#‘they’re what’s wrong with society’

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) The aftermath of the gala brings a shift to Ben and Quinn's relationship.

Chapter Word Count: 5.4K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, play fighting, smut: oral sex (giving/receiving), penetrative sex, light dominance. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, I would really appreciate if you considered leaving a comment. It would really mean the world to me to hear your feedback and what you think of the story so far. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍

Join the Tag List Here*

It had been a while since you’d seen him smoke, and you assumed it was because he’d finally managed to quit. So when you saw him heading for the back door before you’d even taken off your heels, you felt guilty. Like the stress you’d put him through had driven him to take up the habit again. 

You stood in the kitchen, elbows resting on the island as you looked down at your notes from the evening. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted in through the crack in the sliding glass door, but you didn’t mind it; coming to take comfort in the aroma whenever it came from him. 

You rolled the balls of your bare feet over the tiles, rising onto your tiptoes and down again in a lazy rhythm, relieving the dull ache your shoes had left behind. The notes were messy, jumbled and incoherent at points. You stood there, armed with your pen, deciphering the pages like a secret code, writing annotations in the margins and circling anything remotely salvageable. 

The door slid open and Ben stepped into the kitchen, shaking off the late night cold as he locked it behind him. He was still in his suit, the heels of his shoes clicking across the floor as he made his way towards you. You watched as he shrugged off his blazer and lay it on the edge of the island before unbuttoning his collar and loosening his tie. 

“You write like a doctor,” he said as he glanced at your notebook over your shoulder. 

You laughed softly. “It was dark in there.” 

His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers gently pressing into knots of tension you didn’t realise were there. You sighed, closing your eyes and letting your head roll from side to side. He sensed your relief, bringing his other hand up to massage your shoulders more firmly. 

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” you replied, too preoccupied with the satisfying pressure of his hands. 

“You were right, I overreacted. I got jealous and I took it out on you.” 

“It was my fault for making you jealous in the first place though…” 

“Yeah but the way I responded… It was… I don’t like how I behaved.”

“I found it quite sexy.” 

He chuckled, letting go of you and moving to lean against the island beside you. “How did I know you were going to say something like that?” 

You looked up at him with a slight smirk. 

“But really,” he continued earnestly. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to get so… possessive of you.” 

Your smile remained. 

He shook his head with a breathy laugh. “Don’t say you liked it.”

“Okay,” you said simply, turning your attention back to your notes.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at your book. “Do you want me to answer that question now?” 

You looked back up at him. “Really?” 

“Sure.” He walked around the island towards the sink. “Go for it.” 

You flicked to a blank page, pen poised between finger and thumb. “Okay… So, do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary contributions?”

He hummed in thought as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, running the hot tap and beginning to wash the small pile of dishes he’d left in the sink. “It’s hard isn’t it; the arts are so reliant on investment. Even at school level, art, drama, music, they’re viewed as luxuries, superfluous even...” 

He continued to speak, his voice so engaging, his words so eloquent and insightful. But you found yourself more focused on what he was doing; the way he looked as he stood at the sink, so relaxed, domesticated, real. You never thought you could find a man washing dishes attractive, but there was something about the scene before you that made your stomach flutter. It was the intimacy of it, the undone collar and rolled up sleeves, the comfort he felt in your presence, the beautiful mundanity of it all. 

He turned around, shaking the water off his hands and reaching for a tea towel. You glanced up, meeting his gaze and watching as a smile crept across his face. 

“You weren’t listening to a word of that, were you,” he said.

“Sorry,” you replied with a shy laugh. “Got distracted.” 

He paused for a moment as he looked at you; watching you watch him, a curious glint in his eye. “What?” 

You shook your head, reaching for your bag. “Nothing. Tell me your answer again. I’ll just record it this time.” 

“What distracted you?” he laughed. 

“Just you,” you replied. “Doing… regular things.” 

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nice.” You shrugged. “Makes it feel like we’re…” 

He waited for you to finish. But you didn’t. So instead he spoke for you. “A couple…?” 

“Well I don’t know. Do couples interview each other for magazines while doing the dishes?” 

He chuckled, eyes crinkling, cheeks creasing with the smile lines you loved so much. 

You picked up your pen, twirling it between your fingers for a moment before beginning to write, aimlessly scrawling the date across the top of the page, going over it multiple times until the paper began to tear. 

