#you know when someone comes up to you and starts telling the most absurd story out of nowhere

[kluiyu]

[0-n-1-x]

sooooo, I was up late and had an idea. What if Damian Wayne and you were so good at keeping the whole dating thing a secret that you had to try to convince his family that you guys were actually dating?

this is a little drabble i wrote very late at night/ slight crack fic

love this idea !! damian would def do the most if he wanted to keep it a secret

link to my masterlist <33

After months of carefully sneaking around, you and Damian decide it’s time to come clean to his family. But when you sit down at Wayne Manor with Bruce, Alfred, and the rest of the family to announce, "Damian and I are dating," their reactions are pure skepticism. Bruce raises an eyebrow, Tim stifles a laugh, and even Alfred, in his dry British manner, politely expresses his doubt.

“I think you’ll have to try harder than that. Damian? Dating? I’ve never even seen any evidence.” his father muttered, continuing his work on some digital file.

Tim might be the most vocal, launching into his usual detective mode. “If you’re dating, how come there’s no sign of it? No phone records, no public outings, no paparazzi shots. You two are way too clean for a public relationship.”

You and Damian exchange a look—your efforts to avoid detection were a little too effective.

Damian grows more frustrated by the minute. He’s usually calm and composed, but the fact that his family thinks he’s lying gets under his skin. "Do I need to prove it to you? This is absurd.". He had tried to tell Dick and Jason in the training room, to no avail

Dick chimed in with a laugh as he sent another punch towards the second oldest, "Come on, Damian. No offense, but you’re not exactly the relationship type. It's not that we don't want to believe you, but this sounds a little... far-fetched."

Jason joined the banter with, "Wait, does this mean someone can actually tolerate you?"

At this point, you and Damian realize you’ll have to convince them through some carefully chosen stories. You mention times you and Damian spent together, romantic gestures he’s made that are so Damian. Like the time he stealthily followed you on a dangerous outing to make sure you were safe, or when he read you passages from classical literature because he knows you love books.

Still, the family isn't buying it. They demand more 'concrete' evidence, so you end up showing the saved texts, or even a picture or two that you’ve been hiding from everyone else (to Damian's dismay). It’s only then that they start considering it might be real.

Tim still puzzled, asks for more details because he can’t wrap his mind around how you kept everything under wraps so flawlessly, even through his skills.

[muiitoloko]

Would you be able to do a Severus Snape story. One where his girlfriend is nervous about having sex with him, as she still suffers from issues she suffered at the hands of a man who thought cared about her but just wanted to abuse her. Severus completely understands and never pressures her, she tells him she finally wants to have sex with him and he takes his time with her and is gently with her due her abuser being a sadist when it came to sex and not preparing her enough. Then after they have made love, he cuddles up with her which is a foreign concept to her as her abuser just use to shove her clothes into her arms after he was finished. Severus telling her how beautiful she is, as her abuser also belittled her about her body.

if you aren’t comfortable with this idea, it is fine if you choose not to write this idea.

Title: Alchemy of the Heart

Summary: A story of transformation and healing, where Severus Snape learns that love, like magic, can mend even the most broken of souls.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request! 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never thought he would find himself in such a situation—dating a Muggle, living a life that was so mundanely normal after everything he had endured. He scoffed at the absurdity of it all as he moved about the small kitchen in his modest home at Spinner's End, preparing dinner for himself and you, the woman who had somehow wormed her way into his life, despite his best efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length.

The irony was not lost on him. He, Severus Snape, a man who had spent his entire adult life hiding behind shadows and secrets, was now standing over a stove, chopping vegetables for a Muggle dish he barely knew how to make. He was a man who had survived the war, against all odds, only to be pulled back from the brink of death by none other than Harry bloody Potter. That particular twist of fate still rankled him. Potter had used the Elder Wand to heal the wounds inflicted by Nagini, saving his life and subsequently fighting to free him from Azkaban, where he had been imprisoned for a year. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing he owed his life and freedom to the very boy he had spent years despising.

Snape grimaced as he remembered the cold, damp cells of Azkaban, the Dementors draining every ounce of warmth and hope from him, leaving only a hollow shell behind. He had resigned himself to that fate, ready to be forgotten, to fade into obscurity. But Potter had other plans, of course. The boy who lived, the boy who couldn’t leave well enough alone.

And now, here he was, living in his old childhood home, the memories of his past haunting every corner, every shadow. But there was one new element in his life, something—or rather someone—who had become an unexpected comfort in this bleak existence. You.

He had first noticed you a few weeks after his release, moving into the house next door with your belongings piled into an old, beat-up car. You were a breath of fresh air in the stale, suffocating environment of Spinner’s End. Snape had tried to scare you off at first, his usual acerbic demeanor and cutting remarks meant to keep you at a distance. But you were persistent, infuriatingly so. You would knock on his door with some trivial request—a cup of sugar, a light for your stove, a missing ingredient for dinner. And every time, despite himself, Snape would begrudgingly oblige, always with a scowl and a sarcastic remark.

But you kept coming back. No matter how cold or curt he was, you would return, flashing that infuriatingly bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a warmth that he hadn’t known in years. Slowly, despite his best efforts, Snape found himself softening towards you, your presence becoming a constant, a fixture in his life that he didn’t entirely hate.

It had started as a reluctant friendship—if he could even call it that—exchanging a few words here and there, discussing the weather or some mundane topic. But then, one evening, you had invited him over for dinner. He had almost declined, the words on the tip of his tongue, but something in your eyes, a quiet loneliness, made him change his mind. And that night, as you both sat in your small, cozy kitchen, sharing a simple meal, Snape felt something shift between you. It was subtle, a barely noticeable change in the air, but it was there, and he knew you felt it too.

From that moment on, things were different. The awkwardness that had always lingered between you seemed to dissipate, replaced by a quiet understanding, a comfort in each other’s presence that neither of you could deny. The dinners became more frequent, the conversations more personal, and before long, those moments spent together turned into something more.

The first time you kissed him, it was hesitant, a brief brush of lips that left him reeling. He had pulled back, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, of regret. But all he saw was warmth, acceptance, and something deeper—something he hadn’t felt in years. And so, he had kissed you again, this time with more conviction, more certainty, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, tasting the sweetness of your lips.

But even as things between you grew more intimate, there was always a hesitance on your part, a reluctance to let things progress beyond those heated kisses, those moments of passion that left you both breathless. Snape had tried to be patient, tried to respect your boundaries, but there were times when he couldn’t help the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until one night, after another round of heated kisses that left you both wanting more, that Snape’s patience finally wore thin. He had used Legilimency on you, a skill he had honed to perfection over the years, and what he saw left him reeling. Memories of your past, of a relationship that had been toxic, abusive, of a man who had used your body, your trust, against you. It made Snape’s blood boil with rage, a fury that he hadn’t felt in years, directed not at you but at the man who had hurt you.

He had pulled back immediately, ashamed of what he had done, of the intrusion, but he couldn’t erase the memories from his mind. He couldn’t forget the pain in your eyes, the fear that had lingered just beneath the surface, even as you tried to move on, to find happiness with him.

So he kept it to himself, burying the knowledge deep within, refusing to let it taint what was growing between you. He would wait, he decided. He would wait until you were ready to tell him, until you trusted him enough to open up, to share your past with him.

And then, one evening, as you both sat on his old, worn sofa, your head resting on his shoulder, you had finally told him. The words had tumbled out in a rush, your voice trembling with fear and uncertainty, and Snape had listened, his heart aching with every word. When you had finished, he had wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered words of comfort, of reassurance.

"Thank you for telling me," he had murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You’re safe with me, always."

And that night, as you lay in his arms, Snape had made a silent vow to himself. He would never hurt you, never push you beyond what you were comfortable with. He would wait, as long as it took, until you were ready.

Now, as he stirred the pot of soup simmering on the stove, Snape couldn’t help but think back to that night, to the way you had looked at him with such trust, such vulnerability. It made his heart clench in a way that he wasn’t used to, a feeling that he had tried to bury for years but that now resurfaced with a vengeance.

You had come into his life like a force of nature, breaking down the walls he had built around himself, forcing him to confront emotions that he had long since buried. And while part of him resented it, resented the way you had made him feel again, another part of him—the part he tried to ignore—was grateful.

He heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind him and turned to see you standing in the doorway, your eyes bright with affection as you watched him cook. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the sight of you, so full of life, so full of light.

"You’re cooking," you said, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight as you stepped into the kitchen, your hands coming to rest on the counter as you leaned against it, watching him with those warm, trusting eyes.

"Don’t sound so shocked," Snape replied, his tone dry but not unkind as he turned back to the stove, giving the soup another stir. "I am capable of preparing a meal, despite what you may think."

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. "I never doubted it," you said, your voice light and teasing as you stepped closer, your hands resting on his shoulders as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "But I’m still impressed."

Snape felt a warmth spread through him at your touch, your lips against his skin sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the warmth of your gaze, the affection that shone in your eyes.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone, and Snape turned back to the stove, his hands tightening on the spoon as he stirred the soup with more force than necessary. He couldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable, to let his guard down. There was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much he was keeping from you.

You didn’t know that the man you were dating was not just a simple recluse living in a small, forgotten town. You didn’t know that the man you had trusted with your secrets, with your heart, was a wizard, a man who had fought in a war that had left deep scars on his soul. You didn’t know that the man you had chosen to love was capable of things that would terrify most people.

And as much as Snape wanted to keep it that way, to keep you safe from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. He could only hope that when it did, you would still look at him with the same warmth, the same affection that you did now.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand—preparing a simple meal for the woman who had become the light in his dark, shadowed world. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer.

You moved closer to him, your body pressing against his as you wrapped your arms around his waist, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched him cook. Snape stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your embrace, the warmth of your body seeping into his own, calming the storm of thoughts that constantly swirled in his mind.

"Thank you, Sev," you murmured, your voice soft and sincere as you pressed another kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering against the fabric of his shirt. "For everything."

Snape swallowed hard, his throat tightening at the sound of your voice, the sincerity in your words. He wasn’t used to this—this warmth, this affection. It was foreign to him, something he had long since resigned himself to living without. But now, with you, it was becoming a part of his life, and as much as it terrified him, he found himself clinging to it, desperate for the light you brought into his world.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust his voice to remain steady, so instead, he simply nodded, his hand coming up to rest on yours, squeezing it gently in silent acknowledgment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just a connection, a confirmation that he was here, with you, in this moment. Whatever it was, Snape felt a surge of emotion rise up within him, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, as if sensing his turmoil, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, a gentle caress that made his heart ache with longing. Snape responded almost automatically, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate need that he hadn’t felt in years.

The kiss quickly grew more heated, more urgent, as Snape’s hands roamed over your body, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your clothes. He could feel the desire building within him, the need to take this further, to lose himself in you, in the warmth and comfort that you offered.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, you pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"Severus," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as you placed your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I… I want to be with you, but…"

Snape felt his heart clench at your words, the hesitation in your voice, the uncertainty in your eyes. He knew what you were going to say, knew what was holding you back, and it made his chest tighten with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

"But you’re not ready," Snape finished for you, his voice low and rough as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "And that’s okay, love. We’ll take things at your pace."

You looked up at him, your eyes filling with tears as you nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hand against your skin.

Snape felt a wave of emotion wash over him, a mixture of love and frustration and something else—something deeper, something darker that he couldn’t quite put into words. He wanted you, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—push you into something you weren’t ready for. Not after everything you had been through.

So instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as he whispered, "When you’re ready, I’ll be here."

You nodded, your arms wrapping around his waist as you buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. And in that moment, Snape realized that maybe, just maybe, he was.

As the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Snape couldn’t help but think of how far he had come, how much his life had changed since the end of the war. He had gone from being a man consumed by darkness and hatred, to a man who was learning to love again, who was finding solace in the warmth of a woman’s embrace.

But even as he held you close, the weight of his secrets pressed down on him, a constant reminder that there was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much that he was keeping from you.

And as much as he wanted to protect you from that darkness, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

For now, though, he would hold onto this moment, this brief reprieve from the shadows that haunted his every step. And he would continue to wait, as long as it took, until you were ready to take that next step, to fully trust him with your body, your heart, your soul.

Because for the first time in his life, Severus Snape had something worth waiting for.

You and Severus Snape sat across from each other at the small, worn kitchen table in his modest home. The room was quiet, save for the soft clinking of spoons against bowls as you both ate the soup he had prepared. The aroma of the dish filled the air, a comforting blend of herbs and spices that seemed almost out of place in the austere surroundings of Spinner’s End.

Snape watched you closely, his dark, piercing eyes never leaving your face as you took your first tentative spoonful of the soup. He appeared calm and composed, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze—an emotion that he carefully kept hidden behind his usual mask of indifference. You, oblivious to the scrutiny, tasted the soup, savoring the warmth that spread through you as you swallowed.

To your surprise, the soup was not just good—it was delicious. The flavors were rich and well-balanced, each ingredient perfectly complementing the others. You glanced up at Snape, your eyes wide with genuine admiration. “This is amazing, Severus,” you said, your voice filled with pleasant surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be such a good cook!”

Snape’s response was immediate. He rolled his eyes in a manner that was both exaggerated and entirely out of character, the motion so unexpected that it caught you off guard. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he affected a tone of mock offense. “What did you expect, then? That I would poison you with my lack of culinary skills?”

You burst into laughter, the sound bright and clear in the small, dimly lit kitchen. “No, no! It’s just—I mean, you never struck me as the type to… well, cook. You always seem so serious, so… severe.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but there was a glint of amusement in them that you hadn’t noticed before. “I am full of surprises, as you’ve clearly discovered,” he said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were fighting the urge to smile.

You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand as you leaned forward, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Sev. I didn’t mean to sound so… rude. I’m just pleasantly surprised, that’s all.”

Snape’s expression remained impassive, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, if you’re going to be so disrespectful about my cooking, perhaps I should refrain from ever doing it again,” he said, his tone smooth and measured, though laced with a subtle edge of sarcasm.

Your laughter died down, and you looked at him with wide, imploring eyes, your lips forming a small, playful pout. “Oh, please don’t do that! I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He allowed the silence to stretch out, letting you squirm slightly under his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he set his spoon down and leaned back in his chair, his long, pale fingers steepled in front of him. “I suppose I can find it within myself to forgive you,” he said with mock gravity, his voice carrying that familiar, rich baritone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You grinned, relieved by the playful banter that had emerged between you two. “I promise to be more appreciative next time,” you said, your tone light and teasing.

Snape’s eyes softened slightly, and he allowed himself a small, genuine smile, though it was fleeting. “See that you do,” he replied, his voice carrying just a hint of warmth. He picked up his spoon once more, returning his attention to his soup, though you could tell he was still watching you from the corner of his eye.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the earlier tension between you having dissipated entirely. There was something soothing about the simplicity of the moment—the two of you sharing a meal, the quiet intimacy of the evening wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

After a while, you looked up at him, a thought crossing your mind. “Severus,” you began, your voice soft and curious, “you never really talk about your past. You’ve told me bits and pieces, but… I don’t really know much about you.”

Snape’s hand paused mid-motion, his spoon hovering over the bowl. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of something—uncertainty, perhaps?—in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual inscrutable expression.

“What exactly do you want to know?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You hesitated, unsure of how to phrase your question without prying too much. “I know you were a professor—a chemistry professor, right? At a college in Scotland?”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the version of his past that he had shared with you. “Yes,” he said, his voice measured. “I taught for many years.”

You smiled at him, trying to convey that you weren’t seeking to push him into sharing anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “It must have been… interesting, teaching. But I can’t imagine it was easy, especially with students who didn’t always appreciate your brilliance.”

Snape’s lips twitched at that, and he let out a soft, sardonic huff. “Indeed. Many of them were more interested in their own self-indulgent pursuits than in actually learning anything of value.”

You chuckled, imagining a classroom full of students cowering under Snape’s stern gaze, their attempts at chemistry likely met with his cutting remarks. “I’m sure you were a… challenging teacher,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your tact. “I was effective,” he replied simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him with genuine curiosity. “Do you miss it? Teaching, I mean.”

For a moment, Snape was silent, his eyes distant as if he were considering your question—or perhaps reliving old memories. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more reflective. “There are aspects of it that I miss, yes. The pursuit of knowledge, the satisfaction of imparting it to those few who were truly eager to learn… But the rest… no, I do not miss that.”

You nodded, understanding that there was much more to his past than he was willing—or perhaps able—to share. You didn’t press further, content to let him reveal what he wished in his own time. Instead, you reached out and gently placed your hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Sev,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with sincerity.

