#which… isn’t something I particularly like doing. at all

[causticsodaa]

Sakura is an unintentional trigger for Togame’s development, but not the sole cause

In fact, it’s mainly Togame himself who inadvertently kickstarts his own change.

During the beginning of their fight, Sakura doesn��t make much of an effort to understand Togame (effectively disregarding Ume’s advice); to him, Togame is just a low-life loser who likes to pick on other people for the sake of it.

But when Togame says these particular words, it awakens something in Sakura—it’s stricken his nerves, and it reminds him all too much of his past. Sakura doesn’t want to be alone again, not when he’s found a place with the strong.

Because of this, Sakura starts to project his own personal feelings onto Togame. This will be a recurring theme throughout their fight.

Alongside the personal tangent, Sakura also agrees with Togame. Although, I speculate that Togame is just parroting Choji’s own beliefs on power (ie. strength = freedom, power solidarity and weak = shackled, useless, alone), and Sakura and Choji already share many parallels.

Sakura then proceeds to insult Shishitoren’s principles, criticizing Togame’s hypocrisy as well;

Which then leads to Togame snapping and saying this:

And Togame’s right. Sakura is an outsider; he knows nothing about Shishitoren, nor their background or it’s inner workings. Of course he’d get mad at the ‘cocky brat’ he’s facing is spewing things he doesn’t know, not when Togame cherished Shishitoren so much.

However, the fact that Sakura shares his own perspective as an outsider manages to work in Togame’s favor later on. Particularly within the next moment:

Before Sakura’s claim, Togame had no idea about Arima, Kanuma and Saruwatari picking on Sasaki, which caused Furin to get involved in the first place. Although Shishitoren was hacving internal problems, externalizing weakness (as bullying is commonly attributed to) on outsiders surely wouldn’t abide well with Shishitoren’s principles.

The next following moments where Togame beats Arima and Kanuma recontextualizes his character for both the audience and Sakura.

Togame showing slivers of compassion behind his intimidating exterior is further shown with how he approaches Sakura after this.

Even though Togame had brutually beaten one of his own, the intent behind it is much more understandable this time. Compared to when he hit Saruwatari during Shishitoren and Furin’s confrontation, there is much more context and reason for his ‘cruelty’, and his entire demeanor changes. He’s drawn in a more sympathetic light as well, having a much more ‘softer’ (as compared to his terrifying glares before) expression on his face while extending his arms out to Sakura—even going as far to apologize to Sakura when he’s done nothing but exchange aggressive quips with him up to that point.

Sakura is, understandably, confused by this. Because how could such a scummy guy switch up this quickly?

This prompts him to ask this question when he realizes that Togame isn’t fighting as earnestly as before, with the intent of wanting to understand him this time. Sakura clearly sees the change in him here.

But Togame doesn’t answer his question head on. In fact, he asks himself the same question.

By this point of time, the audience is shown Choji and Togame’s backstory, which recontextualizes Togames character COMPLETELY.

Every moment we’ve seen of him finally has some sort of substance. All he wants to do is protect Choji and Shishitoren, even if he has to play the bad guy for their sake.

Togame deeply treasures Choji, and he is easily influenced by him (given the power explanation he told Sakura earlier). He would do anything for him, because he was the one who has given Togame a place to belong when he had barely anyone in the past.

His cruel front is even shown with his design. Togame braids his hair which shows how he’s tied to Shishitoren. He also wears sunglasses to show how blind he is to how wrong Choji’s actions truly are (which is ironic, because sunglasses are meant to protect you from the sun). Sure, he knows that it’s all wrong, but his care and love for Choji as well as his desire to protect Shishitoren overturns his gut feeling—so he decides to do the dirty work for Choji, enabling him.

Because the sun must be loved by everybody, right? Togame is his second in command, he can’t afford to let himself be burned by Choji, much less have to leave the family he’s grown to love so much. He’s too in deep into the façade he’s had to put up now; he can’t stop even though its wrong—not until Sakura comes into the picture and makes him truly realize this, of course. (I’m just realizing that part this sounds too biased, but I want to emphasize how important Choji is to Togame in this section only because I cant fit it anywhere else please believe me)

Choji is the one person that has had the biggest impact on Togame in the long-term. Everything that Togame has done was for Choji.

But back to Sakura: he too impacts Togame, though on a more smaller scale. He is the catalyst that causes Togame to self-reflect; because it was him who felt so uneasy about Shishitoren’s changes.

Togame comes to this realization himself: Shsihitoren isn’t a bully club. Each of it’s members and the group as a whole has its own morals.

Yet, Sakura continues to retaliate.

Once again, Sakura is projecting his own personal feelings here. Though he addresses Togame’s true character and his faults, he immediately tries to hold Togame to his own standards (much like Suo does with his opponents): he needs to be ‘cool’, so Sakura would want to fight him. He’s indirectly telling Togame to not be a lowlife.

Togame calls Sakura selfish at that, which is an understandable sentiment because it’s Sakura’s own feelings, but he does end up following through his request during Noroshi, not only for Sakura, but for himself too.

Sakura continues to project his own personal feelings. At this point, his dialogue doesn’t have much to do with Togame—it’s about Sakura’s own beliefs now.

And it’s with an outsiders perspective that Togame properly realizes the errors of his ways.

He decides to take Sakura seriously, but ultimately lets him win at the end. Although Sakura technically didn’t win due to Togame’s concession, his views have won over Togame’s own; which is why he thanks Sakura at the end, despite the latter not directly trying to help him see the error of his ways, (unlike Ume who knew Choji prior and intentionally helped him realize his wrongdoings during their fight) going on personal tangents throughout their battle instead.

TLDR; Togame’s development during Shishitoren is mainly achieved by his own self-reflection. Sakura enables him to change himself, though indirectly and not with the intent of helping Togame as he is unaware of Shishitoren’s background and his need to protect Choji.

I wish I could’ve made this post longer as I believe there is much more to be said for Togame as a character and his relationships with Choji/Sakura/Shishitoren, but Tumblr won't let me embed any more images. Sigh.

[minteagalaxea]

steep (woo) | r.r

roman and quynh genre: angst . fluff . smut (minors dni) content warnings: thigh riding . praise kink . mild sir kink . nb character (afab) . multiple orgasms . implied age gap (quynh is in their mid-twenties) . protected sex (quynh is stated to have the arm implant) word count: 4.45k inspiration: roman reigns' many barbs about missionary position against john cena . tea and boba obsessions songs: woo by rihanna (slowed and reverb) (x) . claws by kim petras (slowed and reverb) (x) read also: "steep (xxviii reasons)" (x) note: thank you to @lov3rla03 and everyone who enjoyed the first one, so i hope you guys get to enjoy the journey quynh gets to experience and lets you guys get to know them!! they're one of my favorite ocs i've made (and i've made a lot lol)

at twenty-five, quynh learned the weight of building a life around a ghost—rightfully so for someone who was twenty-five, it wasn’t something they particularly enjoyed.

they loved john. of course they did. but it was tiring to know that when they had crafted a life, a career, and identity of their own outside of his shadow, was equally liberating and suffocating to know that they weren’t just connected to him in career, they weren’t connected to him in the slightest.

they corrected themselves as they sipped their tea as they read through the card for the night, noting which questions they were asking and to whom backstage as they did their round of pacing. it was somewhat liberating that they weren’t tethered to a clean-cut image that was so saccharine quynh’s stomach roiled violently just at the mere thought of it. but, he liked it, so they tried. they really fucking tried.

as they paced in the room, quynh realized that they should be angry with john. it was well within their rights to be. they did their part, calling and texting and sending photos to include him in their life, the moments they crafted. fuck, they even texted him and called him about their tattoo appointment, wanting him to share it with them and be there.

that text barely went acknowledged—quynh went alone, and that was when they really knew that they were living with a ghost for a boyfriend.

when they heard the door open, they looked at their lover and realized the title felt hollow, like an empty platitude to justify that they both used to be in love. and, with a hug, a kiss to his cheek, they said they couldn’t do it anymore. and he understood, kissing their forehead and wishing them well on the show; they did the same.

the shit thing was how their farewells were so easy: given how he relocated, it made it harder for them to miss him. how could they miss something that never really existed?

“you could mourn, you know?” quynh heard someone say as they started to prepare, slipping in a pair of colored contacts. silver, to separate from his blue and orange.

they peered up once they were on, affixing their gaze upon the other man through the mirror. “what do i have to mourn if there isn’t anything to mourn, roman?”

roman reigns—if quynh had to consider who they really built their career around, no matter how unintentional it was, it was him. they knew, as everyone did, and they knew that wwe was pushing him hard. so hard that they weren’t sure how he managed to get in the ring every fucking night and have the self-possession to not let it hurt his soul. except everyone figured out that there was a surefire way to get roman over without absolute question.

all it took was quynh interviewing him.

quynh knew that it wasn’t inherently as simple, but they always shared that same sense of intensity. and the way they looked at one another, body harmonizing and eyes smoldering as they let him bury his own grave with each question they asked and each silence prolonged. there was something about the tension, the unspoken dance, their natural dynamic, that seemed to have the wwe universe cheering and actually getting him over. not that the audience ever realized that they weren’t together. both had a healthy appreciation of one another, but knew what it meant if either were to ever entertain the fantasy when they were still with john up until less than thirty minutes ago.

except now they weren’t. and quynh thought that perhaps was scarier.

the two stared at one another through the mirror for a moment, silent as they pondered one another’s words in the mirror. quynh tried not to fantasize about the way his arm piece would look against the ones on their sides as their top rose while they started to work on their makeup.