“Quinn,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. 

“Mhm?” you replied without looking up.

He made his way back over to you, stopping at your side and placing a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to him. 

“We are sort of a couple,” he said, like he was breaking bad news to you. Yet there was a slight amusement in his tone, finding humour in your sudden unease.

You licked your lips, pressing them together firmly as you gazed up at him. “How do you figure?” 

He breathed out a laugh. “Because what’s the phrase? If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.” 

“Are you saying I waddle when I walk?” 

He laughed again, more heartily this time, the sound rumbling in the base of his throat. “You know full well that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying this…” He gestured between you. “Coming home together at the end of a night out, fighting in the car, making up in the kitchen, knowing how you like your coffee, what days you have off work, what side of the bed you prefer to sleep on… There’s only one person I have that with, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s you.” 

You rolled your eyes at the hint of sarcasm in his tone, how he whispered the last few words. But you couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

“And honestly,” he continued, tilting his head to catch your gaze again. “There’s no one else I want to have that with.” 

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a moment before shaking your head, a rare fleck of vulnerability in your voice. “Why me?”

He shifted closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with his fingers. You felt your heartbeat quicken in response; the softness of his touch and sudden sincerity in his expression flooding you with a sense of anticipation. 

He swallowed. “Because… I love-”

“Don’t you dare.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Wh-”

You held up your finger to silence him, taking a step back like an animal preparing to scarper.

“Quinn,” he chuckled.

“Ben.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”  

You made your way slowly around the kitchen, putting the island between you like a barrier. He raised his brow with a laugh, shaking his head at you. 

“Okay,” he finally said, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay fine. I won’t say it.” 

You glared at him, watching as he let out a quiet sigh of defeat, though his eyes sparkled with humour as you continued to shuffle around the island. He took a small step in your direction, arms still raised. But you knew better than to trust it; the smirk on his face giving him away. 

“Then why are you coming closer?” you replied.

“God, you really know how to make a man feel wanted,” he said sarcastically, continuing to move towards you with slow, fluid steps.

“I just don’t want you to say anything you’ll regret.” 

“Mm.” He stilled for a moment, pretending to ponder, before darting around the counter. 

You yelped in surprise and turned to run away, but he was too swift, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back against him.

“Fucking hell you’re fast,” you laughed breathlessly.

He leaned down, bringing his lips close to your ear. “I always get what I want.” 

You squirmed in his arms and he tightened his grip, just enough to still you. You let your head fall back against his chest in defeat, blowing out an exaggerated huff. His laugh was deep and warm beside your ear as he slid his hands down to rest on your hips, sending a sudden nervous thrill to your core. Then he turned you around, bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs tracing soft circles over your cheeks as he leaned down to kiss you.

You welcomed it eagerly, sliding your arms around his waist and gripping the material of his shirt in your fists to pull him flush against you. His mouth moved over yours slowly, deeply, the pressure of his kiss flooding you with a warmth that made every touch feel like fire, every breath like steam as it escaped between your parted lips. But you could feel him holding back, as though he was testing each movement, waiting for a sign to let go.

He pulled back, breathing heavily as his forehead rested against yours, the same look of admiration on his flushed face. 

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, emphasising each word.

He exhaled a long, slow huff through his nose, the slightest smirk at the corner of his mouth. His hands drifted down from your face, fingers tracing lightly over your neck, along your shoulders and down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Alright then, I won’t say it,” he murmured, his voice deep and hoarse. Then he paused, drawing out the silence between you until it was almost unbearable. “What I will say is that I think we should go upstairs…”

You felt a ripple of excitement in your stomach, his tone laced with a hunger that made it impossible to misinterpret. He stepped back and took your hand in his, watching you, waiting for you to respond, his thumb idly grazing over your knuckles. 

“Unless you’re too tired?” he added, tilting his head slightly. 

You swallowed, the tension between you so heavy that the only response you could muster was a shake of your head. 

He smiled, gently tugging you towards him, sending a sudden wave of nerves to the pit of your stomach. Your heartbeat quickened as he led you upstairs, as though you’d forgotten what this part felt like; how exciting yet terrifying it could be. Thrilling and intimidating, all at once. 

He kept his hands on you the entire time, refusing to break the connection, even as he opened and closed the bedroom door. You kissed him eagerly as he walked you backwards to the bed, his lips warm and firm against yours, fingers digging into your waist to keep you close. 

