#this has probably been done but it’s fun

[trashytracktales]

For VDay requests: Lando takes her to a nice dinner and she gets mad at him idk maybe he does something without realizing. And then they come back home and shes still pissed but he looks so good after he changes in his comfy clothes so they end up fucking on the couch or something but that's when she tells him why was she mad at him ❤🥀

Happy Valentine's Day guys xx

Torn on Valentine | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you for this request, I actually had so much fun with it. Enjoy your reading and happy Valentine’s, my lovelies!!

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🩷summary ──── Lando notices immediately that his girlfriend is angry with him. However, he has no idea why. But whatever the reason might be, he is determined to remind her exactly why she can't stay mad for long. It's Valentine’s Day, after all.

🩷pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🩷rating ──── explicit

🩷category ──── F/M

🩷warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, descriptive language, swearing, unresolved tension, teasing, jealous!reader, mild dominance, begging, unprotected sex, slight angst-to-smut.

🩷word count ──── 4.4k (4.444 to be exact hehe)

🩷date ──── Feb. 14, 2025

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VALENTINE’S DAY IS ruined.

Lando had gone all out to make sure that won’t happen, starting the morning by waking her up with muffins in bed, the scent of vanilla still lingering in the sheets as he pressed lazy little kisses to her neck.

They spent the day walking around the city, and shopping, wandering through little boutiques where he insisted on buying her anything and everything she had laid her eyes on.

And then, la pièce de résistance: a fancy dinner at an exclusive restaurant, the kind of place with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A soft melody played from a piano in the corner, setting the perfect atmosphere. The food was great, the wine was good, and every detail screamed romance, from the flickering candle between them to the way Lando’s thumb traced tiny heart shapes on her hand as they talked, his eyes never leaving hers.

All in all, it had been perfect. Until he ruined it.

The moment was burned into her mind, replaying it over and over again, like a broken record. The waiter, a girl who had been a little too friendly with him all night, had leaned in when she refilled his wine at some point, brushing his shoulder with a touch that lingered for too long. And Lando, oblivious as ever, had winked at her.

Winked.

She knew her boyfriend. Knew he was clueless about these things, that his flirty nature wasn’t always intentional. But that didn’t make it sting any less. Because the waiter had noticed. She smirked at him, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and acted like his girlfriend wasn’t literally sitting on the other side of the table.

After that, she had gone silent.

The entire ride home, she stared out the window, with her arms crossed and lips pursed, and her knees facing the opposite way from him. Lando figured something was wrong ever since; he glanced at her between shifts, brows furrowing, but he didn’t say anything, probably thinking she was just tired.

Then they got home, and she had barely looked at him as she changed into something more comfortable, still replaying the scene in her head.

Had he done it on purpose? Probably not. But did it matter?

That’s… debatable. It mattered to her.

Deprived by every emotion except irritation, she followed Lando setting up his last surprise of the day — a cozy movie marathon on the couch, complete with fuzzy blankets, sweets and drinks, and a bunch of her favorite Valentine’s-themed movies ready to run.

Now, their apartment is quiet except for the hum of the TV that neither of them is really watching. The tension between them is thick, lingering in the air like a storm that hasn’t broken. Yet.

She breathes heavily, sitting curled up on the opposite side of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, and arms crossed over her chest. Lando, on the other side, is content to let her be.

Until he isn’t.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we playing the guessing game again?” he finally asks, voice edged with concern. He knows that she needs time to process whatever’s bothering her at the moment, but his patience has limits, too.

She doesn’t look at him, just shrugs as she lies, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Lando puffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Right. That’s why you’ve been side-eyeing me like I insulted your entire family ever since we got back. It’s annoying, you know? If you have something to say…” his voice trails off, but he feels a wave of anger building inside, so he decides to let go before making it worse.

Her jaw tightens.

She doesn’t want to give in, mostly because she knows that the reason why she’s mad is, well, kind of absurd. But at the same time, she’s frustrated in a way that isn’t just about her boyfriend winking at other girls. The weight of the week has been pressing down on her shoulders, and she needs something — him — but she’s too stubborn to say it. Especially now. Still, her eyes keep flickering down, lingering on the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, the lazy way he’s sprawled out, legs spread wide.

He catches her looking, fighting a smile as he stretches his arms over the back of the couch. “You wanna sit on it?”

Her head snaps toward him, face heating instantly at his question. “What?”

Lando shrugs, “You keep looking,” he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “Figured I’d save you the trouble of pretending you don’t want to.”

She scoffs, but can’t deny it. She does want to. Desperately. But she’s mad at him. So, she says nothing. Just presses her lips together, turning her attention back to the screen like she isn’t thinking about climbing onto his lap and letting him pull her apart, little by little.

On the TV, the main characters are making out, sending her mind spinning relentlessly, fueling her sudden desire. Apparently, that’s enough for her to decide that she has to put an end to it, finally taking Lando’s advice and speak her mind. But he’s faster. His hands are reaching out for her, almost like they appeared out of nowhere, gripping her waist, effortlessly pulling her onto his lap.

A surprised gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t fight him, and doesn’t push him away. If anything, she melts just a little, legs instinctively settling on either side of his hips.

He looks up at her, fingers squeezing at her waist. “That’s better, hm?”

She glares, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Lando raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You didn’t say I couldn’t either,” he counters, sliding his hands down to grip her thighs, thumbs brushing tiny, teasing circles on her skin. “And you’re not exactly running away.”

She hates how smug he is. Hates how easily he sees through her act. Hates how good he looks right now.

But then his hands slide further up, fingertips ghosting over the curve of her ass, pressing her down against him just enough for her to feel him through the fabric of his sweats. And the feeling is… intense to say the least, since she’s only wearing an oversized t-shirt and her pajama shorts.

Lando watches her closely, aware of the effect he has on her. “Gonna tell me why you’re mad, or do I have to make you forget?”

She shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But when he shifts beneath her, dragging her forward so deliciously slow, her resolve crumbles.

Her hands grip his shoulders, nails pressing in. “Shut up.”

“And?”

She closes her eyes, exasperated by his attitude, “Shut up and do something.”

Lando grins at her bluntness, fingers tightening on her hips as he rolls her against him again. “Ask nicely.”

She huffs annoyed, but so needy it aches. “Lando,” she warns in a low voice.

Lando shakes his head. “No, baby. You know how this works,” he reminds her, lips brushing against her neck as his hands keep guide her movements. “Use your words.”

She breathes lightly, head tipping back as the friction sends heat pooling low in her belly. “Please?”

“See, that’s a good start,” he chuckles, nipping at her jaw and dragging his tongue over the sting, “But I know you can do better.”

Her pride wars with her desperation, but it’s a losing battle. She needs more than that, and she knows he won’t give it to her until she breaks.

Next time she speaks, her voice is a whisper, breathy yet sweet, “I need you, please.”

He smirks as he watches her through his eyelashes, happy with the state he managed to put her in so easily. “There goes my girl.”

Lando can see the shift in her the second he finishes his sentence. It’s in the way frustration morphs into impatience, and how her breath hitches every time he grinds her against him but doesn’t give her what she really wants.

“I know you’re enjoying this, but there’s no reason for you to take your sweet ass time, you know that,” she mutters, her voice edged with irritation.

Lando shrugs. “And you know I like watching you squirm.”

She rolls her eyes, but her body betrays her — again and again. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, while her thighs tense around his waist. With a sharp exhale, she moves on her own now, hands sliding down between them, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. Lando follows her movements, amused, but doesn’t stop her as she pulls them down just enough to free him.

Her breath catches at the sight: he’s already hard, the head flushed deep red, leaking just slightly.

She glances back at him, brows raised, but Lando shrugs again, as if the reason is obvious. “You on my lap, begging? Kinda hard not to get… you know, hard.”

Her stomach clenches at his nonchalance, the way he acts like it’s inevitable. Like, of course he’d be this ready for her. Duh.

Lando exhales excited as she wraps her fingers around him, stroking just enough to make his hips twitch beneath her. His breath gets slightly unsteady after that, but his control remains.

“Getting bold now?” he asks, eyes locked on her as he pushes her shirt up just a little, tracing his fingers along the warm skin of her waist.

The girl doesn’t answer, just bites her lip as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down and letting them catch on the curve of her thighs before she kicks them away. That’s when the teasing glint in Lando’s eyes fades, replaced with something darker. He swallows hard, hands settling firm on her hips as he drinks her in.

“So soft,” he mumbles under his breath, mostly to himself.

She feels exposed in a way that has nothing to do with being half-naked. It’s like he’s seeing everything, because he knows her so deeply. Like he’s about to ruin her in the best way possible.

And she’s going to let him.

Lando wraps his hand around hers and, together, they pump his cock slowly, his gaze always on her, watching the way her body responds to the sight of it. Then he runs his thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of wetness there while he moves purposely, dragging the length of himself through her folds, groaning at how slick and warm she is.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to hers for a second, while she needs to hold on to him with both hands now. “You’re dripping.”

She whimpers as he does it again, sliding against her, teasing her clit with the thick head before pulling back, drawing out her frustration.

“Lando, don’t…” she whines, shifting against his chest, trying to get more of him.

Lando laughs, low and raspy, but his grip on her isn’t loosening one bit. “Patience, baby.”

“I need—”

“Yeah?” he cuts her off, pressing the head of his cock against her entrance this time, barely pushing in before pulling back out. “What? This what you need?”

Her stomach flips at the feeling, so raw, unable to spit out any words. Instead, she only manages to nod.

To show her that he appreciates her honesty, Lando guides her hips, dragging her along his length, pressing his swollen tip against her clit once more and holding her there. Without moving. She gasps, her whole body shuddering as the pressure sends sparks through her nerves.

Lando groans, feeling how she pulses against him, how her body aches for more. “Well, shit. That’s pretty,” he admits, watching her fall apart in his hands.

She lets a little cry out in protest, trying to push down, but he keeps her there, right on the edge of everything, everything.

“You gonna beg for it again?” he asks in a teasing voice.

She wants to fight him on it, but she can’t. Not when she’s this close to him, when every second of waiting feels like pure, unfiltered torture.

She shakes her head, her little cry turning into a throaty moan.

Lando gets ecstatic at the sound and the way her body shivers — so desperate, so utterly wrecked for him before he’s even inside her. For a split second, he considers giving in completely. But then he remembers she’s mad at him. Or at least, she was. And if she thinks she can get away with that attitude without consequence, she needs to understand that she’s sorely mistaken.

Instead of giving her what she wants, Lando kisses her. Hard. His lips crash into hers, swallowing the whimper of frustration that slips from her throat. He starts guiding her against him, harder now, making her ride the thick length of his cock without ever letting her sink onto it, the friction sweet but never enough. She tries to pull back, gasping against his mouth, but he doesn’t let her. One hand tangles in her hair, holding her close, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

Until her patience snaps and, with a sharp gasp, she bites his lip, just hard enough to make him hiss, her nails digging into his scalp as she pulls at his curls. Lando moans, a low, needy sound that strikes her like lightning. The sting, the fight, the way she’s clawing for a type of control she won’t get — not yet — motivates him to keep teasing her.

Annoyed, she lets her hand slip between them, fingers wrapping around his cock, slick and throbbing, before she finally sinks down onto him. Because, sometimes, the best thing you can do for yourself is to take matters into your own hands.

At that, both of them go silent.

Her body tightens around him instantly, the fullness of him stealing her breath, making her walls flutter as she adjusts to his length.

