#whether they’re trying to insert it or not.

[necromycologist]

random thought + i don’t know enough about classic fantasy to make a real point abt this but it’s kinda interesting how much fantasy (portal fantasy just by consequence of the genres implications ofc but more classic high fantasy too) is absolutely goddamn SUFFUSED with nostalgia and this bitter longing for childhood/a more innocent past/to Go Back. both lotr and narnia play heavily on this idea that you can’t go back to the world you used to know, and how much that hurts. (i wonder very much if it’s related to christian ideas of original sin and leaving the garden (and quite possibly also the trauma of the war) but that’s neither here nor there.) it’s a very pervasive message, and a very tempting one in some ways, but it’s always rankled me even when reading these books for the first time— prince caspian, for example, is a wonderful yarn, but i’ve never found it an enjoyable read. the horror of a narnia changed is so palpable both for the characters and for the reader it’s hard to really enjoy the bright moments. it simply robs so much agency and joy from all involved. your life will be beautiful, and then it will be gone, and you will never be able to return to it (until you die and reach heaven, which even then is a stopgap to the return you really want). not that our fantasy needs to be moral, but i don’t think that’s a particularly healthy or satisfying story to be telling ourselves! i like his dark materials’s take on this a lot better, i think; we can’t go backwards, of course we can’t, but we CAN go forward. that’s the only choice we can make. there’s nothing waiting for us.

[simpjaes]

hiii, i didn't saw mxm on the yellow and red categories on your rules, so i think it's okay to ask for a mtl to do a brojob with the members

i don’t do mxm for drabbles or mtls, if i do them, they’ll likely be full length fics on ao3 only since tumblr is like, the only place on the internet that shames ppl for writing it 😅 i have none written as of right now for enha

the only reason mxm isn’t on my lists is because i don’t write it on tumblr at all. i only write about reader insert here and afab readers, though in some instances there may be slight dude on bro action (like regarding threesomes)

[korn-dawg]

I’m curious about your take on Sevika and reader having Sex for the first time? Especially if the reader was inexperienced. Maybe HCS or however you’d like to write it (if you’re comfortable writing about this ofc) Tysm! ☺️

yesyesyes !! ideas are always fire asf w y’all istg

honestly tho i’ve never really thought of inexperienced!reader cause i normally write reader as top/domme-adjacent unless requested otherwise but let me cook trust !!

❥ i feel like sevika waits to get intimate with you. it’s not that she doesn’t want to, she just doesn’t want to freak you out by trying anything to early.

❥ the first time sevika and you have sex it’s around 3 months into the relationship, and definitely in the heat of the moment after a night out

❥ sevika knows you’re inexperienced, as you’ve been pretty upfront about it

❥ as much as i strongly hc that sevika refuses to touch you with her prosthetic arm because she wants to feel you and not just touch you, i think she keeps it on for the first time y’all fuck HEAR ME OUT

❥ as much as she wants to feel you, i think she keeps it on to make it easier overall for the both of you but she WILL NOT I REPEAT WILL NOT insert her mechanical arm in you in any way whether it be fingers or wtv. if she’s gonna finger you, she’s gonna do it with her human hand only

❥ sevika takes it slow, making sure you’re comfortable every step of the way, asking if you’re okay every few minutes

❥ she’ll defo accommodate to whatever makes you the most comfortable. want to keep your shirt on? she won’t touch it. want your panties to stay on? she’ll just move them to the side when she needs to. want the lights off? she’s already reaching over to turn off the lamp.

❥ sevika is so careful to not overstimulate you when she eats you out, her grip on your thighs firm enough to keep them from snapping around her head but still gentle

❥ gives you breaks between each round, even if they’re short

❥ won’t ask for anything in return unless you’re adamant about returning the favor

❥ sevika keeps a hand on your head if you eat her out, gently guiding you as to what to do and what feels better

❥ sevika will try to take as much pressure off the situation as possible, making light banter or teasing you

❥ if you decide you wanna take her strap, sevika is making sure you’re well prepped and lubed, inserting it very slowly before waiting around a minute to start moving

❥ PRAISE. sosososo much of it as well as reassurance that you’re doing everything right

❥ refuses to do anything too extreme the first time. won’t spank or choke you. worst she’ll do the first time is lightly tug your hair and that if you really beg for it

❥ if you’re scissoring she’ll let you rest your head on her shoulder, pressing into you as she grinds her cunt against yours at a leisure pace

❥ best aftercare ever. a warm bath together, she’ll help dress you, lay down with you, talk about it and cuddle until you fall asleep with your head on her shoulder or chest

❥ after that night she’s like a fucking horndog, always on you and pulling you into some secluded alleyway for a quickie. you definitely learn the ropes fast and are a lot more comfortable after the first time with her.

sorry if it’s a little short y’all im tired asl i rlly need to go tf to bed 😪

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR I

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3.6k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: This story is inspired by the 2012 movie This Means War. I went back and forth on whether to write it with a named OC or in reader format—and ultimately decided to try something new and go with reader-insert. I usually write in third person with original characters, so this is a bit of a different style for me. As for who the reader ends up with… I haven’t made a final decision yet—maybe one of them, maybe both. Feel free to let me know who you’re rooting for! Hope you enjoy the chaos! warnings: None so far except for the fact that I don't know anything about neuroscience only what my research brings up, so I'm praying the shit I write makes sense

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

The lecture hall smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. You stood at the front, spine straight despite the fatigue threading through your muscles. Behind you, the whiteboard was half-covered in scrawls of chemical structures and dopamine pathways, neatly drawn and precisely labeled. It was the kind of lecture that left half the room wide-eyed with curiosity… and the other half silently praying for mercy.

With a quiet click, you capped your marker and continued. “Neurotransmitter binding is not a one-size-fits-all process,” you said, voice steady as your gaze swept across rows of glazed eyes and frantic scribbles. “It’s dynamic. It’s reactive. It’s shaped by genetics, trauma, medication—even what you ate for breakfast.”

A hand shot up in the second row.

“So… like, can serotonin make you hallucinate?”

You blinked. “No. And if it does, someone’s given you something else—and you should go to the ER. Immediately.”

A ripple of laughter. A few groans.

Another hand rose—this one from a sharp-eyed girl near the back. “In Joker toxin exposure cases, have you ever seen synthetic mimicry of dopamine flood patterns?”

Now that was a question worth respecting.

You’d specialized in Joker toxin during your postgraduate years, had seen firsthand the neurological carnage it left behind. The clown was a madman no doubt—but a dangerously brilliant madman.

Your mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes. And no. But that’s a topic for next week.”

The clock ticked toward the hour. You fielded three more questions—one insightful, two exhausting—before dismissing the class. 

Backpacks zipped. Conversations stirred. As the last student filed out, you finally exhaled. Slowly. The silence was a relief.

Rolling your shoulders, you gathered your coat and bag, the weariness catching up to you in waves as you made your way toward the door—hungry, tired, and vaguely craving something that didn’t taste like caffeine or sugary energy drinks.

Gotham’s streets buzzed with their usual chaos—honking cabs, barking vendors, motorcycles weaving between traffic like they were flirting with death. You walked with familiar ease, the city noise fading beneath the throb behind your eyes and the pressure at the back of your skull.

Your hand drifted up to your bun. It had been tightly wound since six in the morning, and now it felt like a migraine on a countdown. Mercifully, you didn’t have to be in the lab today—no microscopes, no sterile gloves, no post-doc breathing down your neck. Just freedom. Glorious, unwashed, unbothered freedom.

So you didn’t hesitate. One by one, you tugged the pins from your hair, each metallic clink falling into your coat pocket like a tiny rebellion. The strands spilled down, wild and full of indents, but you didn’t care. You tipped your head back, rubbed at your aching scalp with slow, tender fingers, and sighed like you’d been holding your breath all day.

You looked like hell. You felt like hell. But you were done. No lectures. No lab reports. Your appearance be damned you just wanted to spend the rest of the day in comfort. 

Your boots clicked along the sidewalk as you headed toward Café Nero, already imagining the warmth of a latte in your hands—despite your earlier claim about cutting back on caffeine. A lie, obviously. Caffeine was practically your lifeblood— and something carby in your mouth.

But the universe had other plans.

You turned the corner—and nearly collided headfirst with a ghost.

Jake.

Three years of your life bundled into one name, one face. One half-curved smile that looked exactly like it used to and somehow worse now that it was being directed at someone else.

Three years of your life compressed into one name. One face. One irritatingly familiar smirk. His arm was around a tall blonde, her smile radiant and far too trusting. He wore the same smug charm he always had as he said something that had her giggling. 

He noticed you first.

“Hey!” he said, voice way too bright. “Y/N. Wow. You look…” his eyes flicked over your rumpled sweater, your wild hair, “…great. Still at the university? Tinkering away in your little lab?”

You straightened instinctively, spine snapping to attention like your body was trying to make up for the indignity of the moment. Of all the days to run into him.

“I am,” you replied, polite but clipped.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t grasp the importance of your work—or the lives it affected. Your research had been groundbreaking, and he’d always referred to it like you were tinkering with science fair projects.

The blonde leaned into his side with a warm smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was brilliant and pretty.”

You wanted to hate her. Truly, you did. But unfortunately… she actually seemed sweet.

He laughed. “I forget sometimes.” Then turned back to you with that same infuriatingly casual smirk. “Oh—uh, Y/N, this is my fiancée, Hannah.”

The word hit like a slap.

Fiancée.

Only a year ago, you’d walked in on him and his yoga instructor, limbs tangled and guilt nowhere in sight. He’d thrown away three years with you like it was nothing—and now, not even twelve months later, he’d found someone new and locked her down with a ring so big it probably needed its own insurance policy.

You managed a smile. A real one, for her sake. Sort of. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your eyes dropped to the large, glittering ring on her hand.

“Wow,” you said with a tight smile. “That’s… that’s a big rock.” You let out an awkward laugh, trying muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm you definitely weren’t feeling on the inside. “You’re engaged. To be married.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Things just… clicked. It was like fate.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek with the kind of performative tenderness that made your stomach churn. 

God. How had you ever loved this man?

“Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmured.

Someone gag you with a spoon.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Jake pulled Hannah in for a kiss—deep as if he was trying to fit his entire tongue down her throat. Screw you, you thought. Screw you for rubbing her in my face.

You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and a little too loud. “Well, I should get going,” you began—except your mouth didn’t stop there.

Your brain screamed abort, but your tongue had other plans.

“I actually have to go meet my guy. Yeah, he’s a neuroscientist too. We, uh… met at work.” You nodded like that somehow made it more convincing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat again, silently begging yourself to shut up.

“It was… great seeing you. And congrats. On the ring. The upcoming wedding. Your whole… life. All of it.” You winced inwardly. “Well… Peace.”

And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you topped it off by flashing a peace sign like some glitching robot before turning and briskly walking away.

The second you were out of sight, your smile collapsed. You pressed your lips together, debating whether to scream into the sky or crawl into the nearest sewer.

“Someone kill me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

CAFÉ NERO

You finally made it to the café, and with it, your mortification began to loosen its grip. The familiar scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softening the sting of everything that had come before.

Inside, it was calm—the gentle hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of scattered conversations. A peaceful hum that felt like the complete opposite of Jake and his nauseating tongue display.

You slipped into your usual seat at the counter, letting your bag slump to the floor, and leaned against the worn wood like it might hold you up a little longer.

“Ah! Doctora!” Juan greeted you with a bright smile from behind the bar.

He was a sweet kid—maybe nineteen—who’d moved to Gotham from Mexico about six months ago. His English was improving steadily, though every now and then he’d still stumble over a few words. You’d quietly helped where you could. While he knew your name, he aways insisted on calling you Doctora like it was your superhero title. 

You snorted at the thought. You, a superhero? You couldn’t even save yourself from an awkward conversation with your ex.

“The usual?” he asked, already reaching for your cup.

“Si, please,” you nodded.

He glanced up with a curious smile. “Long day?”

You let out a soft groan, dropping your face into your hands. “You have no idea.”

The door chimed behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. Not until you felt someone hovering a little too close to the seat beside you. 

You prayed your luck wasn’t that shitty.

But of course, it was.

Jake’s familiar chuckle slid into your ears like nails on glass. You closed your eyes for half a second, steeling yourself, before slowly peeling your face from your hands.

“This is too funny,” he said with a grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Right! Absolutely hilarious,” you replied, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt as you saw Jake and Hannah standing there.

“I’m assuming this is your boyfriend’s seat?” Jake asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, ye—”

Before you could finish, Juan slid your drink across the counter, cheerful as ever.

“No, Doctora,” he said, accent warm, words slightly clipped at the edges. “Order for one. Always order for one. Seat is free.”

You nearly choked on air.

Hannah giggled while Jake said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows slightly, in that smug little way he used to do when he thought he’d won something.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You smiled tightly. “It is. I’m meeting him back at work. Just stopped in quick. Juan, I thought I said I needed this to-go?”

Juan frowned, brows pinching together. “Mmm… no, I don’ think so. You say you finish work. You always sit here, like always.”

“Not this time,” you said—too sharp, too fast.

Juan’s face fell a little. Guilt bloomed in your chest like a bruise, he didn’t deserve that. It was your own damn fault for digging the hole in you were now.

You sighed, softer this time. “Lo siento, Juan. Can you make it to-go, please?”

He nodded, already reaching for the paper cup and bag.

You turned back to Jake with a forced laugh. “Seat’s all yours.”

The second Juan handed you the new cup and pastry bag, you thanked him quietly, paid, and practically sprinted for the door—mortified, humiliated, and more than ready to go home and bury yourself under ten layers of shame.

MILO & ANTHONY’S APARTMENT

“Ugh! I wanted to die right then and there,” you groaned, collapsing dramatically onto Milo and Anthony’s couch, a glass of wine already halfway gone. Their apartment was across from yours, and you’d made a beeline for it the second you got home, desperate to drink your embarrassment into submission. “I fucking peaced them.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad.”

“That’s because you need to go out more,” Milo said, waving his wine glass like a pointer. “Meet someone. Rub him all over Jake’s face like a human flex—same way he’s doing with that girl, Hayley.”

“Hannah,” you corrected automatically. “And she seemed sweet.”

“She could be as sweet as cotton candy dipped in honey and I still wouldn’t give a shit,” Milo snapped. “I give a shit about you. And you cannot keep letting that asshole rent space in your head.”

You opened your mouth, but Milo steamrolled right over you.

“Fine if you’re not ready for anything serious, but girl—you need to go out and get some good dick. That pussy is drier than the Sahara.”

You choked on your wine. “Hey! I get some!”

Milo deadpanned you. “Your vibrator doesn’t count. Honestly, it should start charging you. Thing looks like it’s about to file for workers’ comp.”

