#Or well. most of them only have one or two missing

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 8

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

The walk to Sylus’ room is reminiscent of one to the gallows. You’ve seen those walks in people’s souls, how each step makes their throat tighten more and how they seem to mentally wait for each heartbeat to come. Like every step or every breath or ever beat is going to be their last.

That’s the only way you can think of to describe how you feel right now. A place that once meant safety and comfort to you has been tainted. It’s been warped, smeared, and destroyed in a way that a you from a few weeks ago would’ve never imagined.

Because now, you’re walking there with fear. Fear of Sylus of all people. Your partner in crime. Your confidant. Your closest friend. Your Morana.

You don’t want to think of him this way. Far from it. But Miss Hunter’s words, her shaky tone and fidgety hands, make you this way. The chaos of emotions in her threads make you this way. Everything about how she was when describing her time with Sylus make you this way.

Modification of her Evol.

You know very well what those words mean. You know what it looks like, feels like. You know all of this because it’s woven into her soul.

And her own soulmate tried to do that to her. Tried to split her open. Try to warp her and smear her and destroy what makes her her.

Rage and betrayal and whole other slew of emotions boil up inside of you. Each step makes you wonder when you’ll explode, when you’ll break from all of this.

You try to combat this with each breath. Each deep, hard-fought, breath. You try to embrace a wave of calm, to tamper down the craziness and be who you normally are: in control.

Nothing helps. Nothing works. And before you know it, you’re knocking at that accursed bedroom door.

Since when am I so polite with him?

A weak laugh escapes your lips. You stifle it down the moment the door begins to open.

Sylus is disheveled, an odd sight for someone who can look put together even in the middle of a gun fight. He just stares at you. His eyes refuse to leave yours, as if you’ll vanish if he so much as blinks.

It’s awkward, strained. An uncomfortable atmosphere that hasn’t been between you two in years. You can’t stand it.

“May I come in? I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Sylus says nothing. He looks deeply uncomfortable. It’s subtle, something most wouldn’t notice. But you’ve known him far too long. The slight flicker in his eyes down to the way he walks tells you everything. He’s off. He’s lost.

Not that you’re much different. Your tone earlier was cold, professional, and distant. Entirely lacking the usual playfulness or joy you’d have from simply interacting with Sylus.

You quickly step in his room once he moves aside for you. You don’t spare Sylus a glance. Any further looks would just deter you from your task.

This cannot go on.

Sylus’ treatment of Miss Hunter weighs on you. If you thought it was bad before, it’s far, far, worse now. Experiments? Changing her Evol? Scaring her so much she subconsciously rejects her own soulmate?

It’s arguable the worst start to any love story you’ve ever heard or seen. And you have more experience with that than anyone. You see them in every thread. You hear them in every soul.

All except mine.

You stare at Sylus’ empty bed to distract yourself from that rabbit hole of emotions, one you’re familiar with. You walk towards the bed. But you don’t sit on it. Rather, you just trace mindless patterns into the sheets to calm yourself.

Eventually, you turn to face the man whose room you stand in. Sylus stands with his back on the door. The lock is turned shut. And his arms are crossed, as if he’s shielding himself from you.

Since when were you two like this: weary and afraid of one another? After the argument today? After the one a few days ago? When Miss Hunter arrived? Or was it always there, brewing silently beneath your soft touches and charming smiles?

Whatever the case, you’ve never quite felt such distance from Sylus. You stand in the same room you two have shared for god knows how long, looking right at each other. And yet, you couldn’t be farther apart.

You tap your fingers on the bed like you did the night before Miss Hunter arrived. Tap. Tap. Tap. It’s the only sound that fills your ears until Sylus finally speaks.

“Can I explain now?”

To anyone else, his tone would be calm, demanding, and dripping with that usual hint of arrogance that he has. To you, he practically begs. Screams, even.

He only does that rarely. Like earlier today during your argument after your collapse. Which, given that specific context, made sense. Sylus was out of rhythm. His emotions were chaotic. He does care for you, after all. And you had just screamed your lungs out and passed out in front of him.

Who wouldn’t be shaken by that even a little?

You think over your next words for a moment, pushing that memory of your mind. What is there to explain? You’ve heard everything from Miss Hunter. You know what he tried to do.

Old wounds open up the more you think about it. The pinpricks of needles. Your home becoming a revolving door of doctors when you had no sign of a soulmate by age 10. The increasing prevailing sense of something being wrong with you the longer it went on.

They’re phantom pains, echoes of a past that only emerges when you sleep. They’re ghosts you tell no one about. They’re wounds that only you have ever dressed.

What was done to you was done in good faith. Much like what Sylus did. You could see it in his soul, see it in his thread. And it told you he wanted her to remember. He wanted his sorceress back at any cost.

But you wanted here his words. His interpretations and thoughts from his own mouth.

“Go ahead,” you gesture with your hand.

So Sylus does explain. Just not what you thought he would.

He goes into detail about his deal with Miss Hunter. About the brooch. About her search. About the twins and their pranks. About everything.

You look at him with scrutinizing eyes. You don’t search his soul; you have no need to.

In him, you find the truth and only the truth. You find no deception, no hidden meanings, nothing. It’s probably the most honest he’s been with you since Miss Hunter’s arrival.

“I never even had the brooch on me,” he chuckles a bit before he continues. “I don’t know why she ever thought I did.”

“Then where is it?”

“In your favorite book. On page 70. You know the scene.”

You absolutely do know the scene. It makes you smile even in this moment.

“Seriously? How on Earth do you expect her to know anything about my taste in literature?”

“You two spend so much time together I figured you were “besties” by now,” he says the words a great amount of sarcasm that makes you relax a bit.

It’s not much. But, you lean into the familiarity.

“Besides. Even if she didn’t know the significance of the book, I thought I’d do her a favor and introduce her to something good to read. She claims to be bored during her time here, and I wanted to be a more gracious host.”

You snort at his comment. Sylus tilts his head at you.

“What?”

You want to say, ”A gracious host? After kidnapping her and threatening her and almost turning her into a lab rat for the second time in her current life?” But you shake your head and say nothing.

Sylus seems to brush it off. His eyes soften and he takes a step towards you. When you don’t move away, he comes even closer, standing beside the foot of the bed while you stand in the same position next to the head.

“That’s all there is to what you saw. It wasn’t,” he pauses for a moment, searching for the words. “It wasn’t anything like you thought it was. Just a series of… interesting events.”

You just nod once more, turning your head to the bed again. You go back to tracing patterns in it, trying to rally yourself for the real conversation.

“Gamayun?”

You give him a quiet hum, but you don’t look up at him. You trace words into the bed, words from the scene of the book he placed the brooch in. They comfort you.

“Say something?”

You say nothing.

“What’s got you so quiet? Normally you talk my ear off, even when I’m being a fool.”

You make a hasty drag against the sheets, and the irritating sound that follows shocks both of you.

“Because I’m not here about what you just talked about and you know it.”

Or, at least, he should know it. He should know that him taking Miss Hunter to Philip is why you’re here. He should know why you’re so angry about him doing that. He should know.

He should know because he knows you were the one to find the twins. Two boys in agony, one covered in crystals. Children suffering because of selfish adults. Just like Sylus did. Just like Miss Hunter did. Just like you did.

The logical part of you knows that his goals for what he did weren’t anything like the ones that got the twins in that state. But, the other part of you, the one that made you come here, won’t listen.

That part of you remembers all those doctors. It remembers the padded rooms and the repeated cycles of accusations. It remembers the fear. It remembers the pain. And it remembers when you finally decided to run from all that.

That part of you is loud. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, and it wants to cry. It wants to shed vicious tears and wretched sobs. But it doesn’t. It can’t. Because it wasn’t listened to in the past.

Why would this time be any different?

Because Sylus isn’t them, you remind yourself.

He’d listen to you. He has to listen to you. Sylus is a flawed man, not a monster. He’s a desperate and flawed man who just wants the love of all his lives back. He’s a desperate and flawed man who made a mistake.

And he has to know that, right?

“Than why are you here right now, my sweet Gamayun? Surely not to repeat the earlier interesting series of events? Or maybe go even further?”

“You’re deflecting,” you say immediately.

His usual jokes don’t make you flustered. Instead, they make you angrier as he avoids what you need yet again.

“That’s not an answer, sweetie.”

Something in you snaps. Maybe it’s the use of an old nickname. Maybe it’s due to another deflection. Maybe it’s both.

Either the case, you finally address the dreadful elephant in the room, “Why did you bring her to Philip?”

You ask because you want him to admit it himself. Hearing him say the words, the man you’ve loved for over a year, rather than Miss Hunter, the soulmate of said man, will makes things clearer.

Maybe it’ll undo the knot in your stomach and the dread that courses through your veins. Maybe his explanation will make the phantom needles go away, and drown out the screams of your precious boys.

Part of you knows that neither will happen. The other, more optimistic and the one that clings to your love, begs for something otherwise.

All that hopes drains away when you see the color leave Sylus’ face. His color seeps away at the same pace as your fleeting hope.

Oh God, what did you do, Sylus?

Miss Hunter didn’t give you any details. You can only speculate. But with this severe of reaction, especially coming from Sylus (who’s done a lot of questionable shit that he knows you’d never judge him for), you’re not sure you can handle the answer.

Miss Hunter avoiding your questions and looking apprehensive to tell you anything is one thing. Sylus doing it is a whole other can of worms. You steel your heart for whatever happens next.

“We weren’t resonating. I thought there was a problem with her. There isn’t, so we left.”

It’s about the same thing she told you. Enough to give you the gist. Enough to explain her fear and her discomfort. But not enough to explain Sylus’. Not nearly enough, given everything he’s seen and been through in both of his lives.

So you push, “Did you two rehearse your excuses, or did you both conveniently give me the same nonsense in hopes I wouldn’t press? Whatever the case, you ought to practice lying to me better.”

Sylus appears unaffected by your words. You, of course, know better. The slight knit of his brows, the way he holds himself and leans a tad more to one side. He’s so obvious to you that it’s painful.

“You really going to lie to me again, Sylus? After what happened last time?”

That full on makes him flinch. Your heart wavers as a result. That was a low blow. You both know that. And yet, you can’t back down. Because all you can see in your mind’s eye is the twins.

Luke trying to claw at his face, to etch in the same scars his brother carries. Kieran forcing himself to grow up even more as a result of that instability. The way they would both duck from mirrors, or even flat out shatter them, during those first few days.

Dozens and dozens of memories like that just sit in your mind. A weight unlike any weight you’ve ever carried. It festers there. It seeps into your veins, into your heart, and into your words.

You can’t escape it.

“What exactly are accusing us of, sweetie? Be specific. You how I hate to beat around the bush, and waste time.”

You do. And that’s exactly why you’re the negotiator of this business and not him.

Soon, she will take that place. Soon, I’ll need a new role in a new place.

“Is there anything in particular I should be accusing you of?” You counter.

“Not in my mind,” he glances you over from head to toe. “But that seems to be the case in your mind.”

A smirk crosses his lips. It’s not one of humor.

He words hit you to the core.

“That’s not an answer,” you shakily manage to get out.

“Well, if my answers aren’t satisfactory, maybe you can give me a direct question? As you say, it’s harder to avoid something if there’s no room to do so.”

That stupid smirk is still there. His eyes are still cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them directed at you.

“Did you or did you not hurt her?” You tone gets firmer the more you speak.

Sylus’ expression changes again. Not to one of humor or playfulness or anger like you expected. No, the Sylus before you was none of those right now.

He was betrayed.

“Who exactly do you think I am?”

“I don’t know!” You finally raise your voice despite all efforts not to. “I don’t know… why do you think I’m here? I need answers, Sylus. I need conformation that I’m missing something and that you didn’t do what I think you did.”

You pause for a moment, choking on your own words and emotions, “I need the truth from you. Please. I need the truth about this at the very least.”

Sylus says nothing for a moment. And you worry that this’ll be a rehash of your first fight. The fight that broke you. The fight that drove you away.

“My relationship to her isn’t your problem.”

Suddenly, you feel sick. But then, Sylus finally says something and you chase that nausea away, kicking it down with your professionalism.

“I want her gone,” he says with an odd amount of levity. “She isn’t worth the trouble she’s causing, so I pushed my plans forward ahead of schedule.”

You don’t entirely know what to say to that.

“Pardon?” You laugh a deranged laugh. “You brought her here. Why ever would you want her gone now after no progress on what ever it is that you need from her?”

“Like I said: she isn’t worth the effort. And I refuse to waste my time on useless things.”

“Useless? You have the gall, the absolute audacity, to call her useless?”

You aren’t yelling, despite how much you want to be. And that want gets stronger the amused Sylus appears.

“Why do you care so much about her, sweetie? She’s my guest, not yours.”

”Because she’s your soulmate. Because she’s the key to your happiness,” is what you want to say.

Instead, what comes out is, “Because I’ve become quite attached to her. And I find your attitude towards her appalling.”

“Of course you would, sweetie,” his voice gets quieter and softer. “Of course you would.”

Sylus gets close to you, putting his fingers beneath your chin and tilting your head upwards. You don’t resist; in fact, you embrace the small touch as much as possible.

“Because you have such a bleeding heart.”

You roll your eyes at him. Normally, Sylus says that to tease you. Like on negotiations where you spare the business partner in question. Or when you talk him down from simply killing his opponent and into seeing their usefulness. Or any of the numerous times you’ve brought in a stray animal and nursed it back to health.

He always says it in a teasing tone, almost mocking. But now, he says it with fondness.

Or love, your delusional and desperate brain says.

As soon as that thought cross your mind, you take a step back. Sylus immediately releases his hold on your chin, disappointment flashing across his face. Or, at least, that’s what you think you see.

“My heart aside,” you say to calm yourself and get your heart to stop racing. “That doesn’t change the fact that your behavior towards her has been reprehensible. Deplorable, even.”

“Why are so obsessed with her, Gamayun? Should I be jealous? She’s been tearing us apart just by being here. Don’t tell me she’s gone even further…”

He says it with jest and usual nonchalant attitude. But something in you tells you there’s more to it.

“Because of my bleeding heart, as you say,” you smile a bit before going back to a more serious expression. “And the fact that you two seem to hold so many secrets that I’m not privy too despite your less than stellar relationship.”

Suddenly, something in Sylus changes. You can’t quite put your finger on it, other than the fact that you strangely feel like prey. Like he’s hunting you or something like that. You’re on your guard. You’re waiting for him to strike.

Sylus lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re not being truthful with me either, sweetie.”

That makes you pause.

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” He takes a step closer to you, the smirk on his lips thinning and his expression shifting to a more softer one.

You don’t know exactly what’s in that smirk. Anger? Bitterness? Hurt?

Hatred? Annoyance? Grief? your thoughts whisper before you can shut them down.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Sure, sweetie,” he’s surprisingly genuine and not sarcastic with his tone. “Sure it isn’t.”

“What in the world are you going on about this time?”

Fear drips into your words. You hope it isn’t noticeable. But judging by Sylus’ face, you didn’t succeed.

I’ve lost my touch.

Being so utterly emotional for the past few days has done this to you. Made cracks in your armor that show more and more with every passing second.

Sylus reaches for you again. And you, again, accept the touch. He cradles you head, hands delicately cupping your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks in a way he knows soothes you.

Foolish man and his foolish tenderness when you’re supposed to be angry at him.

“Your obsession with her. I’ve never seen you act this way.”

You’ve never seen me try to mend the bond between someone I love and their soulmate before. But, hey, there’s a first time for everything?

“I am not obsessed. I do not do obsessed.”

Sylus frowns. You’re the one doing the deflecting now. You’re the one using humor as a distraction now.

“Than what you call all this?” He keeps stroking your cheeks with a featherlight touch.

“Care? Empathy? Because, as you know, I have a bleeding heart.”

It’s getting harder to keep your tone light. You hope that your voice never wavers. You pray that Sylus doesn’t notice how your skin warms from embarrassment or how fast your heart rate is.

You can’t even look him the eyes. And you struggle with all your might not to squirm.

“Your bleeding heart has never gone this far. Nor made you this mad at me,” the chuckle he lets out at the end of his sentence is bitter, but his eyes are still as sweet as ever.

Every statement Sylus makes feels like he’s ripping you open more and more. Like the claws of the fiend he was has made their way around the individual bones of your ribcage and is slowly but surely prying them open. It’s like he wants to expose your heart to the world.

Your brain is beginning to fog. Your mouth is beginning to dry. And the urge to run from here is getting heavier and heavier. Your feet are glued to the ground, and at the same time, they feel like they want to take flight.

When was the last time I felt this way? When I was still back home? At the jewelry store? Or maybe my old bar job?

“Well, most people I deal with are people of the N109 Zone. They’re far more secretive and, how do you and the twins put it, murderous than little Miss Hunter.”

You speak in hopes of cutting off your own horrible train of thought. It doesn’t work very well.

So you keep talking, “Speaking of Miss Hunter, I’m no closer to having an earthly idea of why she’s here. And whatever plans you have with her seem sloppy for your standards. I’d give them negative reviews. Maybe that’s why you didn’t share them with me?”

Another crack in your armor shows with your final teasing question. A crack that Sylus sees judging by how he takes his hands off your face and a step away from you.

“Than I’ll share my ideas with you to get some feedback for a better showing next time.”

You consider your words. Because this is your chance. Your chance to be in the know. The chance to know the truth. The chance to hear from Sylus’ own lips about why he brought this woman here.

But, you’ll also have to hear about their connection. Their past. And their future as soulmates.

You couldn’t hear that. You can barely think about it and see the proof with your own eyes everyday. Hearing it… well, that’s another story.

If he had offered this before their bond, you would’ve taken it. Jumped for joy, even. But you can’t now.

I can’t hear you say that you two are soulmates. I can’t hear you talk about your destined love and what that means for your future. I can’t.

Because hearing that means I can’t lie to myself any longer.

Hearing Sylus’ conformation means you take away that last layer of protection you have, that last bit of lies you tell yourself. Because you’ve know for years what the threads you see mean. You’ve confirmed it several times since you first saw them at age 7.

But, with Sylus, sometimes you cling to thought of being wrong. Of not seeing what you think you’re seeing. His words are all that it would take for that temporary peace to come crashing down.

Who in their right mind would do that to themselves?

