape absolutely lose it the first time Harry called him a coward in this scene. While there is a cumulative effect from the repeated insult, the extremeness of Snape's reaction gives one pause. The most obvious conclusion is that something else is going on. In this case, I argue, that "something" is Snape grieving.

Snape is not usually permitted to openly grieve, and this scene is no exception. He is a double agent; he cannot let it show that he misses "those whom he could not save." Therefore, we have to read between the lines, avoiding Snape's careful misdirection of his feelings into allowable ground (upset over an insult) and away from dangerous territory (grief over people he isn't supposed to care about).

The dialogue is also party to some misdirection. If you read only the dialogue in this scene and the preceding pages, you might assume that the "him" that Harry is talking about is Harry's father. This makes no sense, as Snape didn't kill James. The narration, on the other hand, explicitly sets up Harry in this scene to look exactly like Dumbledore before he died, making it clearer that both Harry and Snape are thinking of Dumbledore now, not James, despite Snape's attempts to keep the conversation on the (ironically) safer ground of James Potter. (Snape was the first one to bring up James in this interaction, and I think that's intentional.)

The narration is also pointing us to a bigger picture in its use of reporting and interrupting speech. Snape's paragraph splits what could have been a straightforward sentence ("DON'T CALL ME COWARD!") into two parts, with so much narration in between that we are invited to speculate on what Snape doesn't want Harry to do. The effect gives Snape a little pause, a breath, so that he probably says "DON'T — CALL ME COWARD!" That breath in the middle gives Snape a hairbreadth space to change his initial reaction to something appropriate to his cover. This is the closest we ever see Snape to blowing his cover, but (eminently capable as he is) he salvages it regardless, so thoroughly that many fans can't see past it either. I didn't, until recently.

But the narrative does. We'll see confirmed in The Prince's Tale in the next book that "DON'T" is Snape's automatic grief response; he cannot bear to hear his loved ones spoken of:

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?" "DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone... dead..."

In the HBP scene, Harry has just mentioned Dumbledore's death; Snape is being confronted by someone else about it for the first time. Furthermore, Snape knows at this point that Harry must die, and we know that being told that by Dumbledore agitated him deeply. So the parallels between Harry and Dumbledore here are even more heartbreaking for Snape. Snape is actually having to work towards Harry's death for the same reason he had to kill Dumbledore. In this scene, he has to watch Lily's son looking up at him with her eyes, looking up the way Dumbledore just did, and he has to hear that son yelling at him about how he must bury every last vestige of everyone he most loved, while that son simultaneously reminds him that the whole world, including Lily's closest representative, will hate him for it. No wonder he's reacting with "DON'T." I would too.

Even without knowing what "DON'T" means in Snape code, however, we have other narrative clues. Snape's face is described as:

demented

an unusual word, linked in the Harry Potter universe to the Dementors, who prey on despair. Being demented could just mean being deranged or unstable... or it could mean being the subject of a Dementor-like sadness so crushing it threatens to take your very soul.

inhuman

This adjective recalls a scene from OotP, another case of all-caps shouting, where Harry is torn up by grief for Sirius:

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —" "THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. -OotP, ch. 37

Lastly, the HBP scene compares Snape's pain to that of Fang stuck in Hagrid's burning hut:

as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them

Dogs are symbolic of loyalty, and Snape really is in a similar situation, trapped in an utter catastrophe in which he is collateral damage for his loyalty (in his case, to Dumbledore). The next time Fang howls, at the end of this chapter, is in grief for Dumbledore's death, drawing the parallels still closer:

Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.

Unlike Fang, Snape is not allowed to express his true feelings. Even Dumbledore, the person who understood him most, redirects him to act and not lament, and Dumbledore is dead. A metaphorical tie to a nonhuman character who is able to grieve later is as close as Snape gets. He cannot go to the funeral, just as he could not for Lily; he cannot talk to anyone; he will later be confronted with a horrifying specter of Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place. In light of all this, when Snape gives Harry the memory of himself crying over Lily's letter, it's not just him giving Harry back the correspondence. It's Snape reclaiming: I, too, grieve.