You blinked. “Have you been going through my drawers again?!”

He shrugged without shame. “I was looking for your face cream.”

“And you thought I keep that in my underwear drawer?” 

“Look, the point is,” he said, sitting forward, “you need to go out. Date. Even just a casual thing. I hate seeing you mope over that troll.”

“I’m not moping,” you muttered.

Anthony gave you a soft smile—too kind for this earth. “We’re just worried about you. And hey, for the record, we’re glad you moved here. You’re part of our chaos now.”

You exhaled, guilt and warmth stirring in your chest. “I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I was that blind. I nearly gave up everything for him. I even moved back to this shit-hole of a city—where clowns and penguins blow up buildings and guys in capes fight crime in full spandex.”

“Well, at least Gotham has a certain… charm,” Anthony offered.

“I mean, it’s great if your idea of charm is daily arson,” you deadpanned.

“We are happy you’re here,” Milo agreed, his voice softer for once. “But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. Even I thought he might’ve been your person—but he wasn’t. That’s on him. His loss, not yours. You’ve gotta move forward, babe.”

“I am dating,” you said weakly.

“No, you’re talking to people. You don’t even give them a real shot.” He raised his brows. “You can’t test chemistry without mixing the liquids.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s more complex than just ‘mixing liquids,’ Milo. There’s neural signaling, oxytocin regulation, attachment frameworks, behavioral conditioning… Timing alone can throw everything off. You can’t just drop two people into a room and expect chemistry. That’s not chemistry—it’s chaos.”

“Why not?” Milo shrugged. “People do it all the time. You’re overthinking it—as usual. But if it helps, just treat it like another one of your experiments.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued. “My experiments have structure. Charts. Data. Equations. Control groups.”

“Exactly!” Milo clapped his hands. “Which is why you should try online dating. They have charts and shit.”

You let out a snort. “Please. In this city? Knowing my luck, I’d end up matched with a serial killer. Or worse—the Joker.”

Anthony tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does the Joker even online date?”

Milo groaned. “You’re both insane. There are plenty of semi-normal people on those apps. It’s how me and Anthony met.”

You gave him a flat look. “Exactly.”

You gave him a long, pointed look. “Point proven.”

“No.” Milo leaned in. “The point is you need to get back out there. Whether it’s for a wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of night, or you end up calling me crying because you just met the father of your future babies—I don’t care. You just can’t keep living in Jake’s memory. Not everyone is like him.”

You groaned, tipping back the rest of your wine in one go. “I know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look.

“I do!” you insisted. “Look, can we table this for now? I just want to drown my feelings and make future-me regret the hangover I’m definitely earning tonight.”

GOTHAM ROOFTOPS

Boots hit the edge of a rooftop with a soft scrape of gravel. Jason Todd scanned the streets below, hands resting at his sides, jacket collar tugged up against the bite of the early spring cold. He moved with restless energy—agitated, impatient, ready for something to go wrong.

“This is a bust,” he muttered into the comms. “Three blocks, no action. Not even a wannabe thug with a pocket knife and poor life choices. I’m starting to think Gotham forgot how to be Gotham.”

There was a beat of silence before Dick’s voice came through, dry and amused.

“Or maybe you’re just scaring the criminals too much, Hood. Ever consider early retirement?”

Jason rolled his eyes behind the mask. “Only if you go first, Nightwing. I thought Blüdhaven was where all the action was—what’re you doing slumming it with us Gotham bottom-feeders?”

“It is,” Dick replied. “But every now and then I like to slum it with my baby brother. Make sure you’re not burning down half the city in my absence.”

Jason snorted. “You’re only older by what, five years and a moral superiority complex?”

Before Dick could answer, Barbara’s voice cut in over the channel, sharp and clear.

“Seems like you’re about to get your wish, Jason. I’ve got eyes on suspicious movement down at the docks—east side, Warehouse Eleven.” Barbara drawled through the comms. 

Jason was already moving, boots hitting gravel as he took off across the rooftop. “Now we’re talking.”

Dick followed a step behind, vaulting over a low pipe with practiced ease. “Arms deal?”

“Most likely,” Barbara confirmed. “Thermal scans show at least four bodies. No confirmed ID yet, but one of them matches a known associate of Black Mask.  “Be smart. And try not to level the building, Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, grin audible.

WAREHOUSE ELEVEN, EAST DOCKS

The docks were dead quiet when they arrived—too quiet. The kind of stillness that always meant something was waiting to go wrong. The air smelled like oil and sea rot, and the only sounds were the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of aging chains swaying in the wind.

Jason crouched at the edge of a container stack, pistols holstered at his thighs, his gaze locked on the warehouse below. His breath clouded in the cool air.

“East lot’s clear,” he murmured into the comms. “Nothing but rats and roaches.”

Dick landed beside him in a soundless roll. “So, your usual crowd.”

Jason didn’t glance over. “That’s twice tonight. Keep it up and I’ll tell everyone you cried during that Pixar movie.”

“I was twelve. And it was Up, you heartless bastard.”

“Still counts.”

They moved in silence, slipping through a broken window high on the warehouse wall. Their boots hit the rafters without a whisper. Below them, four men circled a battered folding table strewn with crates, unmarked cases, and haphazard stacks of cash. A single overhead bulb flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor.

Jason zoomed in with his HUD. “I know that one—left side. Carlo Mancini. Low-tier runner for Sionis. Looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“Might mean he knows something,” Dick murmured.

They listened.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Mancini hissed, voice tight and shaky. “It’s gonna be big. Joker-level big.”

One of the others scoffed. “The hell you talkin’ about? Joker’s been off the grid for months.”

“Yeah, and now he’s back. Lookin’ for someone—some guy who used to run with him, then bailed. Word is, he took something. Something important.”

Jason’s fingers curled slowly around the grip of his pistol.

“It’s not his usual stuff either,” Mancini went on, voice dropping to a whisper. “Heard it’s from Scarecrow too. Some freak chemical—don’t kill you right away. Makes you laugh yourself insane. Till your heart gives out.”

A beat of silence.

“No cure for it, either.”

Jason exhaled. “Shit.”

Beside him, Dick’s jaw flexed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jason gave a tight nod. “If the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up and made something new—and someone stole it…”

Dick’s voice was grim. “Then Gotham just became a countdown clock. And we’re already late.”

Without another word, they moved.

Jason dropped from the rafters like a shadow cutting through fog, landing hard enough to make one of the thugs flinch. Dick followed a breath behind, graceful and quiet. By the time the first man reached for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist and sent him sprawling with a solid elbow to the jaw.

Dick swept the legs out from under another, zip-tying his wrists with practiced ease. The other two barely had time to shout before they were taken down—one with a stun baton to the ribs, the other with a boot to the sternum.

Mancini tried to run.

Jason caught him by the collar, slammed him against a crate with just enough force to knock the air from his lungs. “Going somewhere?”

The runner gasped, eyes wide with panic. “I didn’t—look, I don’t know anything!”

“You know enough to be scared,” Jason growled, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat. “So start talking.”

“Okay—okay!” Mancini wheezed, both hands raised in surrender. “I just heard whispers, man. Word on the street is Joker and the ‘crow are lookin’ for someone—most likely one of his old runners. Said he took something. Chemical notes, maybe the whole damn formula. Whatever it is, it’s important. Real important. Joker’s tearing through people trying to get it back.”

Jason’s gaze darkened. “You know who this guy is?”

“No name,” Mancini coughed. “Just that he used to run logistics—backdoor stuff. Quiet type. Smart guy. Kept to himself. Real ghost.”

“Not smart enough if he got himself tangled up with the Joker and Scarecrow,” Dick muttered.

Jason’s hand tightened. For a moment, Dick thought he might snap.

“Jason,” he said, quiet. A reminder.

Jason let go.

Mancini dropped to his knees, coughing and trembling. Jason stepped back into the shadows, tapping his comm.

“You catch all that, Oracle?”

Barbara’s voice filtered in, sharp and efficient. “Every word. Red Robin and B are already digging. If this guy’s in Gotham, we’ll find him. But until then, you two are off the clock. Get some rest.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dick shot him a look. “Try to actually listen for once. Not everything has to be solved in one night.” 

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and nudged him toward the exit—just as the distant wail of GCPD sirens broke the silence, growing louder with every passing second. Cleanup crew was on its way.

Jason didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his thoughts already miles ahead—backtracking whispers, dissecting clues, remembering the sound of laughter that still echoed in the corners of his nightmares.

It was rare for the Joker to get invested in anything. He thrived on chaos, not consistency. But if he was serious enough to go out of his way to hunt down some nobody, then whoever had the formula was sitting on a bomb.

Next Chapter →

[logoleptic-since-06]

He Might Not Look Like He Gets Bitches (but honey, that dick was 11 inches)

Pairing: Inexperienced!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingering, clit rubbing, reader teaches Choso, oral (both f and m receiving), handjob, p in v, no protection, creampie, (slight) tummy bulge, loss of virginity (Choso), not proofread

WC: 1.5K

(18+) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“What are they doing there?”

Your head jerks sideways towards Choso as he speaks, then goes back and forth from Choso to the movie playing on the TV, where two actors had involved themselves in a passionate make out session. “They’re kissing…?”

He tilts his head in confusion, “Why?”

You try to sound as casual as possible as you say, “Because the characters are attracted to each other.”

“Attracted… to each other…” he repeats your words, making you unsure of whether you’re supposed to be teaching him this. Before you can say anything, he shifts in his seat as he says, “I want to try it.”

“Okay, you will do it–”

“Can you teach me?”

Your breath hitches at his forwardness. “You want me to teach you how to kiss?”

“Yes,” he says with a little too much surety.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

You slowly move closer to him until you’re straddling him. You feel his breath hitch as you cup his face slowly, his deep brown eyes sinking into yours. “Ready?” you ask, your voice imitating a hum of assurance. He simply nods in response. You start by kissing his cheeks, already feeling the goosebumps at the back of his neck. You then kiss his forehead and nose. He lets out a small whimper when you finally peck his lips, his head jerking forward, wanting more. He immediately reaches for the TV remote and turns it off, which makes you giggle. “Eager, are we?” You peck his lips again, to which he nods needily in response.

You finally crash your lips against his, moving softly. He tenses up at first but melts into it eventually, his yearning lingering in every movement of his lips. 

You break the kiss, “You like that?”

He seems too overwhelmed to speak. The only word he can get out is “More…”

You kiss him again, this time more passionately. You slowly insert your tongue in his mouth, to which he jerks a little before melting into the kiss once again. Eventually, he begins to move his tongue against yours. Sounds heavy breathing fills the room.

Breaking from your kiss, you begin to kiss his jaw, then neck. Choso whimpers at the feeling. He lets out a hitched breath as you feel his pants tighten beneath you. 

“Hahh, wha-” Choso pants.

You stop doing what you were doing. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel… weird down there,” he says, “It hurts.” You chuckle softly, “Oh, honey, you have a boner…”

“A what?” “A boner. It’s completely natural. It happens when you’re aroused.” “Aroused…” he repeats as though the word is foreign to his tongue.

“Sexually excited,” you explain further, causing a blush to creep up his pale cheeks.

You return to your previous position of kissing him, trailing your kisses from his jaw to his neck as you tug on the hem of his shirt. He lifts himself up as you take his shirt off and trail your kisses down to his torso. His breath shifts from being fast to being heavy. 

As your mouth reaches the top of his happy trail, you look up to him and touch his crotch over his pants.

“Ngh,” he whimpers, “It hurts…”

“Yeah?” you coo, “I can fix that.”

You unbuckle his pants, sliding it down to the floor as you stare at him sitting with only his boxers. You rub his cock through his pants, making him moan needily. 

“Can I take these off?” you ask, hooking your fingers on the waistband of his boxers. He nods frantically.

The moment the boxers come off, you are surprised at how big he is. You take his cock, needing both your hands to jerk him off. His head falls back on the couch as he moans at your touch. You finally put him in your mouth. 

“Ohh yeah yes mmm,” he moans as you bob your head, letting his tip hit against the back of your throat. “Y/N… so good… right there yeah yeahh.”

Before you know it, he shoots his cum inside your mouth. You swallow and look up at him with a smile. “Feel better?”

He looks down at you with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and satisfaction. “What was that?”

“That was an orgasm. You just came.”

He is still panting. “That felt amazing.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad it did.” You straddle him again, your lips meeting his in an even more passionate kiss. This time, you moan into his mouth. His hand rakes over your body, sliding under your shirt as you hum.

“Can I take this off?” he asks and you nod in reply. You raise your arms as he takes off your shirt and reveals your bra-clad torso. He trails his fingers along the line of your lace bra. “Pretty,” he mutters before unclasping the hook to expose your perky tits. He reaches to grab them, his thumb flicks your nipples and you stifle a moan, your arousal pooling in your panties.

“Fuck, Cho… I need you…” you manage to say.

“Can I do the same to you?” he asks, sounding a little unsure of what he’s saying. “The thing you did to me?”

You don't waste a moment to breath out, “Yes, please.”

You lay on your back on the couch as he follows your path by kissing your jaw, then neck, finally reaching your tits as he sucks on your nipples, making you let out a soft moan, the sound music to Choso’s ears. He mimics your work as his mouth wanders down to your stomach, right above the waistband of your shorts. 

“Can I open this?” he asks. You lift your hips up in response and he slides your shorts down to reveal your lace panties, already wet from desperation. He slowly touches the wet patch, making you groan. He slides your panties off and the only way you’d describe the way you spread your legs is pathetic.

He takes a deep breath as your pussy comes into display, his eyes intensely observing every inch of your exposed body. He reaches his hand to touch your pussy lips.

You guide his fingers to your engorged clit. “Here… touch me here, please,” you pant out. “That’s the clit, the most sensitive part of female genitalia.”

He rubs slow circles on your clit, your eyes rolling back in response. “The clit,” he repeats. 

“Ngh, fuck, yes, baby,” you moan out. Inserting two fingers into yourself, you show Choso how to finger someone. Choso replicates your actions with two fingers while his thumb focuses on your clit. 

With that move, you absolutely lose your mind. Your eyes roll back and you let out a long moan, arching your back. “Yes, fuck yes, baby, keep going ahh ahh just like that mmmm fuck yeah yeah.”

He positions his head between your legs, his warm breath hits against your pussy before he starts nibbling at your clit while his two fingers hit your g-spot. You let out even louder moans, losing yourself into blissful pleasure you never want to return from, never want to be found again. 

You feel yourself tighten, the familiar anticipation rushing through your body before you let it all go with a loud moan. Choso sits up, his eyes raking over your glistening pussy with utter fascination as you look up at him panting. 

“Was it okay?” his nervous voice speaks.