roman offered a smile, one of those genuine ones beneath the smoldering intensity of his gaze, and wished them good luck, and they did the same. quynh tried to not consider how much more invested they felt with a man they were never with.

at (almost) twenty-six, quynh learned what it meant to miss someone that wasn’t a ghost, despite being far away.

roman looked…healthier. and that was good, given what he just fought. and yet, here he was, staring at them with a pallor that suggested he actually did see a ghost, except perhaps the ghost was them.

out of respect, quynh didn’t excessively contact him, preferring their meetups for boba when they were in town or a rare video call. casual and easy, they tried to be close to him, offering him patience where they could over the past four months. and they enjoyed learning about roman, the soul that was strong and gentle, sweet and bitter in equal measure.

it took them a moment to realize that roman hadn’t seen them quite as glamorous in a long while, sensual as they were deadly in their long legs and heels that put them just at his height. maybe it was a good thing they were attempting to kill a man who just came back from beating cancer, because it gave him one of the greatest reactions ever.

except nobody had to know how he took their hand when the camera didn’t notice, trying to ground himself in quynh’s iciness, their stoicism. the pallor might have remained as he stared, but both knew what their job was, and it was to give their audience the greatest damn show in the world with his return. quynh missed seeing him grind his eyes into theirs, onyx meeting whatever artificial color suited their whims. tonight was their normal color for once.

nobody noticed how they settled in the hotel bar together with drinks as they celebrated, both casual and intimate at once as they scrolled through their phone, responding to their artist about their appointment. “first one?” roman asked, voice warm and low and genuinely piqued.

quynh shook their head, swirling their grasshopper before they took a sip. “i got one a year back.”

“he come with you?” he didn’t need to name him—both of them knew.

“left me on ‘read’.” they weren’t sure why they didn’t sound as bitter; perhaps it was due to john’s own lack of them. their eyes lingered on roman’s own arm, a beautiful tapestry of his culture and took another sip of their drink, trying to not think too hard about how it contrasted and complemented their minimalist lines.

“i could come with you, if you’d like,” he offered, snapping them out of their introspection. quynh’s hand stilled, eyes heavy with scrutiny as they questioned his intentions. “i know you probably didn’t cry or anything, but i’d want to be there if you wanted mortal support.”

they blinked at him carefully, not wanting to set themselves up for disappointment, “day after tomorrow if you wanna come.”

quynh hadn’t expected for him to show up then, sitting sentinel throughout their session and providing copious amounts of attention to them as he watched the art take shape on their physique. they hadn’t felt quite seen like this before, and it made them feel acknowledged as he saw the art continue onto their thighs—heard the story behind the genesis of the piece from their artist. when the piece was finished, the heat returned to roman’s eyes as their artist applied the second skin bandage, admiring the masterpiece to their body with ferality. he looked at them through the mirror as their artist took more photos of their physique. the heat was unmistakable as they tilted their head in confusion.

“what was he like?” he asked them.

quynh considered the question thoroughly, attempting to find the words for a man they didn’t want to entirely badmouth.

yet, they couldn’t deny the heat in their eyes as they responded, “regular white meat babyface, i guess.”

“and i’m not, baby?” roman challenged with a smirk, one that brought heat to quynh’s eyes as they let themselves indulge in the timber of his touch, the velvet of his voice.

“you’re back now…i guess we’ll see if you can follow through on your ambition, big dog.”

at twenty-seven, quynh learned exactly how ambition turned a ghost into something physical, ferocious, and fantastic.

they had always liked roman just fine—they had no reason to deny the unfathomable amounts of chemistry and connection they had. yet, they had no reason to broach the territory beyond tenuous friendship and burgeoning want. not because of john, though the beginning certainly contained that, but they were both…complacent, they supposed. it wasn’t unwarranted, and the constancy of their dynamic was one they definitely valued and appreciated as the pandemic hit.

and then, roman returned at summerslam and destroyed braun strowman and the fiend with absolute vengeance that quynh hadn’t seen from him before. and he took a chair to braun strowman. and quynh, who had observed the entire match, commentated on the entire match?

well, they had never felt more heat stream through their veins when he met their artificially gold ones.

in quynh’s opinion, roman had never been more attractive to them, now that he was tapping into the ambition, the darkness, the power they always thought he tried to temper to make himself successful. and now that the brakes were off, and he was asserting what was his, taking without mercy, quynh felt their heart rate spike.

when roman took back his universal championship, they smiled with a feral want they hadn’t expected in themselves. they were starting to truly understand why roman looked at them so, and perhaps why things seemed to naturally work between the two of them, with each appearance to support them through their tattoo appointments (not that they ever needed it) and each interview and comment they gave him now that he was the head of the table, the tribal chief.

quynh quickly learned where the irony really lied—he took from others, but gave to them beyond measure. and it really started one night in his hotel as they fell back into their easy ways until he leaned up into them, forehead against theirs as he offered the smile of a jackal poised to pounce. “what was it like…being with him?” roman asked, and quynh wasn’t sure how to respond, or the context he even asked. the only additional hint it required for them to really decipher the context was his hands splayed on their waist.

“he preferred missionary,” they murmured dryly, ambivalent about it all, but not wanting to badmouth a man who they loved once a long time ago, dissonant as they pondered the reasoning. it was easier, given his exhaustion, and he wanted the intimacy they could provide in that way.

certainly, though, routine was the mother of complacency, and it did explain quynh’s revolving door of boba drinks they picked depending on their temperament.

“every time?” he asked, subsequent to a moment of silence. they nodded, and shrugged haplessly as they thought about it.

“it was easier.”

roman’s voice growled as he cinched their waist closer to him, “easy doesn’t mean good, baby.”

quynh nodded, a hand resting against his arm as their legs straddled over his hips, while his own roamed up to their halter-neck bralette, the crisscross cutout revealing the moment of ink on their sternum. “baby, why did it take so long?” he asked, “you know this ain’t something you can hide. you know we keep coming back to each other.” they knew, and they whispered exactly why.

“the beginning…we knew…with john, and we knew we were better than being dirty secrets,” they confessed, “but, i was waiting…you seemed like you were going through an evolution, trying to figure who you wanted to be. and the man i see now is the man i adore even more. i’ve always known what we could be, but we weren’t ready. we didn’t know who we were then. we do now.”

when roman bridged the gap, capturing their lips into a kiss that told them everything he didn’t say aloud, quynh knew that this was where they were meant to be as he lifted them to his bed, extricating their bralette and undergarments to have them straddling his thigh. flexing the muscle there, he let them set the pace, allowing them to rediscover human intimacy in a way that died down long after their relationship with john. maybe even because of him. roman, however, seemed hellbent on trying to reignite that spark in them as he murmured things. so many things and fantasies that dated back to the very first interview they conducted with him. things about how he wanted to kiss them, pin them against the wall.

“baby, when i came back in remission and saw your outfit?” he rasped with interest as he helped them bounce on his thigh at the pace they were finding they liked, “that silver hair of yours, that turtleneck? your leather jacket? your heels? fuck, i wanted to get you out of those right then and there, make a big statement on my return with you.”

part of quynh realized that this probably explained a large part of why roman’s gaze always lingered the way it did, like he was trying to respectfully undress them in his mind. not that they were susceptible to that type of energy now, and especially now that he made it so much easier with those fitted t-shirts over that tactical gear.

as their hips flexed on this thigh, they rested their face into the junction of his neck, whimpering in an almost uncharacteristic shyness as one of his hands brushed their pearl, pressing insistent circles to help them along. quynh thought their body was crumbling apart, bursting into seafoam, only for him to mold them back together.

maybe the metaphor is inaccurate—roman might just be more adept at helping them blossom and be devoured at the right time, like a master of fine and rare teas that they had been exploring at tea shops more recently.

yet, somehow, it didn’t matter as he whispered them promises of desire, stories of want, years of yearning that he could finally have them, the version of them unencumbered with ghosts and monsters and tannins that sucked the moisture from their mouth. it was enough for that wave of tension to crash over them and soak the fabric of his pants as he offered them a kiss and swallowed their gentle sounds with greed until their hips stilled. it was a fascinating paradox, then, one that sent their mind reeling and hazy in the most saccharine of ways as he held them close, pressing kisses that made the heat rise to their skin and dilation to their pupils.

“you okay if i fuck you now, baby?” he asked, running his hands along the new pieces along their waist and thighs with a small, playful smirk, “promise it won’t be missionary for the hundredth time.”

quynh leaned into him, a breezy sort of giggle as they assented, their artificial nails digging into his shoulders as he knelt, wrapping their legs around his waist as he rubbed his tip against their soaked folds, before helping them sink down onto his length and feel every stretch.