[loredrinker]

Felassan's Role in Psychological Warfare

Some time ago, I wrote about Elgar’nan’s terrifying display of power - the act of erasing emotion from existence, burning it from the minds of every living being, and letting its spirits die out completely. 

This is the scale of the enemy Solas and Felassan were up against. When your enemy can unmake feeling, extinguish spiritual presence, and reshape the metaphysical architecture of your people, what choices remain? What kind of war do you wage against opponents like these? 

What Elgar’nan did was spiritual genocide - brute force on every level. From the war on the Titans, to the destruction of spirit communities, to the devastation he continues to unleash in Veilguard, Elgar’nan has ruled through annihilation. (I feel real sympathy for Mythal trying to placate this being.) And what’s more terrifying: he’s only one of the Evanuris.

This reframes Solas’s rebellion. It wasn’t just a fight against political oppression - it was a fight to also preserve the emotional and spiritual reality of the world. 

In that context, it’s no surprise the rebellion turned to psychological warfare. And this is where Felassan emerges not merely as a soldier or lieutenant, but as an architect - just as good at it as Solas. 

The Dread Wolf: A Weapon, Not a Hero 

The Felassan codices confirm their psychological campaign was deliberate and coordinated. The Dread Wolf myth was used as a weapon to frighten the Evanuris, inspire hope, and manipulate belief.

“Yes, we have to keep playing up the Dread Wolf. The people need someone they believe is strong enough to protect them… Don’t worry. I promise to mock you viciously if you ever start believing those stories yourself.”  - Felassan

This wasn’t about heroism - it was about mass mobilization under existential threat. These codices suggest Felassan played a far more integral and strategic role in the rebellion than often acknowledged. He wasn’t just Solas’ lieutenant; he was a partner in both ideology and execution. 

This was myth as infrastructure. Felassan understood that when your enemies are divine, survival requires more than tactics. You need narrative power - a symbol strong enough to counter fear. The Dread Wolf, once hurled at Solas with contempt, became that symbol. And Felassan and Solas wielded it with precision. 

It’s easy to see Felassan as a wry commentator or moral counterweight to Solas, espeically when taken in hindsight of his death. And yes, Felassan is those things - but the codices reveal he's just as much the strategist as Solas, someone who helped forge the emotional weaponry of the rebellion. He didn’t just believe in the cause - he helped shape how it would be remembered. 

This is especially clear in two parts of that codex: 

“Yes, we have to keep playing up the Dread Wolf.”  “Don’t worry…” 

It reads like a continuation of an ongoing conversation. The “Yes” implies Solas has raised a concern - maybe about the direction of the symbol, perhaps discomfort with what it’s making him become - who knows, but we have missed out on some initial conversation here because Felassan’s response is affirmation and reassurance. Yes, we have to do this Solas, it’s necessary for the rebellion. But don’t worry, I’ll pull you back if it starts to consume you. That casual “Don’t worry” does heavy emotional lifting. It acknowledges the toll already settling on Solas, and Felassan, aware of it, offers the only balm he can: I won't let it consume you. 

In this way, the codex isn’t just a strategic log - it’s a record of emotional triage. As the war escalates, the emotional and ethical toll begins to shift. Felassan becomes not just a planner but a witness to a conflict spiraling beyond anyone’s control. 

“The bad news is that Andruil and Ghilan’nain made a big show of putting down a protest… Andruil left a crater where the town stood, and Ghilan’nain is using the people taken prisoner as fodder for her experiments.” 

What follows next in that codex is the line that piqued my curiosity: 

“This isn’t your fault, but still, this is exactly what I was worried about.” 

That line marks a quiet, painful evolution in Felassan’s thinking. The emotional core is regret. 

He isn’t blaming Solas - he’s acknowledging that the symbol they created is now drawing divine wrath. Each act of rebellion is met with devastation so complete, even victory feels like loss. Yet “this isn’t your fault” stands out. He knows Solas is carrying the rebellion’s cost - perhaps already retreating inward, calcifying under the burden of the costs of war. 