You take a few breaths to collect yourself before answering. “That was amazing, baby.” He blushes in response. You notice his bulge again. “Cho, are you hard again?”

He looks down in embarrassment. “Oh, uhm– yeah.”

You crawl up to him and straddle his thighs which makes his breath hitch once again. You remove a few strands of hair from his face and cup his cheeks. “Do you trust me?” you ask him.

He doesn’t waste a breath. “Yes.”

You take his cock from beneath you and rub it before slowly inserting it in your pussy. The face Choso makes at that sensation can only be described as euphoric. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes,” he breathes out desperately, “Yes, yes, please keep going.” With permission, you fully insert him inside of you, feeling a bulge inside your stomach. 

“Oh, fuck, you’re so big mmm,” you gasp out. “Can I move?” Choso nods and you begin to bounce slowly, gradually building up your pace. Every bounce, every thrust takes you both to the twilight zone. The sounds of pleasure echoes through the whole room.

“Oh, I’m close,” Choso says. You reach down to rub your clit to stimulate yourself. His eyes widen as he sees you do that and reaches his hand to pleasure you instead. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to spill out your cum. 

You get off him and lay on your back against the couch, panting heavily. Choso relaxes onto the couch with his head leaned against it. He looks between your spread legs, taking in the sight of his juices coming out of your pussy. 

“Are you okay?” you ask once again.

“Never been better.” 

A/N: Not me writing this while never having held hands romantically (I've never even had a talking stage).

[coldfanbou]

Be Sure Of It

Here we are with Eunha. In the end, I kept it as only her because I had this idea. Honestly, though, I may use the building mentioned for some other smuts. It would be pretty easy to insert other idols there and just have a universe around it. Also, it was a little tricky to write this because I had to think about whether to refer to Eunha using the stage name versus her real name.

Length 3.2K

Eunha X Mreader

You waited nervously at the restaurant, tapping your fingers on the table as you waited for your date's arrival. You peered out the large windows, hoping to spot her; her profile was on your phone, so you didn’t mistake someone else for her. Then, you saw her across the street, her bag slung over her shoulder as she hurried towards you. Relief washed over you as you recognized her, and she noticed you, too, waving with a bright smile. She walked around the corner, stepped inside, and headed straight toward you. “Hi! I’m Eunbi; sorry for keeping you waiting!” She exclaimed, slightly out of breath, as she sat down and reached over the table to shake your hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too. I was a little worried you wouldn’t show up,” you admit, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. Your heart was pounding, and you couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way.

“I’d never no-show a date. It’s hard enough to get one with my job.” 

You nod your head, trying to remember what her job was. “It was as a-”

“A health girl,” Eunbi interrupts, “I’m glad you remember,”

“Yeah, I tried to remember everything you had on your profile. I must have gone over it a hundred times before today.” You feel immediate embarrassment as those words leave your mouth, and you hang your head, feeling like you just made a big mistake.

Eunbi laughs, though, “Really? Were you that interested in me?” Looking up, you see Eunbi resting her head on her hand, her cheek squished. 

“Um, yes,” You say quietly, feeling a warm flush spread across your cheeks as Eunbi's laughter fills the air. You could feel your cheeks turning red, and you were sure she could see it, too.

“Don’t be shy; that makes me pretty happy. I don’t get many matches because of my profession. Those that I do get usually only want one thing. So, what made you interested in me?

“I thought you were cute and saw all the pictures of you cosplaying. I thought it was cool.” You say shyly. 

“Ah! You looked at them?!” The excitement in her voice was evident, “Which one was your favorite?”

“I liked you as Haruko from Slam Dunk,” you reply, pulling up the picture. “I liked your smile; you looked really happy in it.”

Eunbi purses her lips, trying to hide her smile. “Thanks,” she giggles. “No one really likes those old shows anymore, but I think they’re pretty fun.” You and Eunbi spent the date discussing old shows and sharing that interest. It was enjoyable; the two of you enjoyed sharing your thoughts about which shows should be remade and which should remain classics. As your time together came to a close, you ordered an ice cream and headed out the door together. You walked around, continuing your chat until you found yourselves in the city’s central park. 

Eunbi came to a stop, sitting on a nearby bench and waiting for you to sit next to her. “Tonight has been really fun, and I want to go on another date.” She says quietly, her happy energy from earlier fading as she becomes serious. “But are you sure you are okay with dating someone like me? It’s just- I mean, a lot of guys say they’re okay with it, but they really aren’t. They try to get me to quit as soon as we’re together.” It’s clear to you this was something Eunbi had gone through multiple times; the anxiety in her voice and the fact she was staring at the ground the entire time she spoke was enough. “I-I just…”

“Eunbi, I’m okay with it.” You say, placing your hand on hers. Eunbi raises her head, turning to face you. “It must be hard on you, looking for someone, but I’m okay with you having that sort of job. I’ll never make you quit; that’s your decision.” You take a deep breath, “I’d like to take you on another date, Eunbi.”

Eunbi sniffles, and a small smile appears on her face. “Thanks for saying that, but,” she pulls her hand away and reaches into her bag, pulling out a small business card. “I think you should see me at work before you decide if you want to go on another date with me.” Eunbi pushes herself off the bench and stands up. “Anyway, thanks for tonight. I had a lot of fun. You know where to find me, " she says softly. 

You rise slowly and walk over to Eunbi with the business card still in hand. “Yes, I do. Thanks for tonight, Eunbi.” You wrap your arms around her and hug her, feeling her arms hesitantly wrap around you before cinching in. After a moment, the two of you break apart and head separate ways for the night.

That night, you looked at the card before going to bed, feeling excited about the next step. You wanted to go on another date with Eunbi, so you had to visit her first. You notice the name change on it; she didn’t use her real name. She used Eunha.

A few nights passed when you decided to visit Eunbi at her workplace.  While the place was open all day, Eunbi worked in the evenings and nights, so that’s when you had to go. It was in the red-light district. You weren’t familiar with it and wandered around, trying to find the place. Neon lights glowed from every building, painting the street with various colors. You continued past the barkers, trying to get you to walk into their establishment. You turn your head, viewing both sides so you won’t have to do another lap. Then you spotted it; it was a large building that took up an entire block. Much like the other buildings in the area, it bathed the street in bright pink neon lights. You cross the street, getting closer, when you notice the women dancing inside, inviting men to enter. They wore revealing outfits, from bunny suits and sexy maids to wedding dresses, with some just in lingerie. The ground level had them separated into their own rooms. You come to a stop, though, as you pass by a crowd; glancing at the window, you see one of the women having sex, fucking like a rabbit in heat with her breasts pressed against the glance. You pry your eyes away and look ahead, noticing she isn’t the only one. Other women in the rooms ahead were also having sex. 

You refocused yourself and continued toward the entrance, heading inside and finding a similar situation, with women in rooms, some dancing and others having sex. On occasion, there would be room blacked out, giving you the hint that some people wanted to be watched. Once down the hall, you found a board of faces—a picture of a woman and their face on it. Some were greyed out, signifying they were with a client. “You have to put money in first, sir.” You hear from behind you. Turning around, you find a staff member sharply dressed in a suit behind the counter. The man repeats himself, pointing to the bottom left of the giant screen. You notice a smaller pad was there to take payment. “If you’d like any information about the ladies before choosing, please feel free to ask me.” 

“Is Eunha here?” You ask nervously. 

The staff member looked down at something before meeting your gaze and responding matter-of-factly, “Yes, she is. She is on the top left-hand side of the board.” You nod and pay for an hour's session before returning to the larger screen and looking for Eunha. You spot her picture at the top and press it, confirming your choice after.

“Good choice, sir. Here is your room key, " the staff member says, pulling out a keycard. “She is on the second floor; once up the stairs, go to the right side at the end of the hall, turn to the left, and she will be at the end of that hall.” The man extends his arm, showing you the staircase. You take the keycard and give the man a nod before heading up the spiral staircase, finding a large lounge with a couple of men sitting idly. You glance at the other two hallways before heading to the right. You feel your heart beat faster as you make the final turn and head to the end of the hall. You stand outside the door and take a deep breath before tapping the keycard and opening it. You step inside and find Eunha waiting on the other side. She’s in a school uniform that’s been cropped and is wrinkled. The skirt, if you could call it that at this point, ended a few inches from the waist. Eunha had on a pair of crotchless panties, and you could see how slick her thighs were with her; there was cum running down her legs. On the top half of her body was an open button-up shirt that she had tied together in a loose knot, her nipples poking through the thin fabric.

“Oh! It’s you!” Eunha says with a smile on her face. “You actually came.”

You nod, “I said I would.”

Eunha chuckles, “I guess you did.” You both stand there awkwardly, unable to continue. “Please have a seat.” Eunha moved back to the kingsized bed. She throws herself on it and pats the spot next to her. After sitting beside her, Eunha places her hand on your thigh. “I guess you can see what my last customer did to me,” Eunha says, looking between her legs. “I barely had time to get the room ready again.” She sighs, looking down at the floor and kicking her feet softly. “This is what I meant; I understand if you don’t want to date me. Who would want to have a girlfriend that’s constantly getting fucked by others.” You feel the sadness begin to seep through into her voice. 

You shake your head, “Eunbi, I told you I don’t care. I knew that going into this, I’d have to be okay with you having this job. Look, I know we’ve just been on a single date, but I like you, and I want to see where this goes.”

“You mean that?” Eunha asks, her voice wavering. You nod at Eunha and place your other hand on hers. Though small, your action was enough to give Eunha some confidence in you. She sniffles before giving you a bright smile. “I guess we should get started then, right?”  

“I guess so.” Eunha presses her lips against yours, pushing you onto the bed and straddling you. You feel the passion behind the kiss, the corners of her mouth pulled into a smile. She lifts your shirt past your arms and over your head. Eunha was confident in every action. She moved down slowly, raising her ass in the air as she worked at getting your pants down, unbuckling your belt, and unbuttoning your pants. She stares you down as she bites down on the zipper tab and pulls it down. You can see a growing hunger in her eyes as she crawls over you and steals another kiss from you. You feel her hands move down your side as she tries to pull your pants off you.

You help her get them off, along with your underwear. Eunha’s hand grasps your shaft, moving up and down slowly as she meets your gaze. “You’re already nice and hard for me.” She whispers, her grip growing tighter. You see her smile grow as you moan her name. Eunha moves her other hand down, cupping your balls. “These are so big and heavy. I haven’t eaten all day. You have a lot of cum for me, right?” She gives you a pout before moving down your body and pressing her face against your cock, letting the tip rest against her forehead. She kisses the shaft and takes in your scent before wrapping her hand around it again. Eunha shuts her eyes and presses her lips against the base of your cock, inching upward toward the tip. She was moving toward more sensitive areas, and with each kiss, precum leaks from the tip of your cock.

Finally reaching the tip, Eunha opens her eyes again. She smiles at you before pushing the tip against her lips, slowly spreading them and allowing you inside her warm mouth. You feel her tongue run up and down your shaft as she rubs the head against the inside of your cheek. Her hand strokes the base of your cock, ensuring you’re getting the most out of it. She pulls back slowly, letting her saliva drip onto your cock, her tongue sticking out. 

Running her hand up and down your shaft, Eunha spreads her saliva across your cock. “This is going to be good,” she mutters, leaning down and wrapping her lips around your cock. You groan, enjoying as Eunha bobs her head, her tongue running along the underside of your shaft. You rest on your elbows, watching Eunha, noticing as she moves one hand down and fingers herself, occasionally pulling out to rub her clit. You place your hand on her head, earning you a glance from Eunha. She continued, slowly down and taking more of you in. You lean back and groan loudly as you feel yourself hit the back of her throat. 

Eunha pulls back slowly, slobber running down her chin and onto your cock. She slaps herself with it, dirtying herself further. She strokes your cock quickly as she speaks, “You’re so close; I felt your cock twitch. You can cum whenever you want; you don’t even have to warn me. I’ll be able to drink it all up.” Eunha smiles at you before making your cock disappear again. 

You struggle to hold on as her tongue lashes at the tip of your cock. Eventually, you’re forced to cum; you buck your hips upward into Eunha’s mouth and cum inside. She presses her hand against your pelvis, pushing you down as her lips form a seal around your cock, and she drinks every drop. She bobs her head slightly as you cool down from your climax. Eunha slowly comes to a halt and leaves your cock with a pop, “Ahh, that was so good,” She moans, licking her lips. 

Eunha places her hand on your cock, stroking it to get you hard again. “That must’ve felt really good for you; you came a lot.”

“It was amazing,” you groan, her grip tightening as you get hard again.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now it’s time for the best part.” Eunha straddles you, rubbing your cock between her folds as she aligns you to her entrance. She reaches forward, grabbing your hands and interlacing her fingers with yours as she lowers herself onto your cock. You slip in easily, her warm and slippery walls snuggly wrapping around your cock as she rests against your pelvis. Eunha’s soft moan fills the room, and you move up her body until you meet Eunha’s gaze. She gives you a soft smile that you can’t help but return. She keeps her hands with yours as she begins to bounce on your cock, soft moans flowing from her lips. Eunha leans against you, your hand holding becoming the only thing keeping her up. You lowered your eyes, noticing the knot that kept her shirt together come loose. Your eyes became glued to Eunha’s chest, watching her tits bounce as she rode you. “Ah, hold on,” she moaned, letting you off your hands to throw off her shirt. Eunha placed her hands on your chest and began moving again, her slow movements picking up speed with time. You placed your hands on her waist, holding her as she rode you. Eunha kept her eyes shut and threw her head back, groaning as she felt your cock go deep inside her. “You’re…going to… make me cum,” Eunha said, struggling to get her words out.

“I’m going to cum too.” You grunted, your cock throbbing against her tightening walls. You begin thrusting into Eunha, going deeper as your bodies collide. “I want us to cum together,” Eunha nods her head, biting her bottom lip as she nears her climax. You both cry out as you reach your peak; Eunha slams herself down on you, impaling herself on your cock and cumming with you. You pull Eunha into a kiss as she collapses on top of you, her chest heaving as you both slowly come down. 

“That was amazing,” she says, still out of breath. Eunha unmounts you and places herself on your bicep, taking a few deep breaths before looking into your eyes as you lay there together. 

“I’ve seen you at your work now. So I can ask you out on another date, right?” After a few minutes of staring into your eyes, her face turns red. She covers it with her hands and turns her back to you. “Eunbi? What’s wrong?” You ask, trying to turn her back around.

“It’s embarrassing!” She shouts into her hands.

“What?”

“Ahh! I said all those things in front of you!” Eunbi buries her face into the mattress and kicks her feet. 

“Those things?” You ask curiously.