Your hands moved up his arms and over his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles under the fabric of his shirt. It made you hesitate for a moment, trying to speak against his lips.

“Are y- sure- about this?” The words came out broken and breathless, punctuated by his continuous, fervent kisses.

“Certain,” he whispered impatiently, falling with you onto the bed, the weight of his body sinking you into the mattress. 

He slid a hand to your neck, his thumb pressing against the base of your throat as he continued to kiss you. You moaned as the pressure stifled your breath, making you buck your hips in a desperate search for friction. 

A groan escaped him, but instead of holding back like you’d come to expect, he gave in to it; parting your legs with his thighs and settling between them, allowing you to grind against the erection straining beneath his trousers.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been to resist you,” he mumbled, traipsing kisses from your cheek to your jaw. 

“So what’s changed now?” you replied, voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breaths. 

His lips moved from your jaw to your ear. “Now we’re a couple.” 

You let out a soft laugh. “I never actually agreed to that…” 

“I’m sure I’ll have you agreeing soon.”

He took his time, fingers gently caressing your body over the material of your dress. His movements were slow, lingering, deliberate and unhurried as he traced the outline of your curves, letting each touch build and settle before moving onto the next.

You reached up to unbutton his shirt as he unravelled his tie, whipping it from around his neck and throwing it to the ground. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, hands moving to roam his bare chest as he shrugged it off completely. 

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen him shirtless over the last four months; you were all too familiar with the feeling of his chest beneath your palms, how your fingers moved over the dips and rivets of his torso. But tonight it felt different, somehow, like your touch was charged. You could feel his heartbeat through his chest, the flex of his muscles with even the slightest movement. 

He was softer than when you’d first met, no strict movie routine keeping him lean and toned. But that softness made you want him even more; his body a testimony of the comfort and security he felt with you. There was still a firmness to him, his frame a perfect mixture of hard and yielding; thick arms and a broad chest that caged you beneath him, soft stomach that moulded to your body as he held you close. 

You both knew you liked it when he took control. And he liked it too; his generosity and commitment to your pleasure so allconsuming that he would gladly lose himself in it completely. You knew the moment he delved beneath your dress, it would be almost impossible to pull him back, to make him pause long enough for you to indulge in him. You wanted to show him what he’d missed, make him feel how much you’d yearned for this intimacy. 

And so you pushed gently on his chest, silently instructing him to sit up. His brows came together in a moment of confusion, but he didn’t resist, allowing you to direct him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands working to unbutton his trousers. He shifted, helping you slip them down, freeing him from his underwear and giving a quiet sigh of relief. 

You wrapped a hand around his cock, glancing up to see his face tense with anticipation. It didn’t seem to matter how light your touch was, how slow or vigorous you stroked, it all had the same effect; turning his breath shallow, the angles of his face sharp in the dim light. Licking your lips, you brushed the stray pieces of hair out of your face, before leaning forward and finally taking him in your mouth. 

His eyes rolled, head falling back in bliss as he let out a deep, gratified groan. You’d missed those sounds; always delighting in his willingness to make noise, and longing for it in your abstinence. You worked your mouth over him, lips and tongue drawing the most delicious sounds from the base of his chest, and whenever your hair fell back into your face, you would brush it away quickly, trying to keep a steady rhythm as your hand and mouth moved together along the length of his cock. 

The next time your hair fell, he noticed before you could fix it, gathering the loose strands in his fists and holding them back for you. His grip tightened as he began to guide your head, but he remained gentle, reserved, letting you stay in control. The feeling of his fingers tangled in your hair made you ache for the power you knew he was capable of, desire pooling between your legs as he silently directed you, swearing under his breath and gazing down at you in awe. 

His composure waned, just for a moment, hips thrusting his full length to the back of your throat. You choked slightly and he gave a low growl in response, his voice resonating deep in your core. And though you hadn’t planned to stop, you didn’t protest when he drew back, pulling you up into a deep, ravenous kiss.

Your body hummed with desire, skin tingling, stomach coiling as he guided you to straddle his lap. His hands slid up your thighs beneath your dress, fingers digging into the flesh of your backside with a firm, eager pressure. You shifted your weight, grinding against his bare erection, but the barrier of your underwear stifled the friction, leaving you hot and frustrated,forced to bear down harder in a desperate search for relief. 