Lando’s forehead presses against hers, his lips parting with a violent inhale, his hands squeezing her hips.

“Jesus, baby,” he breathes, voice wrecked, “What buttons did I push?”

She doesn’t reply. Doesn’t move. Neither does he.

They just sit like that, their bodies locked together so perfectly it almost feels cruel to even blink. The fight, the frustration, the teasing… it all fades away in one moment, replaced by something more intense. Something profund.

When she shifts just slightly, Lando whines, feeling the way she clenches around him, and how perfectly they fit together. The thought makes him throb inside her, the heat of her making his pulse race.

She presses her forehead harder against his, her breath shaky. “Baby,” she whispers, “Shit, you feel so good.”

Lando opens his eyes, finding hers already on him.

For a second, he’s happy to simply look at her. Her flushed cheeks, the way her lips are swollen from his kisses, the way she’s barely holding herself together — everything about her is perfection. Then, he lifts her up, and the sudden rush of cool air against his cock makes him moan.

She shrieks at the emptiness, at the way her body aches to take him back. “Please, not now,” she pleads.

Before she can continue, he shoves himself back in, agonizingly slow, making her feel every inch of him as he stretches her again. As a result, her head falls forward, a desperate whimper breaking from her throat.

Lando keeps his eyes on her, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks, “Already falling apart, love? I’ve barely even started.”

She whines, arms wrapping around his neck, hips twitching like she wants more. Much more.

“This what you needed, yes?” Lando taunts, rolling his hips just enough to make her lose her mind. “You gonna stop being a brat now?”

She tries to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. Lando smiles, dragging himself out just to push back in, watching her eyes flutter shut.

“No, no. Keep those pretty eyes open,” he instructs, nipping at her jaw, “Come on. I wanna watch you break for me.”

Because he is absolutely evil, Lando keeps it slow. Too slow.

Every roll of his hips is calculated, dragging himself out so she feel his cock slipping away, then pushing back in deep, filling her up so completely it makes her walls pulsate. She can’t do anything but take it, her senses overwhelmed by him — by the rough drag of his hands on her skin, the warmth of his breath against her lips, the filthy sound of their bodies meeting.

Then his hands move, sliding up from her waist, fingers tracing over her ribs before finally cupping her breasts. It makes her gasp, her back arching into his touch as his thumbs sweep over her nipples, teasing a little, then rolling them between his fingers.

“So sensitive, look at that,” says Lando, his voice thick with lust. “Are you shaking, baby?”

She is. Her thighs tremble where they straddle him, her whole body squeezing him with every slow thrust, every lazy swipe of his thumbs against her skin.

His gaze drops between them, and his breath stutters at the image. “Beautiful.”

She doesn’t understand at first, too lost in how slowly he fucks her, but then he guides her chin down, forcing her to look.

And oh, fuck.

She can see everything: the way her body stretches to take him in, the way she’s dripping down his entire length, making a mess on his lap, and the way her thighs are trembling on each side of him.

Lando’s heart starts beating faster, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck. “See how you’re fucking ruining me?”

She lets out a soft, broken moan, fingers playing absentmindedly with the curls at the back of his head, mostly to anchor herself in the moment.

“Lan…”

“I know, love,” his tongue flicks against her pulse point before he kisses her jaw. “Not so mad at me now, are you?”

Right now? No. She realizes she’s not. She can’t be. Not when he’s touching her like this, fucking into her with such lazy, devastating precision. Not when he’s whispering filth into her ear while looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.

Her hands move, framing his face, tilting it up so she can kiss him again. But this time, their kiss is different. It’s not angry, not desperate, but tender and loving. A kiss that makes Lando’s grip falter, that steals the breath from his lungs and sends him to a new world that’s only inhabited by them.

She whimpers hungrily against his lips, and that’s what breaks him, because he knows he broke her first.

A guttural moan rumbles from his chest as his fingers dig into her thighs. And then he snaps. “Let me take care of you, baby,” he whispers next to her ear, thrusting into her harder. It takes her by surprise, the way he is holding her so tight like he’s trying to fuse them together. “Need you,” he adds.

The sudden change in pace fractures something in her brain to the point she can’t remember anything else except his name.

“It’s okay you’re mad,” Lando assures her. “You can be as mad as you want, yeah? All day, everyday,” he groans, voice wrecked. “I’m still gonna fuck you like this. Gonna give you exactly what you need. Whenever you need me, love.”

Her head falls back, a loud moan spilling from her lips as he loses himself in her, in the heat, the mess, and the way she clings to him.

“Always gonna take care of my girl,” he promises, sealing the words against her skin. “No matter what.”

She can feel his control slipping in the way his thrusts deepen, the rhythm faltering slightly as his breath becomes gradually uneven. He’s still trying to hold back, but she can tell he’s far from behaving. She feels his cock twitching so deliciously inside her, and the way his hands melt with her skin almost painfully on her hips. Every new sensation makes her dizzy, until it’s too much. The pressure building in her chest, the overwhelming feeling of him inside her, the way his hands start roaming over her skin, and his mouth leaving hot trails across her neck — all too much.

With a shaky breath, she collapses forward, her body unable to keep steady, falling against his chest as her hands slide weakly to his sides.

“I can’t,” she gasps, “Can’t hold myself up.”

Lando’s hands move immediately, his hold firm on her back, and voice filled with a deep urgency, “I got you, baby. You know I do.”

And then he flips them, his strength not-so-surprising as he rolls them onto the couch, her body now on her back with him above her. The new angle makes them both moan in unison, the sudden shift in depth making every movement feel sharper, more intense.

Lando’s hands find her thighs, pulling them apart so he can press deeper, pushing into her with a delicious force that makes her stomach tighten and her toes curl. The sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room — wet, sticky, perfect. Her hands reach up, gripping the back of the couch, her nails scratching at the fabric, trying to keep herself grounded as he fucks her harder.

“Fuck, baby,” Lando groans, his face flushed with sweat, his lips parted as he stares down at her, eyes wild with need. “You’re so fucking perfect, can’t get enough of you.”

She can feel him getting closer, the way his movements grow sloppier, more desperate, but there’s no slowing him down. He’s all in — in her, in the moment, and she can barely breathe under the weight of it all.

The sounds of their passion are unrestrained, loud, their breath ragged and frantic. It’s all they hear now: her moans, his grunts, the soft squeak of the couch beneath them. But as the tension starts to crack, she feels herself spiraling as closer to the edge as he is, and she finally feels the last remnants of her jealousy fade away.

She looks up at him, her vision blurry from the pleasure. “You… winked at the waiter.”

Lando freezes for just a moment, his thrusts shallow, and he looks down at her, confusion flickering in his eyes as he forces himself to regain control. “I did?” he breathes out wildly, his lips twitching with a laugh that’s barely contained.

She moans, biting her lip as she writhes under him, “Yes, when she came back with the wine,” she admits, her voice soft, barely a whisper. “It was so stupid, I wanted to throw it in your face.”

Lando finally laughs, a genuine chuckle, his face still flushed with pleasure. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you?” he asks, leaning down to kiss her lips before pulling back. “Wanted to be mad, but you’re too busy getting fucked to even care now, hm?”

She wants to argue, wants to tell him he’s being a cocky bastard, but the words get lost in the sound of her own moans as his rhythm picks up again, faster this time, his cock hitting places inside her that have her seeing stars.

“Oh,” she gasps, her voice full of the tension and the blinding pressure building in her chest, “I’m so... Fuck. I’m close.”

Lando doesn’t ease off. “I know, baby. I feel it.” He pushes her closer, his hands gripping her legs just right, his thrusts brutal and relentless. “Wanna come for me?”

She doesn’t have enough time to process his words. The wave hits her hard, crashing over her like an unstoppable force, and her body goes taut, every nerve lighting up as she cries out, her back arching off the couch as she cums around him.

And Lando isn’t far behind.

He slams into her once more, and then his head falls on her chest with a groan as he releases, the hot pulse of his cum filling her up just as her own orgasm shakes through her. Breathless, they stay like that, bodies joined, both of them tangled in the aftershocks of their release.

“Next time, don’t wink at other girls if you want to keep your eyes,” she finally says, feeling him softening inside her.

“Next time,” he whispers, still trying to catch his breath, “Don’t go non-verbal on me. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

She smiles weakly, pressing her lips to his. “You never mean it like that, do you?”

The air between them thickens, leaving behind an almost palpable silence. Affected by her last affirmation, Lando’s hands find home on her skin, the touch light, slightly hesitant, like he’s afraid to disrupt the fragile calm that’s settled between them.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She traces her fingers through his curls, her body feeling like a flame now, flickering gently after being ignited. There’s a warmth spreading from her chest, outwards, a comfort that soothes the storm inside her. But still, her heart races, and the lingering heat from their connection seems to hum through her veins.

Lando shifts, moving to pull her closer, his arms wrapping around her. She nestles into him, feeling the heat of his skin and the sweat against hers, the warmth of him grounding her.

“You okay?” she hears him again.

“Yeah... just needed a moment to catch my breath,” her voice is a soft murmur in his ears.

Lando smiles weakly, his lips curling with that familiar grin. He brushes a lock of hair from her face, fingers skimming her cheek like a whisper, and the gesture is enough to make her chest tighten.

“You’re everything I need, silly. Always.”

She knows that. And luckily, the storm inside her has subsided. “I’m sorry, too. For being stubborn,” she whispers, her voice full of a quiet vulnerability.

Lando chuckles, “Stubborn is an understatement.”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “Don’t push it.”

His hands, once firm and assertive, now trace delicate patterns over her skin, mapping every curve, every inch of her as though trying to imprint her into his soul. There is no need for words now, not anymore.

As Lando presses another soft kiss to her lips, she remembers why they will always be able to overcome any childish misunderstanding.

“I love you,” she says, her voice steady.

He smiles, feeling a familiar warmth spreading in his chest. And, instead of saying it back, Lando tilts his head slightly, meeting her gaze with a teasing smirk.

Then, he winks at her.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[thegamingcatmom]

@groovestrawberry Thank you so much for your words. They mean a lot. Especially because I'm prone to taking stuff way too seriously, so I really appreciate the reminder to just chill tf out. 😅❤���

Right so, onto your questions!

1) the last sentence you wrote

"It didn’t take long for your heart to pick up its frantic rhythm once more, terror seizing you anew at the horrible realization that, who…whatever was chasing you, it had been close enough for you to feel it."

Wrote that only yesterday. 💪

6) the word that appears the most in your current draft

(This is Chapter 4 btw.)

17) talk about your writing and editing process

Oh boy, what to say. Where to start.