“Those things about your cock and balls. It’s so dirty!” You laugh at her answer, making her raise her head. “Don’t laugh! I only say those things here because people like to hear that!” She explains, her tiny fists knocking on your chest. “You’re never going to hear me repeat those things! They’re too embarrassing to say to someone I’m dating!” 

You laugh again, enjoying how embarrassed she was. “So, does that mean we’re going on another date?” Eunbi pauses her tantrum, realizing what she said. She peers up at you, and you ask again, “Eunbi, would you like to go out on another date?”

Eunbi feels a warmth in her heart as she hears your question being asked so sincerely and nods. “I’d like that; yeah, let’s go on another date,” she says softly before embracing you. You spend the rest of your time lying together. When your time runs out, and you're forced to separate, Eunbi kisses you on the cheek. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” You respond before kissing Eunbi one more time before you go. “Have a good day at work.” She smiles and waves as you shut the door behind you. You get home sometime past midnight and lay in bed. You couldn’t sleep, though; your body was filled with energy after your night with Eunbi. You thought you would feel tired, but that wasn't the case, and just as your mind began to drift, you got a single-word message from Eunbi. 

“Breakfast?” It made you chuckle, and you agreed to meet her for breakfast in the morning. The two of you met for breakfast, chatting about old cartoons like you had on your first date. Eunbi felt content, happy to have found you, and hoping the relationship continues. The wariness of a new relationship was still on her mind, but seeing that you went further than many others had dared to, she felt a sense of comfort with you.

[distantdarlings]

ANY FEELINGS // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Gender-Neutral Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* As Theo plucks up the courage to ask you out on a date, you soothe your repressed feelings for the boy by filling your nights with other men.

+ WARNINGS - Mentions of smut! (But no actual). Sexual descriptions, language, gender-neutral reader, conflict between Cormac and Theo, very brief description of a fight (non-graphic), kissing, kissing w/o consent, not proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Consume - Chase Atlantic

- - -

“Dude, you're gonna have to grow some balls at some point…”

“Shut the fuck up, man!” 

Theo laid a slap to the back of one of his best mate’s heads. Enzo was a great friend, but he tended to be a bit too judgmental when it came to you. 

Theo had had some sort of feelings for you since he first met you, but whether they were platonic or romantic or…something else, he wasn’t sure. 

Enzo seemed to be completely confident that Theo’s feelings for you—whatever they may be categorized as—could be chalked up to one thing only: love. 

Every time Theo heard Enzo pleading with him to just ask you out or grab your hand while he was walking next to you, he lost more patience. The boy sitting next to him was stupid, but sometimes he wondered if he should even be permitted to attend Hogwarts. 

“I don’t know, man,” Mattheo piped up. “Maybe Enzo’s right…you seem pretty into them every time we all hang out.” The dark boy diagonal from Theo shrugged his shoulders. 

“How would either of you know how I’m feeling?” Theo asked, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because you fucking gawk at them everytime they’re around—I mean, you’re practically fucking drooling,” Enzo said, pursing his lips.

“Whatever, I am not.” 

“‘Not,’” Enzo mouthed to Mattheo, making air quotes with his fingers. 

Theo clenched his jaw and shoved the boy over, before getting to his feet.

The three of them had been sitting next to the Black Lake during dinner, hoping to get away from some of the noisy chatter in the Great Hall. 

“Look, just try it out,” Mattheo suggested, squinting against the sun. “Think about it tonight—”

“When you’re alone in bed and about to rub one out!” Enzo cut Mattheo off. Theo glared down at him in disgust. Just before he could react to what the boy had said, Mattheo smacked Enzo on the back of the head.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Mattheo started back. “I meant to mull it over as you’re about to fall asleep tonight. That’s generally when I can get the most thinking done. It’s quiet and nonjudgmental.” 

He glared over at Enzo.

“Alright, then,” Theo sighed, pressing a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “I guess I will.”

Once the three of them had separated and gone their own ways, Theo decided to make a change to his evening plans.

He had originally planned on following Mattheo down to the Three Broomsticks for a mug of Butterbeer, but—upon the dark-haired boy’s suggestion of staying in—he decided to head back into the castle.

He’d have a bit of a shower then take an early night so he could think about what he wanted to do. What he wanted to do about you. 

It wasn’t just the constant pressure from Enzo to ask you out that had you circling around his thoughts. He didn’t need the badgering from his friends to think about you. 

Theo thought of you all the time anyway, with little being prioritized over you. The confusing nature of the feelings came from the fact that his thoughts of you were so often varied. 

One minute, he’d be thinking of your laugh—the way you tilted your head back, eyes clenched, with mouth wide, smile glistening. Next, he’d be imagining you naked above him, begging for him to give you more.

It’d been this way forever. He wanted you in more ways than one, but just one of those ways would ruin every other. 

If Theo admitted that he wanted to be the last face you saw every night and the first you saw every morning, and you rejected him, he’d never heal from it. He needed you too much in any way to let something get in the way of that. 

So he’d held back for years and years, until, apparently, he’d started to become a little too obvious. At least, enough so that Mattheo and Enzo had noticed. 

Now, with the support—and borderline bullying—from them, he was feeling confident. Like he could actually ask you to be his.

Still, he hesitated.

He made his way through the castle, counting the sconces on the wall and running through example admissions he could give you. If he were to tell you how he felt, he couldn’t fuck it up. 

You deserved the best of him, if you even deserved him at all. Theo wasn’t much compared to you, but everything he felt for you was genuine and that wasn’t something that was so easy to explain to Mattheo and Enzo, assholes as they were.

He stopped before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, mumbled the password, and made his way through, hardly straying from his imaginary conversations.

Distractedly, he headed upstairs and prepared himself a shower. 

Mattheo said he thought the best while laying in bed, but Theo wondered if the shower might be a better alternative for him. He worried that he might not ever get to sleep if he let all of his thoughts pool into one part of his day. 

So, he shed his clothes, pulled the water as hot as it would go and stepped beneath the boiling rain. 

Between the steam and the warmth, he could’ve fallen asleep, but the thoughts of telling you how he felt kept him wired enough to focus. 

There were a thousand possibilities swirling through his head, trying to guide him in the right direction. 

He weighed a couple options back and forth, trying to let imagined scenarios play out with each, but no matter what he said or did, it always ended with him embarrassing himself, you hating him, or him accidentally setting something on fire. Never mind that last option—there was a brief consideration of fireworks. 

He let the water run across his shoulders and slip down his chest. He applied a bit of hair oils to his hands, letting the personal concoction he’d whipped up settle in his palm. He’d always had pretty dry hair but it tended to get a bit oily during this time of year, leading him to switch over to a different product—or, rather, a combination of products.

He lathered the oils in his hair and closed his eyes.

The massage his fingers applied to his head was just relaxing enough to keep his mind occupied for a second. He didn’t stop thinking of you—he never did—but he was allowed a few moments’ peace. He accepted the nurturing sensation, attempting to ignore his imagination trying to replace his hands with yours.

Then, suddenly, he got it! He knew exactly how to tell you how he felt. 

He quickly rinsed all of the remaining bubbles from his hair and scrubbed the rest of his body, before shutting the water off and whispering a small spell. In an instant, the wetness coating his body evaporated into thin air, and he was bone-dry. 

He slipped his pajamas on, gathered his day clothes, and made his way back to the dorm. 

If he was going to do this, he wanted to make sure he did it properly. He had about a thousand ideas, a notebook, quill, and ten hours to kill. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

- - -

You set yourself down at the end of the Slytherin table and poured a bit of coffee into your mug.  

With the night you had just before, you could use a bit of caffeine. Nothing you had expected to happen yesterday did, and everything you hadn’t expected to happen had. In ten fold. 

Between the three tests, the spilled pumpkin juice all over your bottoms, the near-fight between your best friend, Draco, and some Gryffindor, you had had enough by the end of all of it. 

You had wanted to sleep after all of the activity. But, instead, you had Cormac McLaggen. 

And you had gotten all of him. From his chestnut curls to his strong arms to his hips moving against yours. Thank Merlin he was a Quidditch player with immense stamina, else the two of you never would have lasted past the third or fourth rounds. 

A smirk appeared across your face at the thought of him and everything he had given you last night. Even with how insufferable he was as soon as he decided to talk, his mouth seemed proficient in other things. 

You sipped your coffee as students began to file in, lazily scuffing their feet across the floor, urgent to get a muffin. 

Despite your urge to busy your mind with schoolwork and your plans for the day, it kept falling back to that stupid Gryffindor boy.

His fingers weren’t the most skilled, nor was the rest of his body, but he followed instructions like he was born to do so. 

But even though he had done so well for you last night, and even though he’d seemed so eager to please, your mind couldn’t help but stray when you were with him last night. It couldn’t help but stray even now. Stray to a different boy.

Theodore Nott. The most gorgeous boy you’d ever laid your eyes on. Draco had introduced you to him during your first year; he’d said their fathers knew each other. Needless to say, you’d knew you wanted to be with him from the moment you saw him.

Even when you had no others, Theodore Nott was your goal. 

Seconds into thinking about Theo, and you were already thinking about his body, and replacing Cormac’s touch with his. Just like you had last night.

Perhaps it was unfair to Cormac, but you both knew you hadn’t hooked up for ‘love’—more like mutual attraction and convenience. 

You were thinking about the way Cormac had gasped above you and the way his mouth had felt on you, then suddenly it was Theo’s mouth where his had been, and Theo’s hands holding yours to the bed. 

It was enough to make you readjust in your seat just a bit. Even your fantasies of Theo made you red in the face. How pathetic. 

But, Merlin, if it wasn’t so nice to picture…his hands running down—

“Mind if I sit here?”

You glanced up suddenly, using every bit of will power in your body not to choke and spew coffee everywhere. 

If it wasn’t Theodore fucking Nott standing right before your eyes, you might have mistook him for an angel. Your eyes widened instinctually.

“E-er, yeah, Theo…take a seat,” you said with a forced smile. 

You watched him like a hawk as he seemed to effortlessly slide against the table, taking his seat before the hundreds of breakfast items lined along the oaken surface. 

If you didn’t know any better, you figured that he knew you were staring at him over your coffee mug, but he was ignoring it. He seemed to be considering his meal options, rather than focusing on you.

“So, how are you?” you asked, swallowing thickly. He glanced up as if he’d forgotten you were there. 

“Oh, good…yeah, pretty good. How are you?” 

You felt crazy. There was no way he’d just shown up like this while you’d been imagining him in the dirtiest scenarios—it couldn’t just be a coincidence. Maybe he was a Legilimens. Or one of his friends was. Shit, wasn’t Mattheo Riddle one? 

You smiled nervously. “Uh, yeah, I’m good.” 

“Good.” He selected a mug and poured some tea.

“Yeah…” You took a sip of your coffee.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—” 

A kiss was pressed to the outer point of your jawline. Slightly rough, cracked lips with a hint of stubble across the chin. Warm breath. The scent of leather polish and something earthy. Shit.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said against your ear, sending chills down your arms. Perhaps you had been wrong. Perhaps Cormac had been interested in more of a relationship with you, past the purely physical aspect. 

You swore Theo’s eyes widened and his face fell. He seemed almost shocked or disappointed. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“Hey,” you whispered back, a bit of a smile spreading across your lips at the familiar smell. Despite your lack of real feelings for him, Cormac did make you pretty happy, at least on a surface level. 

“I’m gonna grab something to eat then head back to bed if you want to join me…,” he let his voice trail off in a joking tone as he slipped away. He headed towards the Gryffindor table, never looking back. You watched him as he walked for a few moments then turned back to Theo.

“So, McLaggen, huh?” he asked. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes were surveying your face. He seemed to be searching for something.

“Oh, we—er, I mean, not really,” you chuckled.

“What does that mean?” He didn’t laugh in return.

“We kind of just—”

“Whatever…it’s none of my business.” He cut you off. He took one large sip from his mug, draining its contents before turning to go. You hopped to your feet.

“Theo, I—” you started to call after him, but he was already gone. Fuck, was he mad?

You sat back down and wrapped your fingers back around your cup. Something in you deflated like it had been poked with a needle—maybe it was your heart…or your stomach. You weren’t sure.

Cormac fluttered about the Gryffindor table, talking here and there, and grabbing bits of food. Your eyes followed him, watching his every movement. 

You could see the muscles rippling beneath his pajama tee shirt—a gray cotton number that fit him in all the right places; could see the honey curls that curled over his eyes; could see the way his eyes flicked over to you every so often. Damn, the way he looked at you was so good…

But Theo was something else entirely. If Cormac was fire, Theo was electricity. 

Theo replaced everything—Cormac’s eyes, lips, fingers. It was as if every memory was being replaced by him and there was nothing you could do to control it. 

Then, before you could blink, and realize what was happening, Theo was walking back through the door. And also making a bee line for Cormac. Shit. 

You stood slowly, waiting to see if you should intervene—or to see if you were just imagining the whole Theo-interested-in-you situation. 

A few moments passed where Theo said one thing, Cormac said another, Theo pointed at you, Cormac said another thing and then laughed. Whatever he said earned a few chuckles from his friends sitting around him. 

There was a beat. 

Then Theo punched Cormac as hard as he could. 

You gasped and rose to run toward the group that had now begun to swarm around Theo. It seemed that whoever had been laughing with Cormac obviously supported him enough to try and attack Theo, because once you’d gotten over there, they’d already laid a couple punches to Theo. 

Never mind he was up against three other guys, he was holding his own. Every time they successfully landed a punch, Theo would fire back with one of his own. And he’d fire back hard. 

“Stop!” you shouted, attempting to force yourself between them. Without looking, Theo spared an arm for a moment long enough that he could keep you pushed back behind him. 

“No, Theo! Cormac! That’s enough!” You struggled against Theo. 

Finally, you’d wrestled enough that you slipped free from Theo’s guard and slipped past them. You pushed him back as hard as you could, and turned to face the other boys as quickly as you could so they wouldn’t force themselves past you. 

“All of you stop it right now!” You shouted, panting heavily from the effort it took to push Theo away. “You come with me.”

You pulled Theo behind you by his hand and exited through the looming doors of the Great Hall, leaving Cormac and his goons in shock. In their defense, a lot had happened in about five minutes.

Once through the doors, you Disapparated quickly, never letting go of Theo’s hand. You landed in your dormitory. 

A quick survey of the room and a mumbled locking spell later, the two of you were alone and Theo was bleeding. 

You conjured a bit of gauze and ointment from somewhere in the hospital wing, promising you’d return it later.

Sitting Theo down gently on the edge of your bed, you began to gently apply a bit of the soaked gauze to the cut on his cheek and the blood seeping from his nose. He hissed ever so slightly at the stinging, but kept his eyes on you.

“Why did you hit him?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. His eyes moved away from you.

A few moments of silence passed. The minute you thought he might never say something, he spoke up.

“McLaggen’s not a good guy.”