Snape looked at you, his expression inscrutable, but you could sense the shift in his mood—the subtle softening of his usual defenses. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice low and almost reluctant, as if the words didn’t come easily to him.

You both returned to your meal, the earlier levity now replaced by a quiet, comfortable silence. As you finished your soup, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment—a feeling that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the man who, against all odds, had become so important to you.

And as Snape watched you from across the table, his dark eyes lingering on your face, he too felt a stirring of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—something that, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t entirely hate.

Days later, you found yourself in a small, charming boutique nestled in the heart of town, dragging Severus Snape along with you. The place was a far cry from the dark, foreboding atmosphere of Spinner's End. It was bright, colorful, and filled with racks of clothing that seemed to almost offend Snape’s sensibilities. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fabric and a hint of perfume, and the light streaming through the windows made everything seem almost unnaturally cheerful.

Snape, however, was anything but cheerful.

He stood in the middle of the store, his tall, lean frame towering over the racks of clothing, his long black coat making him look like a shadow in a world of light. His greasy black hair hung over his pale, angular face, and his dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of disdain and discomfort. He watched you with a glare that could have curdled milk, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"You cannot be serious," he growled, his deep, monotone voice cutting through the lighthearted chatter of the boutique. "I have no interest in—"

"Oh, come on, Sev," you interrupted, undeterred by his intimidating presence as you held up a bright, turquoise shirt, eyeing it critically before pushing it against his chest. "You can't always wear black. It's time for a change, don't you think?"

Snape recoiled as if you had just handed him a particularly venomous potion. "Absolutely not," he snapped, pushing the shirt away from him as if it were toxic. "I am perfectly content with my current wardrobe, thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes, clearly unfazed by his resistance. "You can't hide in black forever, you know. It’s time to add a little color to your life, Severus."

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of stubborn defiance. "I see no need for such frivolity. I am not one of your... fashion experiments."

You grinned at his surly tone, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you rifled through another rack of clothing. "Well, maybe you should be. I think you’d look quite dashing in something other than black for a change."

Snape’s eyes narrowed further as he watched you, clearly unimpressed with the direction this outing was taking. "This is absurd," he muttered, though there was a faint trace of resignation in his voice as he realized that there was no escaping your determination.

And then, as if to test his resolve further, you pulled out a bright pink shirt from the rack, holding it up for him to see. "What about this?" you asked, your voice filled with playful innocence. "I think pink would really bring out the color in your eyes."

Snape’s reaction was immediate and visceral. His dark eyes widened in horror, and for a moment, it looked as if he might actually hiss at the offending garment. "Absolutely not!" he thundered, taking a step back as if the shirt were about to attack him. "I will not—under any circumstances—wear pink! No! No! No way! I’d rather die before wearing that!"

You burst into laughter at his dramatic reaction, clutching the shirt to your chest as you tried to stifle your giggles. "Oh, Sev," you managed between laughs, "you’re being ridiculous. It’s just a shirt!"

"It’s not just a shirt," he retorted, his voice laced with indignation. "It’s a deliberate assault on my dignity. Pink, indeed!" He scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disdain. "Do I look like someone who would wear pink?"

You stepped closer to him, your laughter subsiding as you held the shirt up to his chest again, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of challenge and affection. "You might be surprised," you teased, your voice softening slightly as you gave him a knowing smile. "Besides, I think you’d look quite handsome in it. It’s just for fun, Sev. No one’s going to see you."

Snape stared down at you, his expression unreadable as he contemplated your words. There was a long moment of silence as the two of you stood there, the bright pink shirt still held between you, an unspoken battle of wills playing out in the air.

Finally, with a resigned sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Snape snatched the shirt from your hands, his dark eyes glaring at you with a mixture of frustration and reluctant acceptance. "Fine," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "But if I look ridiculous, I will hold you personally responsible."

You grinned, practically bouncing on your toes with excitement as you watched him disappear into the dressing room. "I’m sure you’ll look fantastic," you called after him, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Several minutes passed, and you waited impatiently outside the dressing room, practically buzzing with anticipation. Finally, the door creaked open, and Snape stepped out, his tall, lean frame draped in the bright pink shirt you had chosen for him.

For a moment, you were stunned into silence. The shirt, against all odds, actually looked… good on him. The color, while a far cry from his usual black, brought out a warmth in his pale complexion that you hadn’t noticed before. The way the fabric clung to his lean form was surprisingly flattering, highlighting the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest.

But what really struck you was the expression on Snape’s face. He looked utterly resigned, as if he were bracing himself for some inevitable disaster, but there was also a glimmer of something else in his dark eyes—something that almost looked like amusement.

He stood there, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he clapped his hands together, his expression deadpan as he waited for your reaction. "Well?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you satisfied with your handiwork, or do I need to suffer through more of this torture?"

You couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter, the sound bright and joyful as you clapped your hands together in delight. "You look… amazing, Severus!" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you stepped closer to him, reaching out to smooth the fabric of the shirt against his chest. "I knew you’d look good in pink!"

Snape rolled his eyes, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips that betrayed his own amusement. "I look like an idiot," he muttered, though the words lacked any real heat. "This is precisely why I do not allow you to choose my clothing."

You grinned up at him, your hands resting on his chest as you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "Well, I think you look quite handsome," you said, your voice filled with affection. "And besides, it’s good to have a little fun every now and then, don’t you think?"

Snape huffed, clearly unconvinced, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before—a subtle acknowledgment of the fact that, despite his grumbling, he didn’t entirely hate the experience.

"Fun," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he gave you a pointed look. "Yes, well, I suppose if nothing else, I’ve provided you with some amusement."

You chuckled, your eyes twinkling as you leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "You always do, Severus. You always do."

And as you both left the boutique, Snape still wearing the pink shirt with a mixture of resignation and reluctant acceptance, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The man who had once been shrouded in darkness, who had built walls around himself so high that no one could penetrate them, was slowly letting you in—one bright pink shirt at a time.

Later that day, after the unexpected and rather amusing shopping trip, you found yourself back at Snape’s home. The small, dimly lit rooms of Spinner’s End were a stark contrast to the bright, colorful boutique you had dragged him to earlier, but there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of the old, worn furniture and the quiet, almost melancholic atmosphere that seemed to permeate every corner of the house.

Snape, now mercifully back in his usual black attire, sat stiffly on a low stool in the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly folded in front of him, as you fussed over his hair. The small, narrow room was filled with the scent of shampoo and the faint sound of water dripping from the faucet, the only noises breaking the otherwise heavy silence.

You stood behind him, your fingers working through the tangled strands of his long, greasy black hair, your touch gentle but insistent. The hair-washing had been your idea, of course—a suggestion made with the kind of playful insistence that you knew Snape could never fully resist, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

Snape, for his part, was doing his best to endure the ordeal with what little dignity he had left. His dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of discomfort and irritation as he glared at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink, his lips pressed into a thin line of discontent. Every so often, he would let out a low grumble, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

"Must you continue this charade?" he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he shot you a sideways glance in the mirror. "I’m quite capable of washing my own hair, you know."

You ignored his complaints, your fingers continuing to work through the soapy strands of his hair with determined care. "Oh, hush, Severus," you replied, your tone light and teasing as you gently massaged his scalp. "You’re just being grumpy because you know I’m right—this hair needs a good washing, and you weren’t about to do it yourself."

Snape let out an indignant huff, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. "I hardly think you’re qualified to make such judgments," he retorted, though the faint hint of amusement in his tone betrayed his true feelings. "And you’re taking entirely too much pleasure in this."

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you leaned down to press a quick, playful kiss to the top of his head. "Of course I am," you admitted, your voice filled with affection as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. "When else do I get the chance to pamper you like this?"

Snape rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real heat. "Pamper," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he met your gaze in the mirror. "If this is what you consider pampering, then I shudder to think what you would consider torture."

You grinned, your hands still working methodically through his hair, carefully untangling each knot with the patience of someone who had come to know him well enough to not be intimidated by his gruff demeanor. "Oh, Sev," you teased, your voice soft and affectionate, "I think you secretly enjoy this more than you let on. You just don’t want to admit it."

He scoffed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his head to glare at you, though there was no real malice in his gaze. "I assure you, I derive no enjoyment from being subjected to this… this—"

"Indulgence?" you supplied, your tone light and playful as you met his glare with a knowing smile.

"Humiliation," Snape corrected, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he turned his attention back to the mirror, his expression once again settling into its usual stoic mask. "But by all means, continue with your… indulgence."

You shook your head, your grin widening as you continued to work through his hair, the strands slowly becoming less tangled, less greasy under your careful ministrations. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though there was no real heat behind the words. "But that’s part of your charm, I suppose."

Snape’s only response was a low, noncommittal grunt, his fingers tapping impatiently against the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain his patience.

After a few more minutes of combing through his hair, you finally felt satisfied with your work. You reached for a clean towel, gently wrapping it around his head as you began to dry the now-clean strands with a firm but gentle touch. "There, all done," you said, your voice filled with a quiet satisfaction as you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

Snape, however, was less than impressed. He reached up, his long fingers brushing through his now-damp hair with a frown, as if expecting to find some glaring imperfection. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, his tone a mixture of irritation and resignation as he glanced at you in the mirror.

"Not quite," you replied, your eyes catching sight of a single strand of white hair near the crown of his head. Your expression shifted from playful to curious as you reached out to touch the strand, gently pulling it free from the rest of his hair.

"Sev," you said, your voice filled with a mixture of surprise and amusement as you held up the white hair for him to see. "Look what I found."

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the strand in your hand, his expression immediately hardening. "That is not mine," he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It must have gotten mixed in with my hair somehow."

You couldn’t help but laugh at his stubborn denial, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you dangled the strand in front of him. "Oh, come on, Sev," you teased, your voice light and playful as you met his glare with a grin. "It’s just one white hair. It’s nothing to be ashamed of."

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes narrowing further as he snatched the strand from your hand, his expression one of absolute refusal. "It is not mine," he repeated, his voice filled with the kind of certainty that only Severus Snape could muster. "I do not have white hair."

You rolled your eyes, clearly amused by his adamant refusal to accept the truth. "You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head as you watched him carefully inspect the strand of hair, as if trying to find some evidence to support his claim.

"Impossible or not," Snape replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tossed the strand of hair into the waste bin with a flick of his wrist, "I refuse to believe that I am… aging."

You chuckled softly, reaching out to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the sharp line of his jaw as you looked up at him with a mixture of affection and amusement. "Everyone ages, Sev," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth as you met his gaze. "Even you."

Snape’s expression softened slightly at your words, though he still seemed reluctant to accept the truth. "Perhaps," he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he glanced away, his dark eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had become so important to you, despite his stubbornness, despite his gruff exterior. "It’s nothing to worry about," you assured him, your voice soft and reassuring as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I think it just makes you more distinguished."

Snape let out a low, skeptical grunt, his lips curving into a faint, reluctant smile as he met your gaze once more. "Distinguished," he repeated, his tone filled with a mixture of irony and amusement. "Is that what you call it?"

You grinned, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you nodded. "Absolutely," you replied, your voice filled with playful conviction. "And besides, it’s just one hair. You’ve got plenty of time before you have to worry about going gray."

Snape rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced by your reassurances, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your touch, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulled you closer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at you with a mixture of desire and frustration.

"You’re entirely too pleased with yourself," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering on your skin.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze, your heart quickening as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. "And you’re entirely too grumpy," you retorted, though your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, the playful banter giving way to a sudden, undeniable tension that crackled in the air between you.

Snape’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, "you need to be reminded of why you shouldn’t push me too far."

Your breath hitched at the underlying threat in his tone, a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you as his fingers tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady, insistent pressure of his arousal against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of desire straight to your core.

"Severus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and uncertain.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your hesitation, the dark intensity in his eyes giving way to a quiet, almost tender concern. "You’re still afraid," he murmured, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire as he brushed his lips against your temple, the gentle gesture at odds with the possessive grip he had on your wrist. "You don’t have to be, love."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the weight of his words, the quiet reassurance in his voice making your resolve waver. "I know," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt, of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the dark, smoldering intensity of a man who wanted you—body, heart, and soul.

"I want this," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for so long, the words that you had been too afraid to say. "I want you, Sev."

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest at your admission, his dark eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and satisfaction as he leaned down to capture your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a possessive urgency that made your knees weak.

You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pressed yourself against him, the fear and hesitation that had held you back for so long melting away in the heat of his embrace. There was no room for doubt, no room for fear—only the overwhelming need to be with him, to feel him, to lose yourself in the pleasure that he offered.

Snape’s hands moved with a sure, practiced grace as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of your chest. He let out a low, appreciative groan as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire as he reached up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his hands moving to your waist as he slowly began to guide you toward the bed. "I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you for so long."

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his lips against your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as you allowed him to lead you, your legs trembling with anticipation as you felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees. "Sev," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and uncertainty as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your lingering hesitation, his hands moving to cup your face as he leaned down to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to your lips. "You don’t have to be afraid," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he brushed his thumbs against your cheeks, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, tender concern. "I’ll be gentle, love. I promise."

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had been so patient, so understanding, even as his own desire threatened to consume him. "I trust you," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hands against your skin.

Snape let out a low, relieved sigh at your words, his lips curving into a small, tender smile as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to gently guide you onto the bed. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet, sincere gratitude as he leaned over you, his dark eyes never leaving yours as he slowly began to undress you, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverent care that made your heart ache.

There was no rush, no urgency—only the slow, deliberate movements of a man who wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every kiss. And as he finally stripped away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long fading into the background as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

Snape took his time, his hands and lips exploring every inch of your body with a slow, deliberate care that made your breath hitch in your throat, the pleasure building with every touch, every caress. He was patient, attentive, always watching, always listening for any sign of discomfort, of hesitation, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if you so much as whispered a word of doubt.

But you gave him none. Only soft, breathless moans and whispered pleas for more, your body arching into his touch as he slowly, gently, brought you to the edge of pleasure, only to pull back, teasing you with the promise of release before finally, mercifully, giving you what you craved.

When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you completely, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisitely perfect. You let out a soft cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure that surged through you.

"Sev," you moaned, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and relief as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

He let out a low, guttural groan at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he quickened his pace, the intensity of his movements matched only by the fierce, possessive hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you, his expression one of absolute, unbridled need.

"You’re mine," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hips driving into you with a desperate urgency that made your breath hitch in your throat. "Mine, love. Always."

You could only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form coherent words as you lost yourself in the sensation of him moving inside you, the steady, insistent rhythm of his thrusts sending you spiraling closer and closer to the edge of release.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you cried out in pleasure, your fingers digging into his back as you clung to him, the intensity of your orgasm leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Snape continued moving inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as the intensity of his own pleasure grew, his control slipping with each passing second. His dark eyes, usually so guarded and inscrutable, were now clouded with raw desire as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper, rough with the effort to hold back. There was a note of desperation in his tone, a plea for your permission, your acceptance, as he teetered on the edge of release.

Your mind was a haze of pleasure, your body still trembling from the powerful orgasm he had just coaxed from you. His question hung in the air, charged with the weight of what it would mean—for him to finally claim you, to mark you as his.

“In me,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but there was no mistaking the conviction in your words. “Cum inside me, Severus.”

A low, guttural curse escaped his lips, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanor, as he buried himself to the hilt with a final, powerful thrust. The sensation of his thick length pulsing deep inside you sent a shudder through your body, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, holding him close as he found his release.

He came hard, his entire body tensing as he spilled himself inside you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he held you in place, ensuring that every last drop was buried deep within you. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, mingling with the soft, desperate moans that escaped his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, the intensity of it nearly overwhelming him.

“Mine,” he growled through clenched teeth, his voice rough with satisfaction as he pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release. “You’re mine, love… all mine.”

You could only nod weakly, your body spent, your mind still reeling from the force of your own climax. The weight of his words, the possessiveness in his tone, sent a thrill through you, even as exhaustion began to creep in, your limbs heavy and languid as you lay beneath him.

Snape slowly pulled out of you, a low, satisfied groan rumbling in his chest as he watched the evidence of his claim slowly begin to seep from your body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the sight stirring something deep within him—something primal, possessive, and utterly inescapable.

But before you could fully process what was happening, Snape surprised you by shifting lower, his long, lean frame sliding down the bed until his face was level with your still-sensitive core. Your eyes widened in shock as you realized what he intended, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide to make room for himself.