But “this is exactly what I was worried about,” when read alongside the other codices, suggests something deeper: guilt. Felassan sees Solas changing. The man he once teased to not take the myth too seriously is now becoming it. The line between mask and self is blurring. And Felassan, who once promised to pull him back, may no longer be able to. Part of that guilt, perhaps, comes from the knowledge that he encouraged it - that he helped craft the myth, pushed Solas to wear it, and now must watch as it consumes his friend. 

In a war like this, no one remains untouched. The Evanuris long ago abandoned morality - experimenting on the living, erasing emotions, killing without hesitation. But the rebels, too, are marked by compromise: truths sacrificed, lies forged for survival. Felassan isn’t innocent. Neither is Solas. 

Felassan helped build the myth. Solas bore it. Now, both are shaped by it in turn. 

The tragedy is that when you wield psychological warfare, there's always the risk that the story you create to move others will begin to reshape you. That’s what Felassan feared. That’s what began to happen.

And when Mythal is murdered - well, we know what happens from there.

This is part of a larger series. The first being Solas and Psychological Warfare.

[nightscythe]

dark sides of the primarchs' relationships

some of these are very dark (esp lorgar, angron, ferrus I guess) but I wanted to represent some of the less enjoyable themes in their relationships. some are kind of obvious, but I wanted to expand a little. again, it's how I write them, so you may not necessarily agree!!

now has a light sides vers ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

18+ below the cut pls, it's sfw but some themes of death, obsession, etc, mostly pre-heresy

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the lion: struggles to interpret his feelings and often mistakes them as needs - namely, sexual need, but really any physical need. the heavy feeling in his heart because he hasn't seen you for weeks? must be because he had become used to your presence and his body must adapt to being without you. the burning in his chest when someone else dares to speak to you with a more suggestive tone? well, its not jealousy, it is his body telling him he needs you. overtime this would start to go, he would learn to interpret feelings in a more emotional way, but realistically he would need to care enough to want to try in the first place. he would always struggle though, turning every single one of his feelings about love into his duty. you're his responsibility, everyone else is a threat.

fulgrim: whilst it is obvious that his desire for perfection may have an impact on you, it has an equal burden on him. he always doubts himself, always taking a pessimistic view of both himself as a lover and to relationships as a whole. and your reassurance may never be enough, even if you do mean it and he seeks it out. he will always make each gift, each speech, each act of love bigger to meet his own desire to be better. and really? it can become more exhausting than anything. especially if he is always trying to prove himself and it sometimes starts to feel artificial. there would be a breaking point though where he finally realises to you, he is perfect, and there is nothing else he needs to do. but there is always that little, teeny doubt.

perty: trust issues will get to him more than anything. he'd need someone who has so much patience that it wears you down, but ultimately it would be worth it. the worst part is that he wouldn't often share how he feels, he keeps it to himself and sits brewing thoughts in his own head that you may just be like everyone else and not truly care. he'd keep it from you, never uttering a word, silently letting it all fester until it gets too much. and breaking down that wall he builds from his own thoughts would take a lot of time, a lot of effort, and a lot of letting him work things out on his own. that's probably the biggest issue - he has a lot of time, something you may not as easily afford.

the khan: his idea of love is different. in a good way, maybe, but different to others. love for him is choice, and he will not restrict you to it. if you want to leave him, then go. if you want to spend a day without him, then do so. he'd really need someone who can deal with his laid back approach (or more so, his promotion of freedom above all other things) to love. that can be tough. his free spirit may just be too free to some people, and that's just what life is like. don't expect reassurance or speeches of his feelings, they are not happening. he's quick to make his decisions, his conclusions, and he's quick to temper. in the right conditions, this can make a storm. if anything ever goes bad.. good luck.