You scoffed. “Really? That’s all you have to say? You hit Cormac because he’s ‘not a good guy?’ There’s billions of people who aren’t good people that I don’t go around decking every time I see them! Why did you really hit him, Theo?”

You stared him down, demanding an answer with every glance he cast your way. 

“Because of what he said about you.” 

You were taken aback. “W-what did he say?”

***

Theo walked out of the Great Hall, trying his best to swallow the rage that was building up in his throat. Of course you were with someone. You were absolutely perfect. It was false hope for him to have thought he’d ever had a chance with you. He threw his plans from his mind. 

As he stormed through the stone halls, flashes of the way McLaggen had come up right behind you and touched you like he owned you, pissed him off so badly he was shaking. 

The way his lips had touched your cheek, the way you’d smiled so softly, the way you’d looked at him afterwards. It was clear you pitied him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with you. It wasn’t your fault. If you wanted McLaggen, that was fine. He just needed…he just needed to make sure you were being treated right. 

On a whim, he turned back around before he could stop himself, and marched back into the Great Hall. 

If Theo couldn’t have you, he at least needed to ensure that whoever did have you was treating you right. You deserved it more than anyone did.

He spotted McLaggen leaned around a couple other guys, chattering and laughing. Honestly, just the sight of the jock pissed him off. 

“Hey! McLaggen!” The dirty blonde boy glanced up, eyebrows quickly shifting from shocked to on his guard. 

“Nott.” He nodded his head toward Theo. The boys gathered around him seemed to look up too, always prepared for some kind of conflict.

If they hadn’t known any better, Theo would have guessed they assumed this was a Quidditch issue. But it wasn’t. 

“Can I talk to you alone?” Theo asked.

“What for? If this is about the Quidditch pitch this weekend, McGonagall already said—” McLaggen started.

“It’s not about that,” Theo interrupted him. He was right, Cormac did think this was a Quidditch issue. Why else would Theo want to interact with him?

“Oh, wait…this is about them, isn’t it?” McLaggen laughed, nodding his head in your direction. Theo’s jaw twitched at the thought of him talking about you.

“I just wanted to say that they’re really important to me, and I want you to take care of them.”

“What—are you their dad?” McLaggen snorted.

“No, man. But they’re a very close friend of mine and I want to ensure that you’re going to be good to them.” Theo pointed in your direction without thinking about it. 

“Who are we talking about again?”

Theo’s jaw clenched at his response.

“Man, come on. I’m not asking for a lot. I care about my friend.”

“Are you sure they’re just your friend? I could’ve sworn they screamed your name last night.” 

The blood drained from Theo’s face as he heard McLaggen’s words. He was stunned for a moment.

“What did you say?” Theo muttered, barely able to form words.

“I said, ‘when I was fucking them last night, I think they said your name.’ It didn’t really matter anyways, because they were just a distraction for me. They’re not the prettiest thing, but good enough when they’re on their knees—”

Theo couldn’t handle it anymore. Without a second thought or a blink, Theo swung his fist at Cormac’s jaw as hard as he could. He didn’t know who this fucker thought he was, but he wasn’t going to talk about you like that. 

Somewhere distantly, he thought he heard you shout his name, but he’d started something he couldn’t just walk away from. 

***

“That’s what he said about you… I couldn’t just let him get away with that. Someone had to show him some consequences.” 

From the beginning, you had insisted that whatever was happening between you and Cormac was purely situational, but somehow his words still hurt. 

You were flashing between angry and sad and hurt and mortified—you didn’t know what to feel. Had you really screamed Theo’s name last night? The fact that you genuinely couldn’t say whether you did or not, made you scared. 

What did Theo think? Was he disgusted?

“Theo, I think the asshole was just trying to ramp you up,” you chuckled nervously. “I didn’t…s-scream your name last night.” The last words were little more than a whisper. You averted your eyes, finding the stone floor quite interesting all of a sudden. You couldn’t believe you were having to say that.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Theo breathed. He seemed much closer to you now, then he had been before. His breaths mingled with yours slowly…melodically…

Your eyes flickered between him and the floor, only viewing him through split seconds where his darkened skin flashed against the sunlight outside. Fuck, he was beautiful. 

How many times had you imagined tracing that olive skin? 

“Er, yes, of course,” you said distantly. “You can ask me anything, Theo.”

“Have…you ever…” 

His words came out thickened and slow, as if they were honey dripping from his lips. They poured wetly through his teeth, hot and searing. You could feel them cover your body, sliding delicately over your skin and covering your mind. The syllables that left his lips had your head spinning. You felt as if you might be sick.

“...had any feelings…”

His lips shuddered slightly between words, his eyes were looking directly into yours, the contact never wavering. You had plucked up the courage to stare up into those oceanic features, but just enough to get the gist of what he was asking. You couldn’t bear to look at him as you debated your answer.

“...for me…?”

Fuck.

Your eyelids fluttered closed. A deep sigh pushed from your nostrils as your lips pinched together. If you had known that sleeping with Cormac McClaggen would somehow set into motion the timeline that would out your long-lived crush on Theodore Nott, you’d never have said yes to the bastard. Besides, it wasn’t as if you weren’t thinking of Theo the whole time—so much so that you apparently had “screamed his name.” Merlin, this was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you. 

“Theo, uh… I don’t know if this is a good—” you started.

“Please,” he shuddered, his gentle hands pressing softly to either cheek. He tilted your head upwards to force more eye contact. The physical touch had you reeling. You had never been so close to him before, except for in your mind. “If you have, I need to know. I will not force anything from you, but I need to know.”

Your eyes flickered back and forth nervously as you summoned any strength that was left floating around in your fleeting esteem. You wanted so badly to tell him. Tell him about all those dinners you’d left early because your mind was so clouded with thoughts of him, about all of the classes you’d been called on to answer a question you weren’t even aware was being asked because you were too busy sketching him in your books, about all of the nights your fingers had slipped beneath your silk covers to pleasure yourself from a mere thought of him. 

A glimpse of him in your mind’s eye had been more than enough for years and years, but now—with your head cradled beneath his strong hands—you feared it’d never be enough again.

“Yes,” you choked out. The word came out small and harmless, as if you’d been holding your breath for too long before letting it out. 

And before you were able to wrench your face from his grasp, he’d leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. 

A muffled yelp of surprise slipped out between the two of you, but he swallowed the noise with a deep sigh. Despite never imagining this was how your confession of love would go, you couldn’t help but appreciate that it was happening now. 

Everything in you urged you to pull away and demand he leave for assuming you wanted to be kissed. But the child harboring a deep love for the boy they’d spotted on the train all those years ago pushed you to curl your fingers into the soft, brown strands atop his head.

A slight moan, almost in that of relief, was pressed into your mouth. His hands released your face and wrapped around your waist, clutching tightly to your waistband. He pulled you closer to him, his chest bumping yours. 

He wanted you, he wanted you, he wanted you, and he’d fucking gotten you. He reminded himself to punch Enzo and Mattheo in the gut when he got away from you. That was, if he ever pulled away from you. The feel of your lips on his was something out of a dream—one that his wildly imaginative mind could not have even mustered up. 

And finally, after years of debating, a shitty one-night stand, and thousands of shower pep-talks, Theo had finally worked up the nerve to taste your lips. And you had finally worked up the nerve to swallow your pride and confess your love to Theo, rather than projecting it through other vectors. 

And though the two of you would eventually pull apart, giggle quietly to one another, and announce your newfound infatuation for each other to all of your friends the following day, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Everything had fallen into place except for one thing. 

Theo, as you would soon come to learn, always knew when something was wrong—oftentimes even when you didn’t realize it yourself. He would come to prove this many times over the following years of your relationship, but none better than when he had managed to learn a spell just for you. 

A spell that completely evaporated all of Cormac McClaggen’s clothes from his dormitory—and his body—whilst in the middle of Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

“That’ll show the fucker,” Theo had whispered into your ear amongst the loud bickering and laughing. 

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithhideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @abaker74, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @kissesbyarabella, @synicaljah

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[4mrplumi]

ZERO (ii): SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs. 

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, toxic relationships, fem love interest, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive compulsive disorder, paranoia, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; this entry is skippable! while ive done work to establish the laws and details for the insert and the world around them, the batfamily moments one would look for scattered across. the prologue is planned for this world building exactly, and the next part will be focused on the family.

you have to be prepared. profiled. planned. not paranoid. you are not paranoid.

plans upon plans, plots behind plots, ploys behind ploys. by sixteen, you had your entire life planned out, exactly what you'd do, what you’d do if that didn’t work out, and another two back up plans just in case. you were prepared for yourself to get moved around like this too, driving into the third option you’d laid for your life. with its own backup plans, own what if’s and what not’s, probables and situations.

order. organisation. prepared.

it only makes you a little sick to see your behaviour mirrored on the man of the house, with his contingencies and protocols. but you’re not that stuck up, surely. you do it only out of resentment, you're nothing like him. he and your family are unable to save the scraps they've left, you have to do this to make up for the mess they've created.

you make sure none of your outings, meeting areas, contact lists or even the names you sign on grocery bills are the same. you can’t let any common clue stick out, whether it’s in your civilian life, or under the duty you’ve taken up. even though you’re relatively low on their radar right now, studying the world’s greatest detective’s tactics and those of his rogues has taught you that a frayed past never does anyone any good. it was a backup plan, a just in case, in the event you gained too much unwanted attention.

you want your family out of your business. it’s funny how the teenage, "i’m my own person" phase has so morbidly warped in your life. but you mean it. you don’t trust them with their rules, and will not risk anything trying to correct their errors and making yourself a target. they can live in oblivion, but you won't let them intrude. you don’t trust them.

to ensure your “friends”, as you have termed them, stay similarly in line, you make sure they update you on everything. no detail of common interest is hidden, because everything is common, aligned, on your principles and clues. everything must be known, not because you are paranoid. you check in on them, their health, their whereabouts, their families. they’re in debt, with not much space to refuse, taking the burner phones you force into their hands wearily. but sentimental isn’t the best word to use for you.

you are concerned for the wellbeing of your accomplices only to the extent that they remain in your line of work, alive. yes, you will feed their families and see to their wounds, but only and only to tip the scales of their debts towards you. it’s the exact reason why you make sure the work you put on them isn’t too much, so that there's a low chance that scale could be imbalanced, this time, against your favour. they need to remain in your control, to propel your movements and wipe out the instance of a snitch, a tattle tale.

in a way, with much reluctance, this is a trait you’ve picked up from the batman. you’ve learnt that his training comprises many different things, how to stop a man from running, how to disarm their guns, how to keep them from fleeing. but never how to kill.

of course, you don’t do as much fighting as he does, but you’ve taken the liberty to curve his ways to suit you. you’ll teach the people who work for you how to figure out plots, hidden intentions, the next move and the one after that. but never your next move.

you’ve wondered morbidly, only once, if he’d be proud of you, if your skills were somewhere more suitable, per say. but you have no intentions to change your ways for his peace of mind. you do not care for his pride.

you’ve made of yourself an independent dependant, unreliable. you'd caught on early that having expectations from others and expectations on yourself was an unnecessary burden. your first year in the manor was terrible, and it has improved only out of your isolation, your distrust.

you trusted just about no one, and made sure no one trusted you. no debt, no obligation.

you had to know everything, but not because you were paranoid.

there are only five people out of the handful you keep, allowed into your inner circle. people to confide in and accompany you when you need a plus one. they’re the easiest to keep in line, students or workers, and of course, her. your ‘girlfriend’ who too was a device for your plotting.

however, with her drawling voice and less than weary affections, you need to remind her of it often. you’ve heard very little endearment from people in your life; called “kid” or “doll” by the people in your childhood, your proper legal name by your ‘family’, and a plethora of less pleasant things by self-proclaimed rivals in school and on the streets.

so when she takes to calling you angel, you pause from smacking her hand away from curling in your hair. in an attempt to decipher her intentions, knowing damn well she did all this to gain your favour (you would not so kindly give it), you think upon it. for more hours than considered normal.

is she calling you inhumane? damian had said the same thing to you once, coming across your little hobby in the greenhouse once. is she calling you frightening? you were kinder to her than the others, just by a sliver. dick grayson had looked at you with weariness once, perhaps seeing the hint of a familiar scowl on you. or is she genuinely, as genuine as the glorified scum of your accomplices get, being genuine? an angel… you.

you don’t dwell on it any longer after that, pushing her hand aside and her legs off off of yours, leaving. you were not weak, and if that was what she was trying from you, it would not work. you were not weak, and not ashamed to show that you weren’t. people deserve to know their faults. and you’re no exception.

you did not ever, ever hide your disappointment nor disgust. damian wayne was scorned out loud for his empathy, dick grayson scowled at for his sensitivity and tim drake hissed at for his distance. jason todd for his dramatics, but not to his face, and duke for his concerns.

you judged, as an interrupting scoff that broke their peace, and did none of it for fun. you did not gain anything by irritating your brothers, nor did you hope to lose anything. you were speaking your mind, what they deserved to know.

if they resented you for it, fine! you couldn't care less, since you didn’t owe each other anything for it. you wanted them out of the way, and needed none of their kindness. you are unbothered.

you are not paranoid, but you can always be more prepared.

> a/n; i hope i’ve made a good effort to build on the mindset here. i had to rewrite this whole chapter cus the styles weren’t matching up (- - ;;) the prologues are super just set ins. plot starts from ch1 that i'm hoping to get out before my exams.

i’m incredibly happy that people are finding interest in this!! however, i need opinions on the relationship dynamics you think would be visible with the “friends”. i will expand on it maybe in a drabble? even though this is something i’m writing, i think it's important to know what kind of thoughts my sentences create. this means valid criticism on the writing is also appreciated (just please don’t be mean).

thank you for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr

[poweredbycoffee]

A Month of Sundays

Pairing: florist!San x fem!reader (also starring nosy neighbor Wooyoung)

Genre: fluff, a little angst, and a side of adultery

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Four Sundays, four encounters with a handsome florist who treats you better than your boyfriend ever could. “Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.” San’s comment that he’d have been a florist if he hadn’t been an idol was too romantic to not turn into a story.

Sunday, March 7

You’d always had a habit of wandering off on your own. Whether it was hiding behind the bags of rice as a child while your parents did the shopping or being found halfway across the library with a pile of books in your arms, you’d been born curious about the world around you. An open door was an invitation you’d more often than not accept if what was within intrigued you.

Unbeknownst to you, this time it was about to change your life.

You almost tiptoed into the flower shop, not having seen anyone inside, and wondered for a moment if you’d mistakenly walked into someone’s home instead. Wooden shelves were lined with pots of various shapes and sizes, the vines trailing out of some of them sprawling across the windowsill. Wire plant stands were full of succulents and vases overflowed with roses, lilies, and daisies. What appeared to be a park bench along one wall had a basket of chrysanthemums sitting at one end.