“Sev—” you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and lingering sensitivity, but he silenced you with a look, his dark eyes glinting with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Be still,” he commanded softly, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your inner thigh in a feather-light caress. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as he moved closer, his breath hot against your already oversensitive skin. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your most intimate areas, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure and discomfort through your body in equal measure.

“Severus, please,” you pleaded, your voice weak and breathy as you tried to squirm away, the overwhelming sensitivity making you want to pull back, to escape the onslaught of sensations that were too much, too intense.

But Snape would have none of it. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as he buried his face between your legs, his lips and tongue seeking out the remnants of his own release mixed with your essence. The feel of his mouth on you, the deliberate, almost reverent way he cleaned you, was both too much and not enough, your mind spinning with the intensity of it all.

“Stay still,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a rough whisper as he continued his ministrations, his tongue lapping at you with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. “Let me taste you… let me taste what’s mine.”

You gasped, your fingers curling into the sheets as you fought against the urge to pull away, the overwhelming sensitivity making every touch feel like both pleasure and torture. Your body jerked involuntarily, but Snape only tightened his grip, holding you steady as he continued to work his mouth against you, his dark eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

He loved this—loved the way you trembled beneath him, the way your body responded to his touch even when it was too much, too intense. He loved the way your breath hitched in your throat, the way your nails dug into the sheets as you fought to keep still, to endure the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with dark satisfaction as he continued to lap at you, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that made you cry out, your body convulsing beneath him. “So perfect… so responsive… I could do this forever.”

You couldn’t respond, your mind too clouded with pleasure, your body too wracked with sensation to form coherent words. All you could do was cling to the sheets, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Snape continued to work his mouth against you, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of every last drop of your combined release.

“Sev, please… it’s too much,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and need as you tried to pull away, your body on the verge of another climax, the overstimulation sending jolts of pleasure and pain through you in equal measure.

But Snape didn’t let up. If anything, your pleas only seemed to spur him on, his mouth working you with renewed fervor, his hands tightening on your thighs as he held you in place, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You can take it,” he growled against your skin, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re mine, love… every part of you. I’ll make you cum again… I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

His words were your undoing. With a final, desperate cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your second orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent. Snape held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue continuing to lap at you even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your release.

When you finally came down from the high, your body limp and exhausted, Snape slowly pulled away, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you, his lips curving into a small, dangerous smile.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark, possessive satisfaction as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

You could only nod weakly, your mind clouded by exhaustion and the overwhelming pleasure that had just coursed through you. Every muscle in your body felt heavy, spent, and as you lay there, trying to catch your breath, the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart still pounding in your ears, as you waited for the inevitable.

You braced yourself for the cold distance that you had come to expect from your past—waiting for him to pull away, to turn his back on you, to push you away with a dismissive order, just like your ex-boyfriend used to do. The old fears began to creep back in, threatening to ruin the quiet afterglow that had settled over the room.

But Severus didn’t do that.

Instead, he surprised you. The bed shifted under his weight as he climbed in beside you, and before you could even process what was happening, he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. His embrace was firm but comforting, his long, lean body molding perfectly to yours as he held you, his breath warm against your temple.

“Did you like it?” he asked quietly, his deep, monotone voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he were unsure of the answer. His hand came up to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you further. You could feel his lips brush against your forehead in a tender kiss, a gesture that was so unexpected, so out of character, that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the voice to tell him how much his gentleness meant to you, how much his care and concern had touched you. Instead, all you could do was lay there in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

When you didn’t respond immediately, Severus tensed slightly, his grip on you loosening as if he feared he had done something wrong. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet regret. “If I was too much… if I pressured you… that was never my intention.”

The sincerity in his words, the genuine worry that laced his tone, sent a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. The care he was showing you, the way he was so attuned to your feelings, was something you weren’t used to. Your ex-boyfriend had never asked if you were okay, never checked if you were comfortable or happy. But here was Severus, a man who had every reason to be distant and cold, holding you with such tenderness, such concern, that it made your heart ache.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His dark gaze met yours, and you could see the worry etched into his sharp features, the way his brow furrowed as he waited for your response. He was genuinely concerned for you, genuinely worried that he had done something to hurt you, and the realization was almost too much to bear.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, but all you could manage was a soft, choked sob as the tears finally spilled over, trailing down your cheeks. “Severus, I… I’ve never…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find a way to explain the depth of what you were feeling. But Severus seemed to understand. His expression softened, and he gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle, so reverent, that it only made you cry harder.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “It’s all right, love. You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m here… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The reassurance in his words, the quiet promise that he would stay, that he wouldn’t push you away, was more than you could have ever hoped for. You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him, your arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate attempt to hold onto this moment, to hold onto the safety and comfort he was offering you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest as you tried to control the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry for crying… I just… I’m not used to this. To someone caring.”

Severus tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you against him as he whispered, “You never have to apologize for your feelings, not with me. And you deserve to be cared for, love. You deserve to be treated with kindness… with respect.”

The words sent another wave of emotion crashing over you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that shook your body, the raw, unfiltered emotion spilling out of you as you finally allowed yourself to feel the depth of what you had been holding back for so long. Severus held you through it all, his arms wrapped around you, his hand gently stroking your hair as he murmured soft words of comfort, his deep voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you exhausted and drained, you pulled back slightly, looking up at Severus through tear-streaked eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. “Thank you for… for being so kind. For caring.”

Severus gazed down at you, his dark eyes filled with a warmth that took your breath away. “I care about you more than you know,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “And I will always care. You’re safe with me… always.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how much his reassurance meant to you, how much his presence in your life had changed everything. Instead, you simply leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, pouring all of your gratitude, all of your affection, into that one, simple gesture.

Severus returned the kiss with a tenderness that made your heart swell, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate care that made you feel cherished, adored.

When the kiss finally ended, Severus rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “You’re incredible, love. So strong… so beautiful. And I’m honored that you’ve allowed me to be a part of your life.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke those words as if he truly believed them, made your chest tighten with emotion. No one had ever spoken to you like this before, had ever made you feel so valued, so loved.

“Severus,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with tears. “I… I love you.”

For a moment, Severus didn’t respond. His dark eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth in your words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a quiet, almost reverent awe. “You love me?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you repeated the words, letting them hang in the air between you. “I love you, Severus. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Severus closed his eyes, a soft, shaky breath escaping his lips as he let the words sink in. When he opened his eyes again, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that took your breath away, a raw, unguarded emotion that he had never allowed you to see before.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, almost desperate sincerity. “More than I ever thought possible.”

The words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the wounds left by your past, filling the empty spaces in your heart with a warmth that you had never known before. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as you buried your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your ear.

And as Severus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, comforting embrace, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. In his arms, in his heart, in his life. And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly, deeply loved.

[coolemmasulivan2]

Rewinding Us | 4

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: You and Mason built a love story over five years, but after an accident, your memories are wiped away, including any feelings for your constant bickering "rival". Can you remember your love story with Mason, or will you have to start all over?

Word count: 2523

YYou can read more chapters here.

You are the only one I'll ever love Looking back on my life You're the only good I've ever done (ever done) Yeah, you, if it's not you, it's not anyone (anyone) Not anyone

The weather in Manchester was unpredictable, providing you with both happiness and annoyance. When you longed for the chill of winter, the sun would shine and when you craved a dose of vitamin D, the sky would unleash an amount absurd of rain. Today was no exception. It was August and it felt like nature was teasing your wish for some sunshine.

You returned home after a long day at work, packed with groceries for dinner. It had been a week since you'd returned to Manchester, and tonight, you were finally going to see Mason again. He had a reason to visit, something to pick up from the house and since you were aware of everything, he'd simply asked instead of sneaking in when you weren't home.

Since your last encounter, Mason had encouraged you to reach out whenever you had questions about your shared history. True to his word, you had bombarded him with texts, curious about the memories that were slowly coming back to you. The most recent memory had occurred at three in the morning when you dreamed about a dog.

You: Did we had a dog?

Mason was fast asleep when his phone buzzed, the sound jolting him awake. Without moving his face, he reached out and grabbed the phone, his fingers fumbling in the darkness. As he saw your name on the screen, his heart skipped a beat. Worry gnawed at him as he unlocked the phone, fearing the worst.

When he read your question, his relief turned into a mix of amusement.

"She's going to kill me!" He muttered, sinking back into the pillow.

He quickly typed out a reply, attaching a photo of Ace.

Mason: We still do! His name is Ace.

The photo showed Ace sitting beside you by the pool, your smile bright and infectious. Seeing the image, you couldn't help but smile.

That night, you bombarded Mason with questions about Ace, your curiosity insatiable. Later that day, when you turned on the TV and saw him preparing for a match, you let out a curse. You'd completely forgotten about his game. He'd stayed up late, answering your endless questions, when he should have been resting.

Today, knowing Mason was coming over, you asked if he could bring Ace and without even realizing it, you ended up inviting him to dinner. It wasn't a romantic dinner, you kept reminding yourself. Just 'friends' having a meal.

Since the kiss you exchanged in the car, you couldn't stop thinking about him. The constant texting wasn't helping. One moment, you'd despise him, and the next, you'd be imagining what lay beneath his clothes.

Cooking had always been your therapy, you were always good at it, so that wasn't the problem. What made you nervous was not knowing what to wear. A dress? You were at home. It wasn't a date. Why did it matter?

"Just wear something casual but nice." Your friend and coworker, Dianne, said over FaceTime. "Like a blouse or a nice shirt. I mean, Mason would probably love you even if you were wearing a potato sack."

You threw the long summer dress you were holding onto the bed. "You're not helping." You muttered.

"I'm just telling you the truth." She insisted. "That man is so head over heels for you, he wouldn't notice if someone else was in the room."

A blush crept across your face. It was nice to hear those kinds of things, to know you were loved and appreciated. Your past relationships had been a series of disappointments, but with Mason, it seemed different.

"Since we came back, I can't stop thinking about him." You admitted, running your hands through your hair. "It's like… something clicked when he told me we used to date. Sometimes I want to punch his stupid face but at the same time I…"

"At the same time, you want to jump on him." Your friend finished your thought.

You groaned, falling back onto the bed. "I hate this!" You exclaimed, tossing your phone onto the mattress making Dianne face the ceiling.

"Girl, I've seen your relationship with Mason. You love him, and he loves you. You're that perfect couple who's still in their honeymoon phase, and it's inspiring to watch." She said, her voice filled with admiration. You listened attentively, her words sinking in. "Don't be afraid to approach him." She encouraged you.

You thanked her for her support and ended the call.

Gathering the clothes from the bed, you opted for a pair of nice jeans and a floral tank top. The weather outside was miserable, but inside the house, it was warm and cosy.

The food was in the oven, and you were chopping tomatoes and onions for the salad when the doorbell rang, making you jump. Ace's excited woof echoed outside the house.

Drying your hands, you hurried to the door barefoot, nearly tripping over the rug. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door.

A wave of happiness washing over you as you saw Ace running towards you, his tail wagging furiously. He'd missed you, that was clear.

You crouched down, welcoming Ace's enthusiastic jumps and licks. Dogs had always been your favourite, growing up with more than one back in the day when you lived with your parents. You spent a few minutes showering him with affection, your worries - or even Mason - temporarily forgotten.

"Hello, Ace." You said, stroking his soft fur. "You're so pretty, you big goofball." Ace's tail wagged with happiness. His eyes, filled with love and adoration, mirrored your own emotions.

Mason stood behind and watched you interact with Ace, a tender smile playing on his lips. His love for you was evident in his gaze.

"Hi." You managed to squeak out, your voice barely audible.

"Hi." He replied, his voice equally soft.

You stood up, Ace disappearing into the house. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your nerves showing. Mason mirrored your posture, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

"Come in!" You insisted, opening the door wider.

Mason mumbled a thank you and stepped inside, the familiar scent of home washing over him. "It smells good." He commented as the smell from the kitchen hit him.

You closed the door behind him and smiled. "Thank you. Dinner's almost ready. I was just finishing the salad."

He followed you into the kitchen. "Need help?" He asked.

"No, you can sit." You replied, continuing with the salad as he sat on a stool by the kitchen island. "Thank you for bringing Ace."

Mason watched as Ace wandered around the kitchen, his tail wagging happily. "Why don't I let him stay here and see if you feel the same way after." He suggested a playful glint in his eye. You stopped cutting the onion, your eyes locking with his. "It was a joke, Y/n." He added, sensing your reaction.

"But he can stay!" You persisted, your eyes sparkling. "I love dogs."

Mason chuckled, his heart melting. "He's your dog too." He said. "It's only fair to share custody."

You grinned, looking down at Ace. "Did you hear that, goofball? You're staying with me!" Ace's tail wagged with enthusiasm. Mason couldn't help but smile at the heartwarming interaction.

Mason had placed the salad on the table when the oven timer beeped. You grabbed the oven gloves and started walking towards the oven, but Ace, catching you by surprise, ran between your legs, causing you to lose your balance.

"ACE!" Mason shouted, his voice filled with both irritation and concern. He quickly reached out, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you towards him. Your back pressed against his strong chest and you could feel his warm breath against your ear. "Are you okay?" He asked, his voice laced with worry.

His hand rested on your belly, his warmth seeping through your tank top. For a moment, you felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and kiss him, but you resisted, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm fine." You whispered, your voice barely audible. "Thank you."

You didn't step away, and neither did he. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, a familiar sensation that sent a shiver down your spine. You stood there for a moment, lost in the moment until Ace's loud woof broke the spell.

As Mason stepped away, you felt a pang of disappointment. "Let me help you." He offered, taking the oven gloves from your hands.

He carefully removed the food from the oven and placed it on the table. You both sat down, the aroma of the meal filling the air. Ace sat at your feet, his tail wagging hopefully.

The dinner passed in a blur, the awkwardness of the beginning replaced by a comfortable ease. Mason's ability to make you laugh was infectious, and before you knew it, hours had flown by.

As you cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, Mason reminded you of the time. "It's getting late." He said, glancing at the clock. "I guess I should go get my things." You nodded, a pang of disappointment settling in. He dried his hands on the kitchen cloth after helping you and then disappeared upstairs.

You didn't want him to leave. The thought of staying alone in the big house again made you feel unsettled. Having him by your side felt comforting and familiar, and you didn't want that to change.

Ace, curled up on the living room rug, looked up at you. "Guess it's just you and me, goofball." You said, playing with his fur.

A chill had settled in the air, and you shivered involuntarily, so you grabbed the blue Nike hoodie you had left in the bathroom and you pulled it on.

As you sat down on the sofa, Ace eagerly joined you, his head resting on your lap. You turned on the TV, the soft glow illuminating the room.

Mason's footsteps sounded from the hallway. "Y/n?" he called out.

"In the living room." You replied.

"Have you seen a blue hoo--?" He stopped when he saw you wearing the hoodie he was looking for.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Is it your hoodie?" You asked him, realizing why the hoodie was so big on you. "Sorry, I didn't know." You grabbed the ends, ready to take it off, but Mason quickly stopped you.

"It's fine." He said, a playful glint in his eye. "It looks better on you anyway."

You blushed, feeling a warmth spread through your cheeks. "But you wanted it."

"It's fine. I have plenty." He insisted.

"But--"

"Y/n--"

"You can hav--"

"It was an excuse!" He said and you looked at him.

"What?"

Mason ran his hand through his hair. "I found what I was looking for yesterday in one of my suitcases, but you had already invited me over, so, my excuse was going to be the blue hoodie… You have on."

"Oh." You looked at him as he looked down in embarrassment.

"The things I do just to be with you." He whispered. He let out a shy chuckle and you gave him a smile. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. I get it. This was your life for five years and I took it from you."

Mason shook his head. "You didn't! The man that hit your car did. It's not your fault." You looked at him, not knowing what to say. Mason took your hand and held it tightly. "We didn't do anything wrong."

You looked down at your hand in his, feeling a warmth spread through you. Your eyes met his, and a smile crept across your face. "Do you want to watch a movie? I know it's late, but you can sleep in the guest room," you suggested.

Mason smiled, his gaze lingering on your face. "I'd like to, but I have training tomorrow morning." He replied.

A blush crept across your cheeks. "Oh, yeah, right."

He took a step closer, his hand still holding yours. "But I would like to take you on a date." He said, his eyes filled with sincerity. "If you want, of course."

Your heart skipped a beat. "I-I would like that." You stammered, your voice barely audible.

Mason squeezed your hand. "Good!" He said, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I'll call you." You nodded. He looked down at Ace and petted him. "You're staying with Y/n, buddy! It's your job to protect her, okay?" The dog gave him his paw and you laughed.

