#I made this instead of studying for physics

[girllblogging777]

IN WHICH spencer realises how much you crave physical affection, and is glad to offer it to you

the plot of the movie unravelling on the television screen seemed to be pretty interesting. after all, romcoms were your thing, and you were the one who’d recommended it - no, insisted on watching it tonight.

however, there seemed to be something much more interesting going on right next to you on the couch. and that striking sight happened to have a name. a very pretty one, even.

spencer reid.

oh, and he happened to be your boyfriend, too.

so obviously, as great as the cinematography of that silly romance might’ve been, you couldn’t help but study his profile instead. leaning back against the cushions, spencer’s brows were furrowed in a micro expression that you knew too well. the one he had when he was working a case, or trying to plan his chess moves in advance.

because his eyes were glued to the screen, you took your sweet time to absorb every detail. after all, this was only the beginning of your relationship. that thought alone warmed up your heart, and made you want to catch up on all the moments where you’d wished you could look at him like that.

like you had the right to observe him.

like he was your own piece of art.

like he was yours.

“you’re staring,” he stated, more amused than anything and still not looking away from the movie.

you just huffed, and shrugged “so ? you’re the one who’s staring at the tv like you’re in a relationship with it”

“i thought you wanted me to watch the movie ! didn’t you say it was your favourite ?” oh, he was sweet. the sweetest. so sweet that he was actually willing to watch your favorite romcom, after listening to you rant about it for hours on your first date even though he despised that genre.

“okay, you have a point.” you admitted, nudging him. “but you’re much more interesting… or you would be if you cared, that is”

that caused him to turn around immediately, his beautiful lips frowning in a way that could make you melt within seconds. “hey, of course i care-“ he justified, his hand cupping your cheek, “i just thought… you’d want me to actually watch it and question me about it at the end or something”

that made you giggle, because where did he even get this idea ? “question you about the movie ? spence, just because it’s my favourite doesn’t mean you gotta force yourself to enjoy it.”

“oh, okay… cause i’d much rather stare at you too”

“ i was not staring !” you exclaimed, your hand finding your heart in a dramatic way that he loved so much about you.

spencer just smiled, his thumb now tracing your cheekbone. “liar…”

you weren’t sure what it was exactly. maybe the feel of his hand on you, the heat that emanated from his body, or his sweet puppy eyes boring into yours. either way, you felt like you were in heaven.

“you always do this, did you know that ?”

his voice made you look up. “huh ? do what ?”

“this,” spencer explained, pulling you closer with a hand on your smaller back. “when i touch you, you close your eyes and you kinda… lose all connection with earth or something”

he really did have an eye for noticing things about you.

“i just really like you touching me, i guess… not in a weird way-” you corrected, not wanting him to think that’s what it was about. but he nodded, encouraging you to keep going because he always understood.

“what i mean is, i never really liked being vulnerable like that. and i guess it’s kinda catching up now that i have you…”

you expected him to give you a weird look, or maybe joke about it, because that’s what everyone would’ve done in response to such a vulnerable declaration. instead, he leaned in to press the softest of kisses on your forehead.

“i’m not used to it either.” he said, pulling back and pausing for a moment. “my mom… she was the only one to ever hug me, but there were moments where i could barely approach her. because of her condition.”

you could tell this was complicated to admit, you saw how he bit his lips in between sentences. but he wanted you to know, he really did.

“so i guess that’s why i never really engage physical contact,” he explained. “you never know how the other person might react. and i don’t like unpredictability. it’s not my thing”

you chuckled, the sound vibrating against the palm of his hand and making him smile softly. “no shit, sherlock. i caught that.”

his eyes rolled at your remark, but he didn’t push you away. instead, he pulled you closer.

“you know, hugging releases oxytocin. it’s most commonly known as “the hormone of love” and has a lot of benefits.” he explained as you burrowed your face into his chest, his long arms wrapping around you and securing you into his embrace.

you could only hum in response and he took that as a sign to keep going, knowing you probably wouldn’t mind is usual rambles.

“basically, it has a lot of benefits. studies show that it’s important for couples to cuddle approximately ten minutes a day. but a hug is good too, and the average length would be about a dozen seconds.”

his words faltered when you wrapped your arms around his neck and shifted your entire weight against him. you were practically straddling him at this point, and he didn’t seem to mind at all.

“spence, what’s your point” you mumbled against his shirt, now definitely rumpled from the cuddling.

“my point-,” he replied, taking a deep breath and trying to suppress his urge to trap you against the couch and never let you go, “is that you and i are definitely behind, statistically wise. and i’d like for us both to catch up.”

“so, you’re just saying we have a lot of cuddling to do and you don’t mind me being clingy ?”

“…yes”

you smiled, although he couldn’t see it. “i’m so glad you don’t care about watching the damn movie anymore,”

spencer laughed, throwing his head back and trying to press you impossibly closer to him, as if you two weren’t already practically merging right now.

“darling, the movie was bad. i could pinpoint about twenty inconsistencies and plot errors within the first sequence” he told you as nicely as he could, but you shut him up by tilting your head and pulling him into a kiss.

“one more critic,” you warned against his mouth, lips grazing against his in a way that made him lose his mind, “and i’m never cuddling with you again.”

you bet he stopped talking.