I mean, I tend to take things a bit too seriously, as mentioned before. Which means I'll sometimes go over a sentence or paragraph until it no longer makes sense to me, lol. I know it's probably fine as is and ppl are gonna enjoy it anyway, so this is a habit of mine I'm working on. Also because, in my experience, whatever your brain comes up with after you first get your thoughts on paper, it most likely won't be as good as what you first came up with, so you end up going back to the OG anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, editing ain't fun, but it must be done because I'm really not happy with some of the stuff my old self has come up with. 🙃

As for the writing: This goes hand in hand with editing, actually. First things first though: Music. Most important. If I have a song I can vibe to and it fits the mood and all, then it's going rather smoothly. But, even then, I'm by no means a "fast" writer. Even when vibing, I'm still hyper focused on not making mistakes and especially using the correct tense (something I find surprisingly difficult when you're actually focused on it, lol). So, just like with editing, I'll read over a section a few hundred times before I proceed. I know some say it's more important to just get that first draft done and correct any mistakes after but, honestly? When a chapter is done, I wanna post it, not spend another few hours/days/weeks editing stuff. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, writing and editing is more or less the same for me because it happens simultanously. Or it will, once I'm done with editing TBRH (The Bumpy Road Home) and things go back to "normal." 😅

What else to say...hm, I guess a few other "quirks" of mine when writing are:

Writing out a piece of dialogue and putting it somewhere on the page to use later because I just know that if I don't do that, whatever I come up with instead (because my ass forgot half of what I originally came up with) won't be as slapping. OG always wins and all. 😉

Pausing to take a breather because I get so immersed in the scene, I actually need a moment to process it. (I read somewhere that someone referred to it as "zoomies." This was more in the sense of reading a fic and coming across a section so damn good, you need a moment to process it. But, sometimes, this is very much the case for writers too. 🫠)

Looking up images, videos etc. of the ppl or things I'm writing about. For Chapter 4 of TBRH, the Denali house was my trusty companion. Just chilling in the background (aka: another tab), lol.

Starting on another scene even though I haven't finished the current one because I just need to know what happens next. (Yes, I'm aware I'm the writer.)

Well, that's all I can come up with for the moment. I'm sure there's more and maybe I'll post it at some point. ✌️

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Thanks a lot for your questions and your lovely words! 💋

✍️ more fic writer asks!

reblog & your followers can send asks with the questions they’d like you to answer!

the last sentence you wrote

a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

how you feel about your current WIP

a story idea you haven’t written yet

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

your preferred writing fonts

if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

start to finish, how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

a WIP you’d like to finish someday

a trope you’re really into right now

a fandom you’re thinking about writing for

where do you get your inspiration?

favorite weather for writing

favorite place to write

talk about your writing and editing process

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

in what year did you publish your first fic?

when did you publish your most recent fic?

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

pick three keywords that describe your writing

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

are you able to write with other people around?

your favorite part of the writing process

your least favorite part of the writing process

how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

share a fic you’re especially proud of

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾₊⊹ To The Moon n’ Back.

Short Summary: This year you’ll spend another ordinary Valentine’s Day, all by yourself. Or that you think—until you receive a mysterious letter.

Warnings: 18+ only! soft impact play, brief fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, also this is kinda ooc!Tom bc how do I make this man engage in Valentine’s Day activities.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day!!! 💋🩷

wordcount: 2,4k

Tom Riddle does not do love.

So why is it that every time you walk past him, his heart beats just a little bit faster?

He’s done everything to distract himself—drowning himself in books, studying more than what is usual, even for someone called Tom Riddle.

Yet, you never fail to leave his mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get the thought of you—specifically your lips on his—out of his mind.

By sweet Merlin, that’s the worst part of it all.

──

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Safe to say—you aren’t interested in a relationship.

So it shouldn’t bother you that all of your friends are out with their partner. But it does, your chest tightening at the thought of spending another night alone on a day that’s meant to be celebrated with your loved ones. It’s always been like this though, they’ve had their fun, and you—well, you stayed behind.

You decide to head to bed early. Right after dinner, which was awfully boring with none of your friends around, you make your way back to your dorm. Or try to, at least. Because as soon as you turn the corner, someone bumps into you.

Not just anyone—Tom Riddle. Head boy, former prefect, top student in every class, teacher’s favourite, award winner… you could go on like this for hours. There is probably nothing in this world that he hasn’t achieved—except for finding a Valentine’s date, it seems.

“I am sorry,” you mumble as you crouch down to pick up a piece of paper he has dropped. And it’s really not that you wanted to know what was written on it—it must have been the familiar number that caught your eye—the number of your dorm to be exact.

Though slightly taken aback, you hand him the paper—or better—he rips it from your hands. For a moment when his lips part slightly, you think he might want to say something in return—maybe apologize for bumping into you—but nothing ever comes.

So you leave, shooting him a weak smile.

It’s not like you expected an apology from him. He has his close circle of friends, all of whom are from renowned pureblood families. Even if you wanted him to like you, look at you the same way you’ve looked at him for years, it wouldn’t change a thing. Tom Riddle was unreachable. Any girl that has ever been interested in ended up getting rejected, and you wouldn’t be one of them.

Yet, the rich scent of his perfume lingers, the way his eyes flickered to your lips for a brief moment imprinted in your mind. His hands brushing over yours briefly, feeling his warmth, the warmth you’ve been craving to feel on your skin—

You shake your head. You’re interpreting too much into it.

──

Tom curses himself for almost blowing his cover.

After hours of contemplation, hours of sitting in front of a blank piece of parchment, he finally writes something down.

My dear—

He scoffs. Pathetic.

Scrunching up the paper, he discards it on the wooden floor of his dorm.

I hope this letter finds—

Definitely not.

Please meet me at the Astronomy Tower tonight at—

Please? Who is he to beg? You should be the one begging for— fuck.

Twenty crumpled-up pieces of parchment later, Tom’s had enough.

He opts for something shorter.

Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.

Perfect.

──

You are tucked under your duvet, putting the romance novel you had started on the nightstand. It was only 8pm, but with nothing else to do, sleep didn’t seem like the worst option. Soon enough, your eyelids flutter closed, and you drift off to sleep.

Though, it isn’t too long before a sharp knock on the glass of your window wakes you. It’s your owl, delivering a letter. Quite an unusual time for you to receive something, yet curiosity gets the better of you, and you open your window to get it.

No sender.

Reluctantly, you tear the envelope open, and your eyes skim over the words written on the parchment.

“Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.” You whisper, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. You don’t recognize the handwriting as anyone's you know, and as soon as you wipe over the words, the ink smears, vanishing, leaving you with an empty parchment.

At first, you are quite unsure whether to go. There’s no name on the letter, and especially on a day like today, there will be stricter enforcements of the curfew rules. Though, knowing yourself, you would have probably gone anyway. Even on a day like this, the moon and the stars are the only company you crave.

So you change, folding your PJs neatly on your bed, putting on the first skirt you find—though as soon as you step out of your dorm, you regret your decision. Tonight is cooler than usual, a soft breeze brushing past your skin, having you shiver. It’s too late to turn around, though. So you make your way, walking the route you normally take when you sneak out past curfew.

As you ascend the stairs to the tower, a figure leaning against the railing catches your attention. Only when you take a few steps closer do you recognize who it is. The brunette curls are unmistakably Tom’s, and for a moment your breath catches in your throat, halting your movements. Knowing that he is most likely on his patrol, you turn around to return to your dorm, but as you do just that, his voice stops you.

“You came.” He remarks quietly, without turning around.

It is him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Riddle, if this is some kind of—“

“Come closer.”

You walk forwards then, though reluctantly, and lean against the railing next to the brunette. It’s silent between the both of you for a while before he speaks up again.

“They fascinate you, don’t they?” He asks subtly, staring into the distance of the night sky. You follow his gaze, taking in the stars and moon on the otherwise pitch-black horizon. “You watch them each night when you can’t sleep.”

You turn your head then, looking at him briefly. You want to ask how he knows, yet you decide to keep it to yourself. Instead, you answer honestly.

“It’s a rare constant in my life. They help me calm down, especially after a long day.”

He gives you a soft nod in return, and silence returns between the both of you, left with owls howling in the distance. There’s still snow on the ground, and it must be below freezing temperature, because when another cool breeze brushes past you, you shiver, scrunching up into yourself.

“Why am I here, Riddle?”

Tom finally turns towards you then, a spark of something softer shimmering in his otherwise so strict chocolate-brown eyes, and he takes a measured step closer.

“You didn’t have any other plans tonight, did you?” He asks, in a way that’s implying he already knows the answer—because what does he not know—and you shake your head no.

“Then that is why.”

You part your lips to question him but are interrupted by his hand reluctantly reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your cheek, trying, testing, before his hand wanders to your neck. His thumb draws small, soft patterns on your jaw, and you tense slightly at the contact. He stops then momentarily, watching your softened expression, but when you don’t complain, he continues.

His gaze flicks to your lips, the air between the both of you growing thick with tension as he slowly leans in. Your surroundings fade into a blur, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

Tom Riddle is kissing you.

The kiss isn’t what you’d expect of someone like him—it’s soft, tender, your lips moving in sync as his second hand rests on your lower back, pulling you closer.

Soon enough, he has you pressed against the railing, lips only parting from yours when a soft moan falls over your lips. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, then he goes back to kissing you as his fingertips trail up the soft skin of your thighs, stopping at the hem of your skirt.

“Okay?” He murmurs, waiting for a verbal agreement before turning you around, adjusting your position with a firm grip on your waist. He bunches the skirt around your hips, delivering a soft smack to the round curve of your now exposed ass.

A soft whimper falls over your lips, and you slightly lurch forward at the contact, but he is quick to reposition you, pulling you back to him.

It is most likely the choice of your underwear that has him go silent, fingers softly tracing along the lace of your burgundy thong, though he is quick to rid you of the last piece of fabric covering your lower body. Tom makes you step out of it, crouching down to lift your leg. You only faintly notice that he puts it in his pocket, and time to complain is sparse because his hands are back on your exposed skin within a second, cutting off your thoughts.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, drawing a soft mewl from your lips, “even more so than I thought.”

Another gentle smack, and you feel his hand gently massaging your thighs before they wander up further. He doesn’t proceed—he waits, lingering there for just a moment.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.” He instructs, his voice soft, and you obey, parting your thighs to allow him better access. A whimper escapes your lips when Tom fully presses himself against you, making you feel the problem you’ve caused him.

His hand leaves your thigh, traveling up until he reaches your already soaked heat, humming as his fingers swipe through your folds, collecting your arousal. One finger slips inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, and you can’t help but buck your hips into his touch.

A second finger enters you, stretching, preparing you for him. You appreciate it—but all you want is to finally feel him.

“Riddle, please— I need you.”

His fingers withdraw then, hand wrapping around your throat instead, tilting your head backwards as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

“What’s my name?”

“Tom, God— please let me feel you, Tom.” You croak out, whimpering in defeat.

He lets you go then, the sound of him undoing his belt cutting through the night. “Good girl. Sounds so good when you say it.”

He casts a warming charm on you, a pleasant heat spreading through your body, and the next thing you feel is his tip nudging against your soaked entrance, slipping inside of you with a single, slow thrust. He groans when he’s inside of you completely—and it might be the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

He’s told you to stay quiet—though that order is quickly forgotten when he sets a steady rhythm, fingertips pressing hard enough into your skin to leave bruises. He stretches you perfectly, filling you completely with every snap of his hips, knuckles turning white from how hard you are gripping the railing. The sound of your skin colliding with each thrust fills the air, accompanied by your moans and whimpers and occasional low groans from the man behind you.

“Spread your legs a little further for me, love.” Tom breathes, hand slipping between your legs once more as you do. Again, he finds your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing the bud in slow, circular motions.

As your moans grow louder, walls clenching around him, he angles his thrusts slightly differently, his tip brushing over your most sensitive spots inside of you.

“Oh— Tom, don’t— don’t stop, fuck—“

His palm lands on your ass once more, but this time you arch your back into his touch, thighs trembling at the electrifying sensations shooting straight to your core.

With one of his hands on your waist, pulling you back into the sharp snaps of his hips, the other wraps around your throat again, pulling you flush against his chest. Like this he is able to reach even deeper, tip brushing against your cervix with every thrust, providing you with the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

“Fuck— squeezing me so tight. That good?”