“better than missionary?” he teased, giving them a moment to adjust before allowing them to set the pace while he caressed every inch of their inked body in between fevered kisses. they didn’t respond, not verbally, punctuating their desire with slow, impactful slams down onto his sizeable girth, the airiest of mewls tumbling past their lips as they kissed, tongues tangling as his hips met theirs halfway and harmonizing with his heavy growls.

as they arched their back towards him and tilted their head back in bliss, roman took over the pace for them, matching their preferred rhythm while lavishing kisses and marks to the column of their throat; quynh held him close, claws sinking into his luscious locks to keep him affixed to their throat as his thrusts swept inside deep into them, imprinting their cunt to fit him perfectly as he dragged them to the precipice of euphoria.

it was with this that they came with a breathy moan of his name, letting him spill into their clenching tightness not long after, sinking his teeth into the junction of their neck just above their tattoo as their groan reached a crescendo, just enough to bathe the room with their desire as roman pistoned himself through both of their climaxes. whispers of his name flowed from their lips as quynh settled, craning their neck forward again to press their forehead against his as their breaths mingled.

as their voice came back to them, quynh’s eyes settled on the man beneath them, cupping his face as they finally decided to answer that question of his from earlier. they hadn’t remembered the last time they felt this powerful, this free, now that their ambition for an equal let them take as much as he was willing to give them.

quynh lilted, “better,” and they felt like they had finally blossomed into the creature they were always meant to be as they peered at roman with a breathless, blissful beam.

at twenty-eight, quynh learned that some ghosts, no matter how much they buried them, didn’t like to stay there.

john was back, of course he was. they weren’t sure how they felt about it personally, but they maintained their professional veneer. they weren’t sure how they could function without it, despite their body simmering into frustration, because of course john had to return now.

roman, as he always did, took it somewhat unpleasantly, though it wasn’t just for his own sake, much to their shock. because he was right: john didn’t change, no matter what hollywood wanted to portray him. however, the other part of it was the intrinsic knowledge of their relationship, and the snippets that quynh offered over the year of their relationship, their proper relationship as partners.

the fact that roman really had to use the missionary reference for john when delivering that promo made them sound like a borderline hyena backstage despite the audience jeering at the statement. though, quynh considered, a fair majority of it had more to do with the fact that they knew roman was trying to protect them in his own way, upset about the situation for them about john in a way they never really processed.

and when john cena hijacked the signing for that summerslam match? all because roman denied him his challenge for the universal championship?

they felt like they were a teapot of steaming water about to fucking explode.

roman told them he was going to deny it—that wasn’t the surprise, because they knew what the whole point was. roman had changed, evolved into someone with so much more than the initial reputation he had. and that had made them even more chilling on the microphone during their interviews with him than he probably expected, because he still knew them. more than they wanted to admit to themselves.

hence, the sense of vindication they felt when roman brought up how twenty years of missionary wasn’t enough for them evidently. quynh could only smirk behind their mug of tea as they blinked at him with a raised brow, safe behind their sage colored contacts and their almond-shaped press-ons, the perfect juxtaposition to the vivacity of john’s attire and roman’s monochrome. and the nebulous definition of their relationship on the screen enabled roman to rattle john so deeply, a lesson john had taught them about letting the appeal of their relationship, the on-screen will they won’t they parts of it, become the major draw of their thing. quynh loathed that they had to learn how to hide the true nature of their relationship with someone they loved so deeply to spare them both given how intertwined their persona was with roman’s.

when summerslam started, they let everyone else talk. there was no point for them to exert that energy towards something that they didn’t feel pertinent to the overall story, though they provided their own analysis of the situation in the way that would make sense to anyone else: john wanted to come back and take opportunities away from younger, more current workers. and they chose not to answer when cole asked them if they thought it had to do with them, providing context for others the potential jealousy john might be experiencing given how roman swayed their affections. everyone else could think what they wanted to about the matter.

yet, as they thought about the nature of their relationships with these things, they scoffed as roman nailed john with another spear after some superman punches after john tried to mimic roman’s signature move. quynh wasn’t sure if they wanted confirmation that he tried that after seeing their disinterested expression. and then roman looked at them as they leaned back in their chair, and he finished the job. corey also had to snark that roman worked devastatingly hard to earn quynh’s praise, praise that felt like an elusive prize for someone as dominant as he was.

so, they gave it to him, commenting that roman laid out an almost artful performance. john nearly glared at them for that, though they paid him little mind as they worked on commentating the loose ends of their feud. and the heat in roman’s eyes when he looked back at them as he walked away made their cheeks imperceptibly warm.

the smirk on their face from brock lesnar’s unexpected appearance and giving john german suplexes and a f-5 in immediate succession was just the icing on the cake to try and keep their ghosts away now that this was all over.

at twenty-eight (several hours later), quynh learned how to properly bury a ghost.

roman, for all his exhaustion, was determined to celebrate in his impatient sort of way as he kissed them, hard and intense but with considerable care as they leapt into his arms, his hands gripping their denim trousers before slipping off their leather jacket and the belt of their pants.

“you make it hard for me to do my job, baby,” he teased, voice raspy in his exhaustion as he managed to slip off their pants and leave them in their black turtleneck bodysuit.

their hair billowed in this face, soft and fluffy against his wet and denser tresses from his conditioner and water as their nails tangled into them. “does it matter since you won?” quynh rebutted, jovial and seductive in equal measure as they buried their nose into his neck, “can’t have a fighting champion that slacks off right, sir?”

he nearly ripped their bodysuit off of them, how they used that title like it was a weapon that made him bleed with pride for them, one used sparingly and with the full force of a freight train as he pressed them on top of his face, sinking them down onto his handsome visage with vigor. they took from him, cognizant of his exhaustion in this position as they rode his face with semi-reckless abandon, blossoming underneath his tongue like a moon-blooming flower as they mewled and whined and preened for roman over and over. his tongue delved in like a man starved in the desert, having finally found his oasis—an oasis willing to give him all the ambrosia to consume.

they weren’t sure how many times they came like that, but quynh knew that at some point, they felt a pair of eyes on them, a familiar pair that could easily discern by the sheer weight of his gaze. yet, they didn’t deign to give him more satisfaction beyond a view that he evidently couldn’t look away from. maybe it was ironic, then, maybe it could be attributed to roman’s youth relative to john, the fact that he never really stopped wrestling, and didn’t just return on a whim.

they also knew their lover well enough to know that he really wanted to spite john just a little more, while also bringing them to new precipices of pleasure as he took them from behind, their body arched deep as he took his time, letting everything about them melt into a perfect harmony and contrast, their complexions, their ink, the bodies telling a story of yin and yang as roman pulled moans from them and had their body writhe in inexorable ways with each apex of pleasure.

but the reality that they were being watched set quynh’s nerves ablaze, and not because it made them aroused. it was the fact that the ghost they wanted to exorcise wouldn’t fucking leave. and they wanted roman to hide them, to shield the type of vulnerability they had just started learning to give again. roman hadn’t broken a promise with them yet, and he understood what they needed as he held them close, helped them slide onto his length, meeting them despite his exhaustion, his stamina relentless as ever.

quynh was starting to forget what it felt like to have just a piece of silicon bring them pleasure on nights like these, nights where they couldn't have the closeness they craved more than anything else. roman always delivered on that aspect, their banter fluid as water and viscous with adoration as he felt the imprint his length made in their abdomen, the deepness he provided, as they begged. and with the impeccable timing of his favorite pet name, he spilled into them, deep inside their walls as he kept them close and worked through their nth climax. yet, their most favorite part was the aftercare, the way he always ensured their comfort as he kissed the shrine of ink along their body, especially their arm with their implant as they shied away from their intruder, wanting to hide the artwork that defined their journey without him, especially their first one on their sides.

roman helped them back up back to their feet, helping them affix their heels and hair before draping his hoodie over them and asking if they wanted hotpot for dinner. quynh also heard the scurry of john’s footsteps to try and recover some semblance of dignity, but they knew when they affixed their gaze onto him, eyes scanning as they always did as they reflect on the amount of barbs roman had left about missionary, him asking them earlier if their coupling position beat it out.

at twenty-eight, quynh learned that they became their old flame’s ghost with just a single word: better.

[pepstarvanmoon]

I hope this doesn’t come off as me nitpicking Milkvan interactions, but these lines just comes off as odd to me.

In the show, leading up to the store scene, nothing Mike says or does regarding Max comes off as particularly jealous to me.

He gets upset with Max for taking El to the mall (not Max giving him a segway into complimenting her new style (which he does later), and he just gets mad at her instead lmao.)

He spends the beginning of the following episode pitying himself with Lucas enabling it.

“What did I do wrong?” - LIED, plain and simple. He acknowledged that before they went to the mall! El gave him a chance to explain yourself and he DIDN’T. Teenagers, man.

“Then I should be with my species more” - I guess implies spending more time with Max and her having no desire to get back with him. Mike is pissed about the spying (rightfully, imo), and obviously frustrated that him explaining himself didn’t lead to El forgiving him.

Max and El spending too much time in the bathroom, “they’re conspiring against me” - confused as to how he reached this conclusion given what we’ve seen. It’s like he just HAS to say something about it, nevermind El getting her shit tossed last episode. Listen to Will and worry about something else.

Bro is lowkey more mad about being single (and therefore ambiguously straight in Mike logic) than about El and Max being friends.

When he admits that he was jealous and wanted El “all to himself,” it sounds more like an excuse than an explanation.

We know what jealousy looks like in Stranger Things.

If anything, this “jealousy” is more closely aligned to how Dustin described Lucas’ jealousy of Mike and El’s relationship in season one.

I even tried to make an argument for Mike wanting El to himself minus the jealousy, but throughout the season it kinda fell flat.

Showing up late to movie nights (more than once) to hang out with El longer.

Ditching Dustin (the day of his return) and the others to spend more time together before El’s '4PM curfew' (a lie, ofc)

Maybe switch “conspiring” for excluding? Then you could argue he felt left out, like he’s not the closest to El anymore. However, the responses to his “conspiring” accusations were 100% negative.

(This could also play into how he felt getting stuck in the back of the car with Will, but that ventures outside the point of this post)

None of these are considered good things if Dustin, Lucas, and Will’s annoyance are considered, and Max going from “it’s romantic” to high-fiving El after she dumps Mike… yeah.

You can certainly say he’s frustrated. He’s never been in a relationship and therefore has never been broken up with, but Mike explains it like the reason he’s acting irrationally is because he’s 'never felt like this before'? But besides the whole ’Nana’ thing, that’s not really true?

Stupid stuff being 1) lying about his Nana being sick, 2) claiming girls are a different species.