"I'll walk you out." You offered.

You followed him toward the front door. "Just to be clear," He started, stopping himself when you opened the door. "I'm asking you out because I love you and I want you back. It doesn't matter if you don't have your memories back. I want you to fall in love with me again, so, I'm going to do whatever it takes for that to happen." He said. You felt like your legs were going to give up as he leaned in and kissed you softly on the cheek. "Good night, Y/n!"

"Good night, Mason!"

You watched Mason's car disappear down the driveway, a wave of sadness washing over you. You closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a sigh.

A few weeks ago, if someone had suggested you would develop feelings for Mason, you would have laughed in their face. The idea had been absurd, but here you were, feeling sad after seeing him leave.

As you sat down on the sofa, Ace joined you once again. "Do you like Mason, goofball?" The dog looked up at you, his ears perking up at the mention of his favourite human and let out a joyful woof. "Me too! Me too!"

Half an hour later, you were lost in thought when the doorbell rang, startling you out of your trance. Standing up, you approached the door and swung it open, your surprise evident as you saw Mason standing on the doorstep.

"Hey, is everything okay? Did you forget something?" You asked, your voice laced with concern.

Mason's gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, a hint of something unsaid lingering in his expression. "I re- I remembered you didn't have Ace's food." He stuttered, his words stumbling over each other.

"Oh." You replied, disappointment washing over you. "You want to take him back!"

"No, no. It's not that." He said quickly, shaking his head. He went back to his car and returned with a bag of dog food.

You watched him, a knowing smile playing on your lips. "You didn't have to." You said, your voice soft.

He shrugged, his cheeks reddening. "I thought it would be nice."

Your heart swelled with warmth. "Thank you, Mason." You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You're sure you don't want to stay over?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Mason hesitated, his eyes locking with yours. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "I'll stay." He smiled and said, his voice barely audible.

Relief washed over you, a smile spreading across your face, as you closed the door.

[thr0wnawayy]

Imo the League of Villains should have never existed from the main story of MHA. They were utterly unbalanced and were so flawed that no attempt of fixing could fix them.

I get where your coming from. I

I honestly believe the LOV really needed was time to grow away from the spotlight.

Think of the LOV as leftover pizza (I know, just stick with me for a minute)

Too long in the microwave/oven/pan and it tastes like hardback, too little and it becomes soggy muddled. There's a very specific way you need to do things and that's by not overthinking it.

Hori kept the microwave on too long and the LOV's potential evaporated.

From what I can tell, MHA worked best when it had a 'Villain of the week's type of thing going on.

This was most prominent and best set up with Stain, Stain's character/arc not only expanded the world of MHA but also brought up deeper questions about Hero society

What's most important here is that Stain didn't overstay his welcome. He rolled in, made every panel count and then went out like a champ. Affecting the protagonist and those around him.

He had an impact that's felt throughout the rest of the series (There is no Internship Arc in Ba Sing Se) not inspite of his short lived presence but because of it.

At some point, Hori lost this concept and the plot went with it.

I think the main problem with the LOV started after Kamino. Before this, every member has solid, or at least tangible ideals.

The Vanguard Action Squad was the LOV at it's most raw, not perfect but functional. They felt like people, when Spinner stops Magne from pursuing Midoriya, it feels real for the world.

Simply put the LOV (much like 1A) worked best as individuals, differing worldviews and all.

So when Hori robbed the LOV of their autonomy by practically wrangling them to Shigaraki, it in turn killed the LOV, because now nothing was individual about them.

If you want an example, how about Magne's death. Her last words are the very last time anyone in the LOV asserts any belief besides Shigaraki's own.

After this the LOV barely give any resistance to Shigaraki's plans no matter how short sighted or convoluted.

Kurogiri is outright sacrificed by the narrative so that Shigaraki finally has to step up.

Shigaraki's reaction to Toga's rage and grief follwing Magne's death can be amounted to: "Trust me bro, we're doing this for us bro, please believe me bro."

It's absurd.

As for being flawed, I'll assume you mean their motives.

What needs to be understood is that the LOV (Pre Kamino) and the PLF (Post Kamino) are not the same characters

Flanderisation is the phenomenon of a characters worst traits being exacerbated over a period of time until said character is unrecognizable from their original self.

This is what Hori did the LOV and he did this intentionally.

At some point he realized that the Villains actually had more of a point than the heroes, this likely occured after the MVA arc when fans began rooting for the LOV.

To counter this Hori sabotaged multiple characters and plots in a desperate attempt to justify his woolies and unfortunately for everyone who's isn't an abuser-stan (Enji and Bakuo). The rest of the cast and world suffered greatly.

What you ended up with are characters so detached from their origins that they might as well not even be the same characters at all.

There's an image somewhere that encapsulates this perfectly, it's a 4 panel comic with two stick figures (one black and one blue). If I ever find it or someone links it I'll be sure to upload it here

[mrsjavierpena]

not (un)expected | part 1

javier peña x f!secretary!reader

summary: Javier has one, only one very strict policy: to not ever fuck a co-worker; specially if that co-worker is his own secretary. but you make it such a hard promise to keep

chapter warnings: narcos' spoilers, smut, grinding, unprotected p in v, kind of exhibitionism, (light?) angst, a lot of cursing (its javier pena), kinda slow burn/slow start, unspecified age gap, work dynamics, reader has no name/descripition (but has hair long enough to pull), no use of 'y/n'

IMPORTANT: English is not my first language, i've done my best with grammar but there will be mistakes (fuck prepositions i hate them), so pls overlook those

wordcount: 7k

an: this is part one of a two part story; feel free to reblog and leave your comment. im so happy with the reception of this fic, its my first time posting something here, thank you guys so much for the support - also, if you want to be tagged in part two (really don't know when is coming out) just lmk in the comments.

hope you enjoy!

Javier was known for being an asshole.

Everyone in the office called him that; not to his face, of course, since he was the boss, but he knew, and honestly? He kind of did it on purpose. Being sent back to Colombia to be the CIA puppy didn't in fact thrilled him, but he also wasn't there to make friends. A little bit later than one month into his new position and Javier had already changed secretaries twice. Just by being himself.

The first one was a kind old lady that liked to talk a little bit too much for Javi's taste - which was none. To be fair, he tried to handle her. He listened to her talking of her yougest child finishing college, but she asked him if maybe he could get him a job at the deparment - what in the actual fuck? -, she felt the need to tell him that her older one and his wife were trying to have a baby - he wondered what gave her the impression he wanted to know that her son was fucking someone raw. She just wouldn't shut up. She left not much after a month, at his first snap - took him too long, to be honest.

The last one was a young man fresh out of the academy, who thanked him for the opportunity every time he saw him - which, since he was just outside his office, was pretty often. Despite how thankful he was for the job, he wasn't very interested in working, at least not as he was to flirting with another secretary in the floor below. But that wasn't the worst part, the kid had no idea what he was supposed to do and would go ask Javier for help for every task given to him - he swore he was shaking everytime. Javi didn't care that he was young and was learning, he didn't receive enough to raise a child at work. Didn't last a week.

Javier had headaches just by the thought of who would be sent next. With his current luck, it could be his ex-fiancée. He definitely didn't expect you knocking on his office door and introducing yourself as his new secretary. He was speechless for a moment; you were the combo of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life with a killing black pencil skirt, so tight it showed all your curves. You gave him a firm handshake and asked if he needed anything from you, and, when he denied, that was it. You went to your desk; didn't ask him questions, didn't tell him your whole life, didn't thank him for an opportunity he didn't give you, just went to do your work.

For a while, Javier was glad that you didn't give him any trouble, but that was until you quickly learned his habits. As soon as he arrived the office, you would receive him with a polite smile, a cup of black coffee and his schedule for the day. When he dove into files and forgot he was a person, you would bring him his lunch and wouldn't leave until he had at least a bite - as if he was a kid, what an absurd -, you would sense when he was stressed and would excuse yourself into his office with coffee and a pack of cigarettes and leave without saying a word.

He hated how much he appreciated that - even worse, how he liked that. It didn't take long for him to want to fuck you, to become obssessed with you. And it wasn't just him, he could see every other men in the department - single or not - turn their neck as they watched you pass by. But it was not just that you were hot, you were nice too; he would watch you from his office - not in a creepy way, though, he just didn't have anything much better to do - and you would distribute smiles and polite greetings to every soul that passed your desk, people would constantly stop by to small talk with you and you would let them be for five minutes or so before politely dismiss them to go back to work. Every fucking body there adored you.

Things had always been very professional between you both. Javi held back his flirty instinct and you- well, you didn't even seem interested in him at all. That was untill a very stressfull friday with Stechner giving him shit again. He left the building straigh to the bar, ready to drown himself on whiskey and find a quick fuck for the night, not expecting at all to find you aparently doing the same. Javier considered just ignoring you and go sitting with one of the women that turned their heads in his direction as soon as he entered, but something inside of him made him take the few steps to the bar and get the stool beside where you sat.

You almost spilled your drink when he approached.

"Sorry" you coughed "Wasn't expecting to see you here"

Your body language told him that you weren't comfortable with him there, he saw your backs getting as straight as when you were at work, and immediately regretted joining you.

"Well, that makes it two of us" he raised his hand to order his drink "What's the occasion?" he points to your drink with his chin.

Your grip on your glass seemed to tighten and you took one very long sip before answering dryly "I could ask you the same"

"Work" he raised his brows "It's always work"

"Did something happen after I left?" you pinched your brows.

"No, no, just people giving me shit"

"Oh, I see..." you sighed and silence fell between you.

"So..."

"Well..." you both started talking together and laughed akwardly.

"You go" you said.

"Am I bothering you? Cause I didn't mean to, I can sit somewhere else" he didn't even know why he was asking, he should've just said goodbye and left. He was already standing when your hand found his arm.

You sighed heavily "No, not at all, I'm sorry I gave that impression, sir" you seemed genuine, that's why he sat back "I'm just stressed"

Sir. Why were you calling him sir in a bar?

"Do you want to talk about it? If there's something bothering you we can discuss it and sol-"

"It's not work related" you were quick to interrupt "Work is, honestly, the simplest part of my life right now"

"Things must be pretty bad then, 'cause I see the amount of papers on your desk everyday" that made you chucke "The offer still stands, if you want to"

You took a big breath before dropping the bomb "Broke up with my boyfriend"

Now that was a new territory. He knew absolutly nothing about your life besides you moving to Colombia from the United States; he didn't know anything from your life back there, not your family, friends, definitely not about your boyfriend; and now, somehow, knowing you didn't have one anymore made it even harder for him not to want you.

"What happened?"

"Well, actually, it seems like we had already broken up a while ago and he just forgot to send the memo" you drank your whole half glass all at once ", since he was fucking every pussy that crossed his fucking way"

He was stunned. One thing about Javier was that he was never to deny any woman; honestly, he found every body attractive and apreciatted every woman that gave herself to him. He couldn't say he had a type, but you, with what he saw with your clothes on? He would fuck you every minute of everyday he could. It was absurd to believe someone would give up on you.

"Damn!" he couldn't help but say loudly, making your eyes go wide as if just then realising what you had just said.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you this. I apologise, sir"

"You don't- don't apologise" he almost raised his hand to touch you, but stopped himself before "How did you find out?" you looked at him with raised brows "If you don't mind me asking"

"One of my friends called me last night and told me. She saw him at a bar with two women" you laughed, but there was no humor to be found.

"And you were still smiling at everyone at work today" he was impressed.

You smirked at him "Don't let my personal life mix with work, sir"

"Smart woman" he nods "We for sure have a reason to drink, then" waving his hand to the barman "Let me buy you one"

You don't even bother to refuse.

After three more glasses of what he found out was tequila, your shoulders were much more relaxed and so was your tongue. He found out that you and your ex had been dating for six years when you got the opportunity of job and had to move; two months had passed already.

"And you know what the worst part is?" your laugh is dry "I don't even feel bad because my heart is broken or any shit like that, it's just that is so fucking humiliating" you groaned with your hands on your face "I'm from a small town, you know, by now every soul there knows what he's been doing"

He had to laugh "That's what you're worried about?" you looked at him with false ofense.

"It's my honor we're talking about here!" he laughed even more "It's silly, I know..." you sigh shakly as you take another sip of your drink "But it is humbiling, being cheated on"

"I can't fucking believe anyone could ever cheat on you" he thought. At least he thought he did, but by the way you were looking at him - pinched brows and a curious look in your face, he had to have said it out loud "I mean, only shitty people cheat on nice people. Only shitty people cheat, that's it."

You nodded after a few seconds of silence "You're right, sir"

"You should stop calling me sir"

"I don't think so"

"Why not? We're already half drunk together at a shitty bar"

"Because you're still my boss"

Without any response to that, he looks at you. Really looks at you. Your eyes glassy from the alcohol, red puffy lips looking more appealing than ever... It would have been so easy to just lean in and kiss you. When his eyes came back to yours, it almost seemed like they were on his lips too, that you were leaning in too, that you desired him as much as he desired you and... Then it was not there anymore. Suddenly, you seemed farther than ever, backs as streight as always and eyes avoiding his.

"I should go home"

He agreed. He put you on a cab. He wished you a goodnight.

Then went back to the bar to find someone to not spend the night alone.

The next Monday, though, you seemed even more professional than ever. Wouldn't be around him more than the necessary, wouldn't look him in the eyes and it fucking bothered him.

"Yes, sir?" you entered his office after he called your name.

He sighs as he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering to your skirt pressing against your tights "How are you?"

"I'm fine" you hesitated "Why do you ask? Is something wrong?"

"Lying to me, 's all" your eyes went wide "Listen, last night-"

Your nostrils flared, your hands clenching into fists; you took a deep breath before interrupting him "I am fine"

"Ok, then" he raised his hands in defensiveness "It's just that last night-"

"Last night I was drunk!" you passed your hands through your face "I said things I shouldn't have and I am embarressed and would very much appreciate if we pretended that it never happened"

Javier was silent for a moment. He understandood your apprehension, but damn if he wasn't dismayed by it.

"Alright, 'm sorry I brought it up. But just to let you know, you don't have anything to be embarressed for, you have my word that I wouldn't hold any if that against you and..." and it was nice to talk to you "Yeah, don't worry about that"

You looked at him for a few seconds before nodding "You need anything else, sir?"

Many things, yeah. For starters, you calling him by his name; second, being able to have a casual conversation with you when alcohol isn't envolved and third, your fucking clothes off because he got embarrassingly hard just by looking at you. But instead, he only denied and you left before any other word could leave his mouth.

Javi knew it was for the best. Fucking you would be no good - well, he'd bet it would be hot as shit, but too much trouble for a one night stand. He had a whole city to fool around with, to be focused in someone from his work place, his own secretary, was nonsense. You never even gave him any hint you wanted him, if anything, the actual opposite; you told him yourself last night, personal life away from work.

Javi made sure to remember all that.

➫

He didn't keep those thoughts for long, though.

A few days later, you met at a bar once again. A better one this time and with half of the office joined. It was Feistl's birthday and he invited the whole department for drinks. Nobody could hide their surprise when Javi aproached them; usually, he wouldn't attend this type of gathering, in his rarely free times, he better prefered the company of a good whiskey and a woman, and his colleagues knew that. His employee had invited him just to be polite and that was clear, but he knew you were going to be there, Javi just wanted one more opportunity to prove to himself that you didn't feel the same way he did, that he didn't have the same effect on you that you had on him. Once that prooved, he could move on. So he was there on a mission, trying to be the most discrete he could as he watched you from afar.

The two of you seemed to be the reflexion of each other from across the table, tense bodies and drinks in hand, the only difference being you talking with your colleagues and him not making the effort. To his defense, people weren't trying to talk to him either. Honestly, Javier kind of felt like it wasn't just that they were surprised to see him there, it felt like they didn't want him there at all by some looks he was receiving.

He was okay with that, he guessed, he would much rather analyse your behavior outside work. You didn't seem to change much, honestly; maybe your smile were a little bit more genuine, but the conversations were pretty much the same he heard you have back in the office and it could have been the larger amount of alcohol in your system that night, yeah, but you seemed more relaxed alone with him.

After half an hour there, Javi couldn't bring himself to talk to you, you seemed too interested in a conversation about the new coffee pot in the scullery with another secretary. He was getting frustrated, in another times he would interrupt the other woman and flirt with you effortlessly; it probably had to do with the environment, you were surronded by co-workers, or maybe he was losing his touch - it was almost like he was too afraid to make the move.