He continued to kiss you as his fingers reached for the zip of your dress. You felt it coming undone slowly, the smooth journey from the back of your neck to the base of your spine making you shiver in anticipation. The material loosened and you slipped it off your shoulders, letting it fall down your arms and pool at your waist. He moved his lips to the newly exposed skin of your chest, planting hot kisses along your collarbones as he quickly unclasped your bra and tossed it to the ground. 

He took a moment to take in the sight of you, your soft, untouched breasts like a delicacy he’d been craving but never let himself indulge in. You let out a quiet hiss when he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking on it roughly as he massaged your other breast with a firm hand. You couldn’t help but arch into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you surrendered to the delicious ache, the arousal pooling between your legs. 

You moaned as he moved between each breast; biting, licking, sucking, kissing, leaving no inch of you unmarred, no sensation unexplored. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pressing crescents into his skin, each sharp indentation drawing a growl from his throat, only spurring his fervour. 

He rose to his feet, lifting you with him and turning around to lay you on the bed. You dragged your dress down and kicked it away, your eyes never breaking contact with him as he shed the last of his clothes and returned to you quickly. His hands caressed your bare body as you lay beneath him, his lips chasing every light, gentle stroke with a kiss. 

He let out a slow, heavy breath as he ran his fingers over your underwear, the extent of your desire clear in the soaking wet cotton between your legs. You shivered when you felt him press his mouth to it, dragging his tongue along the outline of your pussy, like a hot, torturous promise of pleasure.

You whimpered softly, hips rocking, pushing yourself against his mouth with desperation.

“Please,” you whispered. 

He didn’t tease, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and peeling it from you quickly. You watched as he seemed to admire your body, hands gliding over the most intimate parts of you in unashamed worship. 

“Mine,” he muttered as he began pressing kisses to your inner thighs. 

There was no space in this moment for you to deny his claim; no quip or sarcastic remark worthy of disrupting the intimacy between you. So instead you stayed quiet, letting him speak the word into your skin as he made his way to your centre. Your back arched when you felt his thumb along the seam of your pussy, the wet slick making it easy for him to glide through, every brush over your clit sending a jolt to your core. 

His eyes were on you, watching your every reaction as he played with his speed, adjusting the pressure and rhythm of his touch until he found the spot that made you gasp. He pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit and began to massage it firmly, nipping his teeth at the inside of your thigh as you squirmed beneath him. 

“I want you to tell me when you’re close,” he said, his tone dark and commanding. 

You didn’t answer, too busy writhing against his touch to speak. 

His thumb stilled as he stared up at you, waiting for a response.

You gasped at the sudden loss of stimulation, forcing yourself to look down at him. “Yes,” you said breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll tell you.” 

He seemed satisfied, returning to circling your clit with his thumb as he began stroking himself with his other hand. You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, watching him, taking pleasure in the way he looked as he touched himself, aroused by the mere sight of you spread beneath him. 

He leaned down, his tongue making contact with your pussy for the first time, dragging through your folds as he let a satisfied hum vibrate against you. He drew your clit into his mouth, sucking on it gently and sending a deep shudder up your spine. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, the word coming out broken and breathless.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth with a heavy moan. He seemed to like it, burying his face deeper between your legs as he began to devour you, eating you out like he’d missed it, craved it. 

You let your head fall back, eyes closing as you lost yourself in the feeling of his sweeping tongue and puckered lips, the way he swirled and sucked, flicked and dragged with expert precision. Your hands searched for something to anchor you; his hair, his shoulders, the duvet, even your own chest, your body rolling and shivering under his tireless rhythm. 

You’d never forgotten the first time he did this; how mind blowing it had been, how he’d left you shaking, mewling, crying out as you came. And it never stopped surprising you, every time afterwards, the depths of pleasure his mouth was capable of. But even still, this time somehow surpassed it all. 

You felt the familiar heat beginning to build, the trembling in your legs, the tightening in your muscles. 

“I’m close,” you forced yourself to speak. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

He didn’t relent, but you could feel him adjusting his pace, softening the pressure of his ministrations just enough to keep you hanging on the edge, but careful to not push you over. 

You whimpered, rolling your hips in a desperate search for release. But he was too controlled.