leman: it flips with him, very sudden, very easily. one day he's so enamoured, so utterly floored by everything you do that he's got massive heart eyes and following you around like a puppy. other times he's in his own world, following his own free spirit, that it can make you feel neglected. all of this just ends up causing more and more anxiety, unknowingly to him, and obviously to you. its all unintentional of course, he loves you so deeply. and his love itself? it's raw. he's so set on being stoic and strong but he is fragile too. he fears the worst, his emotions are never waste. everything he feels he shows directly to you. that can be overwhelming; all of this is overwhelming. especially when you could wake up one day and he's gone to do something without any warning, not evening thinking that you notice.

dorn: he's cold. he's so cold that it burns. or... is that the raging fire inside just reaching through the cracks? words mean nothing to him, and it can be difficult to truly know where you stand. he would never say he loves you, he would make you feel like he didn't ever need you, but should you ever leave? he'd tear the imperium down brick by brick until he had you back with him. it's unknowing to him. a duty. an unspoken loyalty. he doesn't believe in anything being temporary, so you're with him for life now. even if he never says it. and its the fact it's just actions, ones which may not mean anything to you, that makes it so hard. the door he gifted you with a heavy duty lock may be strange to you, but you did tell him you were worried about someone breaking in...

curze: does not feel he can be loved. he thinks he deserves it, but he never thinks anyone would dare. he thinks any affection shown to his is out of selfish fear and the second an opportunity presents itself, that love and affection would be gone. so he worries. he worries you are just like everyone else. makes assumptions, accusations, tells you that he thinks you're lying. probably because in the past he felt he should be loved and forced it out of people. he never once stops to think that maybe you lay beside him, you hold his hand, you take care of him, because you want to. it doesn't make sense to him, not without proof, or time, or anything to support your case. he'd get it eventually, he'd stop spending nights awake convinced you'll leave him when you sleep peacefully beside him with no intention of going.

sanguinius: his foresight is a burden, knowing what will happen to him means his guards are up. he would always be devoted, and he would carry the burden of fate to know he had shown you love in a way that mattered. but the sleepless nights would come, knowing the heartbreak would follow. especially at first, he'd try so hard, he'd want to protect others, you, from the fallout of fate. he'd never wanted you to see him in a way as more than a guardian, protector even, but it was inevitable. especially being who he is. and he would keep it to himself, and it would eat him up inside. he'd want to give you an easier way out, a ending where his death was the lesser of two evils, but he could never bring himself to leave. not before fate forced his hand.

ferrus: he has to make you better. you though fulgrim was obsessed with perfection? imagine that, but reversed, and intensified by a thousand. ferrus can make you better. he can make you stronger, he can make you everything you ever wanted. and over time, as he improves you, makes you need to know that he's impressed with you, it changes you. he's unrelenting. and it's not that he doesn't love you. oh, he loves you so so much. but there's a part of him that thinks his encouragement, his desire for your perfection, it helps you. together you can be the perfect couple, but not because of beauty or looks. then it feels like you're a project to him, little more than a toy for him to work on each and every day. and he'd let you go. he'd give you the choice, be free of him, but you'd hesitate. could you ever really be without him again?

angron: he only knows war. pain. death. love is so... small to him. he doesn't understand how to be gentle, how to replicate the love some of his brothers will. but he doesn't want to hurt you, either. and it shows. he will not hurt you, he will not make you feel pain, but he would die for you. and would you die for him? well. if you wouldn't, he would make you. love for him is a reflection of the strongest emotions he feels. the words he associates with it are different. violence. he'd kill anyone who stood between you. desperation. it's a feeling he can't describe as anything other than need. consuming. it grinds on him, wears him down, until he treats it the exact same way as everything else he feels. you're his, and you will become a part of him, whether you want to or not.