Javi decided to leave soon after one hour there. He congratulated Feistl for his birthday, said goodbye to whoever recognized his leaving, paid his bill and passed through the door.

"Hey" he turned around at the sound of your voice, seeing you walking towards him "Are you ok?"

He ran his hand over his chin "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know" you shrugged "you kind of ran out of the bar"

"'S fine, you should go back inside" Javi pointed at the entrace with his chin.

You tilt your head to the side "I don't really believe you"

"I'm not asking you to" he crossed his arms "And, what, you wanna talk now? You've been quiet at work all week"

"We're not at work, though, are we?" you were quick to answer.

Javi looked you up and down "No, we're not"

"You know" you took a few steps forward ", it's not like they don't like you, they are just kind of scared of you"

Were you watching him too? Why would you say that? How would you notice?

He furrowed his eyebrows "Scared of me? Why?"

You looked at him with yours raised "You know how you act at work, don't you?"

Javi sighed and looked away. He did act like an asshole at work, it didn't seem to bother you, though. Your gazes met again as silence fell between the two of you and he decided to take the few steps left to get you as close as you never got before.

"Are you scared of me?"

You kept your eyes locked as you answered "No. You're not as bad as you think you are" you licked your lips "At least not with me"

The air thickend between the two of you, the only sound being the noises of a night in Colombia. There was no way you were not feeling that too, the way your bodies seemed to linger to each other's direction. He's sure he's not imagining the way your breath heaved, how your chest expansed, the brightness in your eyes.

No, that was real, he was not mistaking it.

A voice broke the tension, you taking a few steps back to a safe distant from him. You both looked in the direction of the sound: a woman was calling you, the same woman you talked all night, at the entrance of the bar, a few feet away from where the both of you stood.

"Maybe if you went back there and paid the next round..." he swore he saw expectancy in your eyes.

"Maybe another time" you nodded; you both knew it wouldn't happen.

You looked at him one last time before walking away "Good night, sir"

Javi nodded even though you weren't looking anymore and his eyes followed the sweet swing of your hips as you made your way back to the bar. He could hear the woman asking what it was about:

"Nothing" you answered.

He would disagree.

➫

Javier was in a terrible, terrible mood. Things weren't going how he thought they would go, not even close to it. Feistl got a good lead about the Rodriguez brothers, one worth following, and he could do nothing about it; had to look to his subordinate and say no to his face. In the beggining, Javi had plans on reediming himself by catching Los Pepes, making amends with the city and it's people by arresting those who he felt like helped to ascend. He felt like a failure, and by the look on Feistl face, he thought so too. To worsen everything, as if it could get any, he had a huge, massive amount of piles to go through.

He lifted his eyes from the paper for the first time in hours when you knocked at the door. He knew your shift had ended a couple of hours ago, but you decided to finish the paperwork of the day so it wouldn't affect his own work the next morning, even though you couldn't have finished it on time because of the extra work put over you. It was something he frequently saw you doing, leaving much later than the others.

"I am leaving, sir. Is there something I could do for you?"

He scratched his chin and sighed heavily "Well, if you could make this fucking paperwork disappear I would built a statue of you"

You exiled a short laugh "I'm afraid that's not possible, sir"

"No, it's not" he reclined on his chair and looked at your body on the frame for a few seconds "Have a goodnight"

You nodded and left. He stood up to get a drink right after, hearing some noises outside that must have been you grabing your stuff. You were probably the last person on the floor besides him, and soon enough he would be alone, like he had been for so many nights, working until late, only able to go home to shower and come back. It wasn't much trouble, though, it's not like he could sleep even if he had the time.

A soft knock on the door surprised him, glass and bottle on each hand.

"Sorry to bother again" you said with only your head in the room after he told you to come in "But do you want help?"

He looked at you, at the pile and then at you again "You wanna help me with that?" you nodded "Why?"

"Nothing better to do" you shruged.

He should've said no. Should've told you to go home and have some rest.

He should have, yes.

"Have a sit" he pointed to the couch with the piles of papers he's been on for the last three hours.

You closed the door behind you and something on his skin tingled. You had never been this alone.

"Want a drink?" you didn't hesitate in accepting, as if waiting for him to offer.

Javier poured you one too and handed you the glass, something you thanked him for as you took a sip and he sitted beside you. You two stayed in silence reading, the only sound being the papers as you tossed them around.

"Can I give you an unasked opinion, sir?"

He almost laughed at that "Go ahead"

"You're separating these by topics, I see" he nodded "Taking one paper at the time and seeing what they are and then doing them separetly " he nodded again "I think it would be quicker if we made piles by the specific topics you have"

"You mean..."

"I mean" suddenly you stood up from the couch and knelt on the floor. Fortunally you didn't see his eyes going wide as you took a pile in your hands and put it beside you "You have a huge office, you should put the files on display and organize them better" you looked at him while taking the other piles "You helping?"

He smirked and hushed to help you. He liked this side of you; more relaxed, kind of bossy, tongue more loose... It was a shame you only showed him when there was alcohol running through your system.

"This, if you don't mind me saying, is how I organize the piles on your desk when I bring them to you, but you seem to prefer the hardest way"

Fuck, he was getting hard.

It was nuts. Absolutly nuts. What the fuck was happening, what effect was that you had on him? You did nothing but say a few dirty words without intention. Completely. Nuts.

"I do prefer the hard way" came out of his mouth before he could control it. If you didn't notice the double meaning or chose to ignore it, he didn't know "But I never noticed, no" he sighed "Honestly, I don't even know how it got to this point"

The paperwork, somehow, did accumulate, even though all he did of his life was working.

"I understand, I can see how you get lost in work" your focus was on the papers and you didn't seem to notice how he shifted on his place on the floor, trying to hide the beggining of an erection.

With your efficiency and new way of working, one hour and a half later and almost the whole paperwork gone, you're on your third glass and him on his fourth. He's used to drinking whiskey, but it was still alcohol, and it was making his skin buzz. You had already took off your blazer - his own gone hours ago - , wearing a thin blouse with a very modest neckline; your legs were crossed, making your skirt move up a little, and he was going crazy with just the tiny amount of skin you were showing.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead" you didn't even move your eyes from the paper.

"Why didn't you go home?"

You don't talk for a few seconds and he took the opportunity to stare "There's nothing waiting for me at home"

That got him thinking about your moving there. To go from a small town in the countryside to a city like Bogotá, not knowing a soul; you had acquaintances, yes, but he saw you that day at the bar, they surely were people you liked to be with, but were not friends of yours. Javi had been there, too, actually, if he would be honest with himself, he was still in the same situation. When he moved to Medellín, he had those people he could go out with and grab a drink after work, but that was all; at least until Steve came into the picture, the person he never thought he would befriend with, the only real friend he'd had in years.

"Yeah, I kind of get that" your eyes meet "Work until late for a reason"

"I guess we both need to get a life, then" you smirked.

"Cheers to that" he raised his glass to you, you did the same until it clicked with his "So, life... How is yours going?" he tried to act nonchalant by moving his eyes on the paper in his hand "With that ex-boyfriend thing and all"

Your laugh was low "Don't do that"

"Do what?" he raised his eyes again to find yours still on him.

You tilted your head to the side "Don't go down that road when we're like this"

"Like what?" he caught the exact moment your eyes fell to his lips, so he casually wet them with his tongue. If he wasn't so absorbed by the thickness in the air, he would have laughed at the way your eyes shut and your head fell back to rest on the couch.

"Drunk and... Not thinking straight"

Javi raised his eyebrows "I like the winding thoughts I'm having, though"

"Yeah" the look you gave him made him shiver.

Without breaking eye contact, Javi belted down his drink to gain courage and slowly moved his body until you were pressed side by side, giving you time to get your space again if you wanted to.

"This fine?" his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

You nodded.

"What if I wanted to kiss you right now?" he rested one forearm on the couch to lean his face closer to yours.

You gulped as you stared into his eyes "Then I think you should do it before we-"

He didn't give you the time to finish your sentence before his lips were on yours. Your lips were soft, he could taste the whiskey on your tongue as well with the gums you would chew all day. His right hand went straight to your jawline to lead the kiss. It was not a lulled kiss, neither a gentle one, Javier was ruthless, taking out on your lips all the built up tension from the last few months. He couldn't believe it was finally happening. You were quick to follow his pace, your fingers grasping his shirt and pulling him even closer. The first moan you let out get Javi even more eagered, his hand passing down your body to grab your ass. You took advantage of his action and, before he knew, you were climbing up his lap, knees on each side of his torso, and once you were fully sitted on his lap, you both couldn't contain a moan. At that point, your skirt barely covered half your ass; because of that, he figured that you wouldn't mind his hands slowly rubbing up your tights until they reached the fabric and rolled it up your waist.

Javi parted your mouths to take a good look at you on his lap, his eyes wandered from your heavy eyelids, your lips puffy and red from the kisses, your blouse-covered chest raising and falling as fast as his until they got to the black thong you were wearing and he couldn't help but moan "Oh, fuck me"

"You like them?" your mouth came down his neck to give him wet kisses.

"How wouldn't I?" he held you by the nape of the neck and brought your mouths together again "I've wanted this for so long"

You released some kind of laughter "I know"

"Oh, do you?" he raised his brows.

"You're not exactly subtle for an agent" you murmured between kisses.

He snorts "Well, thanks for the insight"

Javi couldn't resist the urge to touch you through the tiny piece of fabric and you moaned at the pressure at your clitoris, but he moaned too at the wetness he found.

Javi didn't ask you how long you had wanted him, you were grinding on his lap at that moment and that was all that mattered. But he wished you had said it, that you had desired him as much as he had desired you, that all this time he had been imagining this moment, you were imagining it too.

"Fuck baby, you are so wet already" his tongue licked a stripe on your neck "All this for me?"

You answer was muffled by a moan; it seemed positive, but before he could confirm you were linking your mouths again in a searing kiss.

You started moving your hips on his erection and you both moaned at the pressure. Suddenly, his torso is being pushed down to the ground, chests pressed against each other, your fingers tangled his hair and pushed and he fucking whimpered.

Jesus Christ, he was in heaven and was not even inside of you yet.

You grinded furiously against him and he found it absolutly beautiful how you were using him to pleasure yourself and was not embarressed to do so. So. Fucking. Hot.

He felt like he was coming in any second.

"Fuck, you keep doing that and will have me cumming on my fucking pants, bebita"

"Oh, say it again!"

"What? That I'm within seconds to cumming?"

You moaned loudly at that "No- I mean, that too, that's hot, but- oh fuck"

"Bebita?" he felt you shiver at the pet name and chuckled "You like that, huh?"

You grabbed the nape of his neck and lowered your head to crush your lips to his again, tongues fighting heatedly. Javi started to feel that heat boiling at the bottom of his stomach, his hips grinded against yours and the pressure were just perfect; by the sounds you were making, you were as close as he was. Javi reached for you ass and grabbed it with both of his hands and squeezed, adding even more pressure to the grindness. At last, he sucked the pulse in your neck and you started to shake above him; that combined with the sweet noises that came out of you, he was gone.

You collapse on top of him, fingers unconsciously running through his hair; his members were sore and he was so tired and satisfied that he could sleep right there. The both fo you took deep breaths while your head rested on the gap of his neck and his on the floor.

"I can't remember the last time I did this" he was the first to break the silence.

"I actually do this everyday to my pillow" you mumbered humurously and he moaned.

"Shit, you're gonna be the death of me" his hand ran up and down from your ass to your backs, loving the feeling of your curves.

You raised your head to find his eyes and the moment was gone. You both realizing what you just had done, the before contentedness in him that was mirrowed in your eyes then turning into panic.

"Shit" you clumsly stood up. You put your skirt down as quickly as you could.

"It's getting late" it was already late when you came to his office "I should go" you should stay, he wanted to say.

But instead he only nodded. He knew it was for the best. He shouldn't have let it come this far.

You quickly get your stuff and wishes him a goodnight. His eyes don't leave you until you pass through the door, yours, though, don't meet him once.

He stayed there on the floor, cum staining his pants, and even though he was fully clothed, the room had never felt colder.

➫

The next day was pure craziness. After you left his office, Javi went home, took a shower and lied in bed thinking of what had just happened between the two of you and what would happen from then on until he had to come back to work. Before he could even get to his office, you intercepted him with a cup of coffee and the news of a surprise and excruciating slow meeting with the ambassador, which led to another one with the CIA and then the atrocious combination of them both together. By the time Javi was freed from hell, everybody else were already leaving; due to your situation, he thaught that would be your case too, so he was surprised to see you still on your desk.

"I was waiting to see if you would need something else from me before I left" was your answer to the question on his face.

"I think I'm heading home too, actually" after a day like that, he felt like maybe he could even get some sleep.

He had work to do, yeah, and usually it didn't matter to him if his mind wasnt in the right place - it rarely was anyways -, but he knew nothing productive would result from working in that state. Javi also wanted to talk to you; he had so many thing in his mind, what he thought about during that whole previous night: he wanted you. So bad he didn't even know how to express it, so much he let himself cum in his pants just to get the little you were wailing to give to him. And he was concerned about what your reaction to that would be, because it was obvious that you wanted him too, but your actions showed him that you didn't want to want him. All those thoughts were consuming him, but it would have to wait for another day, he didn't think that was the right time, not at work. Maybe he could invite you for drinks and talk things through or-

"I was wondering if we could talk, too" you interrupt his thoughts "About yesterday"

If Javi wasn't a trained professional, he probably would've had his mouth opened in absolut shock. It was like you read his mind.

"Of course" you both looked around the department, the couple people remaining already preparing to leave. Still, he opened his office door and nodded for you to come in.

You were flustered, nervous even. Javi didn't know what to expect from that talk, he wished you would cave in to your needs and fuck him already, but he felt like you wouldn't be easy on him. Honestly, he couldn't read you.

The both of you stood akwardly in the middle of the room, door closed behind you. He waited patiantly for you to start talking, for you to take the lead of the conversation.

"So" you sighed "I wanted to apologise"

His face contorted in a deep frown "What for? You have nothing to apologise"

"I do, yes" you shook your head "It was completely irresponsible and unprofessional and we shouldn't have done that"

If you said you were embarressed last time, about the things you had said on the bar, Javi didn't know what you could possibly be feeling at that moment: your face was getting red, your eyes wouldn't meet his, your hands squeezed each other in your front; he kind of felt bad he was the cause of your discomfort.

"You didn't do anything by yourself"

"I jumped on you like a crazy-ass-horny woman!" over your shoulder, you look outside to see if there was anyone to witness your voice raising; there wasn't.

Javi could barely contain the smirk forcing itself upon his mouth at the memory of you riding him in that very same floor, just a few steps from where you stood. He really couldn't contain the beggining of an erection, though.

"And I loved that" you looked at him as if he was crazy for saying it "I did!" he took a few steps in your direction "And honestly, if anyone should be blamed it's me, I'm the boss, aren't I? The authority in the room or some shit like that"

The way you look at him said that you agreed, that he should be blamed too, should've had more self control, but you didn't say it and that made him smile, the way you still tried to keep your composure at work.

You sighed "Still, it wasn't right and I'm sorry"

"I'm not" he took another step towards you.

"It's not the point, sir"

"I don't think you are that sorry either" your brows raised in surprise "And fucking quit calling me 'sir' now, there's just us in here" another step.

"I'm just-" you shrugged "I'm trying to be professional, that's all"

"Baby we're a little too late for that now"

"Jesus Christ" you pinched the bridge of your nose, he could feel the frustration exhaling from you "You don't like to make things easy, do you?"

"What's the fun in that?" the joke landed flat "I have a proposal"

That got your attention "I don't think I like where this is going"

"Well, that's the thing" he took one more step "I think you do. You fucking grinded on me on this floor until we both came. You want me. What are you so afraid of?"

"You're my fucking boss!" your exasperation made him want to laugh and scream out of frustration at the same time "I like this job, I want to keep it"

"I would never put your job in risk"

"You can't be sure" it was true, Javi barely had a say in anything, but he would do anything in his power for you not to lose your job, especially because of him "And even if this" you pointed between the two of you "didn't make me lose it, it would be living hell if people found out"

"I can be discreet"

You crossed your arms "You're not taking me seriously"

"I am, I promise that I am" he really was "I just- You gave me a taste of what it would look like and now I'm starving for more" he scratched his chin, a little embarressed he let that slip out "I would do anything to have you for one night, we don't have to take work to the bedroom"

"Oh" you snorted "there's a bedroom in the scene now?"