“No. After all, I’m just a lowly actress in this show of ours. I’m no director.”

“Oh, you are no actress, Gamayun. If anything, you’re my director and writer. I’m merely here to finance whatever your heart desires to create. So, let us discuss our visions for Miss Hunter, and draw up a new episode this season.”

“I’d rather you consider this my resignation from that role into a new one. Because acting is starting to sound more appealing.”

Sylus pulls back. His face falls, and lets out a deep sigh that shakes you to your core.

“Than what do you want from me, Gamayun?” He pulls you close again, your head resting on his chest. “I’m so tired of fighting with you over something, someone, so trivial.”

Tired.

That one words carries so much weight. It seeps into your lonely soul.

It’s exactly how you feel. How all that’s happened recently has made you feel. How all the secrets and the soulmates and the unrequited love has made you feel.

You’ve been tired for years. For so long you no longer know what “rest” really feels like.

Tired of loving a world that would reject you in a second. Tired of holding it together. Tired of lying.

And maybe that’s why you did what you did. Maybe that’s why you hurt Sylus. Because you’re tired of always being the one to run.

People in your life drifted from you, yes. But it was always you that had to put the final nail in the coffin of your relationships.

So maybe that’s why you’re so tired. And maybe you wanted to make Sylus tired. Tired of you. So tired of you and your shit that he just turns his back on you permanently.

Tired.

“I’m tired too,” is all you can muster at the moment.

You pull back from Sylus. But not for long. As soon as you slip out of his embrace, you sit on his bed and pat the place beside you. He sits down immediately.

The way you two sit, facing each other and knocking knees together, reminds you of the position you and Miss Hunter sat in not too long ago. It warms you heart in an ironic and bitter way.

But you chase those thoughts away to focus. Focus on Sylus and focus on what you need to do right now. You take his hand, giving it light squeeze, before you look him directly in the eyes and begin speaking.

“I’m sorry,” it’s hard to get the words out, not out of pride, but out of pain. “For pulling away. For being so hostile earlier. For saying… no, threatening to leave you. And for not trusting you.”

For hurting you, and doing that so you’d chase me away. For making you believe I could just abandon you. For being jealous of you finding your destined love. For acting like a complete ass. For being hurt by some silly words.

I’m so sorry, my Morana.

“I’m sorry too.”

“For?” You press him, despite the discomfort on his face.

“For the lying. For what I said when you confronted me. For not telling you about my plans to bring Miss Hunter here. For not telling of my plans with—“

“You don’t need to apologize for that.”

The shock on Sylus’ face is evident. Even if he doesn’t completely show it.

“I’m not entitled to every little thing in your life. Just as you aren’t mine. We both need to learn to be okay with that.”

You pause before continuing, “And we both are entitled to space whenever we want and for however we want. Just as long as we communicate things.”

Sylus just nods. He squeezes your hand tighter. His eyes have his signature glimmer back. One so uniquely Sylus you don’t know how to describe it.

My selfishness dulled that glimmer.

As you and Sylus just talk for a bit, you think to yourself about your new plan.

I can’t just leave. And even with Miss Hunter as my replacement, I need a better idea for my departure. Somewhere away from the two of them, but with ties to my current life so that there’s no suspicion._  An idea hits you: Onychinus has many connections, many of which you forged yourself.

Kai did always want to recruit me. Maybe I’ll finally take her up on the offer?

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: Do you prefer long chapters or short chapters? This story will be pretty long regardless, i just want to see what people prefer.

3rd Author's Note: Ikigai, Fun Fact = I originally was going to make this a one shot (and then plot ran away after breaking my kneecaps) and one where Reader didn't realize they were dating the entire time (but I wanted Sylus to suffer more, so I just made them very touchy, but with a line in the sand).

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[i-live-in-a-world-of-swords]

Wednesday, Xavier and Enid stood off to the side of the room Wednesday, almost sent herself dizzy at how hard she rolled her at her parents' ridiculous behaviour, Xavier shuffled awkwardly and Enid gave a loud squeal of joy at the romantic display before them. Before Wednesday could snap at her parents, Enid rolled her eyes at her best friend

"Oh come on Wednesday don't act as if you and Xavier aren't just as bad as them"

Enid gave a small scoff at the deadly look Wednesday sent her, Xavier shuffled, embarrassed at the truth of Enid's words that, of course, didn't stop a wide grin from spreading across his face. The pair were much more private than that of her parents, of course Wednesday's parent knew no shame, and even Wednesday loathed to admit that Enid was right. Not that she would admit it outloud that she and Xavier were always touching even if it was as small as their arms brushing and if they weren't touching they always knew where the other was they could always feel one another, Wednesday was bought back by the sound of Enid's sigh

" I miss Ajax"

Wednesday rolled her eyes once more

"You saw him yesterday and he will be here in a mere twelve hours"

It was Enid's turn to sigh

"Wednesday not everyone is lucky enough to have their minds linked to their soul mate-"

"Enid what have I said about calling us that"

"I know, I know and I'll stop using it when it stops being the most accurate word to describe the two of you"

Enid continued to call them that for the rest of her life on their wedding night under a full moon at the witching hour was the only times Wednesday didn't roll her eyes at the name. Even in death Enid continued to watch over the unaging pair with just as much love and delight at the sheer magnitude of their love.

She also watched over her namesake with just as much love, it had taken centuries but Wednesday had finally given in only to feel the exquisite torture of pregnancy, birth and parenthood.

Well that was her story Enid knew better she loved Xavier so much she had come to the idea of wanting someone made just of the two of them.

It had been centuries since her and Ajax's deaths and their line continued watched over by their best friends even now. Both watched delighted when one of their decents Maeve captured the heart of her namesake little Enid on their first day at Nevermore. Little Enid was much like Wednesday and her decent was as beautiful mixture of Enid and Ajax,had she not of already been dead her heart would have exposed in happiness.

She told Wednesday as much during their nightly seance, just the four of them. Enid could tell that Wednesday was happy at the news.

She even watched over the call between little Enid and Wednesday and knew both where happy, it was all in the small secret smiles the two had.

The Addams Family (1991) dir. Barry Sonnenfeld

[muqingslover]

[ Back again! Did you guys miss me? I sure missed you! As a gift I offer Sylus' NSFW alphabet! I totally forgot about this after Caleb's im so sorry 😞]

A = Aftercare

After sex with Sylus is incredibly soft. He will make sure you don't have to lift a single finger and do everything for you. He will bathe you, dress you and then put you to bed, tucked away safely in his arms.

Sylus likes to talk to you just before you fall asleep. Sometimes about random topics, sometimes about something he has planned for the next day and, for most of the time, about you; The way your hair feels when he plays with it, how cute you look when you snuggle against him and of course, how much he loves you.

B = Bondage

Personally, he prefers bounding you compared to the other way around. Sylus is extremely hands on in the bedroom; Anything that will make it difficult for him to touch you as he wishes is just not ideal.

He will also go to great lengths to make sure the restraints used are custom made to be extra comfortable regardless of how much you struggle against them and won't cause any bruising or tearing on your skin.

C = Crying:

Given the fact Sylus is familiar with BDSM he knows to expect tears during sex. That however won't stop him from making sure they're from genuine pleasure and checking to see if you need a break. Once he is confident there is nothing wrong he actually enjoys knowing you feel so good it's a little overwhelming.

D = Dominance:

Soft dom!Sylus all the way! if you think otherwise then this blog is not for you.

A lot of people mistake doms for the "hardcore alpha daddy" stereotype because of media, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Sylus is a great example of it!

Being the dominant one is not only about what happens in the bedroom; The soft requests for you to take a seat where he points you to, picking out the clothes you wear, cooking your meals, being the only one you trust yourself with after a long day at work— That's all part of the play.

He has no need to degradate, break or physically abuse his partner to show his dominance. Keeping his partner, his sub, happy and satisfied is what's most fulfilling for an actual dom.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I don't think Sylus has had any other partner besides you, but he has done extensive research on romance and sex.

One thing worth highlighting is that the first thing he learned was how to control his strength around you. Sylus didn't want to end up grabbing you too hard or doing something worse while excited so he took a lot of time to make sure he could use just the right amount of strength like second nature.

F = Favorite position:

Mating press. Come on now, you can't deny and say this comes as surprise.

This man also loves, and I mean looooves, when you're on top of him. Cowboy is definitely a favorite of his because then he can push his entire cock inside of you and watch the way you chase after your own pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Sylus is serious, but in the incredibly romantic way. He wants the both of you to pay full attention to this special moment and won't crack jokes or anything of the sort.

If you're feeling nervous then he will help you calm down with low, loving praises whispered in your ear and taking everything extra slow.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

For personal reasons only I like to think he has a bit of hair on his carpet. Nothing much, just enough. He simply doesn't overthink about that.

H o w e v e r

He will get that hair waxed (yes, WAXED.) the second his partner mentions any type of dislike or something similar towards it.

I = Impact play:

This will completely depend on his partner. Sylus personally does not enjoy hitting you, but as long as the two of you sit down and you explain to him you truly want it (and will enjoy it) he is willing to indulge you.

He won't do anything extreme, but you can expect him to make you count to fifteen while he smacked your ass with a soft padded tool as punishment.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does not masturbate often nor does he truly enjoy it.

Go here for a full explanation.

K = Kissing:

Something very specific he enjoys is the feeling of your tongue against his. His tongue is longer than the average person's so you will struggle to welcome it, but that's just what is so delicious to him.

Sylus will often plant kisses right on the middle of your chest (in between your breasts if you're a lady) and on your stomach (iykyk).

L = Location (favorite places to have sex.)

The bed, though not any bed. It has to be one with a comfortable mattress and a steady headboard.

He also likes to have sex in the shower, holding you up in his arms while your back is pinned against the cold wall.

M = Masochism:

Not a masochist in any way. Sylus does not enjoy being inflicted pain (the same way he does not like to hurt you.)

Biting him and scratching his back is fair game though!

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesomes, group sex, public sex ect— Anything that involves sharing you or showing you to others is an absolutely no.

Making you bleed or burning you, breath play and degradation are also completely off the table.

O = Oral

Sylus is reaaaaally into blowjobs. The way you try and fail to fit his full length inside of your mouth, how the muffled moans that leave your throat feel against his throbbing cock and the teary look on your pretty little face is just what he needs to cum in no time at all.

Naturally he will return to favor anytime you want (or whenever he decides you deserve to "unwind" after a long day.) Sylus is a slow eater. He takes his time when exploring with his tongue, his nose adding such a pleasurable pressure against your hardened clit and feeling how you grow wetter each passing minute as he preps you torturously slow.

P = Patience:

Very much into edging and it's always accompanied by tons of praises, though a few teases will be thrown into the mix from time to time.

He is not trying to ruin or deprive you from your orgasm, Sylus merely wants to watch how absolutely adorable you get when you grow desperate enough to actually beg for it. So desperate that you feel no shame in asking him for exactly what you need and who is he to deny it after you've been so good?

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not particularly his thing, but he is always willing to eat you out in between meetings (or have you give him a treat under his desk ;) )

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

A natural risk taker in general though surprisingly traditional once he's comfortable with a routine in the bedroom. Call him a creature of habit if you will.

Not that he's boring— Far from it — He is willing to try new things if you're the one suggesting it, but he knows how to spice things up based on your preferences and moods without needing outside influence.

I think it's worth mentioning BDSM plays commonly include some sort of routine so I also based this on that fact!

S = Sleepy sex:

Morning sex is number one of his absolute favorite things. It feels intimate, as if the two of you are the only people in the whole world and, most importantly, it feels safe.

The feeling of you so pliable and soft in his arms, the raspy and quiet noises from you while he gently works you open for him, how warm you feel around his cock when he slipped inside, the feeling of your back against his broad chest— He could go on for hours about why he loves it so much.

T = Top or bottom:

Stone top! He likes the role of caretaker and the general dominance that comes with it.

U = Underwear:

He prefers when you have nothing on, but if he had to pick then he likes silk! Night slips, robes, his own fancy shirts...ect. The fabric feels nice to touch and it won't irritate your skin even if things get a bit heated.

V = Voyeurism:

Letting others watch you? Absolutely not.

Him watching you masturbate however? Whew, the thought alone has him hot and bothered.

W = Wild card: (A personal headcanon that can be considered unexpected)

I don't know if this is unexpected (probably not if you follow me), but I will put it here because of what I've seen around this fandom.

Sylus likes gentle, loving and slow sex. The "violent", aggressive type is just not who he is nor will he bring it to the bedroom. Playing rough and being aggressive are two completely different things, remember that guys!

X = X-Ray:

I ain't doing this LMFAO sorry pookies dick anatomy is not for me. yk, a dick is a dick. Just know it's BIG.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is not overly high or super low. Sylus is a very "go with the flow" kind of guy for these things; If he sees you're in the mood or knows it's a good day for it then he will initiate something.

Z = Zones (His sensitive spot/s)

The middle of his chest where his scar is.

HIS BACK. Literally anywhere you touch him there just goes straight to his cock. Honorable mentions of his lower back and spine!

[fawnnlvr]

a very purple beginning | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x purplehaired!reader

summary: in which a new agent joins the bau as their secretary and her dark purple hair and cold, reserved nature has piqued the interest of the bau, especially a special doctor.

word count: 2.1k (originally more but i decided to turn this into a series ♥︎)

masterlist

author's note: i am in love with this series i created in my head and in my notes app. reader is inspired by captain holt from brooklyn 99 bc i believe he is iconic. maybe adoptive daughter. anyways, hope you enjoy since i am making more parts ♥︎

"Is she even human?" Emily Prentiss asked, her mouth slightly parted in awe as her eyes followed your figure.

Her fellow colleagues shared the same expression as their eyes followed your every move. The way you walked, the way you spoke, the way you fixed a stray strand of your hair that was blocking your vision— it all seemed too perfect.

"It's like watching a robot in the body of a model." Morgan added as he watched you speak to Hotch regarding the matters in the open file the two of you were reading.

Spencer Reid stayed quiet in his seat, listening to the murmurs around him as he too found it hard to tear his eyes away from the new addition to the team. You had joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit only eight days ago as a secretary once their previous communication liason had left. Within those eight days, you were already the talk of the office with many claiming you as their so called 'work crush' and 'hopefully future work wife'. However, most of those dreams quickly fell through when people interacted with you and realized your beauty my only be for looking and not interacting with.

Although your job requires you to work closely with the team, Spencer and you have only interacted three times within that time frame.

The first was when Hotch had introduced you to everybody and Spencer gave you a nervous smile to which you replied back with the same stone expression on your face. The second time was when he apologized for getting in your way when you nearly bumped into him while turning the corner. You simply nodded your head before continuing your stride. The third and hopefully not final time was when you asked him a question about his germaphobia and how you could accommodate him while planning for the trips. You called him into the office that day and he had stammered as he told you that what you were currently doing was fine. Your eyes simply narrowed at his anxious figure before releasing him from your office.

"What hair dye do you think she uses because it hasn't faded not once and that is one of the hardest colors to maintain?" Penelope added, eyebrows furrowed as she knew the question would bug her until she asked. However, even the chirpy, extroverted Penelope could sometimes find certain people a bit scary. Hotch being one for the first few weeks she worked with him, and you being second.

"I know right? It's the perfect dark plum purple shade." Emily commented, shifting her weight to the other side as her eyes trailed from the roots of your hairs to the ends. Then, her dark brown eyes glanced to Spencer, "Hey Reid, your shirt is the same color as her hair. You're matching."

All three agents turned to Spencer who was sitting at his desk, just four feet away. He quickly averted his eyes from you and looked at them. "What's that?"

"Looks like he was staring at Miss Perfect too. I'm sure he loves her hair since it's basically his favorite color." Morgan teased, the same playful smile on his face that appeared whenever he mentions a potential romantic partners for the young prodigy of the FBI.

"I-It's a nice color. I wear it all the time and it's nice to see others appreciate it as well. There was a poll conducted in California that stated that purple was one of the most underappreciated colors when it came to choosing a favorite." Spencer rambled, fidgeting with his fingers.

Your purple hair was really what caught his attention in the beginning. It was this deep, rich shade of purple, the same shade that was littered in the forms of small trinkets or blankets in his home. The same shade that he thought looked the best on him when he looked into the mirror, making him more confident, so he bought more clothing in that shade. The same color that gave him this sense of comfort, as if when he looked at it, he was being embraced by a cold warmth. So in conclusion, he very much did love your hair simply because he already loved the color. At least, that is what he told himself to justify the unusual amounts of time he found his eyes wandering towards you.

"Yeah, cherry red is very in right now so I can't blame them." Penelope agreed.

"She seems so cool. Has anyone here actually spoken to her though?" Emily looked around to see if anyone could give her an answer she wanted to hear about the mysterious enigma that is you.

Morgan stated his experience first, "At the coffee bar, I once told her how I thought it was such a good morning and she told me it was expected to rain at noon. Then she walked off with her coffee."

They looked at Penelope next. "Well, I tried to talk to her— I really did. I was about to knock on her office door then I noticed the door was a tad bit open and I could hear her conversation on the phone. She was being really mean to the guy on the other side of the line so I got scared. Plus, she has that same stone cold look Hotch gives us when we turn in our paperwork late."

"So horror stories so far." the Prentiss girl winced at the thought that the new girl didn't have the warmest reputation.

"I don't think I have ever seen her smile." Rossi stated, joining the conversation and scaring the living life out of Morgan who didn't hear or sense him coming, "Sorry Morgan. Anyways, she is probably the same age as Spencer yet has the attitude of commander chief Hotch. Even I feel scared to talk to her."

"Great. Even the man with the most experience in dealing with psychopath serial killers hasn't even talked to her." Emily sighed as she crossed her arms. Rossi opened his mouth to testify against that statement since he did try to speak to you, but the original story was far too embarassing and he would rather keep that to himself.

"Didn't she call Reid up to her office a few days ago?" Rossi asked and everybody turned to Reid who was trying to finish writing his paperwork so he isn't subjected to the chilling stare of Hotch.

He looked towards them, putting down his pen, "She asked me if there was anything she could do to accommodate my germaphobia while traveling or in general."

The entire group swiftly moved as a whole towards Spencer's desk to interrogate him.

"How did she say it? Was she mean?" Penelope asked.

"Did a crow fly by the window?" Morgan laughed.