You only manage a nod in return, eyelids fluttering close as you near your climax, walls fluttering wildly around his invading length.

“Open your eyes and look at the sky when you come, darling.”

So you do.

With one last high-pitched moan, you tumble over the edge, hot, white pleasure rushing through your veins as your cunt clamps down around him, his hands on your hips as they stabilize you when your knees are about to give in.

Soon after, your mind still hazy with the aftereffects of your own orgasm, he empties himself inside of you with a low groan, hips stuttering as he is buried to the hilt, making sure you take all of him.

Both of you stay like this for a while, catching your breath. Only when the warming effects of the charm he casted on you wear off does he pull out of you slowly, drawing a soft whimper from your lips at the loss. He fixes your skirt for you, takes care of his appearance before his arm wraps around your waist, helping you stand upright.

“I will need that back,” you say, pointing to the lace half hanging out of his pocket.

He tucks it away completely then. “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes, leaning back against the railing.

A slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips but fades as he studies you in the faint glow of the moonlight, his expression turning more serious.

“Did so well for me,” he says after some time, voice soft again, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You blink in confusion. Surely he didn’t—

“I wish you could see yourself the way you see the stars and the moon.” He goes on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are worthy of love.”

You shake your head. “Tom—“

Before you can protest, he presses his lips on yours, cutting off whatever words you were trying to form.

“I want you to teach me,” he exhales then, wrapping his coat around your shoulders, “how to love. Teach me how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

this was requested by my lovely @riddleswhcre 🩷 thank you so much for requesting baby!! you already know I am not particularly happy with how this turned out, but I hope it was still somewhat alright. <3

[takes1]

oh my lord i love your writing it literally has me geeked every time. any possibility you write more for my man asahi? i’ll take anything you have to offer but i can’t stop thinking about something similar in premise to the wrestling where, instead, it’s 7 minutes in heaven? possible details about the closet they’re in being too small for him, perhaps~ because what asahi fan doesn’t appreciate some size difference goodness

asahi azumane x reader w/ size kink

i literally said, out loud, "ohhh!!!" and started writing it as soon as i saw this ask - you have a gift for ideas my love. thank you for sending this in!!!

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / 7 min. in heaven / heavy size kink / heavy claustrophilia / soft top!asahi / mutual?crushing / manhandling / thigh riding / making out / hickeys and marking / semi PDA / rough but sweet!asahi / 2.3k words / oh lord another maybe? two parter

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Well, it's not a closet per se," Suga cocked his head at the half-done, dusty, crawl space the group chose for this game, "But it'll do, right?"

Asahi glanced down at you and didn't stop. You were taken by a big wave of chills, crossed your arms, looked away, then back up-- and he was still looking down at you. Any hope of subtlety was over.

He nodded, despite being the most effected by the size problem of this unfortunate reality.

"Well, there's nothing in it."

A fair point. The other closets were filled with closet-like things. Towels, cleaning supplies, pantry items, tools. The group, consisting of mixed-up members of Karasuno volleyball teams, had a fun treasure hunt with that stuff, but this was what you were after. A closet to play your thirsty game in.

'Unfortunate' was just one mode of perception. Less room meant more contact, but nobody was saying that aloud.

"Can you even fit in here, dude?" Nishinoya clambered out with relative ease, albeit sideways.

Every girl except you looked away as Asahi tried, embarrassed at the way the boards creaked, how he wouldn't be able to enter normally because his shoulders were too wide for the space. He had to bend at the waist because he was far too tall. You scanned the empty space in front of him, warm and tingly.

There was some room! You could fit there and you would, maybe, die trying.

Ever since Daichi retired to his room for the night, nobody had taken up the burdensome mantle of responsibility. His dad-like severity had a strong influence on the types of activities that were 'allowed' to happen.

7 Minutes in Heaven would have never been brought up with him present.

As long as the Karasuno teams were quiet enough to not wake him, you could carry on.

It's not that a game of spin the bottle, or some truth or dare, was necessarily scandalous, but it was enough to get everybody giggling and generate the who-has-a-crush-on-who type of conversations. Since everybody left downstairs were the interested ones that hadn't gone to bed already, it left this smaller, more intimate group to carry out some otherwise repressed desires.

You weren't the first to go in, but it was clear that the first pairing didn't do anything. That was fine and all, and a good reminder that you didn't have to kiss, if you didn't want to.

When Asahi was asked who he wanted to spend the time with, he returned your previous admission from a different game.

"I mean- why would I not say (Y/n)?"

He looked from Suga, who had taken the mantle of 'fun-mom' in all of this, being the bottle-spinner and card-holder and question-maker, back to you.

You realized the time he took to look at his friend was probably the only instance in the past 30 minutes that his eyes hadn't been locked onto you, ever since you admitted your little crush for him.

Getting in was about as easy as you imagined.

It had you both packed so tight that you had maybe an inch to move, at best. It forced you to put your hands on each other, just to stay oriented in the pitch black, and not trip.

"G-od," He sighed, and you earned a centimeter of space for two seconds. Then he had to take another breath and you were immobilized again, "We gotta- gotta adjust, or somethi-ng."

A strained, "Y-eah," was all you could get out. This was not a space meant to fit two people.

"I think, if... I..."

In the darkness, all you could see was some vague shadows move as he stretched down. His palms swallowed up your sides, and you desperately tried to keep your excitement down when you felt for his shoulders. He curled you up and threaded a strong, wide thigh between yours.

Most of it was genuine adjustment, but that didn't mean that it felt any less erotic. Just having to wrap your arms around his body and pull, so that you could sit higher up on his leg, was making your heart race.

"That feel better?"

His grumbly tone forced your thighs to tighten, the way you sat becoming more arched.

You could only give him a whisper, voice strained, because of how nervous you felt, "Yes."

Asahi chuckled right away, his breath ghosting right past your temple.

It was impossible to tell if he was bent to purposefully be close, or if there was no space to straighten more. You assumed the most polite option.

"You, uh- you... comfortable?" He muttered, more against you instead of anywhere else he could've possibly spoken, "Comfortable enough- I guess?"

You laughed, "Sure, yeah."

His thumb started rubbing against your side as he laughed with you. You could feel yourself getting wet, and tried to suppress any automatic squirming.

"You're- a... a nice seat--," Your face scrunched, your innocent words unsuccessful at trying to make things silly, and easy.

"Oh?" He chuckled at you.

"I- didn't--," You looked up in the dark, but couldn't see anything, and tried to pray away your embarrassment, "I did not mean it like that."

His grin spread, and you could feel his stubble really clearly against your forehead.

A tiny kiss to your hairline made your fingers grip his t-shirt, your spine straighten, your poor heart work even harder.

"It's okay if you did," The smile in his voice was so sweet.

Kissing him was shockingly simple. You felt like you had lots to say, things to explain, but they were so unimportant when his lips were soft and reading you like an open book.

The only crucial detail needed, for the moment, in this closet, was that you were super into him, and he was at least entertaining it.

For minutes, he couldn't decide where, how, he wanted to hold you. His arms would trade off between pulling you against his front in a hug, so he could feel more of your body on his.

Or, he would take more of a direct route of using his hands to pull you in for kisses, by the back of the neck, with his other palm keeping you pressed hard against his thigh.

The switch would happen any time you weren't heavy enough on his leg, or when your back wasn't arched enough to stay smushed against his chest.

"M-mh-," He was rolling your hips for you, weighing you down more on his thigh, flexing it just so.

You squirmed, having to part, at his lewd sounds.

He searched for you, huffing, in the dark, "Does that feel good?"

The tone he used with you was genuine, despite how dirty the phrase felt. For a moment, he stopped rubbing you against him.

You swallowed the mixture of spit in your mouth and tried to wipe the drool off of your lips, trembling, "Y-eah, it-- it's--,"

When your hand dipped to fix the seam of your shorts, you accidentally grabbed something warm, and stiff, and just off of where he had you grinding.

"Oh-! Sorry," You retracted your hand, face radiating heat, "I'm sorry."

His chest swelled in a restrained gasp through his nose. His voice was higher, and different as he reassured you it was completely fine.

"Was- that--? Mmh--," Before you could finish your tentative question, he wrapped one arm around you, palming half ass, half hip, while the other yanked you against his torso. It seemed he had realized a good middle ground between his holds.

Another partial moan at how he was able to pull you further up -so that you were trapping his cock between your bodies- got cut off by another clumsy kiss.

He bit you, at your bottom lip, and it throbbed for the rest of the time you kissed him. It made you shove a hand down the back of his shirt, give him an otherwise embarrassing sound, that he ate right up.

What you could feel of his print throbbed against you. A weakness radiated down through your fingers and toes as you scratched lines into his bare skin. It didn't do shit. It was like he didn't even feel it.

Actually, you wanted that shirt off.

It took just three seconds of pitiful tugging for him to let off, pull it over his head with one hand, and swing it to the dusty floor. Forgotten.

He was rough when he put his hands back on you, when you returned it, tugging, wanting to be closer however possible.

"Fuck-!" You sighed, breathing hard, fast, at his busy sucking down your neck.

His nails dug into your skin, his breathing characterized by needy groans that sounded a lot like he in the middle of a workout, if anything.

Since when did he like you back? Was it just because you were available? Would he have done this with any of the girls on your team? Not that it was much of a competition- none of them thought he looked 'civilized' enough to entertain him as an option.

Your legs were jelly, your thoughts heavy, but it didn't matter.

His shoulders would stretch further with every huff, expanding and resetting, and you couldn't stop yourself from scouring every inch while he was over you. It was getting hot in here. He was getting tacky, a little slippery in some areas.

He bit you too hard in a soft spot and you cried out, barely stuffing the sound into his bare shoulder. It was loud and you both knew it was audible through the other side of the door.

Asahi slowed, as gentle as he started, again, with an apologetic hum in the crook of your neck.

"Sorry," You could hear his smile, "Too much-"

He sighed and collected his nerves for a second as he readjusted his grip on you. More palm, less fingertips. It didn't sting as much and you missed it.

He said definitively, mostly to himself, "That was too much."

"I liked it!" You reassured him quietly, palm moving from his shoulder, to his neck, to the side of his face.

"I liked it. I liked it," Got repeated, in a tiny giggle, as he stilled.

You were delivering multiple little pecks across his face, craving his intensity as soon as you lost it. You tried holding him tighter, but it wasn't the same when he wasn't pushing and pulling.

That tingly sensation of his breathy laugh, his skilled tongue, was back on your neck, closer to your ear.

You melted at once with a whimper, the need to rock your own hips short-lived because he pushed his own against your heat.

"Ahh-!"

He grinned, sucking another bit of skin in an obvious spot, "Shhh."

The heartbeat between your legs was strong. He could feel it clearly against his thigh, wishing it was better placed and put to good use.

His fingertips were digging, pushing past the waistband of your shorts, further down, palm against your tummy. Maybe it was that feeling, maybe it was your enthusiasm, or maybe the fact that you were so wet he could feel that, too, but something possessed him to start getting greedy.

But he paid for it. While you were encouraging him, a hand around his thick forearm, guiding and pushing it down, a gasp already on your breath-- you were both completely blinded.

No courtesy knock. Just a bright light and a loud screech. Asahi retracted his curious hand in a flash, but there was not much else to do to make this look less provocative.

Though the sound was higher-pitched, it was not made from anyone on your team.