"What?" he raised his brows "You thought I was fucking you in my office?" you went silent "You fucking did"

Javi is no romantic man, he thought about fucking you in every place possible, in the bathroom there, against the nearest wall, but when truly thinking about taking you, it would always be in a bedroom, somewhere you both would be able to take your time.

"Do you fantasize about it?" a step closer "Do you touch yourself thinking about me?" your eyes wouldn't meet his, so he carefully took your chin and angled your head until they did "Where?"

You gulped "Where what?"

"Where did you imagine?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Your desk"

"Fucking dirty woman" he smirked "I'm gonna fuck you on my desk, bebita" he took you by the waist, colliding your body to his "And on my couch" his nose traveled from your cheek to your neck "On the fucking window so eveyone can see how pretty you will look with my cock deep inside of you"

"Shit" your voice broke, breathless.

"Do you want it? Huh? To be full of my cock?" you nodded "I want words"

"Yes" you puffed.

"Yes what?"

You looked at him with a defiant look "Yes, sir"

He had to laugh "You are the worst"

His lips collided with yours with so much fierceness he was surprised they didn't start bleeding. His hands were all over your body, your breasts, your back, your ass. You pulled his hair with both hands and he moaned. Javi wanted you so bad it hurt. He decided to be bold and lifted you skirt to your waist, then placed you sitted on the edge of his desk, each of your legs on each side of his hips, pushing everything that was on your way to the floor, paying no attention to anything that wasn't you.

"I hate how you kiss me" you mumbled frustrated between kisses and he pinched his brows.

"You have a very distinct way to hate things"

"You just do it so well" your hands covered his cheeks "Makes me want to do this everyday"

Javi couldn't help but to smirk "I don't see why we can't"

"Yes, you do"

"All I see is a gorgeous woman with tasteful lips" he reached your covered mound and passed a finger through your folds, making you moan loudly ", wet lips" he smirked "telling me she wants to kiss me foverer"

You snorted "I didn't say that"

"That's what I heard"

"You are so cocky" you rolled your eyes.

"Damn right I am" Javi pressed his erection to your thigh.

"Yeah, I felt it yesterday" your hands went to unbuckle his belt, quickly reaching for his cock through his underwear and pumping him a couple of times "You're big, sir"

Javi moaned and threw his head back, enjoying the feeling, barely believing it was finally happening. You put down every piece of cloth in your way to his thighs, put your own panties to the side and started to guide him to your entrance.

"You think is gonna be that easy?" he murmured in your ear, dodging his dick to press on your clit instead, making you moan at the contact, but also groan out of frustration.

"After all this time, it should be"

"You know what I want to hear, baby" he peppered kisses on your neck while still grinding his dick from your clit to your entrance, you were so wet he knew you would have no difficulty to take him.

"Put this thing inside of me, already" you tried to move your hips to get more friction, frustration consuming you.

Even though Javi had a purpose of you to stop calling him 'sir', he could barely hold himself from sliping inside of you, so that's what he did. Your moan as he slowly made space for him inside of you will forever be in his mind. Javi cursed under his breath as your walls squeezed him and he had to take a moment to absorb the feeling. So warm, so wet, so tight, he was in heaven. But you were impatiant.

"Please, move"

"Say my name and I will"

"Why are you so attached to this?" you pinched your brows.

He did the same "Why are you so against saying it?"

You licked a stripe on his neck "To piss you off"

"That's okay" he smirked "You don't have to say it, I'm gonna make you scream it" he held your legs and roughly pushed inside expecting to hit your special place; by the way you gasped and grabbed him, he got it just right "Found it"

Javi ran his nose through your neck and your skin bristled "You're so sensitive here, aren't you, bebita?"

"I'm starting to think that you make me sensitive everywhere"

He laughed and stopped his movements again "Now that's a confession"

"What can I say?" you huffed "It seems like you make my mind go blank when you have your huge dick inside of me and won't. fucking. move"

He laughed and started to slowly take it out just to push it in again at the same speed.

"You're gonna fucking kill me" you whined "Please, faster"

"Are you needy, baby?" he licked your neck "I can feel you squeeze me. You're desperate for my cock, huh?"

"Yes"

"Yes, what?

"Yes, sir"

He increased the speed and you moaned louder "Unbelievable" his hips were reletless and he felt you getting tighter and tighter "You're almost there, aren't you, baby?" you couldn't speak, mouth half opened and nails digging into the skin of his arm "You like it rough, don't you?"

Then he stopped.

"What the fuck?" your voice is hoarsed.

"I'm fucking you slow, baby, is that a crime?" his smile was smudge

"You're evil" you whined, hips moving to find relief.

"I am evil? Who are you to talk about evil? You're fucking teasing me here, bebita. That's so wrong" he started to move slowly again "Just say my name and I'll let you cum"

You nodded your head no.

"Say it"

"No"

"Fucking say. It." he changed the angle to repeatedly hit that spot inside of you and pulled your hair until your back arched.

"Oh my God, Javi!" you screamed as you came hard on his dick, eyes closed tight, mouth opened and body tremblimg.

His name coming out of your mouth was like music to Javi's ears, and hearing it for the first time fomented something insane inside of him. He licked his thumb and pressed it hard against your clit, your eyes widened in surprise and he got a strangled sound out of your mouth as you came again, your body violently shaking under his hands.

"Oh shit, that's it, baby. You're fucking milking me. Shit, shit, shit."

His name was now floating through your lips like a hymn, and he loved to hear it.

"I'm gonna cum"

His words seemed to wake you from your trance "On my mouth"

"Shit" he steped away and out of you and one second later you were on the floor, knelt before him. You grabbed his dick with one hand, put the tip in your mouth and that's all it took for him to cum the hardest he had in his life. You sucked it, greedy until he had nothing more to give you "Let me see it, baby" he asked with a hoarsed voice, asking you to open your mouth, showing that you had swalloed it all "Fucking dirty woman"

You smirked and rested your forehead on his thigh, exausted.

"Come 'ere" he took your hand on his and got you to your feet, holding you against him by your waist "Can you walk?"

"I think I can learn how to do it again, yeah" he chuckled.

Javi lowered your skirt before sitting you on his desk again "How are you getting home?" he asked quietly as he slowly buttoned up your blouse, trying not to startle you and have you running away again.

"I'm taking a cab" you more gently than not stopped his fingers to continue the work yourself.

"Let me take you home" he fished your panties from the floor and put it in his pocked as he wore his pants again

"You don't have to"

"I know I don't. But I'm kind of worried if you will be capable to support yourself for enough time to call a cab after I fucked you this good"

You released the louder chuckle he had ever heard you give as you stood up "You're the absolute worst, Javier."

He started to get hard to the sound of his name on your lips.

"See? Perfectly stable" one of your eyebrows was raised and all he wanted to do was to kiss your attitude away.

"I guess I'll have to fuck you harder next time, then"

"I guess"

You both went quiet as you made your way out of the building and to his car, you only speaking to give him instructions to get to your place.

"There will be a next time, right?" he spoke as you left the car.

How silly of him to think that fucking you once would be enough, would make all the consuming desire go away, if something, it only made him want you more.

You took your time to look at him, as if staring directly to his soul and gave him a small smile.

"Good night, Javi"

[hologramcowboy]

Types of fans you should never be if you ever want to date a celebrity

So, you’ve got your sights set on a celebrity. Maybe it's their stunning cheekbones, their charm, or the way they casually wear a leather jacket like it’s no big deal. But let’s get one thing straight—if you want a shot at turning that celeb crush into a love story, there are a few *major* fan mistakes you’re going to need to avoid. In fact, if you ever plan on dating a celebrity (or even just having a conversation with them without getting blocked), don’t be *that* fan. Here's a breakdown of the types of fans that *never* get a first date—let alone a second one.

1.The Stalker: "Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop"

We get it. Celebrities are like mythical creatures. They post something, and suddenly, your thumb is on autopilot, refreshing their Instagram like you’re hunting for treasure. But here's the thing: stalker behavior? *Very* much not cute. We’re talking about following them around town, sending them 70 DMs a day, and, oh yeah, Googling where they live because you’re "just trying to be close to them." No. Just no. Celebs are human, and they can *feel* that vibe. If you think it’s love you’re after, it’s more likely to land you in their "block" list. The good news? You have the power to stop being creepy. *So stop being creepy.*

2. The Horny Fan: "It’s All About the Body"

We all know that one friend who talks about sex *way* too much. While that might fly in some circles, it doesn’t when it comes to dating a celebrity. If your only thoughts about your celebrity crush revolve around their abs or how hot they look in that one music video, you’re probably not going to end up with them. Here's the reality check: a person is more than just a walking fantasy. Celebs are looking for genuine connections, not someone who can’t see beyond their six-pack. If you treat them like a piece of eye candy, you’ll find that the only thing you’ll be connecting with is a cardboard cutout, yes, the one you keep in your room. lol So, maybe start thinking of them as a real person, and not just a human Pinterest board.

3. The Shallow Fan: "All Looks, No Substance"

Objectifying people might be a pastime for some, but if you're hoping to date a celeb, it’s an absolute deal-breaker. Celebrities aren’t just there to look good on your social media feed—they’re talented, hard-working individuals with interests, opinions, and personalities that go beyond their Instagram aesthetic. If you’re only interested in their looks, it’s like showing up to a dinner party and only talking about the wallpaper. Newsflash: it’s not a turn-on. Celebrities (just like anyone) crave real, authentic connections. So next time you tweet about how "hot" they look in a photoshoot, maybe try throwing in a compliment about their *actual* talents. It might just make them see you as more than just a shallow fan with questionable taste in hashtags.

4. The Kiss Ass: "I’m Your Biggest Fan (And I Have a T-shirt to Prove It)"

We’ve all seen them. The ones who are *too* enthusiastic about everything their celeb crush does—like, buying merchandise that features their celebrity's partner’s face, just to show how “down” they are. But guess what? Celebrities are *not* dumb. They can tell when someone is being disingenuous. If you think wearing a T-shirt with their dog’s face on it will make them fall head over heels for you, you’re sorely mistaken. It just screams desperation. Celebrities want authenticity, not the world’s most bizarre fan merch collection. Take a step back, be yourself, and stop pretending to be their #1 fan—because you’re definitely not fooling them.

5. The ‘Just Trying Too Hard’ Fan: "I’m So Unique, Look at Me!"

This is the fan who thinks that showing up at a celebrity’s event dressed in an absurd costume, or dropping *way* too many "accidental" Instagram comments, will somehow win them over. It's like you’re auditioning for the role of "Most Extra Fan" in their life. Guess what? Celebs don't need another *performance*. They need a person who can hold a real conversation and not just be an accessory to their brand. So, if you’re trying to get noticed by being *super* out-there with your fashion choices or social media stunts, remember: it's not about how loud you scream—it’s about how genuine you are when you talk.  

---

How to Actually Date a Celebrity (Or at Least Not Get Blocked):  

Now, let’s get real for a second. If you’re serious about dating a celebrity, here are some **actual tips** to increase your chances of not coming off like an absolute psycho. Ready?  

1. Be Yourself (Unless You're a Stalker):Celebrities want to meet real people, not another fake persona trying to get in their good graces. So, put down that "I Heart [insert celeb's name]" T-shirt and be authentic. Be funny, be kind, and be *you*—not some over-caffeinated fan trying to impress them with your knowledge of their ex.  

2. Find Common Ground: Celebs have lives and interests that go beyond their career. If you're looking for love, start by finding something you genuinely have in common. Maybe they like the same obscure band you do, or they have a pet you could bond over. Get beyond the surface level, and actually get to know them as a person.  

3. Stop Making It Weird: Just because you’re a fan doesn't mean you need to talk about their every move. Keep your cool, and don’t bombard them with compliments or weird questions about their personal life.  

4. Be Patient: Celebrities have busy lives, and even if you do meet one, don’t expect them to fall for you just because you made them laugh once. Patience is key. 

5. Respect Their Boundaries: Celebs are people. That means if they want to keep things private or take a step back, respect that. If they’re not into you, don’t keep chasing them—let them be.

Follow these tips, and who knows? You might just go from a fan to a date. But, remember: don’t go all-in on the "fan" part of the relationship, because, spoiler alert: that’s not what they're looking for.  

Now go forth, not as a creepy, obsessive fan, but as someone worthy of a celeb’s attention (and maybe even their phone number). Good luck out there!

Love,

Hologram Cowboy

[sunnytapioca]

Escape

SN!Donnie x GN!reader

Short comfort story

You sighed staring out into the open high rise buildings of New York as the sun began to set, hiding behind the tall buildings, glistening at the orange and red.

Footsteps approached you and you turned your head to see him, Donnie. Your best friend, your lover approaching you with a gentle demeanor and a soft expression, taking a seat next to you heaving his legs over the edge allowing his legs to dangle. “Don’t lose your prosthetic now.” You joked with a small smile. Earning a small jab in the arm from your boyfriend. “Why are you up here Dove?” He began giving you a soft look. “Just enjoying the view a bit.” You half lied. “Now you know how we both are about honesty dove. You only come up here alone when something’s wrong.” Ah yes, he knew you all too well now, he understood you like no other. No use in hiding it now.

“Fine, you caught me.” You admitted. “Just needed to get away I guess.” You huffed. “Away from?” Questioned Donnie.

“Away from life? Works been stressful, my parents aren’t exactly the most understanding of my situation, I’m burnt out, I don’t go out anywhere my sleep schedule is shit and I struggle to just be normal.” You frustratingly said fidgeting at your fingers. “Why would anyone want to be normal? Nothing about this life is normal love.” Began Donnie, gently grabbing your hands to stop you from picking at them he looked out. “I don’t understand the life on the surface much. I’ve only just started to. I can’t help much but I can tell you that it doesn’t have to be that way. I was once told by a friend that you only live in what you allow yourself to live in. Now at first I didn’t understand what it meant, in fact I was too angry to try and understand.” He paused with a small smile. “Only recently I understood finally, and it was by watching you, hearing you now that I see what it meant.” He muttered, his eyes glossing over staring out into the buildings.

“What.. does it mean?” You croaked out, eyes locked onto his expression. He turned to you slowly. “It means, you’ve got to think outside the box, instead of looking at all the problems you have and letting them drown you, try to look for a new angle, see how you can fight it in your own way, not a way someone tells you to. That may seem impossible at first, and it’s difficult, it took me a long time. Though eventually the more you see how you can tackle a problem differently the more you see there’s other ways to everything, there doesn’t have to be just one, and maybe some ways might seem crazy, some might seem absurd. What matters is you find a way to make it bend to your will.” He tried explaining. “I’m not the best at this feelings bullshit so I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense.” He grumbled. “No, I think it’s cute..thanks Dee” you smiled, caressing his cheek, earning a soft churr from him.

“Still doesn’t help me escape from all of this.” You sighed.

“Then let me be your escape dove. When you need to just come to the lair, and you can stay for as long as you want.” He offered. “How about this, we go back to my room, we set up a movie for us both. No one will interrupt it will just be you and I my dear.” Which peaked you. “Alright, sure.” You muttered. “Right now I just want to enjoy us.. here.” He nodded at you, locking your fingers together as you leaned against each other, enjoying the sunset.

My sweet escape.

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

Thanks for reading this short story. I hope you enjoyed.

Taglist: @hikari-michiko @fishsticksloser @daniibirb @peachidee24 @shadow-is-here-and-queer @little-mouse-gardens

[townofcadence]

It was almost absurd, how rapid a day could switch from pleasant to devastating.

It could happen in the most unexpected places too, like during a small book faire at the local library. He had been perusing the tables, both to support such an important building to his community, and to find some used books both for him, and potentially for Caelan to consume as well. It had been a good day; there was a certain joy in buying books, in knowing he held something with knowledge and information he might not yet have discovered from other sources. And with most everything being sold being what the library needed to get rid of, it was all used, and definitely affordable.

And then she'd hailed him.

It wasn't....really a bad conversation, initially. She was a girl he'd known in high-school; Peyton, one of the girls from the cliques that really cared about their self-image. He remembered her well enough to recognize her, since she was the one who coerced Elias into going on a few dates. He had said yes, but she was the kind to lay on the pressure until you did, and he had always been too much of a people-pleaser to let anyone down. Thankfully someone else had come along that she deemed more her type, and those few dates had ended without further issues.

He felt awkward from the get go, but mainly the conversation had revolved around her being here to visit her family and deciding to stop in at the faire, and asking how things had been since she left town. It was small talk between past peers: most of it he was wondering what made her want to talk to him as he answered some of her questions and tried to politely offer some to her as well. She had left town for a bigger city and had a husband there. She had a podcast she ran with a friend. He nodded along.