"Did she run out of battery and you had to change out her motherboard?" Rossi added, chuckling a little as well.

"No to Morgan and Rossi— Rossi especially since that isn't even technically correct— but she was nice." They looked at him weirdly before he added, "I guess?"

"Nice? You guess? Spencer we need every single detail. How exactly did she say it? What words did she use? I need to now the connotations of her words and how she structured it." The tech analysis was known for making friends with everybody under the roof of Quantico. She couldn't let her streak be broken because she was too scared. She needed to prepare herself before going into war.

"That was basically it. There was nothing too it. She wasn't mean or rude, she just asked a simple question as to how she can make me feel more comfortable— so in my opinion, she was nice." He defended your honor in a way, making it known that you were not a mean person at all.

You had went out of your way in order to ask him how you can improve his comfortability. No one had ever asked him that or acknowledged his needs that may have seemed simple and little to those on the outside, but huge to him. It was an aspect in his life that constantly controlled his every action and it was nice to know that somebody cared enough to help him after reading it in his case file.

"Maybe she's one of those cold people on the outside but a secret sweetheart." Emily suggested and Penelope gasped as if she just realized life-changing information.

"Oh my goodness, if that's true and I have been avoiding her this entire time— I am a terrible person. I, Penelope Garcia, had judged a person by their cover. I need to make it up to her. I need to —"

"She's coming." Spencer warned. This was probably the only time he thanked his eyes' little habit of trying to find you wherever you were in the room because he wouldn't want you to find out they were all huddled together to discuss what type of person you were.

The group all composed themselves as they directed their attention to you and Hotch making your ways to the group. Wow, it was like watching a father and daughter duo. The sharp gazes and the tight lines of the lips that never threatened to curl.

Hotch looked down towards you and you caught his eye before stepping forward, barely an inch. Almost as if you did not want to, but Hotch previously instructed you to do so.

"We have a case." you stated and Hotch nodded from behind your figure. Your voice was quiet yet monotone as you faced the group of people.

"Briefing room in ten. [Surname] will present the case. Garcia, assist her."

"Yes sir." Garcia immediately stepped forward as you took a step back, almost taken aback by her enthusiasm to be near you, an act that only Spencer seemed to notice as Garcia briskly walked to take a place by your side.

You stiffly walked by Penelope's side, almost as if the dark confidence you held in your walk was shaken by the mere presence of a bright individual beside you.

Spencer Reid arrived in the briefing room and sat in his usual seat. This was the first case you would be presenting and joining after Hotch decided that the first week of your job should be spent organizing the work left by the previous communication liason and getting a feel for the work.

Hotch gave you and Penelope a nod, signaling that it was time to start. The tech analysis had passed out files as you stood right beside the projector, prim and poised.

The briefing room was quiet, so quiet that Spencer was sure that you could hear his breathing pattern doing its best to return back to normal after pacing back and forth before he entered due to not wanting to be the first person in the room along with you and Penelope.

Your voice echoed through the room. It wasn't loud and projecting, nor was it soft and quiet, it was just right. Your spoke as if the entire report was memorized and rehearsed, definitely not giving you a chance to beat the robot allegations.

Your eyes really flickered off of either the projector or Hotch, but when it did, Spencer tried to offer a nice smile of support. Whenever he presented in front of large crowds, he was told to try and get a feeling for the crowd and so he thought you would appreciate knowing you were doing good.

Blink. You had blinked at him before averting your gaze someplace else and finishing the report. That was better than no reaction, he reasoned.

"Wheels up in thirty." Hotch stated, gathering the files as he stood up and made his way out. Following closely behind him was you. The clacks of your high heels quietly echoed in the room as the rest of the agents watched as you walked out— more like strutted out.

The door had closed and the remaining agents had turned to Penelope to tell them all that happened while they were alone for approximately eight minutes and ten seconds.

"Oh my goodness. Once you get over the monotone stern voice, she really is nice. Her expression did not change once and she didn't smile, but I can see it in her eyes— I think she likes me." Penelope proudly proclaimed, her nose tilted up as she retold her accomplishment.

"Looks like she's not so scary after all." Rossi stated, content, now that he knows he can have a conversation with you without worrying that you will be mean. He once had to deal with a group of cool teenagers for a case back in the day and you reminded him of them. Somebody who can ruin his self esteem and confidence with a small snicker and comment.

"Slowly but surely, I think she'll open up." Derek stated.

Spencer looked down on his lap. That's what he's been trying to say.

[strwberrybils]

SOMETHING NEW with caitlyn kiramman

୧ ‧₊˚ your sex life with your girlfriend, caitlyn, was sweet, but a little too…vanilla. so, you tell her exactly what you want, and she fulfills your wishes in more ways than you could think of.

pairings and aus. oldergf!caitlyn kiramman 𝑥 fem!reader

warnings. smut. swearing. light choking. orgasm denial. mention of a safe word, though not used. cum play. bondage/tying up. mommy kink. caitlyn being a big softie for her gf.

gabi’s quick thoughts. none. just this. sorry for the bad ending oops i really had nothing to say </3

word count. 5.5k

masterlist ‧₊˚ taglist

you don’t even knock.

your nerves are too loud for politeness, and your thoughts have been spiraling all morning. you need to say it now, or you won’t say it at all.

you and caitlyn had been dating for months, and she was absolutely lovely in every way. she was passionate, full of care, and she always told you how special you were to her, which, you appreciate. 

but, there was something missing. 

you and caitlyn first had intimacy around three months in. it was the most romantic and sweet thing you had ever experienced, and after, she held you for hours until the both of you drifted off to sleep. 

however, now a couple months later, you were wanting a bit more. it was relatively the same each time— you had gentle sex, with light kisses and fragile touches, cleaned up, and fell asleep. it wasn’t that you hated it— no, quite the opposite— but you were dying to try something new from time to time. you were just too scared to tell her. 

would she be down for it? or would it be repulsive to her? you had no idea. 

caitlyn was always pretty closed off when it came to talking about fantasies or things she wanted to try, which was a surprise, considering she had four years on you, and was way more experienced. you honestly didn’t have a clue if she was into anything other than standard vanilla sex, and at first, it didn’t raise any questions. but you were burning with passion, for such a deeper need that she could only fulfill. 

so, here you stood, right behind her closed door with clammy hands and a heart beating with anxiety. it wasn’t that you feel like you couldn’t talk about it, but everything was just so new, and the fear of messing up swallowed the desire to be direct with what you wanted. 

reluctantly, you pushed the door open, and stopped dead in the doorway. 

“cait, can we talk—?”

there are guards in her room. two of them, standing straight-backed near her window like they’re made of stone, and you have to take a double-take to make sure that they’re even breathing. caitlyn is sitting at her desk, reading something with too many signatures at the bottom, completely honed in. 

she looks up, startled, but clearly pleased to see you. her eyes soften, “darling—”

“i didn’t know you had people in here,” you mumble, one foot already back in the hall, regretting every step that led you here. you should’ve just waited, or called— but it was too late for that now. 

“what’s wrong?” she stands from her chair, already walking toward you, and you already know that there’s a slim chance you can get out of this. her voice lowers, gentle, like she thinks you’re hurt. her chin tilts, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

you hesitate. you were going to wait until tonight, to maybe whisper it in her ear while you curled up beside her, or maybe say it in a way that didn’t feel so serious. but now you’re standing here in front of her, heart stuttering, hands cold, yet the words are burning up the back of your throat.

“honey, just tell me. surely it can’t be that—“

“i wanted to talk about… um… our sex life.”

it gets so quiet that you hear one of the guards clear his throat in attempt to mask clear discomfort, and caitlyn blinks. her cheeks flush instantly, a pink hue blossoming over her cheeks, spreading to the tips of her ears. you can’t feel her, but you know she’s burning hot. 

“oh,” she says stiffly, pretending to cough, “oh. well then, um…g-guards, you may be dismissed.”

they file out wordlessly, though one of them definitely walks a little faster than the other, and you swear that you can hear one of them pretending to gag, followed by a giggle as they leave. the door shuts with a soft click, and you’re left alone with her, the tension humming in the air like static.

you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve.

“i shouldn’t have just…said it like that,” you murmur out nervously, still messing with the loose frays on your sleeve.  “i didn’t know they were gonna be in here, and now you probably think i’m—”

“no,” your girlfriend cuts in quickly, “i mean— yes, they were here, but no, i don’t think anything bad. just… surprised.”

“you never talk about it,” you say, quieter now, trying to avoid eye contact as best you could. “…and sometimes i feel like i shouldn’t bring it up because you’re always so composed. i just feel like everything’s so taboo between the two of us.”

she takes your hands, thumbs brushing over your knuckles, and looks at you with sweet, glossy eyes. her voice softens, “oh, i’m sorry, darling. i just… i’ve never been the kind of person who finds it easy to talk about those things. even when i want to.”

you nod, heart slowing down. she was right— knowing her upbringing, that probably wasn’t her focus at all. sure, she’s had flings and short-lived relationships, but you were the first girl that she was really with. none of this probably came easy for her, and you didn’t blame her. 

“babe, i wanted to….um. try…some things?” you confess, twisting your foot against the hardwood floors awkwardly. you swallow, trying to ease up, “something new. but not just that— i want us to be able to talk about ‘it’ without it feeling so… fragile. like if i say the wrong word, you’ll shut down. i’m scared of that.”

caitlyn exhales like she’s been holding her breath since you walked in. she pulls you in, forehead against yours, a gentle hand coming up to rub the small of your back, lowering gently to the lowest part. 

“i’m not shutting down,” she whispers into you, “i’m just… learning how to be more upfront about things. when i was younger, it wasn’t really on my mind, you know, love?”

you close your eyes, leaning farther into her embrace, letting her arms fully close around you, circling around your back and up your shoulders. “do you wanna talk now?” you ask her, your voice low, but oozing with nervousness.

she kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then a little lower, lips brushing your neck, sending gentle chills up your spine. you shiver against her as she pulls your face up with her hands, eyes boring into yours. 

she cracks a gentle smile, “we can talk, and then maybe… we can show each other what we want.”

you smile, a little breathless.

“okay.”

and the moment the words leave your mouth, you see something shift in her. it isn’t anything like usual— hesitant and reserved, but instead, it’s something akin to a quiet focus. 

she doesn’t rush at all. she lifts your hand to her mouth first, pressing a kiss to your knuckles like it’s the most gentle thing in the world. her voice is barely above a whisper as her eyes flutter up at you— her usual glassy, bright blue eyes now shadowed over with something you don’t recognize. 

“tell me what you want to try.”

your cheeks heat, but you hold her gaze, careful not to falter. this is what you’ve been wanting for so long, and now that the moment’s finally here, you want to do any and everything but back out. 

“i want you to stop being so careful. with me.”

she tilts her head, partially in confusion, partially because she wants you to elaborate more. so, you clarify.

“you’re always gentle, and so very sweet. which…i love that, don’t get me wrong— but i want more than just sweetness sometimes. i want you tell me what to do and when to do it— i just…i want you to do whatever you want.”

her eyes flick down to your lips. she’s listening attentively, taking in each word like it really matters— which, to her, it does.

you’re slightly nervous now, and a little embarrassed, heat flaring in your cheeks. you physically can’t look at her without doubling over, and you do so— falling into her, saying the rest against her collarbone, your voice barely above the sound of her breath.

“i want to see what you’re like when you’re not being nice. i want…i want you to be mean. rough with me.” 

something flickers in caitlyn, and you feel her nod, her hand coming up to gently stroke your hair. “are you sure?”

“yes.” you reply almost instantly, and that’s all it takes for cait. 

she doesn’t rush, but there’s a purpose to her actions now, a confidence that settles into her spine as she backs you toward her bed. the air shifts with it, and you feel your heartbeat speed up, anticipation curling in your stomach when she kisses you differently this time.

not the soft, tender brush of lips she usually gives you before sleep or bidding you goodbye. this one is deeper, hungrier, like it’s making up for every time she held back. her hands stay at your waist for a second, then trail lower, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, testing the waters just a little bit. 

she pulls back just slightly.

“i want you to tell me if i go too far,” she says, and she’s nothing but serious. you nod fervently, but she shakes her head, her index finger curling underneath your chin and tilting it up, forcing you to look at her. 

“tell me.”

“yes ma’am.” you squeak out, nodding again, your skin tingly and hot. 

“what a good girl.” she coos, and before you even have enough time to react, her hands find the hem of your t-shirt— which, is really her’s— pulling it off, her fingers brushing over every inch of your smooth skin like she’s committing it to memory. she kisses the space below your collarbone, then lower, and lower, and when you gasp her name, she murmurs “yes, love?” like she’s teasing, but her hands are shaking just a little.

she’s nervous, but she masks it well. you can tell she’s starting to ease up by the way she kisses you and grabs your ass, and not just a little tap like she usually does. her hands are roaming all around you, hungry for you, desperate to make you feel good. 

you reach for her shirt too— unbuttoning it, one by one, until her chest is bare beneath you, excusing a black, lacy bra that she’s wearing. her hair falls forward, brushing your shoulder, and she leans in again, mouth hot against your neck now, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you discard her shirt to the floor like it’s worth nothing, grabbing her face to pull her lips back onto yours. you’re both messily trying to reach the bed, stumbling over shirts and other items that are scattered about her bedroom. 

cait pulls you down onto her crisply made bed, covers shifting as she flips you underneath her with a swift movement, not breaking the kiss. a tiny moan passes through your lips as her fingers toy with the waistband of your jeans, and you can practically hear your own heartbeat in your ears, anticipation rising. 

she shifts down to kiss your jaw, then your throat, then across your chest, slow and methodical like she’s tracing a map she’s read a hundred times but only now dares to touch. she presses her thigh between yours, and you arch into it, your breath catching in your throat.

“c-cait—”

“i know,” she murmurs, her voice dripping honey as she shifts down, her hand reaching the button on your jeans. as soon as she looks up at you for confirmation, you breathe out a helpless plea, and she nods, grinning. 

she slides her fingers onto the buttons, undoing each one carefully, amused at how shaky you get with each one she takes out slow and purposeful, until you’re gasping her name again, this time raw and open. 

with a little bit of force, plus your shimmying, she moves your bottoms down until they reach your ankles, sliding them off and throwing them behind her without another look. 

caitlyn gives you a half-smile when her eyes land on your pretty blue panties, the one with the lace and bow at the top that she had picked out for you. you offer up a sheepish smile, legs squeezed shut, “hi.”

“hi, pretty,” she gleams, tapping your thighs lightly, “open ‘em.”

you oblige, your legs spreading slowly for her, and she lets out a quiet giggle when she sees the giant wet spot at your core. she wets her lips with her tongue, “eager much, huh, babe?” 

you grow shy, your head falling into your shoulder as you nod silently. 

“let me take care of you.” 

caitlyn’s face falls in between your thighs, kissing them repeatedly, landing on all your sweet spots that she knows all too well. both her hands find the waistband of your panties, pulling them down, and you shiver at the new temperature of air. 

she, once again, throws your underwear onto the floor like it’s a piece of trash, cooing out at how pretty you look— and she tells you that, too. 

“you make it so hard to hold back,” she whispers honestly, “i…i don’t think i want to anymore.”

“then don’t.”

and she doesn’t.

“just—“ she brings her wrist up to her mouth, her teeth trapping the edge of a hair tie as her hands cup around her scalp, pooling her hair into a ponytail. she slides the elastic up her fingers and your eyes are glued to her, watching her nimble fingers dwindle, securing her hair and blowing a loose piece away from her face. 

your feel your eyes widen, just a bit. you don’t have much time to react before her middle and ring finger are placed against your sopping pussy, collecting your juices on her fingertips, spreading the wetness to your clit, teasing you. you shudder.

“w-wait, caitlyn,” you interrupt before she can go any further, and she looks up at you, “hm?”

“…nevermind.” you shake your head. 

she hums, but she’s not convinced. her hand slides up to your thigh, slower now, more deliberate. she squeezes it gently, “no. there’s something else.”

you bite your lip.

she shifts closer, blue eyes watching you with that sharp, focused look that always makes your stomach turn instantly. 

“you promised,” she reminds you gently, “that you’d tell me what you wanted.”

you hesitate. it’s not that you don’t want to— it’s just… different this time. harder to say. it’s more than just her changing her demeanor, it’s an action, once that you weren’t sure if she’d be interested in. 

“is it something you’re afraid i won’t like?” she asks gently, not pushing, but just out of pure wonder.

you shake your head.

“then what is it?”

your voice is barely a whisper when you say, “you’ll think it’s too much.”

caitlyn’s gaze softens, but she doesn’t let up. she leans in, brushing her lips just below your dripping core.

“tell me anyway.”

your throat works as you breathe out, honest, “i want you to tie me up.”

there’s a beat of silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. you can tell she’s thinking about what you just said, gears turning like she’s full of ideas.

she pulls back just slightly, just enough to see your face. “you want me to—”

“not in a scary way,” you rush out, cheeks burning, “just… soft. but firm. like you’re in control. i don’t know.” you look away from her, “gosh, i feel stupid.”

“look at me,” she says, and when you do, her expression makes you forget how to breathe. she’s not judging you or looking hesitant, but instead, her eyes are lit up like she’s been wanting to do that all along. 

“you’re not stupid,” she says slowly, “you’re perfect.”

you barely get a sound out before she speaks again, “stay right there.”

you nod, breathless, and watch as she stands up and crosses the room— calm and composed, but she’s got a new pep in her step. she opens a drawer at her desk and rummages around for a second before she returns with a soft, navy silk scarf and that look in her eyes again, the one that makes your knees go weak even when you’re lying down.

“hands up.” she orders, and it isn’t laced with that usual tenderness— no, this was a command, and you follow it.

you lift them slowly. you’re nervous and excited all at once, and the mixture is dizzying. she moves to the side of the bed and she binds your wrists together behind your back, gently but tight enough that you can feel it. her fingers linger after, tracing the new vulnerability she’s created.