Angry, sure. Jealous? Wanting her to yourself? Don’t make me laugh.

It’s all a bit hypocritical to me, too. So El can’t have ONE day out with Max, but Mike can run off with the rest of their friends while she’s stuck in Hopper’s cabin. Okay.

And, in this specific case, I don’t really buy the “she’s hiding from the government” excuse because it clearly wasn’t that big of a deal for El to have gone out that day. Mike’s concerns were brushed off, and there were no scenes with Hopper reinforcing that (we had our fill in S2 ig).

(I personally think they didn’t want any interruptions to that Elmax scene because it demonstrates how little El knows herself, and being cooped up by Hopper and Mike, though it’s sweet that they want to protect her, isn’t helping her developmental growth.)

Like damn if you really feel that strongly about it, you all could’ve had a movie night in the cabin, but Mike can’t balance his relationship and his friendships, and STILL can’t now!

Well, at least you got that part right.

(Post pretty much ends here. Rest of it is me rambling)

All of this relationship bullshit skydives out of Mike’s mind when Will gets upset btw. UNTIL he mentions girls, then Mike gets defensive.

That whole part of the rain fight gets to me, like Mike truly believes that this is a staple part of his life, getting a girlfriend and abandoning his interests. He can’t date El and play DnD, and if he’s dumped, his priority becomes getting her back instead of reflecting on what happened.

He proves he didn’t have a firm grasp on the situation when he victimizes himself, and when he actually admits to lying it doesn’t matter at that point. El already knows and DOESN’T CARE.

He’s really not confident. Lucas got a one-on-one, mirroring Mike and El’s, scene with Will to apologize, because the relationship drama is no longer important to him in that moment.

(I didn’t think Lumax broke up, but Will said in ep 3 that they both got dumped? Lucas seemed a lot less bothered, and by the time they got to the hospital scene they seemed fine lol. Lumax ‘breakups’ aren’t really taken as seriously anyway with the whole “five times” thing)

Funny how both apologies go unacknowledged because what’s done is done. They don’t care anymore (for Will, I don’t believe that for a second but yk) and there are bigger things to focus on.

It's brought back up in the hospital, but MIKE is the one who doesn’t care that much until El uses her powers on the vending machine as an “olive branch" (in Lucas' opinion, anyway).

I feel like there’s a lot to say about Mike and taking initiative versus when he has to be told to do something, but more on that another time.

[megwritesriddles]

hiii girlyfriend! i saw you were taking requests and was waiting if you’d consider doing a little drabble where it’s both your and neville’s first time and he’s way more nervous than you so you start to praise him to make him more comfortable and be ends up surprising both of you by being really into it

OR

a nsfw alphabet for neville

thanks and ily! i reread both your neville fics like all the time they’re sooo good!

MDNI 18+

thank you sm for this request and for your comments about my work :')!!! I chose to do the NSFW alphabet because I've always kind of wanted to do one. I did incorporate the praise a little (because Nev is definitely a praise kink kind of guy). I hope you like it!!

word count: 2.2k (i told you i might get carried away)

warning: smut obviously, brief mentions of periods

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Neville is the biggest sweetie ofc. He makes sure to wipe you clean with a warm damp cloth, being extra gentle around where you’re sensitive. He’ll make sure you have water to drink and fetch you some food if you say you’re hungry (I can just imagine him humming to himself as he slices up an apple for you). And ofc loads of cuddles, which is just as much for him as it is for you, he tucks you against his chest and breathes you in, making sure to whisper all sorts of sweet words.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His - I honestly don’t know, I think whatever part of his body you say you like best, he will like best because you like it. I might say hands if he had to choose, I think he loves to touch you and hold hands with you and also gardening which requires a lot of steady hand work. But if you say you like something else best, then he’s highly suggestible to it.

Yours - Your eyes. He’s a romantic, he loves the way you look at him, the way they light up when you spot him across the room. And of course, the way they darken seductively when you want him, the way they flutter closed when he hits just that right spot deep inside you. He could stare into your eyes forever, picking out all the flecks of colour, the way your pupils shrink and dilate.

Ass or boobs? - I want to say ass (because I have way more ass than boobs lol) but something tells me deep down it’s boobs. But he doesn’t care what size they are, huge or barely there; he loves them. He also definitely does admire your ass too, he’s a big fan of both, but leans toward tits. I can see him loving thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he’s pretty tidy with his cum, he likes to cum inside (condom or not). I don’t see him as the type to splatter your face or tits or anything. If he doesn’t come inside you, it’s either on his own belly or in his pants (when you’re being particularly teasing or he gets too into eating you out).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He just wants to be your good boy. He comes instantly when you first say it.

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

…. It’s Neville, let’s be real here. I mean, depending on when you meet him, I don’t think he’d be a virgin until like 40 but he’s definitely a super late bloomer in terms of sex, so probably a virgin or only has a body count of 1 when you meet him. He isn’t the type to sleep around, he has to really trust someone he sleeps with. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing but he’s a super eager learner, not afraid to ask for guidance until he’s a god at pleasing you. Memorises your body which makes him better at it than someone who has lots of experience with various people, it’s a personalised experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s a classic romantic and loves to look into your eyes as you have sex, so missionary is a fave. Cowgirl with you facing him is his ultimate favourite, he loves looking up into your eyes, embracing as you give into pleasure together, you being able to set the pace.

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

He’s serious but in a sweet way. If you make a joke he’ll laugh, but he’s unlikely to crack his own. He likes to whisper sweet loving confessions, so he stays serious, but once it’s over, he might be a little more goofy.

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

He probably didn’t see any reason to shave or anything before the two of you started having regular sex. I can see him trimming intermittently, not for aesthetics but practicality. He’s a real man and doesn’t care about you having a bush, he prefers if you trim a little bit but it won’t stop him going down on you. I think he’d find it odd if you were completely hairless tbh. As long as you keep mostly clean he’s happy to brave the bush. (I feel like there’s a funnier expression for this but it’s not coming to me)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a romantic sweetheart. He’s constantly praising and complimenting you, his arms wrapped around you in an affectionate embrace or his fingers intertwined with yours. He loves kissing from your forehead, down your temple and cheek and finally to your mouth as he slowly presses in and out of you. I think he’s quite slow and gentle as a general rule, liking to take his time with you, only getting a little frantic right before he comes. Kisses literally everywhere, all over your body, gentle and lingering. Eye contact is big for him as I said before, foreheads pressed together and noses brushing.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I can’t see him masturbating all that much, even before he met you. That’s not to say he wasn’t experiencing attraction or arousal, I think he’s just more horny for the emotional element (??? if that makes sense). I don’t think he’ll masturbate when you’re apart, just leaving it so he can feel even better when he finally sees you again. Before he met you I would say he got off once a week, letting most of his boners die in a cold shower or just with time (again it made it better when he finally gave in), especially during his Hogwarts years when he was sharing a dorm. He was more considerate than any of his dormmates. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging, praise (both of you receiving), a teeny bit of degradation (calling him pathetic or needy, nothing too harsh), being called a good boy, lowkey being bound by the vines of some magical plant as you use him to your liking (you didn’t hear this from me, this is only when he’s feeling particularly dirty, it isn’t on his mind most days)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s not one for exhibitionism so almost definitely just the bed, he quite likes using the sofa when he gets his own place but other than that he might occasionally do it in the shower, but he’s not a huge fan of it. He’s all about comfort so a plush surface in private is ideal.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, plain and simple. When you give him a seductive look, when you praise him (even for something innocuous and unsexy), when you lean over and accidentally push your tits together or your ass out, they way you play with your hair, the way you bite your lip when you focus, when you use that soft sighing voice.

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

I can never see him being mean or rough. That’s not to say he’s always 100% slow and careful, he loses himself to the feeling sometimes, but generally he’s a gentle guy and it would break his heart to insult you (eg. whore or slut). He’s also not one for slapping or spanking I don’t think, maybe a soft swat on your ass, but nothing harsh enough to leave a bruise. Sorry to some of y’all, I don’t make the rules, he’s a sweetie.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ooooh he’s a munch I just know it. He loves to pleasure you and he loves the taste of you. He could go down on you for hours (if only his jaw would cooperate). He adores the praise he gets, your hand in his hair, your beautiful moans, eyes squeezing shut, thighs around his head.

He quite enjoys receiving as well, it feels really good to be at your mercy. He’s quite whiney and sensitive, his hand gently tangling in your hair, but never pushing or pulling. The sinful way you look up at him as your lips are wrapped around him, it drives him crazy.

As I said before, at first he barely knows what he’s doing but he’s constantly asking for guidance until he can get it right. It’s second nature to him now, he could make you cum from it in under two minutes if he liked, but he enjoys drawing it out for both of your pleasure.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual.

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

He really likes to take his time so he isn’t the biggest fan but he’s more than down if it’s the only option. Not that often as he would only do it if there was no other choice, often what starts meaning to be quick gets significantly stretched out. You’ve learned the hard way not to proposition him in the morning on working days, but for lazy Sunday mornings, he’s absolutely perfect.