“Hello?”

You looked around for signs of non plant life and, not getting a response, tried again. “I’m sorry, the door was open. I’ll come back another time.”

“We’re open until seven the rest of the week,” a voice said from behind the counter along the back wall. “Today it’s six.”

When the owner of the voice stood up, you found yourself wishing he looked more like your grandmother than a male model. Leaving? Did I say I was leaving? Just kidding! “Oh! You—you work here?”

Back when you’d worked in retail, you’d hated that question yet here you were asking it. Way to go. Insert foot in mouth.

He looked around then back at you, his dark eyes taking on a sudden spark of amusement. “No one else has showed up to put the apron on.”

“Sorry, that came out totally wrong. I meant-“

I meant that you look like you should be giving a smoldering glare from an ad in a Seoul subway.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t expect a flower shop to be open on Sundays. Seems like everywhere else here is closed except unless there’s food involved. I’m not used to it.”

“Thought I’d try it for a while to see if it makes a difference. In a small town like this there isn’t much to do so I may as well try to make something of it. Besides, I like being with the flowers. They listen well.”

“Is it true that talking to plants helps them grow?”

“I like to think so.” He chuckled. “And if it doesn’t, at least they don’t seem to mind my trying to carry on a conversation.”

You glanced at his name tag and blushed seeing how fitting it was after your eyes had lingered a little too long on his broad shoulders. San. The word for mountain. Of course it is.

“But I’m sure they’re happy I’m talking to someone else for once.”

You weren’t sure if it was the combined scent of all the flowers making you lightheaded or the rush of seeing an attractive man who wasn’t your boyfriend, but both were for the moment irresistible. So am I.

Sunday, March 14

You didn’t know why you’d decided to visit the flower shop again on White Day of all days. It should’ve been your boyfriend smelling the bouquets of a dozen roses each that lined a shelf in their sparkling cut glass vases, not you. Socially constructed holiday or not, it didn’t feel right.

The problem was that San knew it too.

”Gosh, they’re so pretty. Especially the pink ones.”

“I’ll drop a hint for your someone special if I see him. It’s White Day after all. Tell me what he looks like.”

“He wouldn’t buy these for me.” Your lips pressed into a flat line as you stared at the roses. “Flowers are a waste of money if they’re going to die anyway.”

“The practical type, huh?” San shook his head. “There’s always miniature roses in pots but they aren’t as pretty if you ask me. Don’t get me started on the men that buy their girlfriends a cactus. What does that say about them? You think she’s too sharp to touch?”

You couldn’t help but smile at how worked up he was getting. “Low maintenance.”

“Or is it because women think that wanting more is wrong?”

He might not have meant his words to be so profound, but they gave you pause. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve spent the past three years gaslighting myself into being okay with only getting what I need instead of something I want.

“I should go. It’s getting dark outside.”

“Nothing for you today?”

“Nothing today. Thank you.”

His brow furrowed with concern for a moment before he composed his face into its usual friendly employee expression. “See you around.”

You waved and walked outside, closing the door behind you.

But what is it I want?

You’d moved here so you could move in with your boyfriend, the security of his new job and the promise of a better one for you in a more urban area making you think it was exactly what you needed to get your life together before you turned thirty. You were supposed to be happy. Hopeful for marriage, even. Yet the feeling that something was missing gnawed away at you in those quiet moments beside him in bed, that you’d wandered down the wrong path you didn’t yet realize was a dead end.

“I have got to find another place to lurk before he kicks me out for not buying anything.” You sighed and leaned against the wall outside the shop, watching the sun sink behind the nearby office buildings. “Why couldn’t I avoid going home at a cafe like a normal person?”

“You? Normal?” A familiar voice rang out from the crosswalk followed by laughter. “Since when?”

“Very funny. What, did my other half send out a search party?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “No, I just figured I’d find you here myself. Exactly where I found you last week, the week before, the week before that…”

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him in the ribs, almost sending the iced Americano he held flying. “You made your point. Thanks for not telling on me.”

“What are friends for? I see you resisted the urge to buy another lucky bamboo.”

Wooyoung, one of your few neighbors who gave you the time of day, had quickly become a close friend who could be counted on for three things: good coffee, good gossip, and not telling your boyfriend where you’d been. Everyone else’s tea was free to spill in his opinion and you were grateful he was still keeping a lid on yours.

“I don’t think it’s helping. The money rolls in, the money rolls out to the investment portfolio. We haven’t gone out for dinner in months.”

“He’s not taking you on dates? Stingy.”

“He says it’s for our future. Which I get, but would a little fun kill him?”

“Probably.”

You felt less guilty than usual for laughing. “And then what?”

Wooyoung grinned and jerked his head in the direction of the flower shop. “Run away with the sexy florist and send me a postcard from your honeymoon.”

“Even if I were single—which I’m not—for all I know he isn’t.”

“He is.” Wooyoung sipped his coffee and wiggled his eyebrows. “His sister used to work there and ask him when he was going to get married. I went to school with her.”

“Okay, and for all I know he wouldn’t be interested.”

“You’re lonely, he’s lonely. See, already one thing in common.”

“I feel like you’re ignoring me when I say I’m not single.”

“I promised I’d never tell on you.”

Your face grew hot at the thought of San being the other man in your life and you shook your head to try to dislodge the thought of being kissed on the shop counter. “We should get home before we both get in trouble.”

Wooyoung gestured toward the crosswalk. “After you.”

Sunday, March 21

“I know what day it is…” Wooyoung teased you as you stood next to him sorting your respective loads of recycling. “Let me go with you this time. You can see him and I’ll get some flowers for my mom.”

“You got flowers at the grocery store earlier.”

He looked vaguely offended. “Maybe I wanted to get extra.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s easier for me when no one else is around.”

“What? Does he not have other customers at the same time as you?”

You tried to recall if you’d seen anyone else the past two Sundays and paused, crumpled plastic water bottle in hand, when you realized you hadn’t. “Not when I’ve been there.”

“Lucky you, alone with him surrounded by roses. It’s like a drama.”

“And you’re the guy yelling at the TV for the main couple to kiss before the last episode.”

“Hey! Nothing wrong with enjoying a little romance as a man.” He tossed a handful of junk mail into the paper bin. “You smile more on Sundays, you know.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish it wasn’t. I’ll only look suspicious.”

“I’d rather you look happy and when you’ve seen him you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile thinking of his soft voice greeting you, the atmosphere of the flower shop almost like a library where neither of you dared disturb the peaceful blooming of the eternal spring inside.

“And there it is. Go on, I’ll finish sorting yours for you.”

“Are you sure?”

He grinned and tossed a milk carton into a bin as if he was practicing a basketball free throw. “Get out of here. You have an appointment to keep.”

Fifteen minutes later, seeing San’s face appear from behind a bucket of lilies, you knew you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Sunday, March 28

San had almost finished closing up the shop that night when he heard a rattling sound behind him, thinking it was a customer who hadn’t bothered to check the hours painted on the front windows. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

The rattling continued and he leaned the broom against the counter with a grumble. “Ah, really…”

“San? It’s me.” You tugged on the door handle and knocked on the glass with increasing desperation. “Please, I need your help.”

At the sound of your voice he turned on his heel and hurried to the door, unlocking it from inside and closing it behind you. “What’s wrong?”

“We had a bad fight and I didn’t know who else to talk to. My one friend wasn’t picking up the phone. I was halfway here when it started raining and I’m so sorry, I know you must think I’m insane.” Rain dripped from your hair on the tile floor and your voice trembled with every word. “Can I stay here until the storm passes?”

“Of—of course. I’ll turn the heat up so you won’t catch a cold.”

You crossed the room to stand by the radiator, holding your hands just above it to chase the chill away until you could feel your fingers again. “That will teach me to leave the house without an umbrella.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He unlocked a door just behind the counter and jogged up a flight of stairs you’d never known was there. “Getting something else.”

Whether it was kindness or a practiced efficiency in dealing with sudden calamities, his willingness to help with no questions asked made you want to cry from sheer gratitude. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you wiped them away with your jacket sleeve. He has enough to deal with without seeing me like this.

Minutes later San returned, a mug of steaming tea in each hand and a blanket under one arm. One mug he placed on the counter before handing you the other. “Take this. The chamomile will calm you.”

“And the blanket?”

He unfolded it and draped it around your shoulders. “More warmth. Does that help?”

“A little.” You sipped the tea and felt your shoulders finally release the tension they’d held since you’d left. “If I asked you to try to spend more time with me but your boss wanted to increase your hours, what would you do?”

“Work more during the week to have more weekends free. I take it that wasn’t the answer, however.”

“Would you think it was selfish to ask?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Relationships take work, you can’t expect the other person to wait for you to schedule them into your life.”

“Thank you. That was all I needed to hear.”

The two of you drank in silence, listening to the tapping of the rain against the tiled roof.

“Funny how you somehow scheduled yourself into mine, now that I think about it. A month of Sundays one by one.” He raised an eyebrow. “Had you not come, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“Gone home on time?”

San put his mug on the counter with a soft smile. “Yes, but something would have felt like it was missing. I get used to seeing the same people and when I don’t it’s…lonely. I used to think the quiet was nice but I’d rather have you.”

Your heart felt like it rose into your throat so quickly you had to choke it back down, gasping for air in the process.

“Don’t say anything yet or I’ll lose the nerve to do this.”

“Do wh—“

Before you could fully process what was happening his hands were on your hips, lifting you onto the counter with surprising ease. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then close your eyes.”

You did as he asked and felt his breath against your lips for a second before his mouth met yours. Your arms wrapped around his waist, relieved to finally hold him, and pulled him close until he stood between your legs with his chest flush against yours.

“What the hell are we doing?”

He smiled up at you. “Whatever you want.”

Your lips traced from his ear down his neck and he shivered at the feeling, which you took as a sign to continue, repeating the same on the other side. “I haven’t felt this way in so long, I…”

One hand moved to your lower back to rub slow circles at the base of your spine. “What matters is how you feel now. If you want to forget him, forget him.”

“You seem willing to help.”

He laughed softly. “You’re quite a special customer.”

“That must be why you never banned me after a month of barely buying anything.”

“I was worried about you. If I didn’t see you I wondered if you were all right but it wasn’t my place to ask.” San kissed the tip of your nose before kissing you again, this time more gently. “So I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.”

Your vision blurred again with barely suppressed tears, unsure of where to begin untangling the way he made you feel from your present situation. I wish it was you I went home to. I wish it was you kissing me hello. I wish it was you on top of me in bed.

“I can’t go back.”

“Neither can I.”

“Then where do we go?”

He was close enough then that his hips were almost aligned with yours, the growing bulge in his jeans easily felt against your stomach. “I think we can stay right where we are.”

You woke up the next morning with only two things on your mind: how good in bed he’d turned out to be and how little you cared that you’d cheated. It was more or less over between us anyway.

San was sound asleep against your side with one arm slung across your torso, his fingers curled around your hip as if he was holding you in place.

I’m just…speeding up the process.

Not that it mattered the morning after, but he really hadn’t left you much of a choice. His kisses hadn’t been so intense that he’d completely broken your resolve. You’d tried—three times, in fact—to slide off the counter and into the night before things went too far. The problem was that each attempt had been met with the same plea murmured in your ear and the same hands beneath your shirt.

“Don’t leave me, I’d miss you.”

And so you hadn’t, wrapping your arms and legs around him to allow him to carry you upstairs to his small apartment above the shop.

“Let’s go to bed. It’s getting late.”

You’d smiled into his neck, knowing odds were good you wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. “Not even dinner first?”

“I did give you flowers at least,” he’d teased. “Effort to be a gentleman was made.”

As you tried to stretch your legs, which were still heavy from sleep, the soreness between them reminded you of how long it had been since you’d been made to feel it was a good thing. Gentleness had only gone so far before you’d needed more from him—and lucky for you he’d been happy to oblige. “Mm, that was nice.”

San felt your shifting weight on the thin mattress and rubbed his eyes until they fully opened. “What is?”

“Last night. You. It’s been a while since I had any.”

“Me too.“

You moved to lie on your side in order to be face to face with him. “You’re joking. You don’t have women lined up around the block giving you their numbers?”

“None that I was interested in. Besides, until you came along I was always too busy running the shop. I inherited it from my grandfather and didn’t want to ruin his legacy by letting it fail while I went on dates.”

“That explains why I’ve never seen a part timer instead of you.”

He sighed. “It’s the Choi family business to be a workaholic.”

“How long has it been since you took a night off?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Sounds like we both needed it.” Your fingers slowly traced the outline of his abs as he arched his back slightly, evoking a cat enjoying the sun that had begun to shine through the window. “I’m trying to make this part last before I have to make what’s going to be the worst call of my life.”

“Don’t call him. Go home.”

“It’ll be easier if I tell him without seeing his face.”

“If he gets upset and does any damage to anything of yours, you need to be able to gather the essentials and leave.”

You winced knowing he had a point. While your boyfriend had rarely raised his voice at you, he still had a short temper that manifested itself in passive aggression that cut just as deeply. “Where will I go? I have some savings but it’s only enough for a couple of months. He paid most of the rent.”

San brushed your hair away from your face with a smile. “You’ll come back here. I’ll order some food and wait for you. If you’re in danger, you call me or that nosy neighbor of yours to come get you.”

“Wooyoung said your sister used to work here. He knew her from school. Small world.”

“Too small. He’ll be messaging Haneul the second he hears what happened and telling her all about how I finally got a life.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s all he wants, a source of entertainment.”

“He’s already said, and I quote, ‘run away with the sexy florist’. At least we know whose side he’s on.” You kissed the palm of his hand. “He’s been covering for me for a while.”

His ears turned as crimson as the roses on display downstairs. “Sexy?”

“He’s not wrong.”

“In all seriousness, please be safe. I want my flower girl back here in one hour and in one piece.”

Your heart skipped at how casually he’d called you his and for a moment your fear of what was to come disappeared. The future was more blurred than it had been before, but at least for now you could clearly see who would be by your side for it.

“Come to think of it, I never did buy flowers from you this entire time. Even for myself.”

San kissed you deeply. “Too late. I’ll just have to give you enough of them to make up for it.”

[scoobysnakz]

ok but imagine loser!Miguel finding out that the reader has been seeing someone (casually, nothing physical… yet) and he has to try to put a stop to it while also having to listen to her swoon over said man RAAAAHHHH

AHHH OMG YESSS!!! LOVE THIS IDEA SMMM OMG

loser miguel who can’t help but get frustrated about the way you ramble on about him with that dopey smile on your face. normally, he’d be over the moon to see you so happy but the fact that it’s because of someone else…

it’s bad enough he can’t bend you over the break room table and pound your sweet cunt with his nose buried in your hair, now he has to contain his jealousy as well.

loser miguel who realises he can’t take this anymore and decides to end whatever silly ‘situationship’ you have going on.

loser miguel who starts pointing out all of the flaws he has, whether or not they’re real aren’t important.