Honestly, he just wanted to look at books instead.

And then, he figured out why she approached him; she asked about Elias, as 'you two were so close'. It made sense, then, why she'd even talk to him. He could feel her anticipation. The left turn was a sour pit in his stomach.

Said pit widened itself to a chasm the more questions she asked. Especially as she started needling about how Elias had disappeared, without a trace. She brought up rumors she'd heard, anything from him running away to elope with his girlfriend, to he had joined some government agency, to he was in witness protection. He sat with the truth tight around his neck, constricting just a little tighter each theory she posited.

The final blow was a slap to the face, the chasm's cliffs giving way to just a gaping hole. Her eyes had cast on him and her head had tilted in this perfectly innocent expression. "I also heard you did it. Some friends of mine said you three had a falling out right before, right? They weren't talking to you at all and you looked so miserable. A lot of people say it's your fault. You drove them away or murdered them or something. Lots of places to hide bodies out here. And oh, you know how true-crime girls can get when they think they've figured out something juicy like that. But it is awfully suspicious how they vanished right after things changed with you. You had to be angry, right? How angry were you? Do you have anything to do with what happened? How did you react when they disappeared? I mean you did have that one murder news story tied to you, didn't you? The one with that one guy from high-school? Oh-- sorry, 'self defense'. But it's awfully suspicious, don't you think?"

Her tone wasn't fully accusatory, but her gaze was scrutinizing, as if looking for any tell, any sign he was guilty. He could see her phone in her hand, but it only registered like a hazy periphery. Too many feelings threaded their way through him, the blood draining from his face. They were infected wounds even after years, and her perfectly manicured nails had managed to dig into the skin and make both bleed again. His throat was dry no matter how much he swallowed. His hands came up together, right hand clutching his left wrist in a curled position, over his chest. "I--- I--"

"So you do know." She'd advanced closer, taking away that semblance of protective distance. He was thrown off too much to push back for himself, drowning in a slew of old feelings. She looked like she smelled blood, maybe for her fucking podcast or something. Her phone came up higher. "The truth will come out either way, so if you tell me, then I can help your story sound a lot more sympathetic, I know you had something to--."

The familiar voice cutting-in felt like a fucking blessing. They must've spotted them. She stopped, startled by the interjection, and it was enough for him to manage a ragged breath.

"I--- it's okay." He tried to sound normal, but his voice was splintering and wooden. "I'm-- you don't have to worry." He wished he was anywhere but here, wished he could do something other than worry his friend, and talk to someone who wanted to--- probably boil one of the worst moments of his life down into a #tragedy on tiktok for views. Or worse, given the line of her self-appointed sleuthing.

"We were just having a conversation." She adds, and it's like jagged glass in his brain. His hand finds it's way to his hair to tug on a few strands, to ground himself and he averts his eyes. "I'm not doing anything to him."

[cosmicjoke]

As an eruri shipper I wanted to thank you for your callout post. For nearly a year now I have gotten so much hate on my fics that I thought about deleting them, I haven't tho, thankfully. I found out about the spiteful troll and so I did my best to ignore it. However, the hateful comments my work was getting was beyond me because I hardly ever care what people ship or do and was simply minding my business writing what I like only to be told that I'm a jealous loser and I should stop writing Levi together with the "ugly bitch" (referring to Erwin) and that I should touch grass or slit my throat ... which?? And they made it sound like shipping Levi with a man was illegal or that the ship was inappropriate in some way.

I don't know who is really behind those hateful comments but if it's really her I hope karma hits her way very hard. Don't tell people to kill themselves over fiction EVER. That's common decency.

And about some eruris seeing you as an anti shipper. I'll admit I thought you were one as well. It didn't bother me as everyone is free to do whatever they want, but it's a pleasant surprise to know you actually like the ship and write fics for it. If anything, I admire how you can put your shipping goggles aside to write your analyses. It's very impressive.

Don't know if this is relevant but self shippers scare me a bit. Some of them have mean girls energy and I don't want to be attacked so that's why I'm staying on anon🙏🏻

First of all, let me truly thank you from the bottom of my heart for reaching out. It means the world to me, and I admire you for sharing your experience too. I'm super glad to hear that you didn't let the person leaving hateful comments on your stories drive you to delete them. I understand completely where you're coming from, as I've deleted stories of mine in the past due to an overabundance of negative comments. But I've never had anyone actually leave me death threats, or wish for harm to befall me on any of my stories, and to do that is truly the lowest of the low. Not just because it's over something as harmless as a piece of fictional writing, but just in general, it's never okay to wish harm on someone who's never harmed anyone else, or over something as ridiculous as a disagreement.

And yes, given what I've seen from this person on twitter, claiming Erwin is some "old man", they seem to think shipping him and Levi is tantamount to pedophilia, which is so absurd it doesn't even warrant a response. Erwin is at most maybe 5 years older than Levi? If even? They're both in their 30s. Shipping them is totally normal and healthy, lol.

I just think this person has some sort of raging, disgusting prejudice against gay relationships, and they view all gay relationships as perverse in some way. It's truly their problem, not anyone else's. I don't know either if it's the same person I got into an argument with here on tumblr, but so much of the language is the same, and the things they say are so similar to what was being said on twitter and a03, that I'm more than inclined to believe it is the same person. I can only hope my post helps inform more people about them and what a toxic, horrible person they are. Hopefully it will lead to them being blocked so that it isn't so easy for them to harass others. Though I already know they have multiple accounts here on tumblr, since they saw my post and started ranting about it on their blog, even though I had them blocked.

It also means the world to me to know that I've been able to clear up with you my stance on eruri and shipping in general. That was big of you to not be bothered by me when you did think I was an anti, but I'm glad I was able to show you that I'm not. I'm really, really not, lol. I love eruri. It's my favorite ship, and all my favorite AoT fanfics are eruri fics, lol. You can find comments I've left on too many to count at this point. I just try to keep it out of discussions which focus on "Attack on Titan" itself and Levi's role within the story, because I just don't see his relationship with Erwin in canon as romantic. I just think you have to keep the ship separate from canon because if you're going into an analysis of the narrative and Levi's or Erwin's role in it with some preconceived idea that their relationship is romantic in nature, then that's going to color one's ability to objectively analyze the motivations and the reasoning behind both Levi's and Erwin's actions. But I was never, ever against the ship, or against the idea of them being shipped. I think I got the reputation of being an anti because for a long time, I was being inundated with anon asks basically accusing me of being homophobic for saying eruri isn't canon, or anon asks trying to "prove" to me that it is canon and then getting angry at me when I disagreed, or when I lost my patience with them for simply not accepting my stance on this issue. And I think this small group of people then went around to other eruri's and spread to them that I was some sort of aggressive eruri hater. But again, I never was and never will be. I talk more about Levi's relationship with Erwin than any other character, and I find their canon relationship to be incredibly moving and powerful, and further, I love Erwin as a character. One thing I hope all of this will also do is make it clear to other eruri shippers that I'm not against them or their ship at all. I really don't want to be anyone's enemy, least of all eruri shippers. That was never something I set out to do, haha.

But yes, I'm right there with you regarding some self-shippers. Obviously, most of them aren't like this person. Most of them are normal and understand what they write and do is just for fun. But after "Bad Boy" came out, it seemed like the most push back against analysis of that story and its implications came from the self-shipping community, particularly people that seem to actually labor under some sort of delusion of actually, truly being with Levi in a romantic, sexual relationship. I don't understand that at all, because Levi isn't real, lol.

But they seem to get so upset at any discussion of Levi's trauma, or of Levi being affected by his trauma, because acknowledging that trauma and the impact its had on him ruins whatever fantasy, dom-daddy version of Levi it is that they've concocted in their heads. They like to claim Levi is some hard-ass, stoic, unaffected, domineering sex god, because that's what turns them on, and any discussion about what the actual reality of Levi's sexuality would likely be, due to the sexual trauma he's been exposed to, needs to be shut down, because it ruins the fantasy they have. They can't claim that the way they characterize Levi is objective or accurate to canon if Levi's sensitivity or vulnerability as a person is acknowledged, so they like to claim he's not affected at all by his past trauma, that he's just too hardcore to ever succumb to or be profoundly impacted by the things he's lived through. They like to imagine he's just come out the other side totally a-okay and that his stoicism and rudeness is 100% just a product of him being kind of a mean person, again, because they like the idea of being treated meanly by him in a sexual setting.

But Levi isn't a mean person, at all. He's literally the opposite of mean. He's the most thoughtful and considerate character in the series, constantly going out of his way to express his gratitude and ease the suffering of others. He's just awkward, like Dimo Reeves says, and isn't good at filtering his words or expressing himself. That some of these people refuse to acknowledge that the way Levi grew up, the environment he grew up in and the way he was raised, didn't have an impact on his ability to navigate social situations is patently absurd and stupidly unrealistic. It also undermines the severity of abuse Levi suffered in his upbringing, to deny that it had any sort of negative or harmful impact on his ability to interact socially with others. He was raised by a serial killer, for Christ's sake, lol. He wasn't ever taught how to talk to people in a way that would make them more comfortable. He was only ever taught violence and how to kill by Kenny, and he was too young when his mother died to learn anything from her, and he was also abandoned and left on his own at the age of ten, in the most cutthroat, dangerous environment there is inside the walls, surrounded by criminals, rapist, murderers and human traffickers, as well as just desperate people who would resort to plenty of bad shit just to survive. He probably didn't have a single, normal social interaction in his life until he met Furlan and Isabel. I would like these people to explain to me, then, how it is they think that didn't have an impact on the way Levi interacts with others?

He's an exceptionally honest person, too, and he also isn't someone who's concerned with being well-liked, so he doesn't try to ingratiate himself to others by acting friendly. But Levi never sets out to hurt anyone's feelings. He isn't malicious or cruel. He just says what he's thinking and sometimes it comes out sounding unkind. And we see, when Levi realizes it, that he tries to explain himself, again, not because he wants to be liked, but because he doesn't actually ever intend to hurt anyone's feelings. This idea that Levi is a mean person is totally wrong.

Anyway, I went off on a bit of tangent there, lol. Sorry about that. But again I just want to reiterate how much I appreciate you reaching out like this! And don't let these freak shows get you down.

[annawayne]

How does one motivate themselves to write? I've been trying to at least get a word or so in, before completely demotivating and sitting at my screen thinking what to do and wasting that time. Any recommendations of what to do if you've ever had such problems? And of course, have a lovely day!

Hello, anon!

Sorry, it took me a few days to answer, since it was quite hectic for me, but I was also thinking about this situation of yours and how to approach it the best way possible.

First of all, thank you a lot for asking me about it, and that you saw me as someone who, perhaps, could give some advice T^T

And also, for your question, of course, I had such issues or such days, or even months. I guess, all of us who write, from time to time meet this state of not being able to write a single sentence, only staring in our monitors without any single idea what to write. In fact, if I'm being honest, I always have a struggle when I start working on the new chapter. When it's in the process, it's already flowing, so even when the scenes/timeline change, it's all the part of the bigger process, but the beginning of this chapter? It's a huge struggle for me for sure.

Of course, every person is different and this topic is always about personal, however, I gave it a thought and tried to compose the more general points that, I suppose, could be quite a good start of finding the methods which work particularly for you.

I noticed that you mentioned "thinking what to do and wasting the time". You know, I would say something that sounds a bit absurd, but - don't think what to do. We all writers often face the fear of being disappointed in ourselves, especially after getting so excited and inspired by other excellent stories, but when it comes for us to create, all we stare is the blank paper, so terrifying in its emptiness and whiteness. This sterility is pristine and so perfect, so when your thoughts, just like the vibrant hive, also agitated by the waves of sudden inspiration from another story, meet the completely clear paper, it immediately "cools down" the whole motivation, so sudden in its burst, whispering right away all the nitpicking words of "you'll never write something like that". And this is exactly what we need to choke right there - don't let this fear to hold your creativity behind the dam, let it flow! The wild waters don't see the limit, they never think about borders - they just flow in their glory. So let your creativity splash - you don't have to think what to write for now, just start writing everything in your mind, and for now, it'll be the first step into more deliberate writing. We never demand from a child to be a professional runner in their first years of life, don't we? The child learns how to interact with this world - firstly, with crawling, then, with first steps that become more solid pace, then, run, climb, until it becomes something we don't even pay attention to. With writing all the same - when we have this state, everything, just like the world for the child, is immersive, but we don't say to them, "Get up and run!". No, we teach them, support them, hold their hands and we're kind to them. So here, we also need to support ourselves - it's NOT you being a "bad writer", it's just the fear not to "meet" the standards we set ourselves in our head, compared with something we admire; we need to hug ourselves and to be kinder to ourselves. Writing anything is hard. Writing something good is even harder, but the most important is not to forget that your creativity is yours, and every story once was a blank paper before someone took the courage to tell it and to share with others. Behind what we see as a result, there's always a lot of process - from the exciting highs to the painful falls, from genius ideas to being stuck in one paragraph for weeks, from the faucet of ideas to the complete sense of being lost. It's a difficult process, and yet, it's all part of it, so my advice could be summed up into one short idea: don't demand from yourself to fly on the waxed wings. Don't rush it, and take your time to construct the wings, and then, take a step into the skies - otherwise, too close to the sun, would melt the wings and the fall would be painful, like for Icarus.

Please remember that your stories don't have to "correspond" to any story you've read, even if it inspired you - let it cool down a bit. In this excited state, it's easy to start to do something while all your senses burst with emotions, but when the time passes and everything cools down, there's this gap between "high" and "low" phase, that literally just leads you to the abyss of the writing block.

Give yourself time, just write without thinking about anything, and give yourself a break, rather than pushing yourself.

I hope that this answer was more or less helpful T_T

I really didn't want to approach this like "step by step tutorial" because 1) who am I to teach anyone; 2) in my opinion, such topics are better for the "human" conversation rather than a list of advice which sounds more utilitarian

I wish you all the best, anon, and to be able to write the story YOU see and have in mind! Don't give up, and also, be kinder to yourself. Have a good one, and thank you for asking T^T

[whatevertheweather]

an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thank you for the tags @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @youarenevertooold I've been in search of ways to procrastinate <3

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

I'll go with one that isn't being posted yet: Callous.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Touch starvation + poor communication = Baz's No Good Very Bad Night

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

PTSD, disassociation, and, uh, emotional hurt/comfort?

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

Bold of anyone to assume I'm good enough at coming up with titles that I have multiple to choose from. Oh! But actually I do for Bait and Switch, thanks to Dre brainstorming fishing idioms with me. There were 4 alternatives, but my favorite is All is Fish, because it makes no fucking sense.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

It had better be Musical Chairs.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

In an uncommon turn of events, I only have one (active) WIP right now that's not already named as it will be posted, and that's "yeah sure let's just write some shit that's way later and not finish the other that's fine"

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

It’s just…there’s also some deer in the headlights energy to him, which, mixed with the general aura of barely tamed violence, is throwing Shepard off. Truly, it’s been a good long while since he’s done this kind of pinballing over what he’s seeing when he looks at someone.

He does know what he’s seeing when he looks back at Simon. It’s the sort of face that has him politely averting his eyes to examine the bland thread of Simon’s shirt instead. He thinks walking in on the two of them tangled up without a stitch of clothing wouldn’t feel half as intrusive as looking at that expression did.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

I had to abandon about a page of the above misnamed WIP (now to be succinctly abbreviated as YSLJWSSTWLANFTOTF) because it no longer fits the tone of the rest of the fic at all, which is sad because it made me laugh. It's too long to put here in its entirety, but here's part of one line, which shall function as the dead darling's eulogy: "I know you have a dick, Baz, I’ve fucking well been thinking about it!”

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Okay there's one I don't want to say much about because, selfishly, I want to be the one to write it, but it's related to truth spells. (Technically I've started it because there's a document with 10 scattered lines of dialogue, but I haven't started it started it.)