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

Experiment a little, sure. He’s down to try most things if you’re into them (other than what I specified in No) but his preferences are reasonably vanilla. As long as he’s with you, he can enjoy it either way. You would probably have sex in a risky location once or twice and he would be so anxious about being caught that you wouldn’t do it again. However, if the danger is only being overheard, he doesn’t mind so much, happy to kiss you to keep the both of you quiet. It’s being seen that worries him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can probably come twice in a night with a reasonable cool down period, however, since he’s good at pacing himself and pleasuring you with other means, he can give you many rounds. Your sex usually lasts a long time. The first few times though, he absolutely comes prematurely.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I can’t see him being a toy person, but I think he’d be completely cool if you had a vibrator for when he’s away. Some guys get weird and jealous about toys, but he just wants you to be happy while he’s not there to take care of it. If you want him to use the vibrator on you while you have sex, he will.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease much, but when he does, he’s surprisingly suave and smug. It always makes you fold as it’s so rare. He loves being teased by you, having you flirting brazenly, sitting in his lap, brushing your hands up his arms, whispering dirty things, showing off your body, giving sultry looks. He adores it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man whimpers as I’m sure we all know by now. I don’t think he’s too loud, but it almost makes the little groans and whimpers he makes hotter as they’re all low and quiet, private just for you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I think he’d be quite willing to have period sex. He likes to help relieve your cramps by helping you orgasm and doesn’t see why he should be disgusted by something your body naturally does, so long as he washes up well afterwards. I don’t think he’d go down on you, but sex and maybe some fingering is still on the table. Of course, he only does this if you ask, he never approaches you for sex on your period, letting you come to him if you need him. He doesn’t want to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable, even if the way he usually approaches you for sex is already very sweet and without pressure.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We all know that he’s hung, this is just an accepted truth in the fandom. He’s a little longer than average and definitely thicker, he probably has a slight curve. He’s also more buff than you’d think under his sweaters and cardigans.

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

I think he’s highly suggestible with his sex drive. On his own it’s fairly low (once a week as I said before), but with you it’s a lot higher. He’s quite in tune with your moods, and is easily seduced if you’re in the mood, so when you’re ovulating, his drive is higher too because you’re glowing and you keep giving him these damn looks. When you’re less aroused, so is he, but he barely ever says no when you offer. He approaches you first about sex maybe once to three times a week, the rest of it is up to you to initiate.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think he definitely does get sleepy, but fights it off to be able to take care of you. The second you say you’re fine and don’t need anything else, he’s embracing you and dozing off. It’s another reason he dislikes public stuff or doing things on uncomfy surfaces, he gets very dozy afterwards.

[utilitycaster]

I’ve been seeing some stuff that Predathos isn’t why Molaesmyr was corrupted, it was Ludinus messing with the natural energy and Aeor tech which caused the corruption. I’ve been looking through the wiki but it’s not that detailed, but did Matt say that it was Ludinus messing with stuff and not that Predathos is a corrupting influence? (I’ll go listen to prev eps but not sure where I should start from. )

So if I recall the episodes that covered this were 3x55-3x58 (ie, when Team Wildemount were in Molaesmyr) and then you can kind of put the story together from Barthie and Rashinna's retellings and some of the things Ludinus himself had said from the 80s and 90s of C3. To sum things up:

In 585 PD Ludinus tapped into some source of power within Molaesmyr in order to contact Predathos during the apogee solstice. This is unambiguously the case. This may have been a natural source or may have been a fragment of Aeor. Regardless, in doing so he unleashed a dangerous poisonous magic within Molaesmyr, killing countless people and leaving the rest without a home. It is similarly unknown whether or not this result was simply the result of Ludinus drawing on the power source excessively such that it triggered it in some way, or Predathos's influence, or some combination of the two.

I can't speak to everyone but my personal feelings about Predathos as a threat aren't "this is a corrupting influence" (though the dampening healing magic and stealing it for itself isn't like, great). My thoughts re Molaesmyr are:

If your argument is that Aeor was a senseless loss of life and the gods should die, and you don't think that Molaesmyr was a senseless loss of life and Ludinus Da'leth should die, what exactly makes the former more heinous than the latter? Answer at length, because right now I think anyone who cries over Aeor and not Molaesmyr is either particularly unintelligent or particularly hypocritical.

I think Predathos will probably not specifically target mortals. That does not mean its unleashing to go after the gods would not necessarily result in mass death. The fact that it can't see people means it has no care for people in the way. (it also does seem to be completely able, at least in its prior form, to specifically attack individuals attacking it or drain their healing, so, you know, I think it can certainly SENSE mortals in some capacity). Like, does it matter if you die of being consumed out of malice vs. consumed out of hunger vs. standing too close to a source of deadly high radiation vs. standing too close to a source of "your meds suddenly stop working" vs. getting stepped on by something too vast to see you? you're still dead in every scenario.

To the previous point, if someone says "hmmm, I just don't know what this thing can do and but I do know that this entity's followers have pretty much all been violent imperialists and that communing with it caused mass death and unending environmental destruction" and presses a button, are they not responsible for that action"?

[malachitezmeyka]

I always forget just how many love songs I have in my playlist until I’m having an ultra-love-repulsed day and have to try my best to contain my breakdown until I get home

[seilon]

more and more it makes me kind of uncomfortable (for lack of a better/softer word) to call my own characters ‘ocs’. because like. they’re from a completely original universe and from completely original intertwined stories and all that. so why would i have to specify they’re original in the same way someone would when referring to a character they made for a pre-existing non-original universe/franchise/whatever? by that logic every fiction author ever would be referring to their characters as ocs rather than just. their characters. you know.

[crossbackpoke-check]

BERGGY HAT TRICK NIGHT 🚨🚨🚨

[exopelagic]

dr who is a strange show

[imaginedisish]

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade. 

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!” 

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines. 

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have. 

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts. 

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you. 

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan. 

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy. 

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously. 

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp. 

 “Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in. 

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted. 

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle. 

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest. 

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun. 

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name. 

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.  

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform. 

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan. 

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open. 

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. 

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him. 

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes. 

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you. 

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan. 

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist. 

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch. 

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh. 

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

[mostly-imagines]

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing. 

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply. 

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears. 

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe. 

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead. 

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.” 

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement. 

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance. 

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.  

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that. 

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.    

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now. 

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support. 

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place. 

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance. 

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!” 

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it. 

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.   

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.   

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor. 

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him. 

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.  

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.    

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister…  

c/w: incest, dubcon, oral (m receiving), rafe being a perv about his (adopted) sister & her being inexperienced, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.7k

part two & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx   

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her big brother has always been rather overbearing, which is something she’s tried to shrug off as him merely being protective, but as far as her understanding of siblings goes— they aren’t supposed to act the way Rafe does.  

Ever since they were little, Rafe has been weird about everyone in their strange family, but sometimes it makes her feel gross when he barges into her room while she’s changing— not even bothering to cover his eyes as he sits down on her mattress and starts ranting about something completely irrelevant.

It makes her feel disgusting when she notices the subtle smirk tugging at his mouth as his gaze narrows down onto whatever bare sliver of skin she’s hurriedly trying to hide from his borderline hungry eyes.   

And she doesn’t particularly enjoy when he gets wasted or high off of whatever he’s snorted at some stupid party and insists that he just has to sleep next to her because he’s not feeling good. And despite her drowsy complaints, he’s always snuggling too close for comfort with his hands all over her; pulling her flush against him and letting the cushion of his lips graze the skin of her neck.

He keeps telling her that it’s nothing out of the ordinary when he gives her details about the girls he’s slept with and what his favorite positions are, even if she’s told him multiple times that she doesn’t want to know. And whenever they’re home alone, he even goes as far as bringing girls to his room— making sure their loud moans echo right into her bedroom when he knows she’s trying to study.   

And whenever he’s tagging along during her little shopping trips (he doesn’t let her go alone because what if something happens?), he always demands on joining her in the fitting rooms— even squeezing himself into the crammed space when she’s trying on lingerie, claiming that she absolutely needs his opinion.   

“Rafe, that’s weird,” she tries to get him to wait outside but of course he merely rolls his eyes.  

“S’not weird, know how indecisive you can be, jus’ wanna help,” he says, seemingly genuine while he’s already fiddling with the clip of her bra.   

And she feels her cheeks burning when the cashier mentions how sweet it is that her boyfriend is paying for her clothes— to which Rafe merely chuckles while she can’t find the words to correct the poor woman because she’d probably faint if she learned the truth about their relationship.

More often than not, he tends to be borderline territorial. One time, she’s simply talking to a guy at some party, when all of a sudden, she feels an all too familiar presence behind her.

“Who’s this, hm?” he slurs, slinging a heavy arm over her shoulder.   

“Oh, it’s…um, no one,” she peeps out because she knows how he is. However, her attempts at calming him down prove to be fruitless because he’s already approaching the guy with a scoff.   

“You, uh, you do know that this is m’sister, right? Mine. So, why don’t you, uh, go ‘n try to impress some other bitch, yeah?” he offers him a sickly-sweet smile, voice harsh before telling her they’re leaving— strong hands on her waist already dragging her towards his truck.

“I was having fun,” she complains when he’s putting the seatbelt on her— his breath smelling of beer when he drawls out a reply. “You can have all the fun you want with me when we get home, yeah?”   

“But I wanted to spend time with my friends,” she pouts.   

“That’s just too bad then, isn’t it?” he murmurs while starting the engine— resting a warm palm on her thigh soon after, ignoring her efforts of shrugging it off.  

- - - - - - - - - - -

When he learns that she hasn’t had her first kiss yet (because why would anyone even think about touching her when they know Rafe is a complete psycho), he mocks her to the point of her eyes growing glossy as she tries to blink away the soggy droplets.

“S’okay, you wanna get it over with, hm? I’ll help you,” he so kindly offers with faux concern glimmering in the moonstones of his eyes.   

“Rafe, that’s gross,” she frowns, to which he merely furrows his brows before scoffing— as if she’s the one being weird.   

“So, uh, so you tellin’ me you want some…some stranger at a party who only wants to get in your pants to do it instead?” he narrows his eyes as if that’s the only alternative.  

“N— no,” her answer is hesitant.  