“when was the last time he texted you?” he pipes in one day, forcing himself into the conversation, not that you care, you’re just happy good friend miguel is finally interested in your love life.

“i’m not sure.” you shrug, finger idly tapping the side of your mug half full with the coffee miguel made you. “sometime yesterday, i think.”

he just raises his brow with a sharp breath before walking off, praying that you start to overthink this minor flaw. but he knows you, and he knows you’ll get dragged down an endless rabbit hole of doubt.

loser miguel who inserts himself into your life, hoping that you’ll realize how much more useful he is than him. he starts making you coffee in the morning and bringing in croissants from the café over the road.

he loves the little thank you’s that you coo with a kiss to his cheek when he slides on your coat on your way out and the pretty smile that graces your face when he ‘coincidentally’ bumps into you by your house.

loser miguel who wants to know what’s going on when the two of you have to stay behind to work on something. he slides over to your side of your desk, his hand moving over the top of yours to stop your endless scribbling.

you look up at him through heavy eyes, the lack of sleep obviously getting to you. he can tell you haven’t had a good nights rest in a while and he’ll be damned if it’s not because your staying up all night texting your special someone.

“hmm?”

that soft, quiet hum resonates throughout miguel, travelling up his arms and legs and settling in the pit of his stomach. the feebleness of it makes him want to melt right then and there, pull you into a tight embrace until you fall asleep in his arms because the mere sight of you too tired to even ask a proper question is more than enough to make his heart ache.

“your eyes are all scrunched up, mami,” he sighs, a calloused hand coming up to push some of your hair out of your face. “when was the last time you got a good eight hours?”

you shrug, not even bothering to lie to him like the last few times he’s asked. “dunno.”

the next thing you know, miguel has his big strong arms wrapped you as you bawl your eyes out about how sucky this guy is. he’s not as understanding and kind and other guys you’ve been with, he doesn’t soften from your love and he doesn’t stare at you with those lovestruck eyes.

and while you feel so vain and self absorbed for expecting this from some random guy, miguel is practically dancing with glee. he knows why you expect all this, why you crave the gentleness and love of this man. he’s put these standards in your head, he’s the one who has been treating you this way because he’s who’s best for you.

you just need to realize it.

loser miguel who has to leave you alone to finish of the assignment for the evening, as much as he hates leaving you on your own, but the fear of you feeling his hardened cock digging into your thigh is much stronger.

he spends the rest of the evening relentlessly fucking his fist, imagining that it’s your tight pussy that squeezing his cock and not his thick fingers.

loser miguel who comes into work sorely disappointed to see you with eye bags big enough to hold two baby elephants and a makeup less face, not like he’s bothered but he knows how you like to doll yourself up for work.

he thought he told you to get a good nights rest !! why on earth are you so tired ??

“did you get any sleep at all?” he scolds, thick arms crossed his chest.

you look up at him, blinking slowly as you try and process his words. “‘course, migs,” you mumble while waving a dismissive hand at him.

“por dios,” he chides.

sliding an arm around your waist, miguel slots himself into the chair next to yours. you let yourself relax against him, your head nuzzling into the warmth of his chest and eyes flickering shut.

“couldn’t sleep.”

how badly he wants to pull you into his lap and let you curl up like a little kitten as you fall asleep clinging onto him like your life depends on it.

he lifts a large hand to smooth the crinkles in your shirt, smiling smugly as you let out a content sigh. “was thinking ‘bout what you’d been saying, how he isn’t good enough because he isn’t nice and stuff,” you admit scornfully, “and started thinking ‘bout things i shouldn’t.”

miguel nods, trying to pay attention to what you’re saying while also attempting to suppress his erection. “mami, you shouldn’t have been thinking about silly things so late, you need your sleep.”

loser miguel who loves the way you cling to him, sleepy mumbling an abundance of apologies as you nuzzle your head into his chest and stare up at him with those fatigued doe eyes.

he’s so grateful that it’s too early for anyone else to be in the lab otherwise he’s be too nervous to be holding you so close. he’s still trying to handle the glares he gets when he holds the door open for you.

loser miguel who whispers sweet words of reassurance as you start to bawl your eyes out all over again. you’re a blabbering mess with reddened eyes and puffy lips that he just can’t resist.

he leans down, face inches away from yours, and breathes in the comfortingly sweet scent of your perfume that he’s grown so accustomed to.

“why won’t he do all the things you say he should? how am i so clueless that i didn’t even realise he should?” you sob helplessly, “you’re always so sweet to me, why can’t he?”

“awww, poor chica,” he coos huskily. the warmth of his voice soothes you slightly, it’s like warm honey trickling past his perfect lips and dripping into your ears until all you can hear is the low rumble of his accent.

loser miguel whose heart nearly stops when you kiss him. never in a million years did he expect you to make the first move. every time he’s fantasised about it, he’d always been the one to pull you in, press you against the wall, whatever it is he’s the bold one.

but now your soft lips are pressed against his and all he can think about is how sickly sweet they taste.

his hand cups the back of your head, feeling the shape of your scalp and the softness of your hair. greedily, he deepens the kiss, cock straining against the seam of his pants. his tongue pushes itself into your mouth, hastily taking in the flavour of you as his desire for you deepens.

loser miguel who is panting and bewildered when you pull away, fingers curling up into the muscle of his chest.

“i was trying to kiss your cheek.”

loser miguel master list

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any tips on pacing? for me I always tend to right way faster then I would like to. thanks!

Writing Notes: Narrative Pacing

The best storytellers across all genres of fiction writing are often masters of the pace at which the story unfolds.

Pacing - refers to how fast or slow the story is moving for the reader.

This is determined by the length of a scene and the speed at which you, the writer, distribute information.

Generally speaking, descriptive passages tend to slow things down, while dialogue and action scenes speed things up—but slowing the pacing of action down at choice moments can also build suspense.

Good pacing is crucial to the flow of a successful narrative and without it, the story is dead on the page.

The reader wants to be immersed in the thoughts and actions of your characters.

They want to feel that they’re in the world you’ve created.

Clunky language, bad dialogue, and poorly-conceived scenes will all draw your reader out of the story.

Pace will help keep them there.

Writing Tips: On Narrative Pacing

Whether it’s through subplots, playing with sentence structure (longer sentences can slow things down, rapid-fire dialogue and short sentences can speed them up), or experimenting with passive versus active voice—here are a few ideas to keep your story moving:

Utilize breathers. By balancing action scenes with more reflective, internal moments, you give the reader an equal dose of excitement and recovery. The quieter moments in any novel—the “negative space”—are the places to share relationship details, a character’s thoughts and memories, and anything a character might do while taking a break. These spaces, which are just as important as the more dramatic scenes, give readers a chance to orient themselves and process their reactions. Too much of the same pace—no matter how exciting it is—will begin to feel tedious to the reader.

Change the order of events. Try a method called in medias res—opening the story in the middle of the action and filling in details later. This works well when you want to capture your reader’s attention quickly, like in a short story. If you are writing something longer, try placing the sole dramatic question of your story upfront while using the rest of the novel to slowly parse out information that leads to the final answer. Your readers will keep reading to discover the answer to the question you’ve given them.

Vary your sentence length. Try breaking up long passages of exposition with short dialogue—even a sentence or two can be refreshing. If you have a very long section of dialogue, insert brief sections of exposition to keep your reader grounded in time and place.

Keep characters physically moving during dialogue. If your characters are on the run and having a conversation in an airport, you can show the numerous distractions they might notice as they walk nervously through the airport. By interspersing brief distractions (clumsy passengers, stern security guards) between segments of dialogue, you prevent the pacing from becoming monotonous.

Reveal information selectively. Writing suspense into any novel is a matter of controlling information—how much you reveal, and when and how you reveal it. In its most practical sense, suspense is a series of incremental steps. While every novel will have a central, overarching storyline that seeks to answer the sole dramatic question, that question is an engine built of thousands of smaller components that carry the reader through each chapter, sustaining their interest along the way.

Vary your narration. In all writing, there are 2 types of narration: scene and dramatic narration. In the former, you show the characters performing an action or having a conversation. This tends to speed up the pacing. In the latter, you simply tell the reader what the characters did, but the event remains “offstage.” This type of narration can slow the story down. To keep pacing from feeling monotonous, it’s a good idea to vary the two modes of writing. Show the reader a scene when it’s interesting or necessary, and use a summary to move over the less exciting parts.

Read the work out loud. Notice the amount of time it takes you to read through a scene and pay attention to how the sentences feel to read and mark where the rhythms naturally change. Where should you slow down? Where should you pause? Where should your pacing gain momentum?

How to Pace Your Novel

How Long Should Book Chapters Be? The overall story arc of a novel is essential, but meticulous construction of individual chapters is just as important to the reader’s experience. Here are a few of David Baldacci's tips for structuring chapters:

Keep scenes and chapters short. David keeps his chapters short—between three to five pages. This keeps the narrative moving at a brisk pace.

Keep your audience asking questions. When a chapter answers a question from a previous chapter, you have the opportunity to introduce a new one. The new question will propel you through the next chapter. A classic example from crime fiction: “Will this serial killer strike again?” becomes “He struck again—now how many more people will he kill?” Keep this up over the course of a novel, and the book will be a page-turner.

Make sure each chapter has a purpose that ties into the bigger story. If you lose sight of the overarching narrative of your novel, your individual chapters can begin to feel aimless. To keep your novel focused and on track, you should have a clear objective with every scene you write.

Don’t fluff up the novel with irrelevant content. Scene-setting and vivid descriptions are critical for a compelling novel, but don’t get bogged down in the details. Focus on sustaining narrative momentum from chapter one onward.

Make your scenes multitask. Driving the plot forward, conveying information, and deepening a character’s development are the three most critical jobs that a chapter can do. The short chapters you write should make use of at least one of these tools, and preferably more than one.

A Writing Exercise on Pacing

One person punches another.

Describe this act in 10 words.

Describe the same act in 100 words.

You’ll find that the second description reads more like the end of a chapter, while the first may sound more like the beginning or middle. 

To follow up, write a scene leading up to the punch and play with sentence lengths.

For the scene leading up to 2, for instance, try making all the preceding sentences no longer than five words apiece.

In the scene leading up to 1, keep all the sentences equally short, except when you get to the action that directly provokes the punch and describe that one action in 100 words.

After completing this exercise, you should see how very different the exact same scene can feel, depending on which elements of that scene are sped through, and which are dragged out.   

A good advice on pacing: Read and learn. The next time you come across a book that keeps you up all night turning pages, give it a second read once you’ve finished and caught your breath. Take a look at what the author does, whether it’s speeding up scenes, slowing them down or shifting points of view at crucial moments. Odds are, you’ll appreciate the book even more… and pick up a few pacing tricks of your own.

Techniques to Slow Down the Pace

Lengthen your sentences

Add descriptions

Include subplots

Use flashbacks and backstory

Add more introspection

Techniques to Speed Things Up

Shorten your sentences

Use more dialogue

Remove (or limit) secondary subplots

Use cliffhangers

Increase the action

There is no formula for a great story: it can be either fast or slow depending on how it is told. So, don’t be afraid to play with your story’s pacing and explore different ways in which a scene can be slowed down or sped up until you find the right fit. Above all, remember that nailing the pace is a matter of balance.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing!

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Obsessive yanderes who can’t stop thinking about their darling. Their thoughts are consumed by them at all times, unable to think of anything or anyone else, no matter how much they try. But why would they want to think of anything else? Their darling is all that truly matters to them, nothing could even hold a candle to how ethereal they are to these yanderes.

Obsessive yanderes who learn everything they can about their darling, listening in on every conversation they can just to find out another detail about their lives and interests. Yanderes who will immediately find a way to relate back to what they’ve learned, desperate to be able to converse with their darling over things they like.

Obsessive yanderes who insert themselves into their darling’s life, whether they like it or not. They’ll cling to their darlings wherever they go, happily chatting their ears off while savoring every second in their presence. Theyll be over the moon if their darling reciprocates their affections, deluding themselves into believing that every smile, every moment they spend together is a sign that they belong with each other, that their darling already belongs to them.

Obsessive yanderes who spend an unhealthy amount of time scrolling through their darlings social media accounts, studying every single photo and video until they can recite the tiniest details from memory. Yanderes who save every piece of media their darling’s appeared in and keep them in a folder saved on their phone, even if it’s from other people’s posts.

Obsessive yanderes who start stalking their darling when the overbearing need to be around them gets too much to handle. Yanderes who follow their darling home from work, from hang outs, from chores, yanderes who learn everything and anything they can about where their darling is going and when so they can keep an eye on them. They never let their darling see them, oh no, that would scare them away! But they’re always there, watching.

Obsessive yanderes who have a whole shrine of photos and belongings from their darling, all taken without their knowledge. Who cares how they got them? All that matters is how dedicated and devoted they are to their darling, no matter how odd it may seem to others. Yanderes who add more to the shrine when they can, desperate to have more of their darling in any way they can have them, at least before they get to be with them.

Obsessive yanderes who will do anything to be with their darling. They’ll change everything about themselves, they’ll become a whole new person if it means their darling will give them a second glance. It doesn’t matter that they’re completely destroying themselves for the sake of someone else, nothing matters more than their darling, nothing. Of course, most of the time they don’t have to change a thing, but if it came down to it they’d be willing to do whatever it took to insure their darling stays with them.

Please…stay with them.

Obsessive yanderes: RAIN, Leo, SASHA, Micah, Gwen, KEITH, Dave, BRIAR

[nickssidewitch]

💘 What The Sturniolo Triplets Are Like In Love ~ Tarot Analysis ✨

With the power of clairvoyance (and all of the other clairs), I think I have a pretty good grasp of what I think the triplets are like when they’re in love with someone. Here are my takes of each of them:

Disclaimer: This is tarot & soul/energy channelling, and not pure facts. Please take what I say with a grain of salt. If you don’t like it, don’t agree, or don’t care, just keep scrolling! 🤍🤎✨

Matt:

A giver. He doesn’t even expect any gifts from you really. But if you do happen to give him something special, he will treasure it for all of your lives together.

Speaking of not expecting anything from you, he doesn't expect you to pay for anything. He's the "put it on my tab" kind of guy. If he ever saw you pulling out your wallet at the end of a date, he'd scoff and ask you with a shocked expression, "What are you doing? Put that away!"