“still okay?” she asks, watching your face to make sure you’re alright.

you nod again for what feels like the hundredth time, “yes, please. i need you.”

cait smiles. not her usual amused, aristocratic smirk— not at all. this one is deeper, much darker, and you whine at that, at that look, where you both know the exact same thing. 

she’s gonna make you fall apart. 

she kisses down your neck, your chest, taking her time while your arms stay pinned over your head. she moves lower until she’s sprawled underneath you, her nose laying on top of her clit. she starts off slowly, licking into you slow and precise, holding your thighs open as you gasp her name. you squirm and she presses your hips down with a firm hand, murmuring against your skin, “easy, love. i’ve got you.”

and you know she does. 

her tongue finds your clit almost instantly, toying with the sensitive bud. you sigh, basking in her touch, fingers curling in the sheets where you can, the scarf tight behind your back as your body arches helplessly.

you can’t even hide how loud the moan is. it slips out like a secret, but it’s still very audible. you weren’t expecting her to be this good at what you asked for, nor this focused. this deliberate.

caitlyn doesn’t say anything at first— she just hums low, like she’s pleased with herself. her lips are soft, her tongue precise, her grip on your thighs firm and immovable. it’s everything you asked for— commanding, but still cait, like always. 

then, suddenly, her lips pull away from you with a pop, and you whine out helpless, body shifting on the covers. she pulls her fingers to her mouth and wets them, eyes glued on you, lining them up with your wet pussy. slowly, she pushes them inside you— so deep that you can feel it so high up. she curls them tight and you gasp, and then, she’s gone. 

caitlyn pumps her fingers in and out in a harsh rhythm, fingertips curling as her thumb comes up to rub your clit in sloppy, quick circles. it’s nearly too much for you— it throws you into a haze of nothing but pleasure, the only sounds filling the room being your heavy breathing and the wetness from your cunt. she’s unrelenting, and it’s all you could ever want. 

you whisper her name like a prayer, squirming beneath her touch, but she tuts at you mockingly. 

“don’t run from it,” she murmurs, lips brushing against your sensitive thighs, “you said you wanted me in control, didn’t you?  i’m just giving you what you asked for.”

you whimper at the words, your body already on edge, your wrists aching in the best way. you want more. God, you want so much more.

you don’t even realize you’re crying out until her fingers quicken even faster— rapidly pushing inside you with practiced ease, curling just right, drawing a gasp from your throat that’s half-shock, half-desperation.

“f-fuck, cait—”

“that’s it,” she praises, voice low, “take it. be a good girl and take it.”

your legs are shaking, and she’s not even moving that fast. that’s the thing— she’s not trying to break you, but she’s trying to unravel you. 

her thumb circulates against your clit as her fingers work you open, and your whole body stutters beneath the intensity. you’re so worked up that you almost try to reach out before realizing that you’re tied up— you’re twitching, gasping, panting like it’s too much, but you don’t want her to stop. not even for a second.

she leans forward, teeth grazing your skin, “you like being tied up for me?” she asks you softly, but mockingly, “you like not being able to touch me? hm?” 

you nod desperately, your head thrown back as a string of curses slip through your teeth, “i love it,” you take a second to breathe, “i love it— please, c-caitlyn, don’t stop—”

your girlfriend chuckles— low, dangerous, but seemingly affectionate. her pace quickens slightly, and she’s cooing little praises beneath you as your back arches. you’re so close that it hurts.

“you’re so pretty when you’re like this,” caitlyn tells you, voice raw now, and her usual sweetness is long gone. “falling apart for me, making all these sweet little sounds— fuck, i need you.” 

you feel your walls tightening around her, crying out against her palm, practically begging for whatever else she can give. 

you feel your legs shake and your breath hitch, and you’re so close you feel like your body’s gonna snap. “c-cait, cait, baby— i’m gonna—“

but caitlyn… caitlyn has other plans.

just when you’re about to tip over the edge, she pulls back— fingers drenched, eyes dark, her breathing steady, while yours is completely shattered.

“you thought you were gonna cum, didn’t you?” she questions, thumb tracing a line over your inner thigh as she looks up at you with that look, and you shiver at that.

you nod, dazed and wide-eyed. “yes— baby, please, i—”

“did i say you could? did you even ask?” 

your breath catches in your throat again, this time from the shift in her tone. it’s not cruel, no, never cruel— but stern. in control, just what you had asked for. 

“well, n-no,” you admit, voice small, “but i thought—”

“you don’t get to think tonight,” caitlyn cuts in gently, and she leans up and kisses your trembling lips, “you asked me to take charge. so i am. you’ll cum when i want you to.”

your head drops back against the pillows, a whine building in your throat. she’s already kissing her way back down your body, hands pressing your thighs wide open again. 

you’re too sensitive now. every touch feels like a wild fire. your toes curl, your spine twists, and her tongue is back on your clit like nothing ever stopped— but you know now. you know she won’t let you finish, at least, not until you ask nicely— and even then, you know who’s really in control. 

and somehow, that makes it worse, yet so much hotter.

you cry out again, hips lifting, your legs shaking, and the feeling is so much stronger than before, but she pulls away just before you can get close. 

again.

“caitlyn,” you’re literally begging now, tears stinging against your eyes, “please, i’ll do anything, i’ll be so good. but i just need—” 

“i know,” she whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh gently, and it’s reassuring, “i know, darling. you’re doing so well. but not yet.”

you lose count of how many times she edges you like that— over and over, winding you up like a string she’s pulling tighter and tighter, and refusing to let you let go. she holds your hips down when you squirm, hushes you when you sob, kisses you so sweetly, and still won’t let you fall apart.

“tell me your safeword,” she murmurs, hands smoothing over your stomach with one hand, the other still buried deep inside of your cunt, fingers still at work. “just so i know you still remember.”

you nod through tears, eyes blurry and unfocused, “blueberry.”

she kisses your thighs, “good girl.”

then, she starts all over again. not completely— just enough to work you back up, her mouth replacing her thumb on your clit, and you feel like you’re seeing stars. 

you bury your face in a pillow, the need for stability gnawing at you. you can’t hold on, so you smush your face into the silky case, still wrecked. “please, cait…honey, i-i want to cum. i need to. i’ve been so…so good— and it hurts. please, cait!” 

caitlyn pulls away from your pussy and hums, thinking it over a few times, and then she grins.

“on my fingers or my tongue?”

you blink, gasping, surprised that she was even going to let you finish off. “wh-what?”

“you get one,” she tells you, “and you better cum hard, because i’m not letting you get another one.”

it doesn’t take much thought to answer her question. you choose her tongue, which she favors, and it’s inside you in seconds.

and when you cum— finally, completely, crying into the sheets— you scream her name like it’s the only thing that’ll save you. your whole body locks, and she talks you through it the entire time.

“yeah, that’s it, darling— cum for me.”

“such a pretty girl.”

“i know, i know, but you’re a big girl. you can take it.”

you don’t remember how long it takes for you to catch your breath. you just know that when you do, caitlyn’s right there, smiling. she’s brushing your hair back, her thumb tracing your cheekbone. “still breathing?”

you nod. barely.

“good,” she says, kissing you slowly, sweetly. “i love you.” she reminds you. 

you’re still laid out beneath her, body flushed and soft from the first round, when your free hands reach up to touch her again. your fingers trail up her clothed thigh, light and wanting, but she catches your wrist— not roughly. just firm.

you pause, eyes flicking up, “you don’t want me to touch you?”

caitlyn hesitates. she doesn’t pull you away, not exactly, but her grip lingers for a second, her thumb rubbing absent circles into your skin.

“i do,” she affirms softly, “i do, it’s just… i want to treat you tonight.”

you blink, a little breathless, “treat me?”

caitlyn exhales, and it’s a little shaky. her cheeks are flushed, and you can tell she’s nervous from something she hasn’t said yet, something she’s clearly been holding back.

“it’s stupid,” she murmurs, half-smiling like she’s already bracing to be teased, “i’ve just… i like being the one in charge. with you. i like taking care of you. and…” she trails off, lips parting like she’s not sure if she should finish.

“caitlyn,” you call out her her, and she hums. “baby, you can tell me. this is for both of us, and if you want something, i want you to let me know.” 

“okay,” she whispers slowly, more to brace herself than to respond to your statement. her eyes cast downward like she’s suddenly shy, and you blink up at her, surprised. “i’ve been thinking about something, a word— something i want you to say. but only if you’re comfortable.”

you nod, a little nervous now, but curious, “kiramman, spit it out.” 

you can tell she wants to, but she’s reluctant. she shakes her head and pulls you into her by your hips and kisses you, her fingers dancing against your nude hips, and you forget all about it. not wanting to push her. she throws your leg over hers, her hands roaming all over. she moans into you, “i want to touch you again.” 

you feel like your skin is ignited. you’re wanting more than you can handle, your sensitivity still heightened, but you don’t care. you let caitlyn flip you underneath her, let her place sloppy kisses all over your body, let her tongue graze your clit until your legs shake. 

she finds herself under you once again, her tongue drawing sloppy figure 8’s on your clit, then down to your pussy. you’re so sensitive that you’re already getting close, and caitlyn can tell— she always does. 

when you whimper out, she shushes you, “stop that, darling, let mommy make you feel good. it’s okay, i know— i’m not going anywhere.”

you stop. “caitlyn?”

she stops, and looks up at you. “yes?” 

“what did you just say?” 

she draws a slow breath in, “w-what do you mean?”

“let who make me feel good?”

there’s a pause, and you raise an eyebrow at her, smiling. she looks away for a second and almost laughs— and you know she’s embarrassed, which makes your heart squeeze. 

caitlyn sighs, “you’ve never called me anything like that before. but sometimes, when you let go like that… when you let me take care of you…” she swallows. “i think about you calling me…you know—“

“mommy?”

“right.” she agrees, looking anywhere but in your eyes. 

you stare at her for a long moment, heart skipping. caitlyn, flushed and trying so hard to stay composed, still has her hand pressed to your thigh. she's avoiding your eyes, which is rare. but you know her now— know her well enough to see the part of her that tries to hide when she's so vulnerable.

"you could've just said that," you murmur, voice breathy, warm. "you know i'd do anything for you."

her gaze finally meets yours, and something in it softens. she’s still shy, but she’s loosened up. "it's not just about the name, it's... what it means when you say it."

"and what does it mean?" 

caitlyn takes a breath, then crawls back up over you slowly, her body sliding over yours. her hand wraps gently around your throat— not squeezing, just holding— and the shift is immediate. she's in control again, and she knows it, basking in it. 

"it means you're mine," she whispers with a smile, “and i take care of what's mine. always.” 

you whimper at that, at the return of her weight. she watches you unravel beneath her again, and it must be all the permission she needs, because the next second, she's kissing you— rougher this time, messily, like this is the last time. 

quickly, her hands are between your legs again before you can say anything else, parting you with the same unrelenting precision she always has. she fingers you like she knows you inside and out, because she does. she’s so deep that it almost hurts, but the pleasure’s greater than the pain, and you moan out at that.

“cait, please—“ your sentence dies on your tongue, and just when you start to squirm, chasing the edge, she pulls back. 

“ask nicely.” she orders you, and without thinking, you plead, your head dropping into her shoulder. 

“please— m-mommy, please let me cum—“

the groan she lets out is deep, guttural, like you've just unhinged something in her. she doesn't waste another second— her fingers press inside you, slow but firm, and her mouth is back on your throat, your chest, anywhere she can reach. her other hand holds you down when your hips buck, and when you whimper again, she shushes you gently.

"just relax. mommy's gonna take care of everything."

and she does.

she builds you up so slowly you feel like you're losing your mind, touching you just how you like— soft but commanding, her pace teasing yet cruel. you squirm, and she tightens her grip on your hip.

you feel the coil in your stomach pulse, and you cry out, back lifting off of the covers, but caitlyn doesn’t stop. she just kisses your shoulder, “cum for mommy, baby.”

you feel everything in you snap open, your body shaking in periodic spurts, your back falling back into the sweaty covers beneath you. caitlyn helps you ride out your high and you swear you’ve died and came back to life. 

you both sigh and fall into the sheets, looking at each other before giggling silently. caitlyn cups your cheek, “was that…okay?”

“yeah,” you nod and kiss her plump lips, “more than okay.” 

₊⊹ taglist: @drunkinyourbenz

[sapphiccup]

Vi relationship headcannons ->fluffy time!<- SFW

Pairing: Vi x reader <3

When you happen to see each other at a public place, it surprises her, but not enough to not go and say Hi. In fact she sneaks up behind you, and picks you up, twirling you around. “Hi babe, missed you” she’d say hiding in the crook of your neck. While you were nearly scared half to death. Thankfully, this scent she’s been rocking as of late helps you know it’s her. But you don’t tell her that. (A cologne/perfume, that is one of your favorites)

-

When having “sleepovers” she holds you close at night, especially when it’s cold, you run hot and personally love it when its cold. It’s when Vi is the most clingy.

-

You put a smile on her face, waking her up with her favorite sweets from the bakery. Til this day you wonder: for someone who loves sweets how does she make sure she stays healthy? Well wouldn’t you like to know. She’ll never tell.

-

You love being corny with her, and so you make sure the vase you picked out together always has violets in them. In fact you began learning how to be a gardener, to take care of future plant.. especially violets.

One day she came home and witness to see the first sprout. The potted plant says “you”. And Vi writes you a note of the progress of the plant when you’re at work. Le notes says: “I grew 2 cm taller today. Do not.. do not start the short jokes.. I know. But I’m a grower not a shower thank you very much- love Vi <3”

-

Violet loves when you kiss the scar on her lip, you noticed she makes this goofy smile when you kiss her with such preciseness.

-

Vi, likes to kiss the back of your neck to say hello to you.

-

For a long day at work for Vi, she pouts at her phone waiting for you to send her a voice note, whiney about not hearing your voice (it’s only been 7 hours, but she gets irritable if she hasn’t heard you within 2)

-

You try your best as her lovely partner, and give her 1 on 1 time with the start of giving her a long massage. With her favorite oils that doesn’t irritate her tattooed areas. This also strike two birds with one stone, you get to trace her tattoos of eye candy, and she gets to enjoy your strong attentive touch. And you guessed it the both you enjoy physical touch as a love language.

-

Another corny thing you do in this relationship is… Vi buying you butterscotch candies, to you “what’s up buttercup” and loves it when you roll your eyes at her, turning your head to hide a smile. In which she peppers kisses on your face to bring it back out again? She’s smitten with your smile as you are with hers.

[writingpandagoth]

I love post war Snape and just read your fic ‘I will wait for you’ and ‘After the storm’.

Soooo i have an idea.

Severus survive the war but y/n end up in coma after war. And Severus go to see her in hospital, he reads to her, sits by her for days and prays that she will finally wake up.

Hey!

I hope this makes sense. I am currently running on three coffee's and desperately need something to eat!😂

But I hope you enjoy anyways.❤️

Home To Me

He wasn’t supposed to survive.

That had been the plan—unspoken, but no less certain. Do the job. Play the part. Die before he had to face what came after.

But fate had other ideas. Or maybe it simply forgot to finish what it started.

He woke in a hospital bed with his chest bandaged, lungs aching, and magic flickering faintly beneath his skin like the last coals of a dying fire. It had taken days to stop seeing red when he closed his eyes. Weeks before he could walk without feeling like the floor might disappear.

No visitors. Of course not. What did he expect?

He had taught children for years and most still thought him a monster. He had risked his life for a cause and none of them knew it. No medals. No forgiveness. Just silence, and the scrape of time moving forward without him.

But he hadn’t thought of you.

Not until he heard your name.

A passing mention. A whispered report between two Healers outside his ward.

“…Spell Damage—she’s one of the coma cases. Curse to the head, I think. (Y/L/N), yeah. Still unresponsive. Poor thing.”

The world didn’t stop.

But he did.

Your name kept echoing long after the voices were gone.

(Y/L/N).

It wasn’t a common name. Not someone else. Not coincidence.

It was you.

He pushed himself up too fast. The room spun. His body rebelled. Pain bloomed under his ribs like fire across fragile parchment, but he didn’t stop.

He needed confirmation.

He needed proof.

His feet hit the floor hard, the cold stinging through thin hospital slippers. He grabbed the edge of the bed for balance, but even that wasn’t enough—his legs buckled, knees locking from the strain. He gritted his teeth.

He staggered toward the door, still half-tethered to a monitoring charm and an IV line humming with restorative potion. Something yanked against his arm and tore free with a high-pitched hiss. His pulse raced.

He burst into the corridor, shoulder hitting the frame, robes loose around him, eyes wild.

“Miss—” His voice cracked. He tried again, louder. “Miss (Y/L/N)! Is she—where is she?!”

A nurse spotted him instantly.

“Professor Snape—sir, you can’t—!”

“Where is she?!” His voice was hoarse, barely more than gravel and fury. “I heard you—I heard you say her name. Is she here?”

“Sir, please—you need to—”

“Tell me!” he shouted, loud enough to make two other staff flinch. “Is she here? Is she—is she alive?”

He didn’t realize he was swaying until a pair of hands caught him by the arms. Another nurse appeared at his other side, trying to steady him.

“You’re not well enough to walk, sir, please—”

“Don’t tell me what I can do—is it her?” His voice cracked. He sounded broken. He was.

They exchanged glances.

Finally—finally—one of them nodded. “Yes. She was brought in the night of the battle. She’s stable but… unresponsive. Long-term spell trauma. She’s been in Spell Damage ever since.”

Something in him collapsed then—not physically, not yet—but inside. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d held was released like a wound unbound.

He bent forward slightly, both hands trembling.

“I need to see her,” he whispered.

“And you will,” the nurse said softly. “But not yet. Please. You’ll tear the sutures. You’ve only just—”

“I don’t care.”

“But I am sure she would,” the nurse said gently. “She’s not going anywhere. Let us get you well enough to walk without falling over. Then you can see her.”

He stopped fighting after that.

Not because he agreed.

But because that sentence stole all the strength from his bones.

You would.

Of course you would. You were always maddeningly stubborn about his well-being. You had a way of watching him like no one ever had—with expectation, not pity. Like you believed he could be someone worth worrying about.

The nurse helped him back into bed. He didn’t speak. Didn’t resist. Just let the blankets settle over his lap, heart hammering and lungs aching like he’d been sprinting through a battlefield all over again.

They left him alone after that.

And that’s when it truly hit.

You were alive and breathing and in this very building, maybe only floors away—but you couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him, couldn’t speak.

He stared at the ceiling, the walls, the dim glow of the enchanted sconces overhead. Minutes blurred into hours. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes—your smile across the staff table, the way you tilted your head when you were trying not to laugh at him, the fierce light in your eyes the day you hexed a Death Eater mid-duel.