“Listen, m’just…m’just, tryna be a good brother ‘n help my little sister out, but if you don’t want m’help then don’t come cryin’ to me when you embarrass yourself cause you don’t even know how to kiss,” he lifts his hands up in surrender before shrugging, suggesting that he’d merely be doing her a favor.   

And before her brain has the time to process what’s happening, he’s already dragging her into his lap. And it feels wrong when their mouths are suddenly slotting together— when he’s letting out a shallow groan and slipping his tongue past her teeth without so much as a warning.

“Rafe! You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that,” she squeaks out, pulling away with her face all crumpled up, feeling disconcerted.   

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake up everyone, thought you wanted to learn?” he mutters out before he’s smearing his mouth on hers once more— this time with a tight grip on her jaw that forces her to stay put as the the kiss turns into something sloppy; wet.

And afterwards, he makes her promise that she won’t tell anyone because ‘you don’t want dad to get mad at you, do you?’ and even if she feels guilt eat away at her, she keeps it to herself because the last thing she wants is to upset anyone. 

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Rafe guess what? I have a date tomorrow,” she gives him a giddy smile while stepping into his room a few weeks later.  

“With who?” he eyes her while slouching on his bed, seemingly in the midst of texting someone.

“This guy I met on the beach today,” she sits down on the edge of the mattress when he places his phone on his nightstand.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” he asks, shifting closer.  

“Um, Ethan.” 

“Last name?”  

“I— I don’t know, didn’t ask…why does it matter? Was just wondering if you could drive me there?” she says, surprised by his sudden interest. 

“Where?” his tone sounds almost exasperated now, as if she’s done something bad.

“Um, we’re just gonna hang out at his house,” she chews on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“You havin’ a date at his house? You finally gonna lose that virginity, huh?” he asks as patronizing laughter bubbles from his chest.

“What? No! S’not like that,” she mumbles, her skin already boiling. 

“No? You do know when guys say they wanna hang out, it means they wanna fuck, right? You’re not that stupid, are you?” his gaze is borderline condescending when he raises his brows.

“Well, he’s not like that, he seems nice,” she tries to defend herself, feeling small all of a sudden.

“Sweetheart, every guy’s like that, especially the ones that seem nice, you’re so fuckin’ naive,” he scoffs while running a hand through his hair.

“You know what? Forget about it, I’ll just walk there,” she huffs out, standing up to leave, however, she doesn’t get far before he’s grabbing at her arm.

“Listen, m’just tryna look out for you, okay? Don’t feel like dealin’ with your shit ‘bout how he broke your heart. I mean, if you’re not gonna let him hit, he’s gonna be expectin’ somethin’ else, you know that, right?”

She swallows.

“I— are you sure? But…but I don’t even know how to—” 

“Poor baby, what would you do without your big brother, hm? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you, yeah?” he coos before pinky promising he’ll be gentle.

And that’s how she ends up on her knees in front of him. 

“Ray, this doesn’t feel…right,” she mumbles out, eyes focused on the ruddy tip he’s thumbing over while he stares at her.

“Shh, can be our little secret, yeah? Jus’ wanna make sure my little sister doesn’t embarrass herself,” he lets out a grunt when she blinks up at him with uncertain eyes.

“Open your mouth, tongue out,” he instructs while moving closer to her tentative form, biting his lip when she gingerly does what he tells her to. Then, he’s thudding the drippy head on the flat of her tongue— one, two, three times, which makes her let out a noise; something that only seems to spur him on.

He tastes salty and she doesn’t necessarily mind it, which makes her feel entirely too gross about the situation altogether— the words ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ turning into a tangled muddle when he’s already pushing past her lips, making her gag around the sudden intrusion.

“Shit, tha’s good, jus’ take it, yeah?” he rumbles out; a big hand holding the back of her head as he stuffs himself deeper down her throat— cock twitching in response to her whines and attempts at drawing away for air.

It overwhelms her to no end when he’s so rough, abrasive, but despite his broken promise, she’s unable to prevent her thighs from pressing together when throaty moans keep escaping him; his respiration turning labored by each lazy rut of his hips while her head begins to spin.

Only when his sticky cum gushes onto her tongue— the white substance dribbling past the seam of her lips and covering her chin in the process, does he grant her a moment to catch her breath.

“Guys like it when you swallow,” his voice is like gravel when he pushes at her jaw, heady gaze glued to the way her throat bobs when she does just that, the aftertaste of what they’ve done making her feel stained; dirty.

“You know, s’cute you thought I’d let some, some shithead fuck my sister,” he sounds almost humored as he pats at the flushed skin of her cheek— making her eyes turn watery when he swipes a thumb under her wobbly bottom lip to clean up the remaining mess.

She feels something in her guts churn when he tucks it back into her mouth with a sick smile.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[flanaganfilm]

Mr. Flanagan, I’d like to ask a question and I deeply hope that it does not offend or upset you. I am strongly considering canceling my Netflix subscription due to their new password sharing policy. However, Midnight Mass is one of my favorite shows of all time and I know it isn’t available on DVD, and I’m also profoundly anticipating your take on my favorite Edgar Allen Poe story. So I wanted to ask your take on people accessing your work through, uh, other means. If it’s something that’s offensive to you or will harm you or the other people who work so hard on these shows, I’ll happily keep my Netflix just so that I can keep supporting your work. I respect you far too much as an artist to do otherwise.

Again, I really hope I’m not upsetting you by asking this question. Thank you for everything, and I hope you’re having a great day!

(NOTE 6/4/2024: I'm editing this entry because, well over a year since it was posted, some journalists dug this up and used it to create click-bait headlines that are misleading, out of context and artificially combative. While I was of course disappointed over the years that Netflix opted not to release my work on physical media, I never experienced any hostility or aggression in those discussions, and I sincerely regret the manner in which this post was used in the press this week.)

Hi there - no offense taken whatsoever, in fact I think this is a very interesting and important question.

So. If you asked me this a few years ago, I would have said "I hate piracy and it is hurting creators, especially in the independent space." I used to get in Facebook arguments with fans early in my career when people would post about seeing my work on torrent sites, especially when that work was readily available for rent and purchase on VOD.

Back in 2014, my movie Before I Wake was pirated and leaked prior to any domestic release, and that was devastating to the project. It actually made it harder to find distribution for the film. By the time we were able to get distribution in the US, the film had already been so exposed online that the best we could hope for was a Netflix release. Netflix stepped in and saved that movie, and for that I will always be grateful to them.

However...

Working in streaming for the past few years has made me reconsider my position on piracy.

In the years I worked at Netflix, I tried very hard to get them to release my work on blu-ray and DVD.

It became clear very fast that their priority was subscriptions, and that they were not particularly interested in physical media releases of their originals, with a few exceptions.

While companies like Netflix pride themselves on being disruptors, and have proven that they can affect great change in the industry, they sometimes fail to see the difference between disruption and damage. So much that they can find themselves, intentionally or not, doing harm to the concept of film preservation.

The danger comes when a title is only available on one platform, and then - for whatever reason - is removed.

We have already seen this happen. And it is only going to happen more and more. Titles exclusively available on streaming services have essentially been erased from the world. If those titles existed on the marketplace on physical media, like HBO's Westworld, the loss is somewhat mitigated (though only somewhat.) But when titles do not exist elsewhere, they are potentially gone forever.

The list of titles that have been removed from streaming services is growing.

I still believe that where we put our dollars matters. Renting or buying a piece of work that you like is essential. It is casting a vote, encouraging studios - who only speak the language of money - to invest more effort into similar work. If we show up to support distinct, unique, exciting work, it encourages them to make more of it. It's as simple as that. If we don't show up, or if they can't hear our voice because we are casing our vote "silently" through torrent sites or other means - it makes it unlikely that they will take a chance to create that kind of work again.

Which is why I typically suggest that if you like a movie you've seen through - uh - other means, throw a few dollars at that title on a legitimate platform. Rent it. Purchase it. Support it.

But if some studios offer no avenue for that kind of support, and can (and will) remove content from their platform forever... frankly, I think that changes the rules.

Netflix will likely never release the work I created for them on physical media, though I'll always hold out hope.

Some of you may say "wait, aren't The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor available on blu-ray and DVD?" Yes, they are, because they were co-produced with Paramount, and I'm grateful that Paramount was able to release and protect those titles. (I'm also grateful that those releases include extended cuts, deleted scenes, and commentary tracks. There are a number of fantastic benefits to physical media releases.)

But a lot of the other work I did there are Netflix originals, without any other studio involvement. Those titles - like Midnight Mass, The Midnight Club, and the upcoming Fall of the House of Usher - along with my Netflix exclusive and/or original movies Before I Wake and Gerald's Game - have no such protections. The physical media releases of those titles are entirely at Netflix's discretion, and don't appear to be priority for the studio at this time.

At the moment, Netflix seems content to leave Before I Wake, Gerald's Game, Midnight Mass, and The Midnight Club on the service, where they still draw audiences. I don't think there is a plan to remove any of them anytime soon. But plans change, the industry changes.

The point is things change, and each of those titles - should they be removed from the service for any reason - are not available anywhere else. If that day comes - if Netflix's servers are destroyed, if a meteor hits the building, if they are bought out by a competitor and their library is liquidated - I don't know what the circumstances might be, I just know that if that day comes, some of the work that means the most to me in the world would be entirely erased.

Or, what if we aren't so catastrophic in our thinking? What if it the change isn't so total? What if Netflix simply bumps into an issue with the license they paid for music (like the Neil Diamond songs that play such a crucial role in Midnight Mass), and decide to leave the show up but replace the songs?