“Oh god, Ben please- Please don’t tease me, I can’t-”

 He pulled his head back, returning his thumb to rub lazy circles over your clit. “Ssh, I’m not teasing,” he said softly. “I’m going to let you come. I just want to be inside you when you do.” 

A wave of electricity coursed through you, his words alone almost unravelling you completely. He dipped his head down, granting himself a final taste of you before pulling back again. You watched as he let a string of saliva fall carefully from his pursed lips, dripping down over the entrance of your aching pussy. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, falling back against the mattress, unsure if you’d ever witnessed a more arousing sight.

He crawled up your body, positioning himself between your legs as he kissed your neck with an unexpected tenderness. You felt him reach down to line the head of his cock with your entrance, gliding it through the slick of saliva he’d left there before finally pushing into you. 

The feeling of the first slide was still as breathtaking as you remembered; the fullness, the stretch, the pressure deep in your pelvis. He felt bigger than you remembered, or maybe you’d just gotten used to the size of your vibrator. But still, he sank into you with ease, your wetness drawing him in like he belonged there, making you gasp and reach out to grip his arms.

He groaned as he buried his entire length inside you, the sound a warm blend of rapture and relief. His voice was orgasmic as it poured into your ear, so delicious you were sure you could climax from the sound of it alone. 

You bent your knees back, hooking your arms around the backs of his shoulders as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and steady, making you feel so full you thought he might break you. He turned his head to kiss you, adjusting his position slightly to reach your lips with more ease. 

The shift in angle grazed your g-spot, stealing the breath from your lungs, your mouth falling open against his in shock.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hands reaching for his backside to keep him exactly where you needed. “Keep doing that.”

“Fuck,” he growled as you tightened around him. 

He dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck and you clung to him as he moved, hips drawing back and snapping forward repeatedly, staying right where you wanted him. 

Something came over you; a sudden, overwhelming urge to give yourself to him. All of you, every thought, every cell, every word. You cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. 

“I am yours,” you said between soft moans. “I am.” 

He let out a heavy sigh, his control faltering for a moment as he looked down at you. He pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you as his thrusts grew harder, more intense, staying at the angle that sent ripples of pleasure through your belly. Your eyelids fluttered as the sensation grew stronger, a climax rising from your core like a wave until it overflowed, crashing through you before you even realised it was coming. 

He continued to move, watching your face in awe as you came apart beneath him, drawing it out of you with long, firm strokes. Your legs shook, your bottom lip quivering as your walls tightened, your core throbbing with the echoes of your orgasm. 

His pace slowed, the atmosphere between you shifting into something softer, more intimate, as though your bodies had transcended sex, melting into one another in a symbiotic, otherworldly connection. He kissed you tenderly as he rocked his hips, moaning quietly into your mouth as your hands curled around the back of his neck. And when he looked into your eyes again, his gaze held a depth that you couldn’t ignore. 

You shook your head, gently pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it.” 

He breathed out a soft laugh, gripping your wrist and kissing the side of your hand.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, urging him to get up. He moved you both smoothly, sitting up and pulling you to straddle his lap. You reached down, guiding him back inside you and sinking down on it, luxuriating in the groan that escaped him. 

He felt different in this position - even bigger, somehow - the head of his cock kissing the very depths of you, almost taking your breath away. His hands found your hips, rocking you gently back and forth to control your speed. You held him close, arms draped over his shoulders as you kissed him passionately. 

“I missed this,” you whispered. 

He shivered slightly beneath you, and you could sense his composure slipping as he held you tighter, his forehead resting against yours.

“Don’t ever hold back from me again,” you added. 

“I’m not sure I could if I wanted to,” he replied, breathing heavily. 

You rocked forward, his cock sending a shockwave through your sensitive core. A moan fell from your open mouth, eyes closing tightly. He noticed your reaction, brushing your hair away from your face. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice quiet and breathless. “I can take it,” you added with a slight smirk, rolling your hips with an intentional roughness that elicited a deep growl in his chest. 

His eyes glimmered with something hungrier, more primal, his body moving to meet the rhythm of your hips. He trailed a hand up to your neck as he kissed you, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your throat as he added more power to his thrusts, taking back the control. 

You tore your lips from him, head falling back in utter bliss as you placed your hands over his, holding onto him as he bracketed your throat, fucking you hard as he sat beneath you. You choked out a moan, your insides coiling, pelvis flooding with hot, tingling pressure. 