He had thought of you often during the war. More than he ever let show. You were one of the few things he allowed himself to hope for—quietly, uselessly. Now that hope curled sharp in his gut like something poisonous.

Because now you were so close… and still completely out of reach.

He turned on his side slowly, gingerly. The movement pulled at the stitches. He didn’t care.

His voice was hoarse, barely audible in the quiet, but he spoke anyway.

“Don’t do this to me.”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t anger. Just a whisper into the dark.

He imagined you there. Not the motionless version the Healers described, but you—alive, snarky, warm, full of fire. You would roll your eyes at him right now. You would tell him to stop being dramatic. You’d probably tuck a blanket around him and threaten to hex the nurse who let him fall out of bed.

His throat closed.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he said.

And then, softer:

“I didn’t get to tell you.”

He didn’t say the words. Not yet.

Not when you couldn’t hear them.

So he just repeated your name, once, like a prayer.

And didn’t sleep at all.

The nurse didn’t say much that morning.

She just brought his walking robe, helped him into it with the quiet care of someone who’d seen too many kinds of grief, before guiding him out into the corridor.

The corridors of St. Mungo’s were quieter than he expected.

Maybe the world was still mourning. Maybe he was too far gone to notice the living.

The nurse didn’t rush him. She let him walk slowly, one hand lightly at his elbow, only steadying him when his steps faltered. He didn’t speak. He kept his eyes ahead. Kept breathing.

When they reached the room, she paused outside the door.

“Healer checked on her an hour ago,” she said quietly. “Still stable. No change.”

Her voice was gentle, but distant—like she already knew nothing she could say would matter right now.

“Take your time,” she continued softly. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

He didn’t respond. Just nodded.

And then she opened the door.

It was colder than he expected. Not in temperature—just… quiet. Too still. A silence that had settled like dust in the corners. Like even the room had forgotten how to wait.

He stood in the doorway for a long time.

One hand still on the frame, as if letting go would drop him into something he wasn’t ready to survive.

Then, slowly, he stepped inside.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

You were there.

Laid out against pristine white sheets that made your skin look too pale by comparison. There were no tubes, no blood, no violent marks. Just stillness.

His eyes locked on your chest, watching—waiting—until he saw it rise.

Slow. Shallow.

But there.

His body moved before his mind did. One foot forward. Then another.

Crossing the room felt like dragging himself through water. Every part of him screamed to reach you, to run, to fall apart—yet all he could do was walk.

Measured. Careful.

As if you might vanish if he stepped too fast.

When he reached the side of the bed, he stopped.

His breath hitched.

You looked like yourself. Peaceful in a way that made him want to scream.

He just looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time since the battle.

The line of your jaw. The curve of your mouth. The faint crease between your brows that never quite smoothed, even in sleep.

You were here.

Alive.

And yet you weren’t with him.

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he reached for you. He hesitated—his fingers hovering just above yours.

And then, slowly, he let them fall.

He took your hand.

Not tightly.

Just enough.

Warm.

Real.

His knees buckled. He sat down hard in the chair beside your bed, all the strength draining from him in one terrible, silent rush.

He bowed his head.

Shoulders rigid. Spine curled in. One hand gripping yours, the other clenched white-knuckled in his lap.

No words.

No tears.

Just breath. Sharp. Staggered.

He had been holding himself together for days. For weeks. Since the moment he woke up in that hospital bed and realized the world had gone on without him.

This was the first time he allowed himself to break.

And he did.

Silently.

Utterly.

Sitting at your bedside, forehead nearly brushing the mattress, still holding your hand like it was the only thread keeping him in the world.

He didn’t speak.

But if he had, the words would have been simple.

Don’t leave me.

—

The next morning, he came back.

He dressed slowly. Every movement felt deliberate, like his body didn’t quite trust itself yet. The simple act of pulling on clean robes left his shoulders aching. The mirror above the sink offered a reflection he barely recognized—thinner than he remembered, skin still sallow with recovery, hair too long and unkempt.

But his eyes were clear.

And they were focused.

He didn’t ask for help on the walk this time.

No nurse at his elbow. No guiding hand.

Just slow, careful steps down the corridor, one after another, until the familiar door rose up in front of him like something sacred.

He stood there for a moment, his fingers curled loosely at his side. Not hesitating. Just... adjusting. To the reality that you were still on the other side of that door. Alive. Still breathing.

He pushed it open quietly.

The air inside hadn’t changed. It still carried the faint scent of healing potions and clean linens, but there was something else now too—something almost warm, familiar.

You.

The light from the high windows spilled across your bed, catching on the strands of your hair where they fanned out across the pillow.

He walked to the chair slowly, watching you the whole way.

Still. Just as before.

He lowered himself into the seat with a soft exhale, bracing a hand against the armrest as he settled.

No noise. No dramatic pause.

Just... quiet.

He looked at your face.

Not in the way someone checks for signs of life—he already knew you were breathing—but in that steady, searching way of someone who hadn't allowed themselves to look for too long.

The shadows under your eyes.

The slope of your cheek.

The faint twitch in your fingers—maybe reflex, maybe nothing at all.

His gaze softened without permission.

One hand moved to rest on the bed between you. Not touching yours. Not yet.

He didn’t speak.

But the silence was different now—less like grief, and more like reverence.

He stayed there for what felt like hours.

His fingers traced idle patterns against the hem of the blanket. He leaned forward once, as if to say something—but didn’t. Words still felt dangerous. Too final. Too loud.

So he stayed silent.

He counted your breaths.

Listened to the faint tick of the healing charm tucked beneath your mattress.

Breathed with you.

For the first time since the war, he didn’t feel the weight of the world pressing in on him.

Just the weight of this moment.

Of you.

Of not being alone.

—

He visited again the next Day.

Not out of obligation. Not out of guilt.

He simply couldn’t stay away.

The walk was easier now—less painful, more surefooted. But he still moved slowly, not because he had to… but because part of him feared the moment he reached your door. That something might have changed. That the breath he clung to yesterday might not be there today.

When he entered the room, everything was exactly as he left it.

The light through the window had shifted, softer now, gold where yesterday had been grey.

You were still.

But your chest rose.

And that was enough.

He approached quietly, the familiar ache curling low in his ribs as he neared your bedside.

The chair had not moved. He didn’t even think the nurses cleaned it—perhaps they knew now it was his.

He sat with a soft groan, hands folded in his lap.

There was a new chart at the end of your bed. He didn’t read it. He didn’t need numbers.

He watched you.

The soft lines of your face.

The faint flutter of your lashes, unmoving.

He found, to his surprise, that his shoulders weren’t as tight today. That his hands no longer trembled when he reached to place them near yours.

Not touching. Not today.

But close.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

And when he opened them, he whispered your name.

Barely a sound.

More breath than voice.

But it was the first thing he’d spoken since the day he saw you.

And it did not shatter him.

So he said it again.

Once more.

Then leaned back in the chair, arms folded gently, and let the silence settle between you.

Comfortable now.

Like something shared.

By the third morning, the nurses no longer stopped him in the corridor.

They simply nodded when they saw him coming and stepped aside.

He wore real robes this time—not the soft cotton of hospital clothes, but black, proper layers, freshly laundered and a little too stiff from disuse.

It felt strange to wear something like dignity again.

But you deserved that.

He entered the room a little faster than before, his gait no longer uncertain. Still careful, but not frail.

The moment he saw you, his chest loosened.

You hadn’t changed.

Still warm.

Still breathing.

He sat without hesitation.

This time, his fingers reached for yours.

He let them rest lightly over the backs of your knuckles, brushing there with barely-there contact—like a secret he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud.

“You’d hate this,” he murmured. “Me, fussing.”

The words surprised him.

He hadn’t meant to speak.

But they didn’t feel wrong.

“You always told me I was too cold,” he added, eyes on your still hand beneath his. “And now look at me. Coming to sit with you like some tragic character in a bloody romance novel.”

A pause.

He swallowed.

“I don’t care.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes.

The warmth of your skin beneath his fingers was answer enough.

—

He didn’t sleep much the night before his release.

Not because of nightmares—those had dulled, faded into a background ache—but because something in him couldn’t stop thinking of tomorrow.

Leaving.

He hated the idea of waking somewhere that wasn’t down the hall from you.

But he’d been cleared. Signed off. Physically sound. No longer a patient.

Just a man.

Just a man with nowhere to be except here.

He came earlier than usual. The nurse on the morning shift blinked in surprise, but said nothing.

Your door opened without resistance.

The chair greeted him like it knew he’d return.

He sat more slowly today.

Not from pain—but to memorize every step of it.

He looked at you longer before speaking.

“I didn’t think I'd make it.”

Then, quieter:

“I didn’t think we’d both make it.”

He touched your hand fully now. Held it between both of his.

It wasn’t just for comfort anymore.

It was for connection.

“I’ll come back,” he said, with more certainty than he had spoken anything in weeks.

He leaned forward, rested his forehead lightly on your hand.

—

He didn’t bring flowers.

You would have teased him for that.

The thought—your voice in his mind, soft and amused—made his chest tighten as he stepped into the room again, slower than usual, as if the space felt heavier now that he returned by choice, not necessity.

You looked the same.

Of course you did.

The stillness hadn’t changed. The pale, too-quiet peace of you lying there. It should have brought him comfort by now, the consistency of it—but it didn’t. It ached more. Because every time he returned, a part of him hoped today would be different.

He crossed the room and sat, fingers folding together over his knees.

He looked at your face for a long time.

That beautiful, infuriating, unforgettable face.

“I never told you,” he said, barely more than a whisper, “how often I listened for your footsteps in the corridor.”

His eyes stayed on you, but something inside him flinched at the truth in the words.

“I’d hear you walking past my office, just... existing. Laughing with Hooch or offering to bring tea to someone. I used to think it was foolish. How much you had to give.” His lips twisted faintly, not quite a smile. “And I kept wondering why you wasted any of it on me.”

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

“You never asked for anything. You were just... there. Always. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Especially then.”

His voice broke slightly on the next breath.

“I wanted to tell you once, you know. At the gates. The night before everything went to hell.”

He reached forward, hesitated, then gently brushed a thumb along the back of your hand.

“I saw you standing there. Wand in hand. Determined. Terrified. And I thought... if I don’t come back, I hope you find someone who loves you the way I never learned how to.”

He swallowed hard.

“But then I did come back. And you didn’t.”

His hand curled into yours properly now. Not light. Not cautious.

Anchored.

“I’m trying to be better for you,” he murmured. “Even if you never wake up to see it. I just want to be the man you waited for.”

He lowered his head slightly, forehead nearly brushing your wrist.

And in that soft space between silence and breath, Severus Snape closed his eyes and let himself want.

Not for a miracle.

But for you.

—

The days blurred.

Not because they were empty—but because they were full in ways no one else seemed to understand.

Severus came every day. Without fail.

He no longer needed help walking. No longer hesitated at your door. He simply arrived, as constant as the morning light through the window, robes trailing behind him, a book tucked under one arm, your favorite tea in the other—even though you couldn’t drink it.

Sometimes he’d just sit and talk.

Other days, he’d read.

But always, he stayed.

The hospital room changed around him.

Fresh flowers appeared. The bed linens were swapped out for something softer, something he paid for personally. Your favorite blanket from home lay folded at the foot of your bed, and he made sure it was laid across you each evening before he left.

The nurses stopped seeing him as a visitor.

He became part of the ward.

There were whispers, of course. At first, soft pity—people wondering how long he��d keep it up. But then the days became weeks. The weeks became months.

And Severus was still there.

Not broken anymore. Not waiting for a miracle.

Just… loving you.

The kind of love no one noticed before.

The kind of love that didn’t ask for anything in return.

He read everything.

Classic novels. Potions journals. Your own notes, found among your belongings. His voice was steady, clear, low and rough in the best way. There was something hypnotic about the way he read—as if each word was chosen not from the page, but from somewhere inside him.

Sometimes, when the ward was quiet, nurses paused in the corridor to listen.

They never interrupted.

Just stood there, leaned quietly against the wall, and watched as Severus turned each page with careful fingers, voice soft, one hand always resting gently over yours.

He never noticed.

Or maybe he did—but he didn’t care.

You were the only audience that mattered.

He braided your hair once, when it grew too long and tangled. His fingers were clumsy, awkward, but he took his time. Whispered apologies when he tugged too hard. Smoothed strands back behind your ear like you could feel him.

He trimmed your nails.

Massaged your hands when they grew stiff.

There was a day when he brought a radio and played a sonata he remembered you humming under your breath the winter before the war.

He didn’t say anything as the music played.

He just watched your face, his thumb stroking slowly across your knuckles.

The nurses found reasons to pass by more often on those days.

Just to get a glimpse of the silent love.

—

He turned the corner toward your room, just as he always did.

Same time. Same slow gait. Same breath held in his chest like it might hold back the worst.

But this time, something was off.

He noticed it instantly—the cluster of nurses standing outside your door. Not passing by. Not tending to charts. Just standing.

Whispering.

Their faces unreadable.

His steps faltered.

Panic didn’t hit all at once—it crawled up his spine slowly, tightening everything in its path.

He stopped several feet away.

They hadn’t seen him yet. They were angled toward the door, heads bowed together in hushed conversation. Not laughing. Not smiling. Just… murmuring.

And the door to your room was closed.

It was never closed.

His heart began to hammer, sharp and rhythmic like a warning spell. He could hear his pulse in his ears, feel it at his throat.

Something had happened.

He forced himself forward, jaw clenched tight, his limbs cold despite the warmth of the hall. One of the nurses turned and noticed him at last.

Her expression didn’t shift into panic.

But it didn’t calm him either.

“Professor,” she greeted gently, voice too smooth. Too careful.

He stared at her. At all of them. “What’s going on?”

The others looked back at the door, then at him.

“Just… go see,” the nurse said. “You should look for yourself.”

No explanation.

No comfort.

Nothing to hold onto.

He could barely feel his legs as he moved to the door. His hand shook when he reached for the handle.

He didn’t know what he expected—he never let himself imagine outcomes. Not anymore.

But dread bloomed in his chest like poison.

He opened the door.

And froze.

There were Healers inside. Three of them. Standing close to the bed, their backs blocking his view.

Their voices were low, clinical.

He stepped inside, but not fully—his feet rooted to the floor like his body was trying to shield itself.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “What’s happening?”

The Healers turned toward him, slowly, and there—there—was something in their faces he didn’t recognize at first.

Not grief.

Not apology.

Something else.

One of them gave a faint smile.

Then they stepped aside.

And there you were.

Sitting up in bed.

Your hair limp and tangled around your shoulders, your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and confusion, skin pale against the blankets.

But you were looking at him.

Awake.

Here.

Something inside Severus fractured.

All the careful control he’d built in these months—the poise, the silence, the patience—it shattered.

His breath caught, ragged and sharp.

He staggered forward before he realized he’d moved.

His knees hit the floor beside your bed with a hollow sound, hands gripping the blanket, because he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

You blinked slowly, brows drawing in.

Your voice was hoarse, raw from disuse. “…Severus?”

He choked on the sound of it.

His name, from your lips.

He bowed his head against the mattress, shoulders beginning to shake—quiet at first, just the trembling of breath that refused to steady.

Then he broke.

All the love he hadn’t said. All the fear he had buried. All the prayers he hadn’t dared speak aloud. It poured out in silence and in tremors, in the way he clutched the edge of the blanket like it might disappear, in the way he leaned in closer—finally, blessedly closer.

You tried to lift your hand, slow and shaky, and when your fingers brushed through his hair, it undid him.

He turned his face into your palm and wept—not violently, not loudly.

Just honestly.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you opened your eyes.

But you didn’t expect to see him.

Not like this.

On his knees beside your bed, face buried in the blankets, shoulders trembling with the weight of something he’d kept buried too long.

And it wasn’t just shock that struck you. It was the sheer force of him. How utterly broken he looked in that moment. Not composed. Not cutting. Not distant.

Just Severus. Undone.

Your fingers had barely brushed his hair, but it was enough.

Enough to make him lean into your palm like a man who’d been starving for the feel of you.

The Healers still stood at the edge of the room, their presence suddenly too loud, too much.

They exchanged a look.

Then, without a word, they stepped out and closed the door behind them.

Silence fell like a blanket, thick and heavy, save for the quiet, stuttering rhythm of Severus’s breath where he knelt beside you.

You swallowed, your voice thin and shaky.

“…Severus.”

He lifted his head.

His face was damp, his eyes red—but open. Unhidden.

For a long moment, he couldn’t speak. He just looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You offered a trembling smile. “You don’t have to cry, you know…”

His mouth moved like he wanted to argue. But the breath he let out was shaky—half a laugh, half a sob.

You shifted slightly under the sheets, weak but steady, your fingers brushing against his jaw.

He turned into the touch instinctively, his own hand rising to catch yours—press it against his face like something sacred.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “Every day I came here—I watched you breathe, but you were gone. You were right there, and I couldn’t reach you.”

His hand tightened around yours, not enough to hurt—just enough to feel.

“And I kept thinking… what if this is all that’s left of us? What if I never hear your voice again? What if I never get the chance to tell you that—” His voice cracked.

He dropped his head, forehead pressing to your hand.

“…that I love you.”

You froze.

The room felt impossibly still.

His voice was hoarse, barely audible. “I loved you before the war. Before everything fell apart. I just never told you. I thought there would be time. And then there wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath against your wrist. Warm. Shaky. Honest.

“I would have stayed like that forever,” he whispered. “Reading to you. Sitting beside you. If that was the only way I could have you… I would’ve done it until I died.”

Your heart ached.

He raised his eyes again—so open, so unbearably vulnerable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he breathed.

You let your eyes close against the weight of his truth.

And when you opened them again, there was only him.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

He stilled.

Completely.

You felt his fingers tense just slightly around yours—like he needed to anchor himself in the moment.

You swallowed again, voice softer now. “I didn’t know how to say it, not with everything falling apart around us. I kept telling myself I’d tell you after the war. When it was safe. When we were both still breathing.”

Your voice trembled on the last word.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came.

So you pressed on.

Your fingers found his again, weak but certain.

“I thought about you… all the time. Before the battle. During. Even when it all started to go black.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t stop. “I kept thinking—I didn’t get the chance. To tell you.”