This has happened before as well - fans of Northern Exposure can get the show on DVD and blu-ray, but the music they heard when the series aired has been replaced due to the licensing issues. And the replacements - chosen for their low cost, not for creative reasons - are not improvements. What if the shows are just changed, and not by creatives, but by business affairs executives?

All to say that physical media is critically important. Having redundancy in the marketplace is critically important. The more platforms a piece of work is available on, the more likely it is to survive and grow its audience.

As for Netflix, I hope sincerely that their thinking on this issue evolves, and that they value the content they spend so much money creating enough to protect it for posterity. That's up to them, it's their studio, it's their rules. But I like to think they may see that light eventually, and realize that exclusivity in a certain window is very cool... but exclusivity in perpetuity could potentially limit the audience and endanger the work itself.

[cake-writes]

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.  

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night. 

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were gone? Why does he want to do anything for you? 

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication. 

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.  

What the hell is he doing?  

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.  

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way. 

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one particular letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.” 

Your birth control must be overdue, then.  

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.  

He should have known then that he was getting too attached. 

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way. 

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.  

He could get you pregnant. 

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…  

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.  

Kakashi swears.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.  

He’s already too attached. 

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone. 

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.  

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.  

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.  

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.  

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Mm. Do you want me to?” 

His question hangs heavy in the air. The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.  

You want to say no, he realises.  

He wants you to say no. 

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk. 

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership. 

His.  

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do. He agrees.

“Just this once.”  

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there's never been a risk.

Your coy little smile prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth. 

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go. 

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat. He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well. 

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the silky skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl. 

“More than okay,” you sigh. 

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.  

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.  

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”  

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.  

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste. 

Later. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows. 

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go. 

Kakashi doesn't want to think about that. He just wants to enjoy what little time with you he has left.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate your vulnerability.

It’s selfish, he knows. 

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take. 

He wants it to take. 

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.  

“Close?”  

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.  

He stamps it down. “I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?” 

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I—shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”  

“Really?” 

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.  

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form. “Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily. 

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”  

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.  

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—” 

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.”

He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.  

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal that he’s always refused to name. He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something.

He wants them to mean that you’re his. 

He’s too attached. 

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he drives his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.  

It won't last long. He’s too worked up. 

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.  

“I want it inside,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.  

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up— 

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off. 

If he moves right now, he’s done for.  

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.  

You finish first. Always. 

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.  

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss against your cheek, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”  

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy. 

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”  

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple— 

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time. 

No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you. 

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—” 

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.” 

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight. 

His jaw tenses at the reminder. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?” 

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves. 

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen. 

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee. 

Get her there, then pull out. 

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch. 

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon. 

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—” 

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now— 

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall. 

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it. 

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—” 

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth, and still, he recites his mantra. 

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then—  

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips. 

Watching your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced. “Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—” 

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want. 

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own as you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.  

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry. 

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white.

It feels good. It feels right. 

He’s too attached. 

He doesn’t care. 

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits. 

Why the hell did he do that?  

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.  

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.  

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.  

“Did I—Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep, hit your cervix too hard. 

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.” 

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.  

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?” 

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.” 

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur. 

They’re happy tears, you said. 

You’re happy with him. 

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go. 

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”  

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.  

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You laugh and gently cup the side of his face, turning him back towards you. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”  

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.  

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight. 

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came. 

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine? 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”  

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.” 

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.  

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.” 

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.  

It’s cute. You’re cute. 

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.  

“What?” 

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Aren’t you upset?” 

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this about my birth control?”  

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”  

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!” 

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“That’s so bad! What if you got me pregnant?” 

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.  

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?” 

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real.  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”  

And how the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate. 

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d get the hell out of dodge as fast as he could. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed. 

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his bare shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.” 

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”  

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back. “Because,” he rasps.  

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t meet your gaze. He’s too embarrassed. 

“Because why?” you hum. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?” 

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads. 

“Hm? Why not?” 

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.” 

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. I wonder why?” 

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation. 

He likes that you understand him as well as you do. 

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached. 

-

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you pointedly.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. Ish. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” 

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue.  “What if I don’t want to be careful?”  

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself, hard and insistent against your ass. “You tell me.” 

-

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?” 

He lifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye. 

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing it is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.” 

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission. 

Looks like you’re on the same page, then. 

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home. 

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—” 

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused. 

 You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. 

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.” 

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?” 

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—” 

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.  

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

[obsessedwithceleste]

Til It’s Gone

Theodore Nott x reader

Based on this cute lil request 🤗

Summary: It seemed like they’d always been there. An ever-growing thorn in Theodore’s side. He really didn’t realize what he’d had until it was gone. (Happy ending I swear)

word count: 3.2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Theo let out a heavy sigh as he slumped into his seat, ignoring the cheery smile on your face as you turned to face him.

“Hi Theodore!” You chirped brightly, gaze landing on the tall brunette boy coming to sit next to you.

Salazar, here we go, Theo thought bitterly.

“Theo.”

“Right. Theo. How was your day?” You continued on, seemingly oblivious to his indifference as you scribbled mindlessly on your parchment.

Theodore wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite in fact. He knew you liked him. That much you’d made rather obvious. Especially as of late. If saving him a seat everyday in this miserable class didn’t make it clear to everyone that you had a certain affection for the boy, then the notes dropped in his bag, or kisses blown from across the Great Hall certainly did.

The only reason Theo even accepted sitting next to you was because the seat was positioned perfectly to be just outside of Professor Binns’ field of vision, saving him the work of pretending to care about whatever topic the professor was rattling on about.

“I don’t see why you even put up with it all,” Mattheo often said. “Just reject them and move on with it.”

“Or at least stop sitting with them. You’re only encouraging them,” Enzo would add.

Yet, here he was, still sat lazily in the seat next to you. Theo didn’t particularly care that you fancied him to be quite honest. He’d gotten used to the same pattern of stoically ignoring your chatter, copying your carefully organized notes, and leaving. So long as you weren’t too annoying, he didn’t see the harm in sticking around. Besides it’s not like you weren’t easy on the eyes. And he supposed there was something to be said about the confidence with which you acted that set you apart from the general hoard of girls harboring similar feelings.

“Theo?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine.” He replied tersely before turning once more to stare blankly ahead.

He’d changed his mind. Absolutely not. This was horrible. At this point, Theo wasn’t even sure if you actually liked him, or were only claiming you did as an excuse to see how much you could embarrass him.

“Mate, this is getting to be Weaselette levels of weird,” Draco said as their group stared in horror at the third year who had approached them warily in the halls with a poem to read aloud in hand.

Theo visibly shuddered, remembering the awful valentine the youngest Weasley had sent Saint Potter a few years prior.

“Save everyone the embarrassment and walk away now, kid,” Draco told the boy. “Go on. Scram.”

The third year didn’t need to be told twice and quickly darted off, away from the group of Slytherin boys.

“It isn’t even 8am mate. Where does that girl get the time to do all this?” Enzo grumbles as they made their way into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Theo simply ignores his friend’s comments, something he was getting used to doing, as they all sat down at their usual table.

They’d all seemed to have an opinion on you as soon as it became apparent that you had developed a crush on him, and Theo had just about had enough of his friend’s seemingly endless comments regarding his not so secret admirer.

The familiar small parcel tied neatly with a white ribbon that sat waiting for Theodore in his usual spot didn’t go unnoticed, starting the whole thing up again.

“For Salazar’s sake Theo, do you not find it creepy?” Draco asks, eyeing the package.

Theo rolled his eyes at his dramatic friend.

“I don’t care. You all seem to be more interested in y/n’s little stunts than I am, and I’m the one they’re intended for. They’re harmless. Just leave it and they’ll probably get bored eventually.”

“Yeah, or they’ll just keep it up thinking you’re playing all hard to get or what not,” Mattheo snorts.

Theo just glares at his friend, stabbing a sausage with his fork. Just behind Matt’s head, seated at a table with your own friends, Theo sees you blow a kiss his way, winking cheekily.

“Aw, they growing on you? Who would’ve thought dark and broody would be into golden girl herself,” Mattheo teases, earning him a sharp kick from under the table.

“Morning Theodore,” you greet, as the brooding boy once again took his seat beside you, this time in potions.

“It’s Theo.”

“That’s what I said.”

You hear the boy let out a small snort and you smile to yourself. That was one of the biggest reactions you’d been able to get out of the boy.

Your friends often wondered why you so insistently pursued the grumpy Slytherin boy, despite his general apathy towards you, and honestly, it was as simple as the fact that you enjoyed the challenge.

It was like your own little game of cat and mouse. Constantly finding little ways to make the boy smile, even if he didn’t realize it was you. And the rush of excitement you got anytime you were able to elicit any sort of reaction from the boy was like a drug that kept you coming back for more.

You’d found that the best way to elicit such reactions was by staging little acts of public affection whether it be a kiss sent his way or an origami note perched on his desk. Each time, you could see the heat rise softly in the boy’s cheeks as he tried desperately to keep it at bay, sometimes even fighting back a small smile.

Today you had come to class a bit early in order to set up both you and Theo’s potion stations before the brown haired Slytherin arrived, taking extra care to gather enough ingredients for each of your potions. You weren’t even sure he realized that you were doing all this for him, but watching his satisfied smile as he brewed away made it worth it.

That was another thing you had grown to appreciate about the boy. While his friends were all rather light-minded and rowdy, his wit and level-headedness balanced out the group. Theo was smart, and didn't feel the need to make a point about it, flying under the radar of many of your classmates when it came to who had the best marks. Sure it was fun to tease the boy, but you also had a certain admiration for him that went deeper then the nonserious way you often conducted yourself around him.