You felt yourself falling onto your back, and he moved with you, resting his elbows either side of your head as he continued the intense, forceful snap of his hips. He lay kisses along your neck, your jaw, before you felt his breath hot against your ear. 

“Tell me again that you’re mine,” he said, his voice almost a growl. 

You clutched at his back, nails dragging scratches down his soft, smooth skin. “I’m yours.” 

The words seemed to push him over the edge, his rhythm quickening until another orgasm tore through you. He groaned as you tensed around him, willing himself to hold on, to coax every last drop of pleasure from you before allowing himself to falter. It was only when your limbs turned heavy, your breaths coming in short, gasping whimpers, that he finally let himself go, sinking his full length into you with a moan and filling you with his own release. 

You clung to him. His back was hot, coated in a layer of sweat and veins of scratches from your nails. He lay panting in your arms, face buried in the crook of your neck as he let his full weight drape over your body. You liked the heaviness of him, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours, the span of his arms as they curved either side of your head.

The room settled into a comfortable silence, your breaths slowly returning to normal, the cloud of lust dissipating, making room for clarity. He shifted to pull out of you but you tightened your hold on him, keeping him in place between your legs. 

“No not yet,” you muttered. “Just stay here for a minute.” 

 He chuckled, yielding to you and relaxing back down. But after a moment, he moved again. 

“I’m getting cramp in my leg,” he grumbled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and released your hold on him, letting him pull out of you carefully and sit at your feet. You sat up slightly, watching as he stretched his leg, wincing as he massaged his calf. 

He breathed out a sigh when the pain subsided, looking at you with an almost shy smile. His face was flushed, you could tell even in the dim light of the room, making it hard to connect this version of him to the one who’d left you feeling so sore and spent just minutes ago. 

He crawled over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder before flopping down beside you. You giggled and lay down next to him, nestling against his side as he wrapped an arm around you. 

“So, that had nothing to do with seeing another guy try it on with me tonight?” you teased. 

“Nothing at all,” he replied with a smirk.

You laughed sleepily, letting your heavy lids settle closed, listening to the sound of his breaths as he played with a loose tendril of your hair. You felt so content, so deeply at ease that even your mind couldn’t bring itself to form a thought. 

Neither of you had spoken in a while. His body so still you assumed he’d dozed off. So when you heard him suck in a breath, preparing to speak, the sound almost startled you. 

“I am so in love with you,” he said.  

It cut through the silence like a blade, his voice so clear and certain that there was no mistaking what he’d said, or if he’d meant to say it. Your eyes sprung open, your head whipping up to look at him in disbelief.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

if I’m honest, I have never seen so much blatant actual antisemitism in my life as I have in the past 2 weeks. overwhelmingly on the left, but on the right too. I didn’t know it was this bad.

[bicheetopuff]

tgck and bkdk parallels make so much more sense when you think of it as Katsuki paralleling Uraraka and Izuku paralleling Himiko instead of the other way around…

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I think fans want Jason to be a good person or be becoming one. To have a character that is well meaning and compassionate but decided murder is ok and to stand against main heroes who’s beliefs and actions go against the people he cares about and wants in his life. It’s confusing for people. People want their fav characters to be happy. But Jason can’t have his family’s support and follow his moral code. He’s cares about people and Gotham, and he’s an asshole who kills. It’s messy. It’s not black and white. I don’t even think Jason cares about being a good person or in the right anymore. I think he cares about what will save the most people instead.

Oh my goodness gracious I’ve been bamboozled

Batman’s definition of Good is not synonymous with absolute good/right no matter how much dc insists it is. Torture, battery/assault, surveillance, those are all condemnable actions too. I won’t get into the exhausting and frankly dumb debate of comic book morality wrt killing because I’ve already reblogged plenty of posts from other people who explained my thoughts on the matter far better than I ever have the patience to sit down and articulate. I also just think the notion that there’s something to be done about fictional characters who kill nazis and senseless murderers is stupid. Jason’s point is that the “main” heroes’ sanitized definition of right has its unaddressed holes and flaws which ultimately result in more preventable fatalities, and that he’ll work to correct those missing spots.