A soft, breathless laugh escaped your chest, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Seems like we’re both terribly good at not saying things.”

Severus made a small sound—something like agreement, something like grief—and ducked his head slightly, his thumb brushing the back of your hand.

And then you laughed—soft, wet, helpless. “But of course you had to beat me to it, didn’t you?”

He lifted his gaze, eyes shining with something that looked almost like disbelief.

“I didn’t think I’d get the chance to hear it,” he said quietly.

You gave him a faint smile, exhausted but full of something brighter.

“You didn’t think I’d let you out-confess me, did you?”

And for the first time in what felt like years, he laughed.

Truly laughed.

Low and shaky, but real.

He didn’t move at first.

But you could feel it.

The ache in his silence.

The thousand words he was holding back now that he finally had something to lose again.

You gave his hand the faintest squeeze. “Severus.”

That was all it took.

He stood slowly, fingers never leaving yours, and leaned over the bed—not looming, not rushing—just a man closing the final inches between two hearts that had waited far too long.

You lifted your hand to his face, fingers brushing along the sharp edge of his jaw.

He leaned into the touch like it was air after drowning.

His eyes searched yours, still uncertain, still trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t allowed himself to hope.

“May I…?” he whispered.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

You nodded once.

And then he kissed you.

Not with urgency.

Not with hunger.

But with a reverence so profound it made your breath catch before your lips even met.

His mouth was warm and careful against yours, trembling just slightly—like he was still half-afraid you’d disappear if he held you too tightly. You kissed him back with all the strength you could manage, your fingers curling in the collar of his robes as if to anchor him there, in this moment, where nothing else mattered.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was hesitant. A little uneven. Breathless.

But it was real.

And after everything… it was perfect.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again. You could feel the way he exhaled—slow, shaky, full of a kind of peace you hadn’t felt since before the war.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice barely a sound. “Every version of you. Even the one who never answered.”

Your heart cracked open and mended at once.

You reached for him, tugging weakly at his robes.

He understood.

Without hesitation, he eased himself onto the bed beside you—slow, careful, his body curling around yours like a shield. His arms slid around your waist, tentative but grounding. He held you like you were precious, not breakable. Like something sacred returned to him after being lost too long.

You tucked your face into the hollow of his throat.

He pressed his lips to your temple.

And for the first time in months, both of you fell asleep listening to the other breathe.

At peace.

[fandomlit]

veritaserum (sirius black x reader)

summary when you're volunteered to test your potion class's veritaserium, you're bombarded by your classmates with questions to test how much you'll tell. sirius takes the chance to ask what you really think about him..

warning mentions of hookups (is that a warning?)

gif cred belongs to @finnwrld

"and our lucky tester is..!" professor slughorn teased, drawing a name out of the bewitched hat. "miss y/n l/n!"

"aw, what!" you exclaimed as your friends giggled around you, james and sirius going as far to cheer and clap for you. despite your frown, you stood and made your way to the front of the potions classroom. some slytherins snickered as you all watched slughorn ladle some of the potion into a small vial.

"that much should do the trick!" he presented the vial of white potion to you. "bottoms up!"

you let out a heavy sigh through your nose before taking the potion with a determined gaze and downed it in one go. sirius and james started cheering and clapping again, earning a good fit of laughter from the gryffindor side of the class.

veritaserum is the strongest truth serum known to man--made to work nearly instantly if it was brewed right. the entire class had been in charge of correcting preparing and dosing ingredients, slughorn insisting that having them all focus on one thing would only contribute to the quality of the potion when it all came together. in your opinion, it just made it taste more like static in your mouth.

you grimaced, holding the back of your hand to your lips. "bit heavy on the frog liver, ay?" marlene threw her hands up at you.

"alright miss l/n," slughorn grinned. "let's ask you some questions, shall we? see if we got this thing right?" he waved you to sit on a stool in front of the class, and you abided. "what do you think of professor mcgonagall?"

"brilliant," you answered instantly. "she's the most talented witch in this entire school. wouldn't be shocked at all if she got the headmistress position in a few years' time. though headmaster dumbledore is perfectly fit for the position, mind you. i suppose he's got more experience to help for that, being as old as he is, suspect he'll be in it for a while-"

"the mark of a proper truth serum," slughorn spoke to the class and cutting off your babbling, "is when the drinker is unable to stop speaking. one question will send them down a pit of honesty, whether they know it or not! you'll begin to notice, as well, as the potion kicks in that the taker will be in a sort of mindless haze, where they look and seem to be more than happy to be spewing the truth." you smiled, though it was wary and very fake-looking. "miss l/n, who would you say are your closest friends?"

"lily potter and marlene mckinnon without a doubt." the two girls cheered quietly. "i'm honored to be as close as can be with them; from day one in gryffindor we've been glued to each other's sides. except for that one stint when marlene was positively infatuated with trevor silas-"

"y/n!" marlene called, her face a bright red as the class snickered around her. trevor silas was grinning a few rows in front of her. you pressed a hand to your mouth.

"sorry! at least i didn't talk about your crush on stanley reed, now THAT had you-"

"no more!" marlene moaned loudly, burying her head in her arms amongst the calls and laughs around her. "professor, when does this potion wear off?"

"well, by the quickness and efficiency of the effects we can see we've successfully brewed a strong and successful potion!" the professor announced excitedly. "you should all be proud! that being said, miss l/n here should be telling nothing but the truth for a few hours time."

"hours?!" you exclaimed, hopping up from the stool as the four marauders exchanged devious glances. "oh godric, marlene, all of your secrets will be out by then! no one's safe! i'm a terrible gossip, i'm going to tell everyone you've been seeing liam yennic in the charms classroom during break!" the class howled with laughter as marlene jumped from her seat to grab you and drag you back to yours, holding hands desperately to your mouth. professor slughorn, slightly pink, looked positively like he had no clue what to do with that information.

"well.. i think you've all earned an early dismissal! enjoy your weekend!"

....

it was two hours later and you showed no sign of stopping your honesty at the gryffindor lunch table.

"i rather like herbology! it's fun to work with a lot of different things, it's one of the more peaceful classes.. hagrid, the gamekeeper? nice enough fellow, though i suspect he's not all wizard sometimes. did you all hear how he got expelled? always been curious.. oh i would love to own a niffler, for sure! i'd be rich in seconds, could finally bribe that new darks arts professor to smile for once.."

you had drawn quite an interesting crowd around you with your babbling, but you hardly seemed to notice as you made no break in your speeches, pausing only to eat when someone prompted you onto something else.

"oh, severus snape is not that bad! i think you guys give him more hell than he deserves just because he wears a green tie.. wouldn't be surprised if that guy got you all back one day.."

it was another two hours and though the crowd was less and less, you were still venting your mind out as you lounged on the grounds with your friends; it was a late spring afternoon, and the sun was getting closer and closer to horizon, but you were all soaking in the last moments of sunshine together. james was grinning as he picked your brain, sirius, remus, lily, marlene, and peter chuckling as they lounged in the grass.

sirius had been racking his brain for nearly the entire day about what he wanted to ask you. it seemed everyone else in the castle had asked you whatever they could think of, from your favorite class to the color of your underwear, but sirius wanted something more hard hitting. he wanted something that would satisfy the admiration in his heart for you--maybe a hint that you felt something similar.

"y/n, be brutally honest with me," james smiled. you were laid out in the grass like a therapy patient, smiling innocently in your honest haze as your friends sat around you in the shade of a large oak. sirius couldn't help but think of how sweet you looked in that moment, with the late sunshine reflecting in your eyes. "what do you think of me?"

"james potter, i think you're brilliant," you spoke earnestly with a grin. "you've got a brain to rival dumbledore, if only you used it for more than jokes and mindless flirting. though, i do think you're getting somewhere, with the whole lily situation. i think you two would be a proper match, if she just-"

"that's enough, y/n," lily spoke over you, standing as james looked at her delightedly. "i'm off to wash up.. good evening." james hopped up to follow her, asking hurried questions with a cheerful tone.

marlene and remus cackled at the retreating pair and you gave a sheepish smile, turning your head in the soft grass to gaze at marlene. "dearest, will you ever forgive me for today?"

marlene huffed out a sigh, red creeping up her neck at the memory of potions that morning. "i suppose. only because i know you're my best secret keeper otherwise." she gave you a wink that made your grin grow.

"right, 'cause you know i would NEVER tell about that time you and r-" marlene's hands slapped over your mouth as the boys howled with laughter, james sauntering back to your group with an amused grin.

"that's enough of that!"

"sorry," you laughed out when she removed her hands and wisely remus thought to ask you another question before you could babble on.

"you're speaking a lot about marlene's business when you're not so keen to talk on your love life, y/n," remus teased and you let out a giggle, not seeing how remus shot sirius a wink. sirius grinned.

"well, what's there to know?" you sighed, staring at the leaves canopied above your group. "besides what i presume you all can guess."

remus tilted his head at you as james snorted, "i don't know how you can manage to be vague about that but in depth about literally everything else!" you all laughed out.

"well," you giggled, lashes fluttering as you thought, "everyone has their fancies, and i've had my share, but clearly none of them have gone anywhere otherwise you lot would be on my case about a specific person." they nodded to each other knowingly. "for a while now it has just been one specific person on my mind, though, but i'm not sure they're the type of person to settle down with a good ol' girl like me." you shrugged in the grass and sirius felt his heart skip a few beats faster.

could it be him? or worse, could it be someone else?

"the potion must be starting to wear if you're able to withhold," remus chuckled and they all voiced their agreements. "any last things you'd like to confess to the world, y/n? you likely only have an hour or two left."

you considered, pursing your lips in a way that drew sirius's eyes right to them. "well, i think i'm going to blow the OWL on astronomy.. i've always wanted to visit australia because i think their accent is cooler, you all already found out my underwear is grey.." you looked up to your friends. "yeah, i think that about sums it up." you all laughed again.

there was a beautifully comfortable silence as the spring breeze swept over the lawn, and sirius couldn't help but smile at how your eyes closed to embrace the feeling.

"we should start heading in the castle for dinner," marlene quipped quietly, and everyone began to gather their things to head inside. sirius figured it was now or never to ask his burning question.

"say, y/n, before we head inside.." your beautiful gaze flicked to him as you sat up and he smirked at you. "what do you think of me?"

"i think you have a beautiful mind, sirius black," you smiled. "you're quick-witted and one of the most loyal people i've ever seen; suits your padfootedness." they all chuckled at your made up vocabulary. "you're fierce and passionate in a way that's mellow, and i don't know how you do it but i'll be damned if it isn't wonderful." he smiled sweetly, heart filling with gratitude at your sincerity. "and i think it's quite rude how you stare at my lips all the time and never have the wit to kiss them."

jaws instantly dropped, pausing the actions of your group.

"and i wish lily had been here to hear me say that," you nodded. "she would've been quite proud."

sirius picked his own jaw up off the floor. he prided himself on being a man hard to fluster, but a heat that he couldn't suppress was creeping up his neck. trying to regain his cool composure as james muttered 'oh my merlin, oh my merlin', he scooted toward you and spoke, "one last question. could i make it up and kiss you right now?"

"i think you'd be a fool not to," you grinned, and he reveled in the flush on your own face before placing a hand on your cheek and kissing you sweetly as james exploded with a cheer, remus and marlene still laughing with disbelief.

"i can't believe y/n made the first move!" he was shouting, hands tangled in his own hair, when you both pulled away to smile at each other.

as james continued to babble, sirius tilted his head at you, "you seriously didn't think i'd like a good ol' girl like you?"

you laughed at your own words used against you, but shrugged at him. "i didn't know if you were the type to settle. you're young and you love to embrace that in your escapades, sirius." you shrugged again. "i didn't think settling with a girl was your thing."

he nodded at the explanation, but spoke, "the only girl i would think of settling for is one i think is worth sticking around. someone who can take my jokes and snap them right back at me, and a girl who manages to steal my attention from anything else in the room." he grinned at you, "and, love, there's no better than you. never has been."

james blurted, finally drawing sirius's attention from you, "we've brainstormed for weeks how to make the perfect moment, and she just called him a desperate bloke and he kissed her!"

you all laughed and sirius helped you stand, keeping your hand in his as you all started toward the castle, james still babbling as remus clapped sirius on the back.

"i knew that was going to happen," you hummed, smile still a little dazed from your truth haze.

"what?" he chuckled. "james blowing up?"

you shook your head. "no. i knew i'd let that truth slip before the potion wore off."

[razorblade180]

9 Days of Lancaster Day 5: Night Time Walk

Late in night after many exams and an annoyingly long lecture, Ruby finds herself yearning for escape. She’s never been a terrible test taker, but she’s also never had a teacher like Dr. Obleck. No sane person makes a 250 question exam. Even Weiss of all people looked nervous taking it, which only made Ruby fear for her own grade.

With that nightmare behind her, she now walks aimlessly through Beacon’s courtyard until the slightest tug on her hoodie makes her whip around into karate chop position.

Ruby:Back off before I can Y- oh hey Jaune.

Jaune:H-Hello…ya good? You were walking like a zombie one second and ready to attack the next.

Ruby:Sorry. I’m…a little fried. *delfates* How’d you do on exams?

Jaune:Pretty good. I split them up between yesterday and today.

Ruby:That was an option!?

Jaune:Ummm

He watched the girl crumple over against him. She looked like Ren when people make too much noise in the library.

Jaune:How about we make a trip to a vending machine?

Ruby:That sounds nice…

She allowed herself to be taken by the hand and follow behind Jaune like a kite on a string. At the breeze was nice. The courtyard at night was always a pleasant place to be.

Jaune:So I’m guessing you were out here to cool off?

Ruby:Yeah. Walking helps sort out my thoughts. What brought you here?

Jaune:You.

Ruby:Oh. Hehe, my bad.

Jaune:It’s fine. I like being around you. It’s cozy.

Ruby:*red* What the heck man? My brain has enough to deal with right now. I’m out here to cool off! Not heat up!

Jaune:Ruby, I’ve said nicer things about you.

Ruby:Yeah well the more we spend time together, the less resistance I get to it. You’re like reverse poison.

Jaune:That’s called an antidote. Not how that’s used, and I’m positive that word was used in the exam. Are you confident in your grade?

Ruby:You get what I mean!

Jaune:Yeah I do. Maybe that’s what my dad meant by being persistent.

Ruby:Is that how he got your mom?

Jaune:Actually it was the other way around. She was like the most vocal supporter of him and always popped up to chat for one reason or another. Apparently she knew how to really draw a crowd and stick out.

Ruby:Sounds like a pretty cool woman. Personally I prefer trying to fit in.

Jaune:You blew up on the other side of this courtyard.

Ruby:Memememe shut up. You could’ve brought up my awesome display against a Nevermore, but nooooo. Had to be the first impression. I don’t bring up you puking on Yang’s shoe.

Jaune:What’s my collar ID in your scroll?

Ruby:….Touché.

The duo finally made it to one of many outside vending machines. Jaune swiped his scroll over the scanner and went over to sit at the bench while Ruby was free to get whatever she liked. He leaned back to get comfortable while a sudden thump against his lap made him flinch. It was giant packaged chocolate muffin. He looked at Ruby to see her holding one in her left, and two drinks in her right. She actually waited this time before tossing him a drink to catch.

Jaune:This was supposed to be your treat.

Ruby:Like I was about to let you sit there with nothing. Call it even for your company on this night.

She sat right next to him and wasted no time opening a blueberry muffin to devour while he ate his slower.

Jaune:Never thought my company would be worth a blueberry muffin and two bottles of juice.

Ruby:That’s pretty sad.

Jaune:I was being sarcastic!

Ruby:Yeah but you made it sound so sad. Also, it’s worth way more.

Jaune:More than Crescent Rose?

Ruby:That’s certainly a question with an answer.

Jaune:Wow!

Ruby:I’m joking! Of course it’s worth more! You chat with me about everything and…call me cozy. That’s a little bit more pricey than a scope. Maybe.

Jaune:Hey Ruby, do you miss your friends?

Ruby:Course I do. Some don’t keep in touch anymore but that’s fine. Others send a text every so often.

Jaune:Like your best friend.

Ruby:Didn’t have one of those.

Jaune:Really? Who was the me before me?

Ruby:Nobody.*shrugs* I had friends and got along with people but I’m serious when I say I can talk to you about everything. Not to knock the people at home. Maybe it was because so many people knew my family? My uncle did teach after all. Also… my mom drew a crowd easily too.

Jaune:Guess it runs in the family.

Ruby:Heh, maybe? They were pretty nice people to hangout with. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder if some might’ve felt sorry for my family’s situation. It’s actually pretty weird how the transition here felt pretty-

Jaune:Freeing? Yeah, I definitely had my fair share of estranged friends back home. Wasn’t exactly Mr.Cool Guy. If I was drawing a crowd it was because I was probably landing on my face or losing a fight.

Ruby:Those people clearly need an eye exam. You’re plenty cool to me.

Jaune:Thanks. You’re cool too.

Ruby:Pfft, I know. Like I said earlier, do you remember what I did to the Nevermore? I ran up a cliff and reverse guillotined it. I’m awesome!

Jaune:Yeah you’re pretty cool when you’re not stressing over exams or blowing up.

Ruby:Hey!

She shoved him lightly, only to immediately receive one back. This prompted war! Both of the continued lightly nudging against one another, laughing the entire time at the meaningless “battle” they had.

Ruby grinned in victory as Jaune finally bowed out. She stuck her tongue out to gloat, failing to secure her muffin from him. Then he had the nerve to play to one weakness; height! Jaune raised his arm straight up out of reach. He was about to stand, but Ruby quickly tugged him down by his hoodie as she reached up. She might’ve scrambled too fast. Her own feet stumbled over themselves and she found her body falling forward. Her arm came down swiftly to brace herself against Jaune as he leaned back on reflex in an attempt to catch her.

His free hand now held her by the left shoulder, stopping Ruby inches away from his face. The two just sorta…stared in silence as their brains tried to keep up with the situation.

Ruby couldn’t explain what she did next. After a long day of thinking, she went on instinct, tilting her head slightly and closing her eyes. Then…she waited. Thank goodness it wasn’t for long. A subtlest, most delightful warmth gently pressed against her lips. Her head leaned forward just a little bit more to encourage the same attitude Jaune brought when he shoved back a minute ago. He didn’t back down this time either. Finally, Ruby leaned back and sat on the bench properly.