The rest of the class passed in a sort of agreed upon silence as you worked on your potions. Of course you’d like to talk to Theo a bit, but you’d found he’d preferred the silence, usually not uttering more than a few words to you per class. It was something you could work on eventually you supposed.

“See you later Theodore,” you said brightly once you had finished gathering up your things. Joining your group of friends, you toss one last wave over your shoulder at the boy, smiling to yourself. He hadn’t bothered to correct you for once.

The last thing Theo expected while roaming the dusty shelves of the library was to hear his own name being whispered from deeper within the maze of books he was searching through. The library was where he went to escape his friend’s incessant gossip about the rest of the school’s population, yet he was interested in what was being said about him. He didn’t often venture outside his usual group of Slytherins, so he didn’t know exactly what he expected to hear.

Following the loud whispers, Theo stopped, looming in the shadows once he was able to make out the dark figures of students huddled in one of the many rows of books.

“Sure Theo might be one of the most attractive boys in our year, but his head is so far up his own arse, it’s a wonder he can see straight.” A voice practically snarled as its owner leaned lazily against one of the shelves.

Theo felt himself immediately tense. Is that what they thought now? His fists clenched as he refrained from crashing through the shelves to give these snots a piece of his mind.

“Honestly, being an arrogant prick isn’t something to be proud of. He’s just like every other Slytherin who makes being a pure blood their only personality trait.” Another voice adds.

“Oh fuck off you two.”

Theo’s ears perk up, surprised to hear your voice join the chatter.

“Please, like you’re one to talk y/n. You’re practically blinded by desperation. Theo Nott is an utter prat and he treats you like shit. Have some bloody self respect.”

“I’m not desperate, you git. And Theodore isn’t an arrogant prick. There’s nothing wrong with having a little bit of pride. It’s not like you see him going around bragging about how amazing he is. If you’re going to talk about arrogant pricks, talk about Cormac. Or Draco even.”

“Whatever. That still doesn’t excuse his behavior towards you. I don’t understand why you insist on embarrassing yourself when he clearly has no interest in you. But he’s too much of a coward to say anything.”

“Oh for the love of- Theodore doesn’t owe anyone anything. Me included. I do the things I do because I can and I want to, and quite frankly it isn’t anyone else’s business but my own. So why don’t you two get your heads out of your own arses and stop worrying about me, and stop worrying about Theodore.”

With that, Theo listened as your footsteps slowly got quieter as you stomped away, your words ringing in his head.

Theo had never been in love before. But in that moment, he was beginning to see the appeal. Fuck that was hot as hell.

For Theo, it all spiraled down from there as he finally began to see you. Really see you. And not just as some girl who had a silly crush on him.

It started with the notes. He hadn’t noticed before, but it wasn’t just him that you’d slip a note to in the hallway. After one particularly difficult transfiguration exam, Theo watched as you dropped a note with a chocolate candy attached into the bags of your friends.

Another day, he arrived to potions early to find you carefully setting up his station as he hovered in the doorway. After class, he didn’t rush out like he normally would and instead watched as you quietly slipped an extra copy of your notes to a student he knew struggled with the class.

And while you weren’t exactly blowing kisses to all of your friends across the Great Hall, Theo began to notice the way you didn’t hesitate to throw your arms around your friends, hugging them tightly when you got excited. Or grasping onto a hand as you wandered through Hogsmeade, arms swinging in carefree bliss.

It was about a month after Theo had begun his silent observations that he began to feel it. The slow pull away as your presence began to fade from his life. He almost didn’t notice at first. It had been about a week since he’d last found a note in his bag, or parcel waiting for him on his seat. You still smiled brightly at him if your eyes met from across the Great Hall, but now that he thought about it, Theo couldn’t remember the last time you’d blown a kiss his way.

It all came to a head the day Theo walked into History of Magic to see one of your friends sitting next to you in his usual seat, chattering away.

“Nice mate, they finally get the message?” Mattheo asks with a grin, elbowing him in the ribs.

Theo remained silent as he followed his friend to a seat in the back, eyes not leaving the spot where he should be sitting.

It continued on like this for what Theo thought was eternity. Salazar he missed you. Weeks passed filled with sleepless nights where he would stare at the ceiling contemplating where he had gone wrong. At the very beginning really, he thought dryly, remembering his initial feelings of agitation and annoyance. He wished he could go back and give himself a good smack upside the head.

The day Theo passed you in the hall and you didn’t even spare him a passing glance was the day Theo finally broke.

“Lorenzo.” He said, slamming the door of their dormitory open, startling his roommate.

“Theodore?”

Theo glares at the use of the name.

“You’re the romantic type. How do I do it?” Theo asked as he stomped his way over to his bed.

With a bemused look, Enzo swings around to look at his roommate, wondering if one of the ghosts had somehow possessed him.

“You want to know. How to do romance?” Enzo asks slowly, not fully believing he’d heard his friend correctly. Theo was probably one of the most emotionally detached people he’d ever met.

“Yes. Y/n. I want to make it up to her.”

"I thought we didn't like her?" Enzo said, growing more concerned for his friend's mental state by the minute.

"We didn't. But now we do, and I want to make things right."

Enzo blinked. Oh this was not going to be easy.

As you sat in the court yard with a group of your friends, textbooks in hand as you attempted to study for the charms test the next day, your eyes flickered momentarily as a sea of green wandered by. Quickly you look away before your eyes could meet Theo’s and you try to turn your attention back to your friend’s idle chatter.

It had been what? A month since you’d stopped actively seeking out the boy’s attention. Maybe more. And you missed him. His sarcastic smiles and pretty eyes that seemed to be fixed in a permanent glare.

But you were also tired. Mostly tired of the snarky comments. “Have some self respect.” “So desperate.” The voices of your classmates echoed in your head, and eventually you began to draw back. You knew he’d noticed. You’d seen his eyebrows furrow in confusion that day you’d let your friend sit beside you in class. A pang of guilt washing over you. But it’s not like he showed any signs of wanting things to go back to the way they were. So you simply stayed away. Maybe that’s what he’d wanted all along.

Your thoughts followed you as you eventually made your way back to your dormitory, wanting nothing more than to wrap yourself up in a warm blanket and disappear. As you approach your bed however, you make out something that definitely wasn’t there when you’d left that morning. A gorgeous bouquet of little white flowers wrapped in thick brown paper, tied off with a silky emerald green ribbon. Stamped on the corner of one of the brown folds, the letters TN shown at you in gold curls.

“Oh those are beautiful!” Your roommate gasps when she sees the flowers. “Lily of the valley! Those can symbolize renewal ya know. Usually they’re given as like, an apology of sorts, or if someone wants to start over.” She tells you. Ever the herbology buff. “Who are they from?”

A smile grows on your lips as her words sink in and you press the flowers close to your chest.

“Just a special friend,” you reply.

After all the months of Theo's coldness towards you, you'd never quite allowed yourself to truly believe the boy would ever return your affection, but maybe things were beginning to look up.

Over the course of the next several days, you begin to notice little things that had Theodore’s name written all over them.

After the charms exam the following day, you find a note of encouragement written in Theo’s familiar scrawl dropped in your bag along with a bag of your favorite toffees. How he’d managed to get it there without you noticing was beyond you.

There were little things too. Your stations in herbology and astronomy were always set up and waiting for you when you walked into class. The book on ancient runes that you’d been searching for showed up on your bedside table. (You weren’t sure how he was doing that either, but you weren’t about to question it.) And there always seemed to be a comfortable smirk on Theodore’s face whenever your eyes wandered over to where he sat with his friends, eyes seemingly boring into you.

Now, you sat quietly in your own little nook of the library, quill in hand as you scribbled away at your ancient runes essay, the book Theo left you being quite helpful.

You were happy he'd found his way back into your life, happier still that he was actually making a point to be included in your life.

“You don’t mind do you?” A voice asks, startling you and causing ink to splatter against the parchment.

With shocked eyes, you look up to see Theodore standing next your table as if your thoughts had summoned him there. He sets his books down, frowning at your now ruined paper.

With a flick of his wand, the mess is gone.

“Sorry bout that,” he mutters, sitting down across from you.

You blink, not entirely convinced you’re not hallucinating.

“You know, I remember you being much more talkative,” he says, a sly smirk reaching across his face as you realize you’ve yet to say anything to the boy.

“I remember you being significantly less talkative,” you blurt out before quickly covering your mouth with your hand in horror.

To your relief, the boy in front of you lets out a low laugh.

"Fair enough. See you've been liking the book," he says, gesturing towards the open text.

"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to say something, thank you."

"Don't worry bout it. I never said thank you for all the things you did. Probably should've." He replies, looking down as he pulls out his own quill and parchment. "I am sorry by the way."

"For?" You ask, head tilting to the side in curiosity.

"Everything. Or for doing nothing is probably more accurate," he says, flipping open his text book.

You can tell that he's nervous as he fidgets with the corners of the book's pages, and you desperately want to ease the tension between the two of you.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as you debate whether or not to say anything more, or go back to your essay. Finally, you look up at the boy that you had been chasing after for all these months, and remind yourself that he had actually been the one to go through all the trouble of seeking you out tonight.

Gathering your courage, you open your mouth to speak. "Theodore?"

"Yes, Bella?" he replies, eyes carefully following the lines of next.

"Would you like to join me in Hogsmeade this weekend?"

His eyes snap up at this, and you see the familiar hint of red make it's way into his cheeks once more.

"Only if I can have my seat back in History of Magic." The boy replies.

"I think I can have that arranged."

Hi hi hi! I hope this lives up to all of your hopes and dreams, anon 🫶🏽