rob: it should be easy to him, but its not, and that makes him feel worse. he's not stupid, he can process love and emotion. yet... why does it feel so hard? he always feels like he is doing something wrong, always expression too little in case he reveals too much, whilst always trying to make up for something he fumbled already. its a vicious cycle. the reality of the situation is he's torn in every direction, he's needed by so many people, that he doesn't have time for love. yet he would fight to the very end of time to show it to you. and it exhausts him to no end. he'd just need a little patience, he'd very much enjoy if instead of something require brain or body power, he could just rest with you in his arms, enjoy the peace, but when that's every single evening, it could become a little hard

morty: he carries around a lot of anger and it's not always easy to hide. like a bitter old woman who sneers at kids for stepping on her lawn, but deep down she has a heart bigger than anyone - she just doesn't like it when he things are messed up. probably a bad analogy. the smallest things annoy him and he's got a quick temper. he constantly has to remind himself to check his own feelings, assess if he's reacting appropriately, then actually respond. so sometimes, it can feel artificial, like it's a brave face he puts on, and eventually you'll just want to know the real him. and you can, but it may not be as easily heard or understood. with time he would get better, he'd balance his emotions with your help, but until then it may never feel 100% real.

magnus: the poor guy, he just doesn't think (how obvious, I know). his actions are well intended but the way he comes across is a mixed bag. you're proud of something you've done or learned and in the spirit of sharing your achievement he does it in one try... or he tells you a more advance version of a spell with the intention of helping you but... it just comes across as him belittling you. like you were never good enough for him, that he is so so much better than you and his standard is so far above you. in reality, he's just happy, he's sharing those things because he thinks it will help you. he's worried that he's not good enough for you. he feels like he has to prove himself, to show you just everything he's capable of, elevate the two of you, together. aww :(

horus: he knows about his charisma. like a beacon that sits on his head and forces everyone to like him. and that makes him question the reality of everyone around him. are you nice to him because he's Horus, or because you want to be nice to him? are you kissing him because he's Horus, or because you want to kiss him? it's a guessing game that he is losing. he truly believes that those closest to him do not care, and overtime he has developed trust issues beyond saving. he'd never show it though, but inside everything can feel like a lie. he'd have a way to work it out though - he's not stupid - but his way is long and extended, tests and games which may not be appreciated, and it may feel like you need to prove to him why you care about him. was your love not enough? it was. but he just needed to know it wasn't manufactured by that damn beacon.

lorgar: love... its something different for him. it's not love. it's reverence. you become everything to him, his faith, his truth, his gospel. you become divine to him in every way, perfection incarnate, holy as the gods around him. and for that reason, it is all written in fate for him. you are meant to be with him, you are meant to stand by his side. he would build temples in your name, he would burn planets to the ground if it meant you were happy. he would destroy worlds to bring you what you wanted. but, if you are unhappy with that? if you do not accept his love and devotion? that's heresy. that's denying the truth. and escaping him, it can only come through death. his one is quite dark, i'm very sorry about that. unless you like it, then happy to help.

vulkan: he wouldn't have many faults, aside from obvious primarch things, but I think he's full of worry. not insecurity, but concern, always worried about you, always thinking he may hurt you, worried that the feats he puts himself through may have an unnecessary effect on you. he knows that he puts himself in danger but he can't stop himself, he know your concern that maybe just one time, he won't come back - but he will still test the limits anyway. he'd never show you every part of him, afraid it may just be too much for you, and though he's never hiding anything sinister, he'd always be hiding something. and you know it. and he'd smile, assuring you its nothing. it's literally just something like he's never tried kissing you in a certain way in case he hurts you. or he was wounded fatally again but he's okay. probably better if he just tells you... but secrets in the name of happiness, I guess.

corax: sometimes he goes, for days. for weeks, months even. some may even question whether you've just made it up in your own head. it's not that he doesn't care, or he doesn't love you, but... he got lost in his own head. what he needed to do. and it doesn't help that when you are together, he's cold, he's reserved, and its like you've never even met before sometimes. he can handle all of this, he's secure in his feelings and is loyal to you beyond anyone else, but can you? it's not that he would abandon you, or betray you, but when you've waited for him to come him for months and there's still no sign of him, your thoughts may start to go somewhere less pleasant. you can ask him to stop, but it's never permanent, even when he's fully opened to you emotionally - he'd unintentionally fill you with doubt.