Thoughts quickly caught up with actions, and her hood came over her head in silence as she stared at her lap. Why the hell did she just go for it like that!? Ruby was seconds away from dashing off until a hand brought her stolen muffin back into her lap.

Ruby:Th-Thanks. Umm, you sure reverse poison isn’t the word?

Jaune:Honestly? Not sure of much right now.

Ruby:Same! Hehe, I’m so sorry. I just sorta…I don’t know.

Jaune:It’s fine. It…tasted like blueberries. What’s there to apologize about?

Ruby:*deep red*…..THANKS FOR THE TREAT!

She ran away faster than she’s ever had.

Jaune:Wait! Don’t- I’m sorr- *covers face* Whyyyyyy am I like this?

Before he could spiral too far into self sabotage, a gust of petal filled wind came by. Jaune looked up to see Ruby. She put the muffin right in hands, then kissed him again with both her hands holding his face, catching him off guard completely. This time when it ended, Ruby grabbed the chocolate muffin before running away again.

Jaune:…What?

xxxxxxxx

Weiss:But why was it 250 questions!? You would have to answer every question in under a minute!

Yang:Weiss, let it go. The battle is over. Be like Blake.

Blake:Zzzz

Ruby walks into her dorm room briskly with her hood still up and muffin in hand. Without a word, she hops onto her bed.

Yang:So the walk didn’t help.

Weiss:Umm, excuse me!? Remember the last time you ate on the bed? Your meals are my crumbs!

Blake:That’s how Faunus talk about your family.

Weiss:Go back to sleep.

Blake:Stop yelling and I will.

Yang:Let Ruby stress eat. It’s been a long day. We just need to all zone out. Though I’m kinda surprised. Blueberry is your go to. They run out in the machines?

Ruby:…I just had a taste for it tonight.

[wlwsoccerfics]

You got this,min kärlek!(StinaBlacksteniusXArsenalReader)

A/N: we fucking won the Champions League.❤️🤍 Something short and sweet related to the Champions League win. There will be another Stina related one at some point.

Warning: Angst but Lots of Fluff. And a bit suggestive.

You and Stina have been together for three years now. One year married actually. Life was perfect.

You had to sit on the bench today for the Champions League Final. Because you had a sprained ankle and were in a walking boot. But you still wanted to Support your Team. Especially your wife Stina.

She knew she was gonna get subbed on. It was talked about. And she was really nervous. more than usual. Which you noticed cause she was up at 4am that morning.

You slowly opened your eyes. Finding her, playing with her fingers, looking onto the ceilling.

"what's wrong, Babe?" You asked and turned to the side so you could look at her.

"morning angel, nothing is wrong...uh i am just nervous." She admitted. You took her hand gently and leaned over to kissed her cheek. She smiled a little at that.

"you gonna do amazing today! Because you know exactly what to do under pressure. Cause you really are one of the most talented Humans i know. And you happened to be my favorite as well. Favorite footballer, favorite human and favorite & only wife!" You answered and smiled at her. She had to chuckle at that but then sighed softly.

"i feel like that about you as well. My little Star! And i am sorry you are hurt. I knew you would have loved to Play today!" She whispered out. Looking sad. "I just want us to win so bad. The entire Team deserves this. But Barcelona is like the best Team in the world. I have so many feelings and really don't know what to do with them!" She admitted and let out a small huff. You opened her arms for your wife. Stina happily took the invite and cuddled up to you. Hiding her face in your shoulder. You gently rubbed her back.

"i know this Is overwhelming. Can't wait to watch you play though. Even when i honestly wish i could play with you together. Because i very much love playing together with you! It makes me really happy. But i will be sitting on the bench cheering like crazy! I know you and the Girls got it!" You told her. She then started to tear up a bit. You frowned softly.

"Thank you for everything! You are the best Babe! Means the world to me!" She whispered out. You played with her hair. Kissing her head.

"you don't have to thank me! I Love you to death, Angel! It is a given. Married you for a reason! Well many reasons! I Love you. That's the Main reason!" You told her softly.

"Is that so?" She asked into your shoulder. You could feel her smiling against your skin though. Which made you chuckle.

"yes that's so it!" You stated. "Honestly i would marry you all over again. Always and forever." You let her know. "And i already am upset about you leaving for sweden national Camp. Usually when i am not Hurt and i am at Matildas Camp it's not so bad but since i can't do much to Take my mind off of Missing you!" You admitted and sighed softly. "Guess i will have to find a new Hobby inbetween working on my Recovery at Arsenal!" You added on. She looked at you. Kissing you softly. You kissed her back.

You didn't realize how long the two of you had talked and made out until the sun was shining through the Windows of your Hotel room in Portugal. There was a knock on the door.

"get your Asses to breakfast lovebirds! I hope you didn't do it so Stina got her Rest!" The voice said. It was your little sister Kyra.

"you would have known if we did it! Your sister is a screamer!" Stina bluntly said. You playfully hit her shoulder.

"Emma Stina Blackstenius, don't Tell my little sister that!" You told her, trying to sound annoyed, but had to laugh.

"eww disgusting!" Kyra answered and you heard her Walk away.

"you traumatized my Baby sister!" You replied and grinned softly.

"i would be lying If i say i was sorry!" Stina told you.

The two of you took a quick shower together and then went downstairs to get breakfast. Holding hands with her. Stina made sure you wouldn't walk to fast with your walking Boot on.

"Take it easy, älskling." She said softly.

"i am alright, my Love!" You told her. Sitting at the table with Mariona, Lia, Leah, Steph and Beth. Chatting about the Game until it was time to ride to the Stadium for the big game.

[crushedsweets]

I come with questions LMAO…. SO like, with Toby, obviously losing Lyra was hard losing any family member is terrible but especially a sibling!! And he became a proxy what a year after her death(maybe more)??? How did the grief he was dealing with affect the way he treated other proxy’s, and other people involved with that group. Because missing a sibling doesn’t just go away it stings forever and affects a lot of stuff!!! Hope that makes sense LOL, I was just Thinkaling about it

Good question !!! I don’t think I answered it very well but I tried to explain his storyline and interactions w characters and tie them back into Lyra . I started going on some tangents so forgive me for it being kinda.. not an answer… LOLZ

Ok let me go back to when it started. Toby immediately fell into a deep depression after Lyras death for like 7 months, it’s the reason he couldn’t finish online school. Refusing to eat, shower, was his clothes, etc. just watched YouTube and listened to lyras playlists, that’s how he “coped.” Was getting aggressive with his mother due to the trauma, only to immediately break down in tearful apologies for snapping at her and sounding like his dad.

Directly after killing his dad, Toby spent like 3 months just going on a total rampage. He was completely possessed by the operator, killing hikers and random students exploring the train tracks and gas station employees on smoke breaks — he had very little control over his actions due to the operator.

So now his proxy life…it sort of repeated, but to a lesser extent. Depression, then anger.

The second the proxies got him under control, he slipped into another depression. They couldn’t really figure him out, he just stayed in that room filled with random trash, boxes, etc. he would get really violent really easily, and while his memory was VERY spotty, he knew he killed a lot of people already. That combined with the returning memories of Lyra stressed him out. He began to associate murder with forgetting Lyra, since everytime he was violent, it was usually the operator controlling him and thus purging a lot of his memory.

And even after he climbed out of the depression, he didn’t know how to confront his murders or the sense of .. peace? They brought, since seemed to turn all noise off when he did it. So he tried to wear it like a badge of honor. He thought it made him tough, proved he could defend himself, that nobody could ever make him feel the way frank did. If frank is dead and Toby did it, then he’s on top of the world. And his very first act after this newfound pride !!!!

Repress everything :(

The pain of Lyras death made Toby angry most of all. It was cruel and unfair amongst all the tragedies of his life, and he began to convince himself that 1. If god could fuck him over that bad, what good is there 2. He had the right to be cruel and unfair back.

which very much manifested in the way he treated Tim/Brian and the victims on his mission.

HOWEVER, for the other creeps, it varies. The second he learns about Kate, he thinks she’s the most badass thing ever and he also very quickly developed a soft spot when he saw her face and realized she’s just some chick. Kate is nothing like Lyra, but in the back of his mind, he was connecting the two since Kate was the first girl he was really in contact with outside of. Murder. So she was the first person he had began showing some kindness and softness to after becoming a proxy!

Eventually, Natalie came around. She was also infected by the operator, and going on rampages like he did.

In general, Toby has a softer spot for women - not that he was very nice to her. The proxies had essentially kidnapped clocky so they could flush out her system and get the operator out of her.

Toby insisted he take the lead on this mission, wanting to prove himself as a new proxy. And I think one of the very few things he could do to make clocky relax (considering her awful situation) was to mention having a sister. “You complain just like my sister it’s kinda annoying” . “Here’s a mug of hot water. My sister drank it when her throat was sore. But all the shouting is probably your issue…” etc. he could basically see the angry crease of Natalie’s brow soften the second he mentioned it — and part of him really, really needed it, even though he tried to convince himself it was just some manipulation tactic. He hasn’t said Lyras name in well over a year, and having someone to mumbled little facts about her to felt a bit healing. Felt a bit like home

Anyway, point being: he represses a lot of his feelings about Lyra and is very, very protective of her memory. He still has hallucinations and nightmares about her, which is why most people are even aware of her. And also why everyone knows not to mention her unless Toby does. He has a softer spot towards women, especially if they’re an older sister or mother. He uses violence almost as an avoidance tactic, like it clears his mind of the memory and grief - if he’s focused on his rage, he can’t mourn. He believes that’s what got him through so much.

[canonical-transformation]

Genshin ships: 5.6 stock market update

(Warning: May contain spoilers for character appearances and dynamics in Paralogism, Whirling Waltz, Escoffier's SQ, and other content up to 5.6. Previous entries here. This is for entertainment purposes only and is not financial advice: consult with your ship financial advisor before you invest.)

Venti/Dahlia — BUY. The medium male rig yaoi market ("short king market", not to be confused with "shorting the king market" #liloupar) has been basically unchallenged since Xingyun, with the occasional 4nemo 5wirl Kazuha ship, so it's ripe for #disruption. Were the writers pushing this a little hard in a very small amount of shared screentime? Absolutely. But "I am your mortal mouthpiece and confidant" is a setup with potential.

Escoffier/Traveller — HOLD OR SELL. For a classic tsundere, the protagonist ship is barely pushed at all.

Albedo/Kaeya — HOLD. Surprisingly few dividends considering the defence lawyer angle, and a lot of their shared conversations were dedicated to plot exposition. That said, the fundamentals are good.

Mondstadt

Kaeya/Diluc¹ — BUY OR HOLD. Once again HYV can't make up their mind about whether those two have reconciled, but they've picked the more stilted awkward 'oh, it's you' direction this time (v1.0 throwback!) and our analysts believe that's the most profitable direction for Kaeluc as a ship.

Jean/Barbara¹ — BUY BUY BUY they interacted on screen do you know how rare that is BUY BUY this ship is so starved for content you could 10x your money on the ensuing spike BUY BUY and they referenced her "I'll protect you!" line; adorable

Jean/Lisa — HOLD. Tragically absent.

sadist dommy-mommy Lisa content in general — HOLD OR BUY. Well at least that bluechip stock is paying dividends.

Fischl/clear communication — SELL. The safest short position on the market.

Albedo/Sucrose — BUY. That missing library scene can fit so many smut and alchemy infodump fics. Maybe even nonsmut alchemy infodumps or non alchemy infodump smut.

Albedo/Mona — BUY. Barbeloth: "Well if the fear of me isn't motivating her, maybe she'll do it to one-up a handsome young man."

Venti/Barbara — HOLD OR SELL. The god/priest market doesn't presently have much room for expansion, so this is now fighting for market share with Dahlia.

Fontaine and Natlan

Neuvillette/Wriothesley — BUY. This blue chip Fontaine stock paid out huge dividends with Whirling Waltz. Bright days lie ahead!

Ororon/Ifa — BUY. Since when did this kid have game?!? Since when was he this much of a little shit?

Mavuika/Xilonen — BUY. That scene during the Tournament could have ended Xilonen kicking Mavuika off a cliff and everyone would still take her side. Like yessss girl call her out on her bullshit

Ajaw/Neuvillette — SELL. Distressingly little screen time means that this ship, while solid on fundamentals, is currently overpriced.

Navia/Escoffier — HOLD. The pieces are there but very much underutilised. (It's always tough retconning in a childhood friend, unless you're giving the friend to a character as repressed as Miko.)

Furina/Escoffier — BUY. There is absolutely some kind of mutual celebrity crush happening here.

Varesa/Iansan — SELL. Quoting our analysts: “The frisson of trainer/client is undercut by them both being boringly well-adjusted. Iansan could be between Varesa's thighs admiring adductor tone and they'd still probably find a way to make it too safe too sane too consensual.”

Varesa/Escoffier — HOLD OR SELL. Varesa cares deeply about what she eats but she's not a gourmet. The main thing keeping this back from a hard sell is Escoffier's habit of [taste testing] the [fruits] of Varesa's [family orchard].

Xiangling/Escoffier — HOLD. Rivals to enemies with benefits could be workable, but the personality clash presents issues. Our analysts advise waiting until further canon interactions land.

Small caps (NPCs and "rarepairs")

Beatrice/Quinn — HOLD. I know it looks shaky but have faith. Ignore the part where Quinn thinks they're platonic BFFs. What am I saying, this has always been a SELL.

Monica/Savanna — BUY OR HOLD. Incredibly gaslight gatekeep girlboss, or at least the first two.

Charlotte/truth — BUY BUY BUY. Her excitedly snapping pics through the middle of an active crime scene is just perfection.

Ningguang/Lepine-Pauline — BUY. Hear me out. "Inventor with a proven market record and next to zero business sense" has got to be a reasonable side piece right? >_>

Lynette/watching people squirm — BUY. Like father like daughter.

Jala/Hanniyah — SELL. Our analysts acknowledge the interesting interplay of arcs around animal rights and conservation, but, quote: “zero chemistry. also Hanniyah is taken and does not give poly energy”.

Bifrons/Marchosias — VORE.

¹ as always, stocks with a history of short-selling are considered high volatility and should always be part of a diversified portfolio.

---

[z-eel]

not sure if you're into more kids asks, but jegulily rising their kids together is kind of my guilty pleasure 👉👈 so maybe.........

something something jegulily birthday post, forgot how it went so consider this my gift...

jegulily give me the vibe of have two or three kids, im not sure why. like in my mind James has always wanted a sibling and know how great it because of the marauders while Lily and Regulus remembers their earlier years when they were unbearable from their older siblings, so two/three kids.

two v one in that house at all times, James says one thing, Lily aposees it and one look from Regulus has James cowering in fear. same thing the other way. James decides to play a prank, Regulus chastises him and Lily's eyes have James bowing his head in apology. the kids know better than to ask James permission for anything important by now.

not sure why but I think it's two boys one girl, it goes boy, girl, boy. Harry is the first born but the other came five years later with only one year in between them, it was not fun taking care of a newborn and a troublemaker of a toddler with a spoiled kid who's doesn't really like the concept of sharing his parents.

but when the kids are older, Harry crying saying he doesn't want to leave for school because who is going to take care of his siblings. and Lily's holding him, cooing that he such a good big brother and that his siblings ate going to miss him, it only makes Harry cry more.

Regulus and James make sure to take all three of their kids to say goodbye at the train station. Sirius and Remus were there as well ready to take those toddlers out of jegulus arms.

the train leaves and Regulus is the one who crying because all he can remember is the lonely feeling of not having his brother by his as he bordered the train and Lily is quick to hug him but she can remember that same feeling.

they get back home and the feel Harry absence, but they try their best, hard to go on a day and not call down for dinner, or asking has Harry eaten today, or love can you check on Harry he's being awfully quiet today. it's like a heartbreak every time.

the one who missed him most is James because they could play quidditch together, Regulus could only ever join when the other two were sleeping but without Harry to mess round with its not as fun.

their little girl is also named after a star, while the boy will be named after a flower/plant. they'd call the girl shooting star or starlight, while the boy would be called sunshine or morning dew.

Lily teaches them all things muggle, Regulus teaches them all thing pureblood anf James teaches them all things mischief and fun.

McGonagall is cursing the world for sending her another Potter and Black pair, first James and Sirius, next Harry and Draco (those two are always fighting smh) and now Harry's siblings... that poor woman knows no rest. it's worse yet because they have James' mischief, Regulus' attitude, and Lily's intelligence, yeah no one's safe.

[hrizantemy]

Hm, I've been thinking about the High Lords. When the IC, both in canon and fics, try to justify why they're the only people who should have the trove, or the book of breathings, or that Nesta should trust. How they are the most trustworthy option in all of Prythian/ the only dreamers or people who want a better world. But why? Over, maybe, Beron, I guess. And I they have personal issues (that they share much of the blame for) with Tamlin. But then, there are four other courts. Summer, Winter, Dawn and Day, as candidates, so why not any of them?

Practically speaking, the Day court would be the best candidate. The only reason Feyre broke through the wards in Hybern was because she had borrowed Helion's power. The only one who could, theoretically, break his wards, aside from her, is Rhys (if we take the strongest HL thing at face value) or someone wielding the Cauldron, in which case, Night isn't really any safer. Especially given that they have Helion come to ward the mask anyway, but, his own court probably has more layers of those wards, and perhaps other, more complex ones too, so it'd still be safer.

Summer also kept the book of breathings safe for about five hundred years with no issue until Feysand came along. Something tells me they'll be updating their security after that.

Now, of course, the natural reason is that the Night Court is the home of our main characters (the Archeron sisters) and the ruling body of the NC are their family, which gives them a reason to become involved in politics to being with.

But, that leads to more questions. The main ones, for me, being why aren't there more nuanced HLs.

Beron feels like he's there just to add an inter-court threat, y'know? He's as much of a cardboard cut out villain as Elain and Nesta were in ACOTAR, but more extreme. One of the courts, other than Spring, needs to be hostile to Night so their politics seem more complex than they actually are, while also adding a road block here and there. So they picked a court, and gave it a tyrant as a ruler before calling it a day.