Nishinoya dropped to his knees, slack-jawed, and that's all you were able to register before the door slammed shut again.

Suga scolded him from the other side, others were shushing incessantly.

"You were supposed to knock, Noya!!"

"Now Daichi's gonna wake up! Nice going, dumbass!"

It gave you both enough time to try and separate. However, without opening the door, you couldn't get fully off of one another.

You were shaking, beyond nervous, and forcefully sobered. Not exactly happy.

"Um- that was great. Thank you," It was a short, and curt, way of telling him you didn't expect much after this. You had one hand on the door.

Asahi grabbed you by the waist and dragged you back. "C'mere--,"

His rough, messy, desperate last kiss was enough to leave you dizzy. He readjusted himself during it with one last rub.

"We're not done yet," He told you. Another hasty peck to the top of your head, and he was leagues lighter in tone, "Uh, sorry- As far as I'm concerned. Do what you want, though!"

He turned the knob for you and pushed it open a crack. You stumbled out, wiping your mouth.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @screamin-abt-haikyuu

potential for part two but i need to refrain from making promises. lmk if you're interested and i can make a taglist if i revisit!

my masterlist. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hello gatorbite, I really liked your imagines with Mark Grayson, could you do an imagine of Mark with a Male Reader who is a vampire?

Mark Grayson x vampire king male reader

Headcanons

Cooking my own headcanons for vampires, how else are they gonna go on cute dates on the beach as the sun goes down?? Ive been listening to abracadabra by Lady Gaga for days, its been keeping me sane.

Mark and the bad bitch he pulled by being a nerd. i had a lot of fun writing this, i would love to write more about these two, or more vampire reader,,,

You guys would first have met after he became a hero, sometime during season 2. Probably before he got Oliver but after his dad left the planet and Mark wanted to fix everything and started working with Cecil.

The GDA knew of your existence of course. You were the first ever vampire, created through horrible magic and rituals against your will. This meant you couldn’t die, even from the sun or a stake or silver.

Every other vampire someone would meet would come from you in some way. Or rather, they were bitten by someone who was bitten by someone, so on and so forth until it reached you, kinda like a disease. The further out you go, the wilder and more animalistic the vampires are.

The few vampires you have bitten and turned yourself are strong and can walk in sunlight, and have other otherworldly powers, but those they bite have weaker powers, etc etc. and all other vampires but you can die. As long as life and death exist, so will you.

How you guys meet can be a mixed bag, but the most plausible is that some rabid vampires have run wild somewhere, and Mark was sent to deal with them since his skin can’t be pierced by their fangs.

The vampires he encounters are naked, human-looking creatures with warped faces, a mouth full of sharp teeth, shark bat-like features and the like. The only thing human about them is their shape.

A nest of vampires has run wild, and as the so called “vampire king”, “vampire well” or even “first vampiric ancestor”, its your duty to take care of it when it gets out of hand.

At this point Mark isn’t at his strongest, so the nest of vampire spawn gain the upper hand. Even with super strength, its hard for Mark since he also doesn’t want to kill at this point, and these technically were humans once.

So, imagine Marks shock, as he’s being overpowered by hundreds of these creatures that are more instinct than sense, when these creatures are sliced in half and turn into dust.

As the vampire king you can teleport all over the planet, you could probably even warp other planets if you focused hard enough. You might have done that once or twice, leading to vampirism spreading to different parts of the universe… but nobody has to know that…

What you wear can be up for debate, do you wear something from the time you died? Something Victorian? Or modern? I can’t imagine you are too involved with the current fashion since time passes so fast for you, so maybe it’s a bit out of fashion. You still look great though.

Maybe it’s having been beaten so hard by the now dead spawn, or maybe it’s just your vampiric influence, but Mark finds himself blushing and breathing a little harder.

The first time you meet doesn’t lead to much other than you taking care of the spawn, apologizing to Mark for causing such a mess and telling him you will take more care of your offspring. Mark just kinda goes “yeah, okay, thanks man…” before passing out.

You end up teleporting mark back to the GDA, or wherever hes being brought, like to the new guardians or whatever. Because obviously none of their protection measures can keep you out. It’s only weaker vampires that need an invitation inside.

They are all pretty damn uncomfortable when you comment about how nice Marks blood smells, because being thousands of years old also means you don’t have any shame in stating the obvious.

You say hello to Immortal before leaving. Of course, you guys know each other, both being immortal and all that. You guys play cards at least once every ten years or so, sometimes more, sometimes less.

This is also why Immortal is the most chill about you showing up, coming and going as you please, and saying Mark smells delicious. You once said he smelled delicious too when you first met, the stronger the person the better their blood and all. Now you guys are friends though, in a way.

After that you guys meet every now and then, mainly because you take his interest and Immortals friendship as an invite to come and go as you please, like a big scary housecat dressed in black.

You also follow him around (stalk him pretty much), and maybe it’s just him secretly loving steamy vampire fanfiction, or some viltrumite instinct, but being hunted is exciting.

You guys finally starting to date would also happen at some random moment when you guys are alone. You would have known about Marks attraction from the very moment you met, but your cold unbeating heart had started warming up around him too.

All his rambling about heroes and fictional stories worked like a charm. The many many questions about vampires and pop culture was cute too. He couldn’t believe that the whole weak to garlic thing started as an inside joke amongst vampires and spread out, when it wasn’t even true.

Mark was positively shocked when the whole pop culture idea that being bitten felt good turned out to be true. Later you would explain it was all about intent and reception. If you wanted it to hurt and he feared you, then it would have hurt. But because he was a little freak who was really into it, then it brought pleasure.

Mark also never thought you would be able to bite through his skin, but you could. Only because of your whole, king of the vampires, first original vampire, deal. Any other vampire wouldn’t be able to bite through vultrumite skin.

Being able to rip through vultrumites will be useful later, and not needing to breathe and being able to fly as well. But that’s for later space adventures.

When the whole thing with Oliver happens, you are of course there to support Mark, but also his family. Cecil also knows not to fuck with you, because its all thanks to you that the dead don’t rise and come for him every single day.

This may mean it doesn’t end as badly as in season 3, or, Mark just has some more support, very powerful support that the GDA knows to fear. Because how is Cecil gonna manipulate the original manipulator? The one strong enough to bewitch the entire planet if he wanted to?

You also have a better time explaining morals and powers to Oliver, since you are still stronger than him at this point, so you can put him in his place when he needs it. Being nonhuman also helps a lot, since Oliver feels his power disconnects him from humanity.

This gives Mark some more room to find himself and settle, and yeah, I feel like him and his family end up moving into wherever you stay. Be it some massive gothic castle in Romania, or a Victorian mansion at the edge of a massive cliff in England, who knows.

Both because its safer, more comfortable, and they get to feel like they don’t always have to look over their shoulder.

You don’t survive the coffin allegations though, since you sleep in a grand one, and have at least 100 different coffins you switch between. Most were gifts from your spawn, or one or two from immortal as “congrats on living another hundred” gift. You gifted him weapons or houses in return.

Mark can’t sleep in the coffins with you, since he hates how claustrophobic it makes him. But he will sleep beside the coffin. You guys keep the lid pushed to the side enough for you to stick a hand out, so you guys can hold hands.

I feel like Oliver would thrive a lot under you and your spawns, since you keep your “children” in line. Being direct descendants of you means they are powerful enough to play and roughhouse with, but also help him train.

Mark trains with you instead, and it regularly ends up with him almost giggling and kicking his feet as you pin him down, barring his neck all “oh please, vampire king, please don’t bite me”.

It takes Debbie a while to settle in, but maybe she meets one of your spawn to gets on with well, or she doesn’t at all. Maybe she just takes the time to heal and find herself when she sees her sons are happy.

You end up getting the shovel talk from her though, which all your direct descendants peek around the corner of the doorway to watch. Somehow you look meek as she points a finger at you and tell you to treat her son right and with respect.

I haven’t read very far in the comics so I cant tell you what happens after this, but Mark will have you by his side when everything goes down, and that might help change it to a more positive outcome.

It might help to have a lover who isn’t held back by his humanity and morals. You are more than willing to turn entire planets into your mindless spawn if it means keeping your dear ones safe. It does lead to a horrible argument and Mark not talking to you for a while, but he forgives you at some point.

Reading his secret fanfic does help with that, even if it means you have to dress like a man from the current era, style your hair and stalk him when he sleeps (as if you don’t already do that).

Being a super ancient and rich vampire also means you can pile gifts on Mark, Oliver and Debbie. Mostly Mark, but you don’t want his kin to be left out. So, Mark gets to live out his nerdy dreams to the extreme.

You’ll remodel a whole part of your house for him if it comes down to it. Your direct spawn will coo at you becoming soft. You let them, for now, but you’ll get your revenge, especially seeing them all tied around the Grayson’s fingers too.

You are so used to dealing with the GDA that it also isn’t hard to keep them at bay, how are they gonna invade a place that’s existed longer than democracy? You will burn the whole place down if you have too. Anything for your nerdy little hero.

[chirpingchorus]

I’ve been thinking about similarities between Shiki and Joshua. During the events of TWEWY, both of them are deceiving others with their appearances and personalities, and they both know it. Joshua has more control over this than Shiki, but regardless…

Neither of them want to be themselves. I’d say they both loathe themselves, really. Shiki envies everything Eri is and does, and is glad at first to be someone else. Joshua’s disillusionment and dissatisfaction with the city is closely tied to his understanding of himself; he is its Composer, as well as someone quite similar to Neku, the proxy he’s chosen to represent the city.

After their time with Neku, they value themselves more as individuals. To Neku, it doesn’t matter what Shiki looks like or what Joshua’s done. (Well, that last one matters a little, but not as much as it probably should.) He cares for them and trusts them all the same.

And it’s all so beautifully connected, because it’s Joshua’s fault that Neku’s in the game and met Shiki, and Shiki’s why Neku learned to open up, rendering him able to connect with Joshua. Neku passed from one pretender to another, and they never interacted, but they did, in a way.

What really gets me about this comparison, though, is how they differ in the ending. Shiki’s at Hachiko with Neku and everyone else. Neku invites Joshua, but he doesn’t come. From Shiki’s perspective, Neku hasn’t seen the worst of her until he’s seen the real her. Joshua? I can’t imagine there’s anything worse Neku could learn about Joshua… But he doesn’t show. Maybe he’s not able to, and maybe he doesn’t want to. If the wiki is to be believed, Mr. H’s “Some people can’t take no for an answer” in the secret ending was originally about Joshua needing to be honest with how he feels. I like to think about what that localization could have meant, though; try and connect the two ideas.

Some people can’t believe it when someone says, “No, I don’t want you dead, not even after everything you’ve done. No, I couldn’t kill you to save the city, even if you killed me and you’d do it again. No, I can’t forgive you for what you put me through, but I do trust you. And despite it all, I’d like to see you again.” Whether he looks “down” (ENG) or “lonely” (JP), something about the Hachiko reunion’s made Joshua sad. But he won’t do anything about it. He can’t be honest with himself and do what (I imagine) he wants to do. Shiki’s able to move past her self-hatred if it means doing what she wants to and reaching out to Neku. Joshua isn’t. He’s much better now in terms of self-worth than he was three weeks before, but there are some things you have to settle on your own. Some people can’t take no for an answer, even when that’s the answer they want to hear more than anything else.