alpharius: oh its a bit of a mindfuck. one loves you, one doesn't. one whispers sweetly in your ear, one just whispers. one touches your shoulder and catches the tips of his fingers on the curve of your neck, the other one just touches your shoulder. it's little things. barely noticeable at first. something the everyday person would have just shrugged off. but after time, you do notice. that's not Alpharius. and it makes you mad. to think he sent someone else in his place? he had to, and you'd never understand, but he hates it as much as you. do you know how badly he wants it to be him that is with you each day? how insulting it is to know that he was sharing you? it drives him to the brink of insanity. it's truly the worst feeling in the world. but there's nothing you can do about it, and you'll have to live with knowing that maybe the man next to you isn't the alpharius you love.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

[ethereal-blossom]

Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent." 

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor." 

[sweetlyskz]

Emerald Gem||Chapter Seven

Chapter one|Chapter two|Chapter three|Chapter four|Chapter five|Chapter six|Chapter seven|Chapter eight|Chapter nine|Chapter ten

Hybrid!OT7 x Fem!Reader

Overview: Living away from society has its perks. All natural food from your thoroughly cultivated farm, no nosy neighbors, and peace and security with your animals. But sometimes you did get lonely, having no one to talk to but the cows and pigs. However, when 7 extremely wanted hybrids stumble upon your deserted farm, everything changes.

Genre: Hybrid Au, Strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, fluff

Warnings: none that I can think of rn lol

Word count: 1.4k

unedited

You woke up in a cold sweat, body trembling. You threw the heavy comforter off of you in a haste. The boys were no longer in your bed. 

A man.

A man that you not dare speak his name was now in your bed. A man from years ago, who you thought you had forgotten. Apparently you haven’t.

“Didn’t you miss me?” He whispered. You shook your head violently. It’s all a dream, you reasoned. I just need to wake up.

“I missed you. I think about you every day. Do you ever think about me?”

“No!” You yelled, now sobbing. “You left! You’re a coward! All you do is run.”

The man grabbed you by your hair gently, making you face him. He wiped the tears off your warm cheeks. “I won’t run this time.”

“I promise.”

Two words. Two words was all it took to wake you from your dream. Or was it a nightmare? It’s up to you to decide.

***

It was a cold, rainy morning. Yoongi sat by the window in the living room, watching water droplets splash off the leaves while bundled up in a fuzzy blanket. It was a drowsy morning for the boys. They were worried about their pack leader, of course. They were curious about his wellbeing.

They feared that they were next.

You did what you could to comfort them, but you knew that without Namjoon home, the boys were never going to feel true peace. It made you sick to your stomach thinking about what the researchers may be doing to him. Taehyung couldn’t sleep without being next to Jimin. Jimin was restless when sleeping without Jungkook.

And Kook had night terrors when he wasn’t cuddling with you.

Hoseok was jumpy. A knock at the door had him running. Thunderstorms woke him from his slumber. Jin was unusually caring. In the morning he already made breakfast, working on lunch. After showers, it gave Jin a sense of protection drying his pack members hair. He even made his rounds, room to room, making sure everyone was sleeping soundly. When Jin had a chance to rest his eyes, all he could picture was the people he loved be snatched one by one.

Yoongi had a caffeine problem.

A cup in the morning, cup in the afternoon, and a piping hot cup before bed. He believed it to be a stress reliever, but he was actually bouncing off the walls, having caffeine induced anxiety attacks. You even tried hiding the coffee maker, but to no avail. He found it every time. And he would never admit that he can’t relax without having the entire pack in his sight.

“Can I come in?” A knock at your office door awoke you from your thoughts. Jin, on the other side of the door with a cup of hot cocoa and a plate of bacon and eggs, awaited your response. “I don’t wanna interrupt.”

You pushed your rolling chair to the door, creaking it open for him. “No, you’re not interrupting anything. Just doing some research...This for me?” You pointed at the plate of food in Jin’s hand. He nodded, handing you the warm plate carefully.

“And don’t worry about cleaning. Tae already put everything away. Watcha researching?” His eyes roamed your desk. A map with written directions. An article titled: Dr. Kim Petitions Court for Hybrid Rights.