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

I'm trying to focus on 3, but I might have to say 4 here.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I have rewritten the same 4 pages of Musical Chairs about 5 times. It's absurd. I know what's going to happen, I have the ending written, I have almost everything that gets us there written, and yet this section is u n d o i n g me.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

I'm gonna take that as me sending kudos to all these lovely people: @cutestkilla @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @artsyunderstudy @fatalfangirl @whogaveyoupermission @iamamythologicalcreature @thewholelemon @facewithoutheart @martsonmars @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @larkral

[prongsfish]

*blinks* headcanons *blinks*

okay. i am almost a month late to this ask hi @ethanmilo ... sorry about that... and i will be using it to give the barty hcs you asked for over a month before this but the ask expired... sorry about that again... my bad time is scary

but yes barty headcanons. these may end up leaning into bartylus territory because i am So obsessed with them right now but i have no idea what i'm going to write yet so we'll see HAHA

(jumping back here after writing this, most of these are lighthearted but some do get a bit more serious/dark, nothing out of character for what you see scrolling on maraurders tumblr but i just don't want people to be shocked by the tone shift)

he doesn't take day-to-day school life seriously and fucks around in most of the classes he doesn't skip altogether BUT his competitiveness is not to be underestimated. he's barely in class and he never pays attention but he gets away with it because he's so smart that when he started school he was already suuper advanced. he just kept working on his own and so was always way ahead of whatever he was supposed to be learning, so he's super annoying and disruptive during classes but when it comes time to it he's still at the top of all his classes. he and reg are always warring for the number one spot and they're a nightmare to be around during exams because they are SO competitive

he'd give himself those shitty stick and poke tattoos at like age fourteen, if you've seen the videos of kids on tiktok with the ugliest shoddiest tattoos you've ever seen you know what i mean... i just found this image on pinterest and this is Exactly the sort of shit he'd have. i think he'd have always been constantly drawing on his work and skin with a quill/pen and he does not fear permanence. the moment he found a way to give himself tattoos he was doing it.

the absolute biggest shit stirrer you've ever met, everything he does is always in the hopes of pissing someone off. he will lie, he will argue, he will push and shove his way into a confrontation and when someone eventually breaks his nose he just starts laughing

he knows Everyone. he has connections to everyone in whatever city he's in, he constantly "knows a guy" and every time it's the most absurd story that his friends have never heard a single word of but it's 100% true. his lore is infinite. and people expect it to be limited to just where he lives but no, he could go to a whole new country and still be being stopped every 5 minutes by some old friend who's thrilled to see him

related to the above, he is that Coolest Fucking uncle. he's awful with kids but god damn it if he doesn't have the most legendary stories to tell luna as often as she could ever want!!

he knows a shit ton of languages. he started learning them because he was bored and it eventually it just became a Thing and he's fluent in like 4 or 5 but can hold a decent conversation in upwards of 10 others too

he looks like he smells bad. he wouldn't smell bad when he was younger, still too used to certain privileges of his class, but the further he strayed from his father and family, especially into young adulthood, i think he would start to—unless regulus was in his life, in which case he'd better smell like fucking roses if he ever wanted to be seen anywhere even Near him in public

i heavily associate him with nu metal and post industrial music but i also think that when he was younger he would've been suuper into all those whiny indie rock bands that normal people call midwest emo, music nerds crucify you for calling midwest emo, and i have no clue what to call. he'd totally have his own band inspired by them too, and he totally has the voice for it—the voice that's objectively terrible but works perfectly for that style of music

he doesn't talk about how he feels like ever but those close to him have worked out ways to get him what he needs when he needs it. he refuses to ask for help but his friends know him well enough that they don't need him to ask, they can pick up his question in far fewer words, and even though it's still hard for him to even imply that he needs help it's a lot easier when he can talk around the issue rather than having to actually using his words. his friends know that it'd be better if he Did use his words but they also know that if they tried to stop letting him get away with not asking properly he'd just stop trying to ask at all

his favourite film genres are horror and action, the gorier the better. he loooooves all the saw films

he's super messy, his room is a fucking NIGHTMARE. shit EVERYWHERE. clothes strewn all around, dishes stacked in several tall piles, three different rubbish bins that are each around 70% full from the times he's been forced to "clean up" and eventually gotten bored/distracted. regulus despises it and refuses to go anywhere near his room meanwhile evan is so excited because every time he goes into barty's room he discovers a new species of mould. sometimes when he's really lucky barty will kick over a pile of clothes to find something and like eight cockroaches scurry out (evan immediately rushes to grab as many of them as possible before they disappear and then takes them home)

by the time he was a preteen he'd given up on the idea that his father would ever be proud of him, had flipped to doing everything in his power to anger him further, entirely stopped caring about the consequences because if his father would hate him no matter what he did why not make it reflect badly back on him, since he cared so much about his public image as a politician. he never intended to leave though, because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving his mother with him. that was until he pushed too far with his dad, got too sucked into the lifestyles of others who'd given up just like him, fell too deeply into the depression and the anger and the violence, until he crossed a line and his mother was looking at him like she was disappointed, too. he realised that he was trying so hard to stay for his mother but staying was making him a worse person and it wasn't worth it anymore if she could no longer see what he was doing as a sacrifice, and only as surface level "badness". he hated leaving his mother more than he hated his dad but in the end staying was only making things worse for the both of them

he uses humour and stupidity as a defence mechanism, and while he does find it fun to do ridiculous and reckless things he also does it because it gives him a role to fill. he can't stand being genuine because he's terrified of rejection, so he'd rather lean into all the superficial judgements made about him. if when someone shuffles away from him in public transport he bares his teeth at them and when someone expects him to be stupid he purposefully misunderstands a simple concept, then nobody actually knows him and nobody can hurt him in a way that matters. the person they insult isn't actually him so they can't possibly get to him

he is VERY judgemental and he and regulus can spend hours talking shit about anyone from lifelong classmates to complete strangers. it surprises everyone that he actually gets along with remus really well, but it's because remus has a more judge-y side that he hides when with anyone but regulus and, apparently, barty

he and dorcas are the gay man and lesbian best friends duo and people have probably mistaken them as a couple before, which they'd both be mortified by. "have they seen us?!?!"

okay i'm forcing myself to end it there because i have an essay draft to finish and a substantial amount of french homework to do in the next like 4-5 hours (nobody is allowed to say shit about my sleep schedule i don't want to hear it HAHAHA) and i've already been writing this for WELL over an hour so i really should stop giving myself ways to procrastinate, i hope these were enough to make up even slightly for the very long wait <//3 ah barty crouch jr, the one and only love of my life... i would be utterly terrified of you in real life but i would also be very attracted to you from a safe distance which is basically the highest form of compliment i can possibly give a person

[demeterdefence]

is there anything about lore you do like?

oh ... honey

i genuinely believe this was sent in earnest and i get that being this caught up on the series and still reading is kind of counter to "i hate this series" so genuinely: no, right now there is nothing of the series proper that i like. there is a lot i like in the potential.

the problems with lo are evident right from the start and i won't pretend otherwise; the lolita aspects, the imbalance, the casual disregard for the cultural influences and narratives of the myths and where they came from. i will also say there were some genuinely compelling plotlines and connections! i thoroughly enjoyed eros and his protectiveness of his friends, hera and her grief at being so often maligned and insulted, demeter and her everything. there were a lot of narrative choices i didn't like, but rachel was able to put some basic structures and characters in place that i, and many readers, could enjoy and often build off of ourselves.

but that's the problem. rachel sketched out some bare bone characteristics and narratives - she laid out some shoddy foundations, and the fanbase and the readers are the ones who built anything of substance on them. if you take a look at any character within the narrative proper, their entire personality and choices fall apart: they exist to prop up persephone and her romance with hades, and their own choices and decisions ultimately mean nothing otherwise. most of the story relies on fandom interpretation, and as it's been pointed out numerous times, rachel relies heavily on her fanbase to give her ideas and plotlines for future chapters. it is absurd how little characterization the story actually has, and how often it contradicts itself to bolster whatever plotline is going.

if we use hera, for example (and i'm guilty of genuinely liking hera, despite her shitty choices and actions): hera is a rape victim. she has been abused and used by men her entire life and genuinely resents herself for simply bolstering up those men, rather than exist on her own. when hera finds out persephone has been assaulted, she shows nothing but kindness and compassion - she is someone who, as the narrative tries to point out, understands the nature of assault and wants to see the perpetrators brought to justice.

but - and here's the frustration - although hera promises persephone not to tell anyone what happened, she has a moral and royal duty to bring apollo to justice. when apollo becomes a prince of olympus, she has every reason to come forward. persephone is banished, and apollo is reaping benefits he does not deserve - by becoming royal, hera knows it's going to be harder to bring him down. she has nothing to lose coming forward. moreover, she knows other people know what apollo did! the narrative has made it clear hera wants to defend persephone, but all her decisions are just left lying on the floor to keep the suspense of apollo's assault and whether he'll ever be brought to task for it.

most of the characters within lore olympus are given shallow, surface-level characteristics that they pick up and abandon to suit the storyline. we don't necessarily see them grow - they really just change to fit whatever is expected of them. persephone and hades get the highest focus, but the only actual change we see from them is for the worse; they double down on their negative traits and the narrative tries to sell them as positives, as them being "girlboss" and "king goals." a lot of the characters are flanderized to contrast them to persephone - ares goes from being genuinely cunning and incredibly insightful, if brutal and temperamental, to just some random horndog who wants to bang persephone. hermes is energetic and loving and silly and secretly cunning, to just. present? occasionally? maybe sometimes a comedic figure? hecate might be the most consistent in that she really roots for hades throughout, but she also becomes his yes-man, his frequent approver in whatever idiot plot he wants to engage in. she was able to actively stop hades from interrogating kronos after the great divide, but now she can't even convince him to think of a better plan than a risky sleep dive they already know won't work. and the only reason they're doing the sleep dive is rachel cannot figure out any other way to get the story moving!

so in incredibly long answer to your question, no, there's really nothing i enjoy per say about lore olympus, except for the select fandom circles i involve myself in - the critique of it, basically. i enjoy seeing people take these lukewarm sketches and breathe actual life into them. i enjoy random interactions in the comic that don't add up to the narrative whole but are objectively cute or funny in their singular scene (ares and hermes u will always be my babes.) and yeah, arguably i could spend my time on something productive, and i certainly have hobbies and enjoyments i genuinely like and spend time on! i'm still reading this comic because i would like to see the trainwreck, so to speak, and i love to see how the fans fix whatever mess rachel puts out. and yes i will stan for demeter until my dying breath.

[stitching-in-time]

Voyager rewatch s5 ep11: Latent Image

Another Doctor episode, which was fine for the first half when it was a mystery to be solved, but once the truth was revealed, it kind of fell apart.

Knowing the reveal at the end, I wasn't especially excited for this one, since even back when I first saw it I thought the the Doctor went pretty over the top with his reaction, but I hoped maybe it would improve on rewatch. It didn't really.

The mystery of who erased the Doctor's memories worked well, but there's a lot of stuff here that doesn't make sense, and the revelation that he'd had a breakdown over having to chose which crew member to save, when he ony had time to save one, didn't make a whole lot of sense either. His big deal is that he's somehow a terrible person for choosing his friend over an ensign he didn't know as well, and it sends him into a downward spiral that's so extreme that it necessitates his memory of the event being wiped. But that seems a drastic step to take before just, like, actually talking to him. Maybe if someone would have sat him down and just told him that doesn't make him a monster, it just makes him human, it might have given him some perspective and calmed him down eventually. Someone should have told him that as soon as he started yelling and trashing stuff. And someone should have explained that sometimes all the choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to chose, so that that situation isn't made worse by inaction. I mean, what else could he have done in that situation? Chosen to let his friend die so he could feel fair and impartial?? That's absurd, especially with Tom in the room at the time- Harry is his best friend, was the Doctor really supposed to have let Tom's best friend die in front of him when he could save him?? How would that have been better?? It wouldn't. And the fact that the Doctor is so upset about the other ensign's death proves that he knows her life has as much value as Harry's, but when there's nothing to tip the scales but your personal feelings, everyone will try to save the people they love most. it's still sad, but it's not immoral, it's just reality.

The whole thing about Janeway being like 'he's just a computer, not a person, we had to reprogram him' felt weird and wrong for this late in the series too. We've been past that for a while, they all think of him as a part of the crew, and as a friend, and I don't believe for a second no one would have tried to reason with him, or talk to him about it before just giving up and altering his program. Janeway did end up just talking to him and being there to support him as the ultimate resolution of the episode anyway, so it feels contrived to have her suddenly go back to early season one 'the doctor isn't a person' thinking, just so she can 'overcome' it later on in the ep. It's yet another case of ignoring years worth of character development and changing the characters to suit whatever the plot of the week is, rather than making the stories fit the characters, as any good show should. It's so frustrating!

And I hate how yet again, we have Seven coming and telling Janeway she's wrong, and having it be framed as though she has the moral highground, and Janeway is so bad. Stop pitting female characters against each other all the time! Stop using Seven to undermine Janway's authority! I want to tear my hair out every time they do this!!

And still, throughout the entire episode, no one ever actually says to the doctor that he's not a bad person for chosing to save a friend over an acquaintance, which seems like it should have been a central theme, but it was just overlooked. All in all, an episode that was trying to be deep and thoughtful, but didn't really know what the heck it was trying to say.

Tl;dr: An episode that was all about the Doctor, but it didn't give him much to do except yell a lot. It didn't seem to know what it was trying to say, and mischaracterized Janeway to boot. It took the whole episode to get where it should have been in the first place, and ended up being kind of pointless, ultimately.

[goatsincrediblysillymusiccorner]

Late Night Ramble About Long Ass Songs

I think it's fair to say songs have to earn their length. At the very least, that's how I feel. If a song is 15+ minutes long, it'll likely live and/or die by its intrigue alone. If a song is 45 seconds, it better make each and every one of those seconds count.

I think a phenomenal example of a short song is Vildhjarta's "Måsstadens Nationalsång", coming in at an incredibly brief 47 seconds. This track is punchy as hell, and it only gets more satisfying the longer you listen. It presents itself in its entirety; completely identifiable and unique from the rest of the album, then it effortlessly transitions into the next song like it's nothing. It's genuinely great.

But on the other end of the spectrum, you have songs that will likely absolutely dwarf the others in your playlist with their sheer size. It can be a bit intimidating when you go to check out a new album you've never heard and all of the tracks are upwards of 10 minutes. That is a lot of time to dedicate to the same artist—especially if you have other things you want to do with your time. But, man, the musicians that pull it off really hit it out of the park for me.

I fuckin' love long songs. For me, they're some of the most replayable tracks in any given artist's discography. Obviously, that's just personal taste. It doesn't necessarily mean that I inherently prefer one style over the other, but I do find myself gravitating towards a lot of bands who, indeed, do this.

If I had to summarize what was so appealing about it to me personally, I would say listening to a long track is akin to reading an engaging story. They share a lot more in common than you might think: consistent theming, a lot of them actively tell a story of some kind (especially if it's a concept album LOL), the contrasting usage of high points juxtaposed against dulcet lows, they typically feature a climax somewhere ... it all kind of fits into a similar shape. Told through a completely different medium, sure, but the appeal is identical to me at least.

Take Opeth's titular "Blackwater Park". This track comes in at 12 minutes, 8 seconds.

The entire song is a perfect blend of everything that makes the album so phenomenal. The first two minutes are spent building expectation. Those deep, tridgy guitar riffs completely immerse you inside this garden-esque soundscape of pure atmosphere and progressive death metal beauty. When the growls are finally added to the mix the sound becomes full and complete; but it's shortlived as we're soon thrown backwards into another heavenly verse, devoid now of both vocals and distortion. It's different, but you know it's still Opeth. After this abrupt switch-up, you're constantly left on edge, wondering what could be next. Every little decision has a payoff. I genuinely think this song is one of the finest masterpieces in death metal history. And I think without all of this room to breathe, it likely wouldn't have been.

Another one I instantly think of when it comes to long songs is Periphery's "Reptile". It's quite the monster of a track, boasting an impressive 16 minutes and 43 seconds.

Honestly, I've listened to this song hundreds of times and it still flies by like an instant. I don't even feel time pass when I'm listening to it. This is one of those songs where, if someone asks where to start with Periphery, I recommend it immediately. It showcases virtually everything that makes their music appealing to me. When it wants to hit hard, it hits hard. When it wants to build atmosphere, you better believe it's going to have the best payoff it physically could have had. Spencer's screams and powerful cleans are showcased in crystalline clarity, as are Misha's incredible compositional abilities and absolutely absurd technicality. Matt's drumming is the icing on the cake; matching the mood and tone of any musical scene it needs to. I could go on and on. It's a nearly 17-minute-long flex of a song where every moment is just as exciting as the last.

But that's my ramble over. I've recently been listening to this band called "Haken", and wouldn't you know, the song that got me initially interested in their stuff was long as fuck. And it was awesome. You should check it out.