IN CONCLUSION: I think Shiki and Joshua should be bestest friends and go to the mall and make fun of Neku’s clothing forever and ever and give each other advice of varying quality. PLEASE.

[sua-alienstage]

OOC///

turns out it wasn't an hour

WIEGE ANALYSIS - SPOILERS

Be warned that this is not a theory, its just what has been saw. by me, someone who is basically blind. without further ado lets begin

First shot:

First thing we see for the most part is luka smiling at hyuna, that despite her absence and despite him ending the life of hyun-woo he still loves and adores her and the gun is sort of a mild inconvenience to him

This shot is incredibly interesting, i believe that this are all of Lukas "clones". the ones that heperu didn't see as perfect, so he killed them. and luka is staring in shock, shooken by the fact that he was so willing to end the lives of them even if they did nothing but be unperfect.

Then we see hyuna. She appears to be in a collapsed buildling and this is how she lost her leg. this isn't the first time we have saw this picture though as it was a teaser for the lyrics ( Post from VIVINOS - YouTube). I don't know where exactly this is but i fear we might not be able to know due to what happened later on in the video

it then cuts to mizi and hyuna at what i can only assume is the rebellions "headquarters" and mizi is crying, its clear she hasn't gotten over sua's death and if i'm going to be honest I don't think she will

It then cuts to sua and mizi wearing each others clothes from round one. and mizi puts suas dress over it almost as if saying "i prefer this one" or "this one suits you better" and sua looks sad and only smiles once this entire scene. she's aware of what she will do in round one and probably has done for a while. it then cuts to till spray painting but i haven't saw that of value enough to include (sos till fan's)

This scene is one of the saddest this mv, Its "snowing" and if you didn't know snow in anakt is children's ashes, which explains Hyuna's crying, as i believe this is after hyun woos death so hyun woo is snowing down then there is a small cut of luka resting his head on Hyuna's

then from 1:55 to 2:05 it looks like what i believe to be a modern au as there sua has a smart phone. and in this small scene luka and hyuna appear to have wedding rings on (thank you random tumblr person for pointing that out) then there are multiple cuts of them all being happy and alive. them singing having fun, sua comforting mizi. till drawing. they are all happy

now this shot confirms when wiege takes place. right after blink gone. mizi is crying over tills body, she couldn't save him. she tried but failed. she then (i believe) imagines up a picture of sua.

Next has a variety of misc shots of luka and hyuna the most notable being a shot of the rebellion (excluding mizi, most likely before she joined)

they are all crying over a dying member of the team, except hyuna which i think is to show off her guarded side. a side she hasn't let out to most people, only one person: luka. apart from that she is incredibly guarded to everybody

Luka then runs up to hyuna who protects him from getting shot. She saved him but sacrificed herself (wonder where we have heard that hm? ivan and sua perhaps)

she then says a speech, her final words to the world and more importantly luka.

I resented you so. I had to keep moving forward in every moment... But you were always my one and only weakness. That's why I resented you so. Luka, live with love. Embrace the pain, the frailty, and the moments so unbearably shameful. Forgive yourself... Again and again, endlessly. Because everything... begins from there.

This i'm not going to even try to analyse but its so emotional. a pure emotion to luka And speaking of emotion we see luka crying.

as she says her speech rockets fall from the sky. I dont really know why so any help would be incredibly helpful

That's all. Keeping living your free life. o7 hyuna.

Also the song slap's i'm definitely adding it to a playlist

[lifsheep]

Ok so I made a theory a while ago with a friend, who posted it in a thread on Twitter, and since some new things have happened with this “new” mocha I wanna share my new takes on this theory :]

Link to the main theory (pls read this before continuing): https://vxtwitter.com/unluckybluelily/status/1890453801087180818

Now, there are a few new things shared on Pili’s stream yesterday which kinda confirm this theory and bring up interesting points

His job back “home” is more of a commitment to the community and making sure everyone is okay

They used to have a news paper service

Paper was a expensive thing to get

Someone delivered it on a reindeer

They had a rat problem

Doesn’t care about twilight

There was a time he used to kill a lot of people for fun but left that life away

He remembers killing but doesn’t remembers why he started to do so

Before the factory he lived in a place with a big purple screen with magic

Isn’t a cat but doesn’t know what he is

Got used to being a cat

The mentions of pap frost and the factory pretty much confirm that this mocha is from Halls smp, as well as hints about him being the mayor of a town he built, Snowden.

The first thing that stands out to me is the killing part. We know that after being betrayed by his towns people h!Mocha went through a villain arc which has lasted till trsmp, but he says it was a life he left behind….

Perhaps this could be referencing other smps (also called realms in canon) before Halls winter smp where h!Mocha could’ve been killing people for fun. Another hint to that could be that he doesn’t remember how he started to do this, and if that period of time was from when the people of Snowden betrays him, he would definitely remember the “why”.

Still, if it is referencing that part of Halls winter smp, then perhaps this Mocha is a h!Mocha from an alternate universe where he forgave the betrayal done to him, unlike our tr!Mocha.

Other than that, another interesting thing is that Mocha isn’t really a cat, but do got used to it and doesn’t know what he actually is. This could also hint at this Mocha being more of a memory erased Mocha than an alternate version of Mocha. The reasoning behind this being that tr!Mocha acted a lot more cat like due to “getting used to being a cat” for far longer than h!Mocha. If this was an alternate version of h!Mocha then it would probably should be used to being a cat as well, but isn’t.

Another mini theory that this fact brings is that Mocha could be some sort of changeling. Before dying, I do remember mocha referencing doomed relationships, which reminds me a lot of this server called “dedsafio”. Pili is well known in the Hispanic community thanks to his roleplay as an otter in it. If Mocha is a changeling, it could potentially mean that dedsafio is also a realm Mocha was in before trsmp, and it could also explain why h!Mocha suddenly became a human in Halls winter smp for a while.

Lastly I wanna analyze a bit the fact that h!Mocha doesn’t care for twilight unlike tr!Mocha. I remember tr!Mocha saying that he related a lot to Edward, which could actually explain his fascination and fanaticism of twilight, and why h!Mocha doesn’t care for it.

Edward is basically a monster that falls in love with a human and constantly battles his urges to kill and consume her blood from what I am aware. To the dismay of many critics, Edward and Bella do end up together and have a happily ever after. This does parallel a bit how tr!Mocha views relationships, a great example being his friendships with Pangi.

tr!Mocha hates himself and views himself as a monster, or something harmful to others, which is one of the key reasons he pushed tr!pangi away, he felt he would be better off without him. Still, unlike what tr!Mocha envisions as the likely scenario of tragedy and hurt, in twilight the main character get to be happy despite all of the problems they face. This would make twilight not just any movie for tr!Mocha, but one that directly fulfills his fantasy of a happy ending.

h!Mocha on the other hand by not having experienced any of the tragic relationships tr!Mocha has, wouldn’t feel this connection at all, therefore not really caring for it.

That is all folks! Maybe one day I will write more tinfoil hat theories that somehow become true hours later lmao

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling - a year later

A/N: Well I guess none of you were expecting more Little Darling - I certainly wasn't expecting to write any more! But here's a fluffy little bit for @fluffbruary - taking the prompt hands although I think that was for about 7 days ago!

Little Darling masterlist is here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan

Word count: 812

TWs: None! Pure fluff and a little kiss!

Tegan almost falls into Elvis’ arms at the end of the training session, she’s so tired. She usually tries to keep a sensible distance from teacher, so she doesn’t get accused of getting special treatment by her classmates, but today’s lesson has been punishing. Probably her own fault for having a few weeks off really, having too much fun celebrating her anniversary with Elvis, but it’s really taken it out of her. 

“Well done today, honey,” he coos at her as he leads her over to the bench at the side of the room. “Ya look beat.”

She groans, taking her belt off and looking about for her things. “Remind me to never take three weeks off in a row again.”

He chuckles. “My fault, Tegan bach. Takin’ ya away on fancy vacations.”

Pulling on her socks and shoes, she looks around as the hall slowly empties, students waving as they leave. Elvis waves back, dropping the odd comment about how well someone is doing, how their kicks are coming along nicely or that they’re really getting the hang of the kata they’ve been learning. Tegan smiles to herself. He always has a kind word for everyone, no matter how long they’ve been there or how terrible they still might be at karate. It’s one of the things she loves about him the most. 

She leans her head on his shoulder as the last person leaves. “Mmmm. Yeah it was a good holiday though. I’d like to be back in the Bahamas right now.”

Elvis turns a little to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”

Tegan sighs softly and closes her eyes for a minute. Her muscles are aching already. 

Elvis looks down at her lovingly. He’s been thinking lately that maybe he should stop teaching entirely, leave the Karate schools to Lisa or someone who wants to manage them, and take Tegan away to live somewhere tropical and beachy permanently. He’s not getting any younger. The more he sits here, in rainy Memphis, the more appealing the idea becomes. His eyes drift down to her hands, both resting on one of his thighs, and he notices the cuts and bruises there. Scooping them up one at a time, he starts to press gentle kisses to her knuckles. Her eyes flutter open again. 

“Oh!” She exclaims, softly. Not even realising her hands were damaged, she suddenly feels  a little overwhelmed at his tenderness.

“Sore, baby?” He looks up at her with those beautiful blue eyes and she feels like she could melt right there on the spot. Idly wondering if she’ll ever get over how beautiful he is. 

“Little bit.”

He smiles against her skin. “Am I helping?”

“Always.”

Finishing his ministrations, he carefully replaces her hands and then cups her cheek gently, looking into her eyes with a seriousness that makes her stomach twist. 

“I know ya love ya job, an’ yer apartment,” he begins. “But uh… that vacation jus’ made me think… I'm gettin’ old, Tegan bach, an’ I don't wanna live out the rest a my days here,” he gestures around to the empty hall, “teachin’ like this. I uh… I wanna retire an’ take ya somewhere warm ta live. Nice beach somewhere.”

His eyes shift around nervously. He knows how much she likes her life now, and values her independence. But he's been thinking this way for a while now. The vacation had just solidified the decision. 

Tegan bites her lip. The vacation had made her reevaluate a few things too. Part of her had been scared that despite everything they’d been through they wouldn’t last a year, and when they did and their relationship seemed stronger than ever, she had started to wonder just how long Elvis could keep up the travel related to managing the business. And how much she wanted to be away from him, insisting on keeping her job in case things went wrong. 

“Yeah I do love both of those things,” she replies. His face falls a little so she continues quickly, “but I love you more, ‘raur. And if you want to retire and take me to live on a beach with you… I think I can probably manage.”

His lips curl into that cute lopsided grin and his hand slips to cradle the back of her head. “Are ya sure?”

“Am I sure I want to live on a beach with the love of my life? Yeah I'm sure.”

“Oh honey I love ya so much,” he mumbles, as he presses his lips against hers. 

“I love you too, cariad,” she replies, a little breathless from the passion of the kiss they’d just shared. “I don’t want to waste any more time apart. Let’s go home and figure out which Caribbean island we want to spend the rest of our days on.”

Elvis chuckles. “I can’t wait, baby.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[sunnysidesevenup]

Happy Birthday, Iso <3

I, of course, had to do something for @theolivetree123's Isosceles' birthday. My confidence writing Iso was a bit low, but I'm pretty happy with how the fic turned out <3

Also, it turned out to be eight pages in my doc, which is a lot longer than I intended at first lmao. These two are just really fun to write together.

fic under the cut!

“Tills, what’re ya’ doing?” 