And a piece of torn paper with a phone number on it and a fancy name.

“Who’s Hongjoong?” Jin asked you, a little more aggressively than he thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re free to talk to whoever, I just-“

“It’s okay”, you giggled, showing him that you’re in no way upset. “I was actually going to talk to you guys about something, but now that you’re here I guess I’ll tell you. Come sit”. You pat the velvet ottoman across from your desk. 

“I wanna get your thoughts before I tell the others.”

“Tell the others what, exactly?” Jin sat down with ease, a lot of curiosity.

You prepared your thoughts. How do I say that I want to take the countries most wanted hybrids to the research facility where their pack leader is being kept?

“W-what?”

Shit, I said that out loud.

 “Wait! Im so sorry! Fuck, that came out wrong. I was trying to say that I found a way for us to get Namjoon back, but it requires a lot of work”. You hoped that eased Jins worries. You hoped he would ponder of over the idea, give it some thought. You hoped he would say yes and convince the others.

You hoped.

“So, you want to travel with six hybrid criminals, in hopes of breaking out another hybrid criminal, and make it back home in one piece? Im confused.”

Rightfully so. You didn’t have it all planned out. You didn’t give him all the details. You didn’t even know the details yourself! Now, you’re putting your trust in an old friend who claims that he believes in hybrid rights?

Sounds like a bunch of horse shit to Jin.

“Jin please just hear me out”, you begged. “I have this friend- well old classmate, really. He’s a researcher who is currently on strike for his beliefs on hybrid testing and abuse. If I can get to him, he might be able to help us get Joon back.”

You could see the look on Jin’s face. He was still dubious, and he had every right to be. Why do we have to go? He wondered. Can you promise me we’ll make it back?

“You want my honest opinion?” You nodded frantically. “Okay...”

He paused. “I feel like it’s a shitty idea.”

“Jin-“

“No! You wanna know what I think? I think it’s a dumb fucking idea! God knows what will happen on the way there. Not to mention, Joon may already be dead! Then you have led us into a trap where we will all face the same fate, you included!” 

You sighed. You were getting nowhere. Dead end after dead end. It seemed hopeless.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

A notification popped up on your phone. It was a text message. One that you didn’t expect…

Kim Hongjoong 8:35 AM

Hey, it’s been a while

Been thinking about you…

Im actually back home visiting my parents

Was wondering if you maybe

wanted to catch up?

***

He felt like he was floating. His body was beaten and bruised. His hearing was foggy. He couldn’t hear the whisperings going on in the lab, but he could hear the banging on the metal bars of his cell.

“Leave him!” One researcher yelled. “Dr. Kim said not to touch him until he gets back! Do you really want to upset him?”

The other guy rolled his eyes. “Why would I care what he says?”

“Maybe because he signs our checks?” The researcher continued his tasks, analyzing Namjoons blood in the glass test tube. “Can you at least try to not sound like an asshole?”

The guy smirked, banging on the bars one more time.

“Not possible.”

***

That night you curled up in bed with a good book, needing a distraction. The pack wanted to sleep together, leaving you with a bed all to yourself. You knew how they felt about you, perceiving you as part of the pack, but it didn’t feel right to impose on their personal time together. You’re human after all. You might not ever truly be apart of them…

“You think loudly. Your face shows it all”

You jumped, throwing your book to the side. Wasn’t like you were reading it anyway. “My god Yoongi! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

He shushed you. “Keep it down. It took forever for everyone to go to sleep. I almost didn’t make it here”, he laughed, making his way to the left side of the bed. You scooted over to give him room.

“I thought you guys were sleeping together tonight?” You asked. “Isn’t this like a pack violation or something?” Yoongi stuffed himself under the covers and rested his head on the pillow.

“Just lay down and shut up”, he huffed.

“Well, excuse me”, you giggled, reaching over to your nightstand and turning off the light. Yoongi held his arms out, an invitation for you to be held. He seemed to always know exactly what you needed. “Thanks Yoon.”

“Anytime my love, anytime.”

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