I've mentioned before how good people can be the worst rulers, and bad people can be the best leaders, historically speaking. There's so much complexity and nuance in politics, especially in fantasy and fiction that create wonderfully unique dynamics that I feel are missing in ACOTAR. All of the rulers, barring Beron and Tamlin, are portrayed as good people by the narrative, and even then, in Tamlin's case, that's largely due to the NC's bias and refusal to see their own faults, but point out everyone else's.

There are even other ways to complicate the political situation, making it feel more nuanced and delicate, than adding a single land mine, a couple of relationship dramas, and high key valid concerns that just get brushed under the rug anyway, rendering them moot. Even if the High Lords are mostly good people, creating a complex political situation doesn't mean turning any more of them into villains (if we had even one more Beron, I might scream. They don't need to be obviously evil and well hated to make them bad people/political issues!). Adding personal vendettas going back farther than UTM, or interpersonal relationships would add complexity that would be difficult to navigate.

For example, I've been reading a Manwha called 'I became the Tiger's adopted daughter'. In it, a nation of divine beasts is ruled by four rulers, each governing lands in one of the four cardinal directions, with an absolute ruler that they all answer too. There are also two guys who work in more bureaucratic/judicial positions who have, arguably, equal authority to the four rulers (and maybe the absolute, I can't remember) and essentially uphold the law, and make sure the rulers do their jobs right. The reason this otherwise straightforward system seems to work, is their characters and interpersonal relationships.

The ruler of the Eastern Lands is the tiger, and the fmc's father. He comes off as rather cold, but I think might've had a relationship with the Absolute's younger sister before she died. Because of that, he and the Absolute seem to be on somewhat more casual terms than the other rulers, though she tries to remain impartial (and the judicial/bureaucratic guys are there to make sure she does anyway).

The ruler of the Sourthern Lands is young, and was born a Phoenix, which holds enough cultural importance that her supporters pushed to have the former leader ousted when she was still young, to place her on the throne based on her race of divine animal alone. She's young, doesn't really know how to govern at all, and struggled to look after her lands properly, leading to the divine animals living there suffering under her reign. Her heart is in the right place, though she doesn't take the initiative to learn how to govern properly, and tries to rope one of the judicial guys into walking her through it at every chance. She also demands special consideration for the struggles of her lands, despite it being her responsibility for a while at that point.

The ruler of the Western Lands is a wolf, who often visits other territories (mostly the Eastern lands) because he wants to avoid work. He can do it, he just needs to be forced into it. He's only the ruler temporary, since his brother, the former ruler, died and he needs to step in until his nephew is old enough to take over. He's intuitive, but irritating and somewhat childish (but in a more endearing way than the ruler of the Southern Lands), and dotes on his nephew often. He is knowledgable about his lands and culture, and seems to be ruling effectively, he just complains about it a lot, and comes across as immature and a bit of a slacker.

Finally, the ruler of the Northern lands is a snake who seems to have feelings for the ruler of the East, and sees the fmc (his daughter) as either her road to winning his heart, or an obstacle in her way. She stands up for her lands, but can prove difficult to deal with, given her conditions in negotiations often revolve around finding a way to worm her way into his good graces, or get time alone with him. Sometimes she tries to get into fmc's good graces, thinking that will win her dad over, but she sees through the snake's intentions. It also leaves the fmc distrustful of the snake, and protective of her father when she's around. The ruler of the Northern Lands often shows bias towards the Eastern Lands, likely as a way to win his favour.

All of these interpersonal relationships make the situation in each place complicated to navigate, but very interesting. None of them are evil, or villains, per se (except maybe the snake, idk yet) but can exist in antagonistic roles. The Absolute, especially, needs to be careful not to show too much favour to any given land, but does seem playful and mischievous at times, while others, she leans more towards murderous, if the situation calls for it.

We know how, UTM, Day, Summer and Winter rebelled against Amarantha, and had almost their entire lines wiped out, which is why the ones currently ruling those lands are those who weren't likely to initially have been chosen by the land. They weren't direct relations to their predecessors, but that's mostly, really, mentioned about Tarquin, rather than Kallias and Helion. Expanding on their goals, and lives before they were made into rulers would've been a good way to spice things up. Were the raised to rule as well, or are they completely new? If the latter, then did they take the initiative to learn? When? From who? How do their people feel about those who were, previously, nobles that had a decent blood relation to their royal family, suddenly being in charge? Were there disputes with other courts due to lack of experience, pushback from nobles and bureaucrats, and how well did they assimilate?

I love how, in A Place of Silver Silence, you give the Temple a position of power within Dawn. It adds nuance to it's government, making the situation, and by proxy, Thesan's position more complicated. He can't risk offending or earning the ire of the Temple, but he also has to maintain his own authority. Draw lines in the sand, if you will, so he doesn't turn into their puppet.

It would also affect other courts, who would have to take considerations not to offend the Temple, otherwise it might cause diplomatic or trade issues that even Thesan would struggle to avoid or remedy. It also gives other courts an opening to exploit, the way Rhys exploited the sanctity of a mating bond (in the Temple's eyes) to try and take Nesta.

Expanding on the leadership of each Court in this way also adds another layer of nuance and concern that needs to be taken. It adds layers distrust between Dawn and other courts, due to fear of the Temple's interference, despite Thesan's best intentions. It creates opening for foreign powers to gain influence in Dawn, should they do so through the Temple.

Even in your post discussing the place of the Temple in other Courts, you mentioned the importance of trade in Summer, and how it would matter more to Tarquin than the Temple's desires. This would show that merchants and trade companies would have more influence in Summer's politics than they would in other courts, and given their importance, it would force other courts to exercise more caution when handling Merchants who are from/trade with Summer. If those merchants have enough influence, they could force Tarquin's hand when it comes to certain policies and relations. Merchants also make for good spies, which adds a layer of distrust.

These are the kinds of complex, nuanced political situations that I love. Ones that feel like you're navigating through a maze filled with tripwires and laser alarms, trying to take note of everybody's needs while prioritising your own court's. It's incredible, and I can't wait to see more of it.

This is such a rich and layered analysis, and honestly, one of the most compelling critiques of ACOTAR‘s political structure I’ve read. You’re absolutely right—the IC’s claim to moral and strategic superiority is presented in canon and fandom as an almost given, but when you look at the actual world of Prythian with a critical lens, their logic quickly unravels. The Night Court-centric worldview is inherently flawed—not just in its self-serving bias, but in its disregard for the nuanced political and historical potential of the other courts. And that’s the real tragedy of the series: the potential is there. It’s just never meaningfully explored.

Let’s start with the idea of trustworthiness and power. The Inner Circle consistently claims the moral high ground, often to justify unilateral decisions that affect all of Prythian, such as the control over the Trove or the Book of Breathings. But what’s left unexamined is why they believe themselves the most trustworthy—beyond the fact that they’re the protagonists. This presumption sidesteps any meaningful engagement with the other High Lords, who, while imperfect, have proven themselves in ways the Night Court hasn’t. Helion, as you noted, lent Feyre his power without coercion or posturing. Tarquin kept the Book of Breathings secure for centuries without issue. Kallias’ rebellion cost him his entire court, and yet we’re never given any meaningful insight into how that sacrifice shaped his rule. And then there’s Thesan, who literally houses his kingdom’s version of a theological and bureaucratic watchdog within his court. None of these men are cartoon villains like Beron, nor are they irredeemable or incompetent—but they’re treated as less competent by default.

Your comparison to “I Became the Tiger’s Adopted Daughter” is brilliant. It demonstrates how layered, personality-driven politics can enrich even a straightforward power structure. Prythian could’ve done the same—seven High Lords with conflicting motivations, alliances, ancient histories, personal feuds, and court-specific interests. But the narrative flattens them, either by villainizing (Beron, Tamlin) or sidelining (Tarquin, Helion, Kallias, Thesan) them in favor of the Night Court’s moral monopoly. Imagine if instead, each court had a political identity: Dawn’s religious authority and internal theocracy, Summer’s economic diplomacy and trade dynasties, Day’s scholarly secrecy and magical innovation, Winter’s cultural aristocracy and bloodline purism. You could create entire plotlines out of the frictions between those philosophies—especially in a post-Amarantha world where every court is scrambling to rebuild and reassert itself.

And Beron—you nailed it. He exists as a plot convenience, a villain to make the other High Lords look “good” by comparison. But in reality, this is lazy worldbuilding. Why not create a character who’s corrupt but beloved by his people for bringing prosperity? Or one who is utterly rigid and lawful to a fault, causing massive diplomatic issues but never breaking his kingdom’s own moral codes? Villainy in politics is far more compelling when it’s ideological, not just abusive. Not to mention that if all antagonism stems from one person, it places no real pressure on the protagonists to adapt, compromise, or grow.

You also made a crucial point about post-UTM politics. Why was the fallout of Amarantha’s rule never given more weight? If Tarquin, Helion, and Kallias weren’t originally meant to rule, what were their qualifications? Were they second sons? Bastards? Scholars? Revolutionaries? Did they have to put down civil unrest when they took power? How did their courts react to these sudden changes in leadership? What does legitimacy look like in Prythian, anyway? These are the questions that could’ve made each court feel alive and rooted in its own internal logic—not just an aesthetic (snow, sunshine, sand, etc.) or a mood board. Instead, they’re treated like factions in a video game with a couple of lines of lore and then forgotten.

And you’re absolutely right about A Place of Silver Silence—what makes Dawn compelling there isn’t Thesan being good or bad. It’s the balance of power between him and the Temple. It’s the way religion exerts political force, the way his progressive leanings are curtailed by institutional forces beyond his control. That’s realpolitik. That’s what makes the world feel lived-in, dangerous, and real. In that world, mating bonds aren’t just romantic—they’re tools of leverage and warfare. Belief systems matter. Cultural taboos matter. And it opens up incredible possibilities for storytelling. Like you said, Rhys exploiting the Temple’s belief in mating bonds to get Nesta is more than a dirty trick—it’s a political one. What happens when a belief system is weaponized? What happens when personal relationships get wrapped up in religious diplomacy? That is the kind of storytelling that sings.

Summer, as you pointed out, could be ruled less by a High Lord and more by economic stakeholders. Imagine if Tarquin is constantly pulled between merchant guilds, ship captains, old noble houses, and foreign investors. His court isn’t weak—it’s decentralized. The threat to him isn’t betrayal or rebellion, it’s the quiet erosion of his influence by people who control ports, goods, information. You could spin an entire arc around one of his major trade partners being secretly aligned with Hybern, and his court slowly becoming complicit in treason without realizing it. And he’s not evil. He’s just overwhelmed. That’s the kind of nuance the IC never has to deal with.

Ultimately, you’re right—ACOTAR politics feel more like table settings than the messy, powerful mechanisms they could be. And that’s a shame, because Prythian is so ripe for it. What you’re describing—the layered complexity, the unspoken alliances, the grudges that last centuries, the balance between faith, wealth, power, and loyalty—is exactly what makes fantasy politics great. And it’s not even that hard to do. As you’ve laid out, even small additions to personal relationships or court-specific pressures can open entire veins of story. I would love nothing more than to see this richness brought into Prythian, whether in canon or through fics that aren’t afraid to let the IC not be the center of every moral and strategic decision.

[snail-day]

Snail,who do think will give their partner the idea to suck on nipples to free their closed duct ?

Tw: Lactation and titty sucking. MDNI

So, I personally think all the JJK men (and women) are titty suckers, so them helping with a clogged duct is basically a given. But I’m going to rank who’s the most knowledgeable about it.

The best of the best - Geto & Nanami: They’ve got the breeding kinks and they’ve read all the books. Before you even realize your ducts are clogged and start complaining about how sore you are, they’re already getting down to business. They’ve got you on a schedule. You will be milked like a little dairy cow, routinely, lovingly, and efficiently. They’re just that prepared. And yes, they record ounces.

Gojo - Plays with your tits constantly. He knows them very well. He’s going to notice immediately if they’re more sore or tight than usual. So when you tell him not tonight, he’s already grinning, ushering you to lie down, whispering, “Baby, shhh. Just two finger touches. I’ll be gentle.” Be careful with this one though, he will suck up your entire supply and ask for seconds with puppy eyes.

Toji - Only ranked here because he’s done it before. No real lactation kink, but he understands you probably don’t feel great. Says nothing. Just lays you down and goes to work. Practical. Efficient. Almost too casual about it. Does grunt that he missed the horse races.

Sukuna - Sukuna lactates. He understands. He will help… but he’ll be mean about it.

MY BOY INO - Okay, so he’s like 20–21 in the series, and when he first knocks you up? He’s terrified. Not of you. Of Nanami. He’s full-on panicking. Hands shaking. Worried about diapers, baby names, and how he’s going to survive Nanami’s disappointment. Surprisingly though, Nanami just gives him a stern talk, then sits him down and hands him some books. Asks if he has insurance, a 401k, if he’s planning on buying a house. And Nanami leaves his phone on in case Ino has questions.

So when your breasts are sore and your ducts are clogged, Ino calls Nanami in a panic. And Nanami comes over.

He shows Ino how to relieve you - hands-on, methodical, murmuring about proper technique while rolling your nipple between his fingers.

And Ino is fucking gushing (excuse my language). Blushing hard, watching Nanami work your tits trying not to worry about the hard on in his pants and watching Nanami's slacks get a little tight when you moan so prettily for him - okay I'll stop but fdkhdf that dynamic.

Choso - Sweet, sweet baby Choso. He’ll go to the ends of the earth for you, but you have to tell him what to do. Literally finds nothing gross. So when the first few droplets are a weird color, he just tilts his head and goes,

“Is that normal?” Once you nod? It’s over. He is gobbling it up. Full milk-drunk by the end. Will nuzzle your boobs. Might accidentally drink your whole supply. You're too endeared to stop him. He does look really pretty suckling away.

The Girls - Off the list because obviously they’re the best titty suckers of them all. You will never have a clogged duct under their care. Ever. (Not biased. Just facts.)

[koveragewithkiera]

I’ve been kinda nervous to make this, but ever since seeing Sinners, I’ve grown truly in love with these characters and their stories. I couldn’t help but create my own character as well.

🖤 CHARACTER INTRO: Dee Moore 🖤

“Nigga got some nookie for the first time in seven years. Now all of sudden, he got a sense of humor.”

⸻

📌 BASICS

• Name: Delilah Moore (Only known as “Dee”. Only one to use her real name often is Annie. Smoke and Stack occasionally. Stack also tends to call her “‘Lilah”)

• Age: 25-26

• Pronouns: She/Her

• Timeline Placement: Before and During the Movie

• Affiliation: Younger sister of the Smokestack Twins; Older cousin of Sammie Moore

⸻

🖤 PERSONALITY

• Positive Traits: Supportive, Loyal, Honest, Big Heart for Family, “Ride or Die”, Intuitive, Insightful, Independent, Survivor, Intelligent, Resilient, and a bit Spiritually-Inclined (thanks to Annie)

• Negative Traits: Can be impulsive (in an Attack-Dog way), Combative, Violent/Defensive, Doesn’t listen easily (if you’re not her brothers or Annie, and even then it can be shaky), and has reasonable Trust Issues, but they’re still Trust Issues.

• Fears/Phobias: Dying Alone; Losing Her Family; Abandonment (Grew up with Attachment Issues)

• What makes her laugh? Cry? Angry?:

Laugh? Stack (begrudingly) and Annie quite often when they were kids whenever she’d give the twins a hard time. Her childhood and current friends and family, they make her happy in general when everything is going right.

Cry? Thinking about her mother. Missing someone she was never given the opportunity to know. Stack and Annie’s deaths show her harsh vunerability underneath her well-kept exterior.

Angry? Current Mary and the danger she brings. Anything that puts her people at risk. Smoke on occassion (they’re too alike and bash heads more often than with anyone else in their lives). Being lied to/deceived.

⸻

📖 BACKSTORY

Dee ended up (resentfully) running away with her brothers whenever they’d left Clarksdale. As she’d gotten older, she managed to create a life for herself while helping them in their work for Capone (they kept their affiliation with her under wraps for her protection). She currently runs an underground Speakeasy and Drag Club. A strict and reputable business woman (no one knows that the reason trouble doesn’t tend to stay around her because her brothers like to clean it up for her).

She decided to come back home in order to take sure they got everything going good with the Juke Joint. They knew they’d need her help, and after some griping from Stack (Smoke couldn’t convince her to do something to save his life), she decided to give them two weeks before coming back to Chicago.

Similar to her brothers, Dee was forced to grow up quite quickly, especially after the death of their father. She was always younger than her closest friends, but somewhere along the way, she wasn’t able to embrace her “youthful spirit” anymore. Even as soon as she was born into this world, she’d been tripped of her mother’s spirit and guidance, and she was never able to escape the weight that carried on her.

⸻

🤝 CONNECTIONS

• Love Interest: Complicated lol. She reunites with an old friend the night of Juke’s opening though and well… that creates something for her lol.

• Closest Bond: Definitely her brothers, but her bonds with Sammie, Annie, and even Mary are very present.

• Enemies: Dee doesn’t have a habit of making and/or maintaining these, so I suppose the biggest one right now is Mary’s whiteness lol.

⸻

❤️‍🔥 SKILLS AND ABILITIES

• Combat/Defense Skills: She fights like *checks notes* “a goddamn alley-cat” - Smoke. She uses whatever she can to win. She doesn’t care for technique most of the time, but she still has it in her repertoire. She’s slick with a knife and tends to prefer it over guns because they can be more convenient. She had Smoke train her regardless and becomes quite skilled with them as well. But when I say anything is a weapon to her, I mean it. Nails, Teeth, anything. Knee to the balls? Elbow to the jaw? Teeth to the ear? She’s doing it.

• Languages Spoken: English of course; Picks up Italian and a bit of Creole from Annie (can you tell she loves Annie?)

⸻

🎵 AESTHETIC

• Theme Songs: Her absolute theme song is Daughter by. Beyoncé. It’s a more personal song for her. Other songs I would say remind me of her would be:

- Bigger in Texas by. Megan Thee Stallion

- HOW I LOOK by. Glorilla & Megan Thee Stallion

- APESHIT by. The Carters (I see this with her and her brothers lmao)

- Cadillac (A Pimp’s Anthem) by. Victoria Monet

- Question Existing by. Rihanna (a bit deeper lol)