Tilly blinks, glancing up from the suspicious book in his hands. The words had been swimming weirdly again, doing an odd little dance around his head, not that he would’ve been able to understand it anyways. 

Isosceles is standing near the open door, a confused expression on his face although it fades quickly as he takes in the situation. Cute, Tilly thinks, followed by the urge to say it out loud–he was asked a question though, wasn’t he? 

“Summoning circle.” He says. It’s pretty obvious. 

Iso’s face twitches, as if he wants to smile–and although the smirk he settles on is probably not the first expression he was going to make, Tilly still decides to appreciate it anyways. “You can’t read.” He chastises, a bit mean. “What’d ya’ think was going to happen?” 

“Hmm…” Tilly hums, tapping a finger to his lips. “Getting killed, maybe? Hopefully by a successfully summoned demon.” The smile that forms on his lips is an innocent one, tone light and teasing. 

“With this circle? Yeah, definitely gettin’ killed.” 

He just answers Iso with a giggle, jumping up from his sitting position and nearly knocking over the lit candles and probably lighting things on fire. Isoceles watches with amusement as he seems to realize in real time that candles lit everywhere on the floor is probably not a good idea, and proceeds to blow them out. Once done, he bounds straight up to the taller man, feeling a burst of energy. 

He grins up at him. “Hi. You’re late.” 

“Wasn’t aware I could be late when we didn’t set a time.” 

Tilly’s grin turns mischievous. “You’re late because I missed you.” 

Iso raises his eyebrow, and Tilly is glad he got closer. “That so?” He asks. “Maybe you’re just borin’.” 

Ouch, that one hurt. He is not boring, thank you very much. 

He spins on his heels, hands on his hips and a pout on his face. “You just can’t handle my amazin’ presence.” He retorts, back to the other man. “And here I am, tryin’ to give you a birthday gift, and you say that…” 

Iso makes a noise behind him, slightly unamused. “I don’t celebrate my birthday.” 

Tilly spins back to him, poking his chest with a glove clad hand. “It’s an excuse for a celebration. Fun. Are you going to deny me a chance to have fun, Isosceles?” 

The man grins back at him, sharp teeth on display, and Tilly kind of wants to pinch his cheeks to see if he’ll get bitten. Ah, that might not be the best idea… “Since when do ya’ need an excuse?” He’s saying, and Tilly zones back into the conversation. 

He pouts at him. “It’s always good to have an excuse. Gets me out of a lot of trouble.” 

Iso laughs, “Ya’ anticipating getting in trouble with me?” 

Tilly nods back seriously. “All the time, yes.” 

“Ha! At least you’re aware.” His eyes scan the room again, poorly drawn summoning circle and all. Tilly would say he did an okay job, but he’s definitely not an artist, and drawing circles was deceptively hard. Isosceles is clearly judging his shaky chalk lines as well, from the way his expression does that slight twitch of amusement again. “Seriously, what were ya’ thinking?” 

The shorter man shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Thought you would like it. You like it, right? Tell me you do.” He moves a little closer, and yep, there’s the personal space limit, right on time. Tilly decides not to push it any further, pausing with a few inches between them. He doesn’t really want to get kicked out, at least not when he’s trying to do something for Iso’s birthday. 

Iso gives him another grin, his eyes not entirely meeting his own. “Would like it better if ya’ were any good at it.” He says. 

Tilly makes sure his expression is as sad as can be, “Aww…” He begins, and then his tone morphs into something more triumphant and smug. “But you would have liked it, right? So I do know you pretty well.” 

Isosceles shoves him away slightly, making his way further into the room. “That’s a pretty low bar of a gift.” He says dismissively. 

Oops, a bad choice of a tease, then. 

Tilly keeps his forlorn sighing to himself (not that that’s what he’s doing, of course not) and follows the other man into the room. “My bad~” He apologizes. “How could I ever hope to know the oh-so-mysterious Isosceles?” 

The man shoots him an annoyed glance, and Tilly raises his hands in surrender. The smirk doesn’t help, though. 

…For someone who doesn’t want to get kicked out, he’s definitely pushing it. 

Well, he’ll just run distraction, then. 

“So… How was your day?” Tilly asks, tone innocent. 

Iso gives him another glance, knowing what he’s doing. “Are we makin’ small talk now? Damn Tills, maybe you are getting boring.” He says, sitting down at the desk chair. Tilly decides to sit across from him on the bed, legs crossing as soon as he hops up onto it. 

“That’s very offensive to me.” He responds seriously. “I’m the least boring person you know.” 

“Dunno about that.” 

Tilly gives him a huffy pout, Iso just grinning meanly at him still. 

“Whoever you’re thinking of, I’m definitely hotter and more entertaining than them.” He tells him firmly. “By many points. It’s not even a competition, really. I have won by a lot.” 

The grin turns meaner. “You’re not that–”

“If you say I’m not that hot I’m going to do something questionable.” He threatens immediately. 

Iso laughs, a bit startled. “I was goin’ to say entertaining.” 

Tilly feigns a thinking face, “Hmmm….” He then shakes his head, “No, that’s not acceptable either.” 

His companion chuckles again, so that’s definitely a win. 

However. 

“Hey, Iso.” 

He raises his eyebrow again, no doubt suspicious of Tilly’s new tone of voice. 

“Come sit on the bed instead.” He says, patting the spot next to him. He makes sure not to be flirty about it, just a simple motion, but Isosceles still narrows his eyes and glances away dismissively. 

“Nah, I’m good.” He answers, and yeah, that’s not happening. 

Tilly stands up, running a hand through his hair, and sighs. Iso glances back at him, eyes narrowed at his answering, far too innocent expression, and watches as he then walks up to stand right in front of him. The shorter takes a second to consider the odds of getting kicked out, or beat up, or killed, and then dismisses all of that and leans down to be eye level with the higher being himself. 

He doesn’t really feel like a higher being, though, not when Tilly gently grabs his face in his hands and tilts it up. The wide eye and slowly creeping blush don’t really feel particularly eldritch or scary, either. 

“Hey, Iso.” He echoes, voice now softer and a bit coaxing. “Let’s sit on the bed instead.” 

“Umm.” Is his companions answer, eye attempting to settle on anything else, although Tilly’s made sure to block his view. He doesn’t follow the word up with anything, either, so the shorter just drops his hands from his face and slides them to his arms instead, pulling him up. He drags him over to the bed, and then they’re both sitting across from each other. 

He smiles smugly. That’s much better. 

“So! I got us a game to play.” 

Iso recovers quickly, much to his disappointment, although the blush still staining his skin has yet to fade. “Oh?” 

Tilly nods seriously, reaching under the pillow and pulling out a box. He sets it between them with a flourish, although Iso looks unimpressed. 

“You stole Monopoly?” 

“Is that what it says?” He eyes the box with newfound interest, but the title starts swimming again and he gives up. He shakes his head, getting back on track. “Ta-da!” He announces, opening the box, where an assortment of game pieces are strewn about. 

Iso blinks, and then grins. “That’s not Monopoly.” 

“I should hope not. I just poured a ton of other games into this box, it’s just so boring to stick to one… I even asked one of the workers for recommendations!” He picks up one of the game pieces, a little army man that the worker had explained was part of a game called Risk. He’d liked the sound of that, so he’d swept the little armies into his pockets when the underpaid worker had turned away. It’s not like the partimer would mind, but better if they weren't aware of it so they’d get in less trouble!

Chess pieces, cards, a variety of dice, various little game pieces cover the box, and the numerous game boards nestled inside. Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle he managed to fit all of it into one box, but Tilly is very efficient, thank you very much. 

“So, what are the rules?” Iso asks, unceremoniously dumping all of the items onto the bed. Looks like he’s on board, then. 

Tilly laughs, settling into a more comfortable position on the bed. “We both already know the rules, don’t we?” He asks, laying out the very game boards in a seemingly completely random order. 

If he’s not mistaken, Iso’s eye seems to brighten, and he grins right back as he also sets the pieces up in an equally nonsensical order. “Right, we do.” 

-

Thirty minutes in and the game has fives boards (one of which is a piece of paper with badly drawn squiggles, one in a bright, near invisible yellow and another in a glittery purple), at least two decks of regular playing cards, two separate armies of little plastic soldiers, a strange, precarious tower of dice, and stacks of fake cash. There’s a little scoreboard off to the side, and somehow, despite the nonsensical game, the two are tied. 

With bated breath, Tilly reaches over to take another card from one of the piles, Iso smirking at him as he does so. There’s a moment where he believes he’s successfully managed to grab it, when suddenly the carefully stacked tower of dice collapses, falling straight across his lap. 

He blinks for a moment, and then turns accusing eyes onto Isosceles, who looks like he’s about to laugh. “That’s not fair.” He accuses. 

“Eh? You sucking at this?” 

The shorter’s mouth twists into a pout once again. “Cheater.” 

His companion blinks (or is it a wink when it’s only one eye? Hmm, Tilly should ask him some other time) innocently at him. “What did I do? I was nowhere near it.” 

Tilly just groans, swiping the dice off of him and back onto the bed. For good measure, he tosses one straight at Iso’s head, but the man just dodges with barely a twitch to the side. Stupid, annoying, godly reflexes. Just get hit with the dice for his wounded pride, okay? He’s sensitive! 

He forks over a stack of his fake money to Iso, the man neatly adding it to his growing bank with a smug look. Once he’s done paying his horrible, no good, offending taxes, he rolls one of the dice. Hitting a six, he then carefully moves his little piece (a coin, of course, he has a brand) around the board, and begins stacking six dice on top of each other. 

“Hmm, don’t forget I attacked you last turn.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He mutters, surveying the board. “Stop attacking me, I’m weak and fragile and I’ll cry.” 

“Weren’t your words five minutes ago, “Oh, Iso, I hope you cry when I destroy you in the next five moves?” The man taunts, putting on a high pitched and annoying voice. 

Tilly gapes at him in astonishment. “I don’t sound like that.” 

Iso remains silent, amusement speaking louder than his words ever could, and Tilly throws a pillow at him. “I don’t! I don’t! Take it back!” 

He dodges, of course, because Isosceles can never let Tilly do anything. Ugh. 

Now lacking a pillow, and significantly more annoyed, he raises his hands and does a grabbing motion. “Give me your pillow. As tribute.” 

“Deal with the consequences of your own actions, Tills~” Iso singsongs, taking his own turn on the game. He flips a card over, reads it, and then scowls. “How’d you sneak this card into my deck? You can’t even read.” 

“Gimme your pillow and I’ll tell you.” He grins at him, fluttering pleading eyes. 

Ever immune, he laughs, shaking his head. “Your secrets aren’t that important. I’ll figure it out anyways.” He then pats the pillow beside him, mean expression just rubbing it in. 

And yeah, logically, Tilly could just get off the bed and retrieve the one he threw. But that would mean probably losing, because then Iso could change the pieces around, and then he’d have to start over his own process of changing the pieces around. He doesn’t want Iso to win. It might be his birthday, but he’s not a loser. 

Looking at the board now though, it’s looking like that might be the outcome anyways. 

So, of course, he has a solution for both problems. 

“Iso…. you sure ya’ won’t hand over your pillow? Please? For me?” He asks again. 

He’s met with the same amused smile. “Nope.” He says, and then narrows his eyes suspiciously as he registers Tilly’s smug expression. “Hey, don’t–” 

Tilly interrupts him by launching himself across the game board, knocking everything out of the way and colliding straight with the other man. He knocks him back onto the bed, and immediately just lays straight down on top of him. 