He loves to just be in the same space with you. Whether you're at home, both scrolling endlessly through TikTok on your phones on opposite ends of the couch, or you're both attending a party (which was rare for him prior to you meeting each other, but became a bit more comfortable for him since you were now in his life), just being in an environment knowing you were in the vicinity was enough to keep him satisfied.

He always makes time for his partners. He'd happily cancel a meeting or just not attend an event in order to spend time with you, especially when you're sick or just having a needy day. "Don't worry about it; I'll deal with it later," he'd reassure you before climbing next to you in bed and snuggling up next to you, planting a reassuring and comforting kiss onto your forehead. And if he messed up and you two had an argument the previous day, he would spend the entire next day making it up to you (wink wink).

He'll give you his food if he sees that you're just eyeing at his meal. He would be bringing a forkful of his food to his mouth, and midway he would notice you staring at his fork from the corner of his eye. He'd smirk and roll his eyes, asking you if you want a taste, and you'd nod, trying to hide your excitement of taking that bite. But Matt would notice said excitement as he hears you moan at the taste of his food. You'd beg him again, and he'd comply again, feeding you another bite. And then again. And then again. Until finally, he'd sigh and chuckle, handing you the rest of his plate of food. If he ever noticed you feel bad, he'd wave off your worries and reply, "I'll just get something else or {insert snack here}. I'm not a big eater anyway". Sometimes, you two would even just share the same plate, feeding each other (which is something he would find corny if he saw another couple doing it).

He'd go all out for special romantic days. During events like Valentine's Day or your anniversary, he'd do the whole shebang of leaving rose petals leading to the bed or the bath. Although mentally hating himself for "leaving a mess" in the days or hours he prepared leading up to this special moment, by the time your special romantic day was done, he wouldn't even care about the "mess"- he probably wouldn't even call it one anymore-, offering to clean up the house petal by petal.

He's a true romantic old soul, going on classic dates like those drive-in movie theaters, or going to an old-school diner (which, on special days, would have to be one of those fine dining replicas of those old-school diners since he liked to spend money on his girl during those special days).

He's like a bear when he snuggles. A real heavy bear that doesn't budge, even when you try to push him off. "Nuh-uh," he'd protest if you ever tries to push him off of your body, followed by him adding more (if not all) of his body weight to keep himself against you.

Chris:

He swears he’s not a softy now, but when he finally meets someone that he’s romantically involved with, he turns into an absolute lover-boy— maybe even a bit more than Matt.

He has this way of giving you his undivided attention, stopping his mouth from continuing to yap on just to hear what you have to say. And if his girl's a bigger yapper than him, he'd happily let her take the crown of being the yapper of the couple.

Even if you find what you’re saying to be stupid, he’ll value every single word you say. “No, don’t say that,” he’d protest at your insecurities. “What you’re saying makes sense," or "I'm listening to you, I'm hearing what you're saying."

He loves physical touch, and once he gets in a touchy-feely mood, it’s hard to get him out of it for the day. Hell, maybe he’d be the type to designate days where he's just latched onto you, following you around the house like a damn puppy.

He's a starer, but not the weird kind. If you were speaking, he'd stare at you, paying attention to your words, watching the way your lips would curve when you speak, observing your gesticulation. He'd look at you from afar if you were talking to a friend at the other side of the room at a party. You would happen to catch him staring at you doing your hair and makeup as you look up through the reflection of the mirror of your vanity.

He communicates the best through music. Whether it’s him showing you his favorite song for the day or even sending you a song that expresses how he feels while he’s in another room in the middle of you two not speaking to each other after an argument, one of his languages is music. You'd receive a notification on your phone and look at the message, seeing that it's a link to a song from Chris. You'd roll your eyes at his message, being that you two just had an argument and you told him you needed space to cool off, but a small chuckle would leave your lips, finding that small action of his to be rather endearing.

He loves dates where you two are competing against each other. From laser tag to air hockey, he would love being competitive with you. He loves the idea of rubbing his wins in your face, constantly bringing them up from the ride back home all the way until the you're both tucked away in his bed to sleep. He secretly likes when you're the one who behaves that way though, bragging about your wins all day and laughing at his losses. And although he would never ever admit that, the smile that formed on his lips every time you taunted him told you enough. And there was something about being competitive on your dates that would always end up translating in the bedroom...

Nick:

He is so into you (So Into You by Tamia came on in my head). Like his world just revolves around you. You’re just the Polaris in his night sky, shining brightly and leading him to the best paths. You shine brighter than any other star in his sky.

He’ll hit you up late at night “just to talk for a bit”. And by a bit, he means the whole night till the morning (like 5 AM) when one of you happens to finally look out the window and notice that the sun is rising. You'll both be talking to each other as the night goes on with drifting eyes and slurred, tired speech, but not giving a fuck. "Why?", someone would ask Nick about his late-night talking, and he'd respond, "Because it's {insert boyfriend's name here]" with a matter-of-fact tone.

He loves your style. He never thought he'd be the kind of guy to coordinate outfits with his man, but when you two start dating, he would absentmindedly coordinate his outfit with yours. And if you ever pointed this out to him, he'd roll his eyes and laugh. He might take bits and pieces of your wardrobe without you knowing until you’re like “Wait a minute…” and he’s standing there with your clothes on like “😁”.

PDA is second nature to him. He wouldn't say he's a public relationship kind of guy, but his actions with you say otherwise. He would swing him arm onto your shoulders, pulling you close to him. He would let you keep your hands on his hips, just because they're in the vicinity of his hips. His hand would try to find its way to yours, and when it finally does, it holds onto yours gently, giving it a squeeze sometimes whenever it felt like. The thing is though, he wouldn't even realize any of this. And if someone pointed it out, he'd blush and then shrug, sometimes giving a snarky remark along the lines of "Well, mind your business."

He enjoys talking about your job and passions with you. He could talk about his job to you all he wanted, but it all just a bunch of yadda yadda yadda to him at the end of the day. He rather enjoyed hearing you talk about your job, from the struggles of keeping up with certain tasks to the joys of getting them done. He loved hearing your life story, patiently listening as you explained to him what got you into this job and why you were still in it. Your passions intrigued him, and simultaneously, they attracted him to you in the first place. "What can I say? I love a businessman," He'd comment with a smile.

Hopefully you guys like this post! 💖🥹✨ I had a fun time making it! If you enjoyed this format, feel free to ask me more questions where I can compose the content similarly to this one! I'm open to anything (so long as the spirit guides don't say no! 😅).

Love you all!! MUAH! 😘🫂🤍

[mangionebabymama]

Lu’s kid being an absolute menace 💀and just as clingy as his dad and luigi being like u know she was my girl first right

Whether it’s your daughter or son being an absolute menace and just as clingy as their dad, there’s no doubt they’re completely obsessed with you. It would be absolute chaos, and Lu would have some lowkey beef with a toddler (who is, somehow, his child) over you on a daily basis.

Your baby would be attached to you at the hip, wanting to be as close as possible, nearly trying to crawl back into the womb. They wouldn’t let you go to the bathroom and sit down on the toilet without yelling, “Mamaaaaa, where you going?” and would throw full-on tantrums if they couldn’t sit and nestle in your lap whenever you sat down. They constantly hang off you, demanding your undivided attention, yelling “Mommy, mommyyyy!” from three feet away like you had disappeared forever.

If you so much as try to cuddle with Lu on the couch or get a second of peace to sip your coffee in the morning, you’ll have a whole toddler, and then some, climbing into your lap, fighting between heaven and hell, sliding in between you like they’ve got a personal vendetta. If you’re mid-conversation with Lu, standing in the kitchen or trying to sneak a little sugar with a kiss, out of the blue, your little biological cockblocker suddenly inserts themself into your space, objecting, “No, that’s my mommy!” while trying to wedge themself between you two like a human wall.

And Luigi?

He’s sick about it.

He’d stand there, arms crossed, or, if he’s really taken aback by the audacity, hands on his hips, muttering under his breath like he’s genuinely offended. “You know she was my girl first, right?”

And, so? You’re their mommy now, and that’s all that matters.

[pansyfemme]

I’ve got a question about packing- so I know some packers can be used as dildos as well (at least that’s what my high school trans friends said) so my question is- can *every* dildo be used as a packer? Or is it like- some packers are dildos but not all dildos are packers. I’m messing around with my gender identity and just trying to have fun with it. I’d like to wear my 9 inch sparkly pink n blue dildo out but im not sure if there’s a difference in the way packers lay in the underwear vs dildos. Sorry if this is convoluted ahsjfjsk I always talk too much

hey yeah this is a good question. this gets somewhat detailed and has a lot involving sex and masturbation for ftms so putting the rest under the cut.

so packing as an actuon is generally divided into two catagories, soft and hard packing.

usually when people talk about packing they mean soft packing. If packing in general is the action of inserting an object into your pants to create the illusion of a penis- soft packing would be creating the illustion of a soft or flaccid penis. this is for everyday use. this type is usually unoticable and can aid with passing or just be affirming for a person. This can be a sexual act but it’s most often a nonsexual act. When you look for packers, they’re usually made for soft packing. So they will be of a soft material and usually smaller. You can’t really penetrate with them because they are 1) much softer than a dildo and b) usually don’t have a lot of usable length. They’re not designed to have penetrative sex with. It’s also why people use socks or another soft object. You are simulating a flaccid penis.

The other type is hard packing. You are simulating an erect penis. So generally, you would use a dildo for this. However. because you are purposely putting an object that resembles an erect penis into your pants, it will look like you have an erect penis in your pants. There aren’t a lot of packers sold for this specific purpose, so you would usually just use a dildo. This is pretty much exclusivly for sexual use. Not always ‘i am going to have sex’ but if you are going to go somewhere purposely looking like you have a very noticable and very large erection, that more often than not will be for some sort of sexual purpose, whether it be exhibitionism/humilation, crusing or signaling to others you want to have sex or whatever else you may want to with it. I’m sure there are exceptions. but that’s the basic idea.

essentially if the object resembles a flaccid penis in softness, shape and size, that’s soft packing. if the object resembles an erect penis in softness, shape and size, thats hard packing.

What your friends were describing could be a few things. the first is often refered to as a 2-in-1 or 3-in-1 (or however many features it has) prosthetic. These are pretty special in a few ways. They are 1) usually on a spectrum from pretty realistic to ‘holy shit that’s not an actual penis attached to your body??’ 2) extremely expensive 3) handmade and often made to order 4) a very niche market and often seen as less of a sex toy or gender affirmation object and more of a.. bottom surgery replacement. they are very cool and very intense. There’s differences between different brands but generally it is one object that performs a variety of different functions based on how you wear it and different inserts. For example, someone may buy a prosthetic that claims to be capable of four whole things! Packing, Peeing, Sex and Masturbation. Packing: You put it in your pants. Depending on things you may use a harness or an adhesive to attach the prosthetic to your skin (which can look pretty seamless and last for days at a time which is pretty awesome) Peeing: You may use a stp (stand-to-pee) harness for this part but a prosthetic with stp capabilities is indeed hollow and acts as a funnel so you can indeed pee standing up. Sex/Masturbation: These often come with stiff inserts you put inside of the hollow stp cavity. These make the penis erect and sometimes have a stimulation area at the back of them so the part that presses agaist your genetalia can be stimulated during motions of thrusting/jerking. Some can even ejaculate! it’s pretty neat. But those are generally the things people talk about when talking about packers you can use as dildos. There are many variations of prosthetics that can and cannot do different things, I only really described one function. There are also bendable dildos and dual density dildos- but listen to me. silicone is great, but it can only do so many things. Things it cannot do is shrink in volume or change firmness. So while you could pack with a bendable dual density dildo, it will look more like you have a bent erection or at best a semi than it will a flaccid penis. If that’s what you’re going for, that’s great. But prothetics tend to go the route of a removable stiff insert for a reason.

I hope this made some sense. tldr. good luck and do whatever you want forever! however. packing with a 9 inch hard dildo is going to look like you have a 9 inch hard penis. do with that what you will.

[emilysidhe]

People love dichotomies.

One of the dichotomies people love inserting into Jane Austen is “marrying for love” vs “marrying for money.”

We have a chicken or egg question here about if people read this into the text so much because so many adaptations add dialogue that lays it out, or if so many adaptations add dialogue that lays out such a conflict because people love to read it into the text.

But if you read the books themselves, it just isn’t there. (This is why the occasionally bandied criticism that Austen “gets out” of having to make a choice by having her heroines “conveniently” fall in love with men who have enough money to marry on is irrelevant - that’s not what’s going on).

Instead, across her works, Austen presents marrying for love and marrying for money not as a dichotomy, but as opposite ends of a spectrum in which the rare extreme ends are each foolish and almost everyone negotiates their way through the space in the middle.

You see, to make a “good” marriage in the Austen-verse, you need a trifecta. And you do need all three - if you try to justify skipping one by maxing out one of the others, things will not end well for you.

The three things you need for a good marriage are these:

Personal compatibility and mutual respect

Financial stability within your social class

Positive feelings towards each other

You do not need love! Love is just a max-out on positive feelings, and while all her heroines find romantic love in marriage in the end (these are love stories), it’s not portrayed as necessary - Marianne Dashwood marries out of respect and gratitude and falls in love afterwards, and we don’t know about most of the minor characters, but there’s no reason to suppose that all minor character happy marriages we see are love matches. The Gardiners, for instance, could have married on simple fondness and the mutual desire to form a household, and they seem perfectly happy.

You do not need wealth! Wealth is just a max-out of financial stability. Plenty of heroines (Elinor Dashwood, Catherine Morland, even Fanny Price and Anne Elliot) marry men with respectable incomes but no land-holdings or vast riches.

I can’t think of an example for the third piece - if there is a couple in Jane Austen who are maxed out on mutual respect and compatibility, it’s the Crofts, and they also like each other and have enough to live on.

But if you’re missing one leg of the three-legged stool, you are in trouble!

Fanny Price’s parents married for love, but had no money - and they both seem pretty miserable when we see them again.

Maria Bertram marries for wealth alone, with no affection or respect for her husband - and it makes her life a train wreck.

The Bennet parents seem to have been a love match (why else would he marry a woman of no family who used to be a great beauty) and he has enough to live on whether she brings in a dowry or not. But they are not compatible and don’t respect each other, so their marriage is still kind of a disaster.

The closest example we have of someone seeming to get along ok without all three is Charlotte Lucas, who marries for financial independence, and while she’s more compatible with Mr Collins than she seems at first blush (they’re both unembarrassed to suck up to Lady Catherine), she has no positive feelings towards her husband, but still seems to be alright with her choice. And yet even there, the narrator warns that she may not always have as few regrets as she does now.

Any time you try to look at the various matrimonial decisions made by Jane Austen characters through a lens of love vs finances instead of considering whether and to what extent a marriage might check all three boxes, you’re doing it wrong.