He doesn’t not care about doing what’s right. What he doesn’t care about (at least during his Winick characterization) is whether Batman thinks he’s right or wrong, because he sees the flaws in Batman’s methodology (and since he has a mind of his own). Batman’s methods alone cannot address Arkham’s revolving door and the rogues that come and go through those doors who have no intention (or capability from the doylist pov) of ever changing or undergoing redemption. Jason knows that he’s minimizing the number of preventable deaths by killing his targets, typically Characters Who Simply Do Fucked Up Shit Just Because, Why The Fuck Not?

Secondly, Jason is compassionate … to a fault. That was his fatal flaw. If he wasn’t so hell-bent on saving his potential birth mother he just met from that bomb despite everything she did to him prior, he could have protected himself instead, however slim his odds of survival were. What about his relationship with his other parents? He was a caregiver during his early childhood years for Catherine, until her death. Even mature adults who are financially stable find being a caregiver to a dying parent to be extremely burdensome on their bodies and minds, but he never complained about it or resented Catherine for being unable to care for him. Despite how none of his parents have really been what he needed them to be, he doesn’t blame them for their failings, and even continues to think highly of them (Bruce included).

And post-death? Enter Lost Days. Despite being dead set on plotting his revenge on Bruce, he constantly sidelines this in order to save other victims who are helpless like he once was. His own anger, trauma, and mission don’t remain his priority. (Sound familiar? Something something my own trauma above my son’s, mission above all else, etc.). Why would he waste precious time and risk his own life to do this if he wasn’t empathetic towards these victims or didn’t care about doing the right thing. He is simultaneously horribly traumatized and full of rage, and also incapable of ignoring what’s happening to victims around him (even as he claims that it’s indeed not his priority). And in that same vein, the entire premise of his rebirth outlaws run was that he doesn’t care if the public views him as a villain, an outlaw, so long as he can protect Gotham. And anyway where is this portrayal of him not caring about being in the right anymore. Almost every modern Jason story is about him grappling with where he stands with Bruce/Batman. During the early 2000s was probably the last time he did not care (hello, tentatodd??).

Jason has very evidently been portrayed as a kind and compassionate character. He is also simultaneously a calculated killer who doesn’t hesitate to kill when he deems necessary, and does so without remorse. It’s called being a Complex Character With An Edge™ that as you said, people so often claim to love. However when he fulfills that latter part, that seems to upset people because “killing bad”, and they then try to shave off and round out all his edges and claim he shouldn’t be that angry. In that case I guess you should just stick to liking traditional one-dimensional characters instead of claiming to like Jason but then encouraging his character assassination attempt by dc. Lol.

Lastly, who said anything about the batfam making Jason happy? Just because he’s written nowadays to want acceptance from Bruce (a shoddy attempt at forcing a non-existent nuclear batfamily), doesn’t mean that it’s a sound decision or that it does his character justice. I certainly don’t empathize with the idea that Jason needs the family’s approval or acceptance to be happy. (And anyway he has enough outlets for angst and pain aside from the batfam hello explore his other sources of trauma and do more deep dives into how he thinks when he’s alone). I don’t want them to magically make up and become one big happy family. This is not disney Lol. Besides, there are plenty of stories from dc that have that type of “wholesome” (hate that word utilization) characterization for Jason (Li’l Gotham, Tiny Titans, wfa, and even new stuff like the brave and the bold mini) and that is sufficient imo. Jason fans who are invested in the character deserve accurate, nuanced characterization and well-written stories, whether they be from his robin days (e.g., Batman: The Cult) or as red hood.

[phantomsies]

getting all the education/degrees I can and planning so I can get the fuck out of this country >>>>

[swordmaid]

i want to start on the drizzt books for the drow content but so much of the drow infos I found from like the old handbook reeks of so much misogyny to me that i just want to stick to my own headcanons LMFAO

[getosugurusbangs]

i think one of my hotter jjk hot takes is that i don’t think kenjaku is gender-fluid

[prisonpodcast]

some ccs are just straight up nuts there’s no other explanation

[navysealt4t]

can we please talk more about queer anger. im so fucking sick of being so angry and having no where to put it. im allowed to be fucking angry with the people and society that failed me

[friendlyfatbee]

I’ve come to realize that as an adult, I can dramatically flaunt around my dorm and wave my labcoat-like cardigan around like a mad scientist, and no one can stop me. What are they gonna do, tell me to grow up?