Isosceles lays there for a moment, and then responds with an accusing and smug: “This is because I was going to win, wasn’t it.” 

He lays his head down against Iso’s chest, ear right next to his heart. “Hmm, who could say~?” He says, and then just pauses. 

Neither of them say anything for a while. 

It’s not like Tilly has never done this before, anyways, and even though the taller still gets flustered, it’s not as shocking as it once was. 

…He doesn’t say anything about Iso’s heart beating, though. He’d done that before, and he knows now it’ll just cause a protest. 

Instead, what he says is a simple “Happy birthday.” 

“...I don’t celebrate it. I told you.” 

Tilly sits up, grinning down at him. Iso’s face is a bit red, but he looks decently composed (and very cute, but he thinks saying that right now will get him shoved onto the floor). “Does this seem like a celebration? No, no, this is very un-celebration. A non birthday–unbirthday? No, that sounds stupid–Ugh, point is, no celebrations here!” His grin softens, turning into more of a smile.

“So, in a very not celebratory way, happy birthday, Isoceles.” 

[dufferpuffer]

What makes you say that Remus gets facts wrong or has put the class behind schedule? JKR describes him in an interview as a wonderful teacher (if you take much stock in her opinion), and the criticisms Snape has of him in the substitute teacher episode are just not well supported. For one thing, it's Snape who falsely tells a student that Kappas are from Mongolia. When he criticizes the progress of Harry's class, he a) doesn't give any consideration for the useless professors they'd previously had, and b) is already well known for setting unreasonable expectations. The students think Remus is great because he gives engaging lessons, not necessarily because he is objectively the best, but if Hermione never criticizes the pace of the class, then he's probably doing fine there as well. As far as disorganization, I can believe that Remus didn't leave good notes for Snape. However, Snape admits this isn’t actually a hindrance--he's just finding something to complain about to help cure the class of their love for Professor Lupin.

Snape's behavior in the chapter is a good example of why Snape's obvious contempt discourages other characters from engaging with him in good faith. Also, it's totally consistent with his character to take an opportunity to leverage the little power he has in response to Dumbledore putting someone he considers dangerous in a teacher's position. Personally I think JKR's accomplishment here is that Snape's hatred of Remus bounces between reasonable and unreasonable as we continue gathering information about Snape vs. the Marauders. Actually it's just fun in general to reread the series and see where Snape was right and where he was wrong.

What makes me say Remus gets facts wrong or put the class behind schedule... It is Snape's observation, mainly - I trust what he has to say - supported by what we see in Remus' classes.

Severus has been a teacher for 13 years and produces students with high level marks. He is a good teacher, just one not every student meshes with - and he doesn't adjust to suit stragglers. It's probably his biggest weakness as a teacher, other than being an asshole.

His critiques of Remus' class are:

'As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far-' 'Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindy-lows,' said Hermione quickly, 'and we're just about to start -' 'Be quiet,' said Snape coldly. 'I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation.'

Lupin has left no notes for Snape despite knowing the schedule of every full moon for the year. He didn't tell Severus what they were up to or what activity he wanted the class to do - he hasn't even kept a record of what they have already completed up until this point.

That's disorganization. That's not knowing where they will get up to next week or the week after, despite having a schedule. Hermione is keeping better track of the class than Lupin is.

Could Snape be lying to the students about his disorganisation? That would be out of character, especially since the students don't give a shit about such a thing. That detail irks Severus, not the kids. He's just havin' a bit of a whinge.

If Remus had written a note he could have torn it up, complained that they are behind and set Werewolves as their task. No reason to lie.

'You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly over-taxing you - I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss -'

Could Snape be being hyperbolic here? Yes. I expect him to be. Is Snape a hardass that wants a lot from his students? Yep. Does Snape want to make what Remus teaches them to seem babyish, and his lesson more grown-up and important? Absolutely. Does that mean he is lying? No.

I don't think he is the sort to be too hyperbolic. He wouldn't be out here saying 'I expect a first-year to be able to brew a Draught of Living Death' or something. He never expects the impossible. Whether Red Caps and Grindylows are first, second or third year topics - I believe him when he says they are below their level.

'Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…'

...This is harder to tell how serious it is. I don't think they would have been at Werewolves yet. Severus is teaching it out of necessity - would Remus ever do it...? Risk outing himself with his own two hands? I doubt it. Severus is also eager to teach it ASAP because he suspects Remus is a dangerous man working with a serial killer.

So does he seriously think that midway through the year a third year class should know how to identify a werewolf - or does he just want to tell Dumbledore he thinks Remus is avoiding it when he should be focusing on it for the students own wellbeing…? Could go either way tbh. Or both. (Hermione knew the answer but I don't really count that as proof lol)

[…]Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin. 'Very poorly explained … that is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia … Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it three …'

You say Snape falsely told a student Kappa are from Mongolia. He didn't - he says they are more commonly found there. I don't see any reason not to believe him…? Why would he be spouting incorrect facts around students?

Lupin prioritizes student comfort. Snape prioritizes student learning. Remus is more likely to get facts wrong. Snape is more likely to piss people off. Remus is more likely to mark forgivingly - an 8/10. Snape is more likely to mark strictly - a 3/10.

It all lines up pretty well.

Remus' first lesson is poorly organised and he is lenient with points. He lets a Boggart loose amongst students without planning for every student getting a turn (Hermione misses out). He hadn't planned for Harry's fear ahead of time, or the risk of anyone else in the class finding Voldemort a little too much. He put his own secret at risk by revealing his own fear, which Hermione uses to work out he is a werewolf.

'Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone. Let me see … five points to Griffindor for every person to tackle the Boggart - ten for Neville because he did it twice - and five each to Hermione and Harry.'

He smooths everything over by giving out house points like candy. He is giving out points to Griffindor for doing classwork…? Whats next, points for tying their shoelaces?

Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. 'Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay.'

This gets me lol - he's happy they're all pissed off at having to do a big assignment, so he just cancels it. The sheer disrespect...

He could have shortened the length, or pushed back the due date, or dedicated another class to the topic, or even said 'well Professor Snape has his own way of teaching, if he set an assignment I'm sure it's because he thought you could handle it'. Nah. He wants to be the cool teacher that can boss Snape around.

I love the idea that he went to 'speak to Professor Snape' about it. What did he say...? 'Nice try, Sev - I'm cancelling it. B^)'

I don't put much stock into interview responses. The information needs to be at least published in some sort of 'official' format. People can say anything in the spur of the moment.

That being said - Remus WAS a wonderful teacher. I think he was a true natural at it and did a brilliant job overall. His stand-out skills are exactly the things Severus is bad at: connecting with students and encouraging them in ways that suit their individual needs. Remus is a people person and loves the chance to help rather than cause harm.

But he was also a first year teacher teaching a core subject. He was taking at least 2 days off a month and many days off-colour. I wouldn't expect perfection from him, and what Severus critiques (behind on schedule, disorganised, some incorrect information, overly forgiving marking) all sounds like new teacher mistakes. (honestly name a teacher who remains on schedule the whole year irl lol)

It is fun to reread and see where Severus was right and wrong. Especially since on a first read he seems so very wrong, always getting in Harry's way… but most of the time is right, or at least acting very reasonably with the information he has. PoA is a story where he was very wrong. Remus was not working with a serial killer, did not want Harry dead, wasn't working all that hard to bring Harry 'over to his side' (he was sorta annoyingly aloof) and was actually a trustworthy individual and a good teacher - just with a different methodology.

But I don't think that means Severus' observations of Remus' teacher habits were incorrect or grossly hyperbolic. He was looking for evidence that helped substantiated and supported his theories.

[syrupmap]

I have been thinking about this for months. And now this post is popping up in my reblogs again. So I thought I'd write down some of my thoughts on this.

For his sixth birthday, (this might have been just after his mother died) little Benton wanted to play in the mud with a toy bulldozer. But he got a book. Was he even able to read at six? Did he at least get a book with fun pictures?

For his seventh birthday, he asked for a go-kart. Instead, he might have gotten Huckleberry Finn. For his eighth, he asked for a Johnny Seven. Maybe he got On Civil Disobedience or The Little Prince. At nine, he just wanted a guppy. He could have been handed On The Rights of Men or To Kill a Mockingbird instead. When he turned eleven, he probably put another book in his toy box and realized it didn’t contain a single toy at all.

Just books. Seditious reading material he calls it. So, banned books? Revolutionary manifestos? Things too big for the mind of a boy who's not even a teenager but given to him anyway, because his grandmother decided he didn’t need to play. He needed to learn.

And it’s sort of funny until you picture it... A little boy sitting on the floor, turning The Social Contract over in his hands, wondering if he should rip up the papers and fold them into a model airplane.

A kid who never crashed a go-kart and got scrapes and bruises, never launched a plastic missile from a Johnny Seven while dramatically yelling and fake dying. Who would he even fake go to war against? He never named a guppy something ridiculous and cried when it died (but Benton, one single guppy? In a traveling library in the freezing cold? I must agree with his grandmother on this one).

Little kid Benton wanted to play and was told, no, you get this instead.

But the person who did this to him wasn’t cruel. She was trying to make him strong, heroic, like she was. When a fire surrounded her schoolhouse, she waded into a freezing river, held onto a burning tree, and kept the children alive. The heat melted her hair and burned her skin, but she didn’t let go.

She raised him to hold on, no matter how much it burned. And now, years later, here he is, in the middle of City Hall, filibustering into the night, gripping that podium like it's the last tree standing in a fire, refusing to sit down, refusing to shut up, because this is what she taught him to do.

And maybe she was right. Maybe the books were exactly what he needed. Maybe they made him the kind of man who could stand alone in a room full of power and not blink. They made him into a hero.

But that boy with no toys is still in there, somewhere. And he never learned how to let go.

“I never give up, it's not in my nature.”

This also made me think about his Christmases. And how he didn't really get to spend a lot of time with his dad. And how that also shaped him. And about how he's even a bit too intense for Bob Fraser. How his dad is proud of him, but also finally sees what this has done to his son (the branch that cannot bend must break).

Bob: So what are you hoping to get these wise men to do?

Fraser: Their duty.

Bob: Theirs or yours? You know, son, not everyone thinks the way you think, not everyone has your dedication, your commitment, your, your, well, frankly, your rigidity.

Fraser: I'm only doing what you taught me.

Bob: Well I've learned a few things since I died.

Fraser: Such as?

Bob: Well, I wish I'd spent more Christmases with you. And the branch that cannot bend must break.

---

Fraser: Ray, just think about it, two good men, one who should be accorded the respect due his age, one little more than a boy. They are frightened. They're frightened and ashamed. And they've good reason to be frightened. They don't think they can stand up to the Warfields of this world. Well I can. And I will.

---

Fraser: Do you think I'm being selfish and single-minded?

Bob: Oh, you're more than that son. You're obsessive, overbearing, possibly even arrogant.

Fraser: Well, thanks a lot dad, that makes me feel a whole lot better.

Bob: But you've been right.

Benton Fraser's birthday wish list

Age 6: toy bulldozer

Age 7: go cart

Age 8: Johnny 7

Age 9: guppy

Received: the most seditious reading material available through mail order

[bingqiv]

inspired

DOCTOR WHO (NUWHO) SPIN THE WHEEL.

[mellosghosts]

hes a little confused, but hes got the spirit 🫡

[marisashinx]

Azul is on to something here...