[starbuck]

I don’t believe in categoric “love languages” but, along those lines, providing is so important for me in my relationships, romantic and otherwise. I love you, so I provide for you, and maybe you’ll do the same for me. I want to be in a constant cycle of giving and receiving with my loved ones. I want to feel safe and appreciated and make others feel the same way. I want to anticipate their needs. I want them to openly express their desires to me without shame. If you want it, it’s yours. I love you.

[gxyhxrror]

Orpheus and Eurydice is so…like how does one not feel like Orpheus w everything they love…like ok if I keep going n know ur there maybe it’ll be fine, except if I actually look back at u & try to be *with* you…it’ll be lost

[miscellaneousjay]

This is so disappointing! All these bajillion-dollar companies and corporations gotta do is PAY THEIR PEOPLE!!! It literally shouldn’t be that difficult!!! Honestly, who was allowed to put a price tag on morals? Common sense? Empathy? DO BETTER!!! Because it’s really looking and steadily getting hopeless out here in these streets and the people SITTING ON LITERAL BILLIONS don’t want to do SHIT but ask the folks with shallow(er) pockets to attempt to save the day. ALL YOU CLOWNS CAN LITERALLY POOL YOUR MONEY AND SAVE THE WORLD WITH IT AND STILL (possibly) BE (considerably) WEALTHY!!!!

on the announcement that Disney+ is removing a plethora of shows and films from its service, please read these tweets from Willow writer John Bickerstaff. this is not a tax writeoff like Batgirl, because these projects have already been released. this is a move designed to cut off financial support in the form of residuals, and break the spirit of the strike. here is the deadline article that lists the films/shows that will be removed.

as always, donate to the entertainment community fund, vocally support the WGA online and irl, or join a picket in a major US city if you can. let them know they can't keep getting away with things like this.

[checkontherep]

please tell me why a boy i’m talking to calling me pretty has sent me spiraling

[luna-azzurra]

How to Create A Villain

The best villains? They don’t even see themselves as the bad guys. They’re 100% convinced that what they’re doing is right, even if it’s messed up. Maybe they’re trying to “save the world” by doing something super questionable, or they think enforcing strict rules is the only way to keep society in check. They truly believe they’re the hero of their own story, which makes them way more interesting and real.

And Yeah, your villain might want power, but the real question is: Why? Were they humiliated in the past and now want control? Did they grow up powerless and now crave it to avoid being vulnerable again? When you dig into their backstory and show us why they’re doing horrible things, it makes them a lot more relatable—even if they’re totally wrong.

Flat, one-note villains are boring. If your antagonist is going to stick with people, they need depth. Show us what’s going on under the surface. Maybe they lie awake at night, doubting their choices, or they’re still haunted by a massive failure that’s pushing them toward their goal. A villain with personal struggles and vulnerabilities feels way more human and way harder to fully

A great Villain doesn’t just fight the hero, they reflect them. They might have totally different goals, but at their core, they share similar traits, maybe ambition, stubbornness, or a tragic backstory. When the hero looks at the villain, they should see a bit of themselves, and that’s what makes the conflict between them so intense.

When the villain finally goes down, it should feel big. Their defeat shouldn’t just be a fight, it should hit them emotionally. Ideally, their downfall comes from their own flaws, maybe they got too arrogant or made a mistake because of their obsessive goal. The best villain defeats leave the audience feeling a little sad or conflicted, not just happy for the hero’s win.

[b1adie]

COULD VERITAS RATIO BE A WORM?

see the updated theory HERE

the answer 😏 may surprise you

ok listen to me. a long time ago aha made a worm really smart and tried to get it into the genius society. but even though that worm was smart as hell, nous did not give a fuck about it.

you know who else is smart as hell but nous doesnt give a fuck about?

heh. yeah. thats right. despite many people (including himself) feeling like nous should have recognized him a loooong time ago, that computer just doesn’t care.

now, we are left to wonder… why does nous refuse to acknowledge this man..?

i think it’s quite obvious.

my theory is that aha made a SECOND worm really smart. and Then they made the worm into a sexy guy.

and now they’re outside nous’s window, giggling, as everyone in the universe ponders why veritas ratio is not permitted into the genius society.

“what’s wrong, nous? he’s a genius, isn’t he? let him in,” aha goads.

nous is glitching in frustration. “it’s the worm again. i know it’s the worm again.”