[fumitori-forced-me]

Bottle Opener Complete!

[saige-png]

[violet-traitor]

them. again,,

I alr posted this image here but I put it under the cut so I'm reposting it here for it to see the light of day

[quibbs126]

Hm, apparently this wasn’t a request. But whatever, I finished them and want to show it off

But yay, I finally got purecacao done!

So first off, I just want to say that these two are post-canon, and Dark Choco’s their older half-brother. I just felt like mentioning that because I made up this whole thing for the purecacao love story

My idea for how Dark Cacao and Pure Vanilla’s relationship went is that at some point, Dark Cacao got feelings for Pure Vanilla, but wasn’t sure how to tell him. But he thought he’d have all the time in the world to say because they were immortal. But then the Dark Flour War happened and Pure Vanilla “died”. When he came back, Dark Cacao realized that he couldn’t just wait anymore, and so sometime during the current story, he confessed his love for him, and after the main story they ended up getting together

Anyways, back to the twins. So Vanilla Bean is a girl, while Cocoa Butter is a boy. Though I’m considering making Cocoa Butter a girl as well. I’m not sure

So Cocoa Butter is a very friendly kid, and very outgoing. He wants to be a warrior like his father (Dark Cacao) and brother, though he prefers the Vanilla Kingdom over the Dark Cacao Kingdom. He also tends to get himself into messy situations, which result in his outfits getting messed up and having to constantly be fixed. In the future, I see him being a Vanillian soldier, if not a commander. Also, despite his want to be like Dark Cacao, his favorite parent is Pure Vanilla since he’s not nearly as serious

Vanilla Bean on the other hand is very shy and quiet. She prefers to read giant tomes and watch from afar. She prefers Dark Cacao since he’s quiet and feels safe with him due to how strong he is. I’m not as certain what she ends up doing, maybe she becomes a healer, but I know she’ll end up living in the Dark Cacao Kingdom

I feel like you can tell which description I did better. I mean, with Cocoa Butter I was haphazardly putting all my thoughts, but by Vanilla Bean I knew how to articulate them better

Despite their differences, they get along very well, and include the other in their games. Also, they both really like their brother Dark Choco. He’s like their main babysitter, and he enjoys their company too

Alright, I think that’s about it for their characters. Now on to designs

So I think I’ve mentioned using the name Cocoa Butter before, but I also decided to use Vanilla Bean a few days ago. My brain thoughts were that cocoa butter is cacao but light colored, while vanilla beans are vanilla but dark colored. It’s contrast (which admittedly I may be doing too much of with these two)

Cocoa butter and vanilla beans:

So one of the first things I wanted to do was give Vanilla Bean those pigtails, with the idea that they’d look like vanilla beans. Admittedly they aren’t actually in the shape of the beans, but whatever

I was struggling with their eye colors, since I wasn’t really sure what to do. I knew I didn’t want to do heterochromia though. Eventually I tried mixing the purple and I think blue to get this bluish grey color, and I decided to give them purple eyes but with one of Pure Vanilla’s eye colors as the highlights. And also I decided to change the purples to fit more with each highlight, Cocoa Butter’s being more warm while Vanilla Bean’s is more cool

Admittedly I was kind of just making stuff up with their outfits, all I could think of was vaguely mixing Vanillian and Dark Cacaoian clothing, which mostly just resulted in purple + yellow. I know I’ve seen someone do it, but I don’t have refs. I think what I came up with was alright though

In addition to their purples and yellows, I experimented with adding an additional green color to Vanilla Bean to spice things up, and I liked it. But I didn’t want to leave Cocoa Butter out, so I gave him the red accents

Their streaks were a very last minute inclusion, and I really only added them because I remembered that Dark Cacao had those. I feel like you can really tell on Cocoa Butter

Overall I think they’re good. Maybe not my best, but they’re still fine. Maybe I can make them some adult designs that look even better

But yeah, I think that’s about it for them. I hope you enjoy them!

[depressedtheatrekiddo]

WHO THE FUCK DECIDED IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO PUT MY FINALS THE WEEK THAT COMES AFTER ARCANE ACT 3 COMES OUT 😭😭😭😭😭

[apotelesmaa]

I saw someone say tsukasa was meant to be a pediatrician and while I don’t entirely disagree & think it’s an interesting concept to play with, I also think they neglected to consider the fact that he is stupid and would not survive medical school. If you think tsukasa tenma could comprehend organic chemistry you are lying to yourself. If he had to balance chemical reactions he would cry.

[cursedthing]

.havign lots of thoughts about how npcs are portrayed learning about the nature of their universe in works

[studiousandrogynousfox-blog]

chaotic career coaching

i'd signed up to career coaching offered by my uni to help me figure out what i want to do with my life. i was given the task to work through the first section of their application guide which is about analysing your interests, strength, and needs. and of course i left starting on it until the afternoon before when it had already become impossible to actually finish it. i think it's safe to say that doing tasks in a timely manner is not one of my strengths!

this morning the meeting with the coach took place - online due to the coach dealing with a bad cold. and because i hadn't slept enough and struggled to get out of bed in the morning, the meeting started while i was still on the train on my way to uni. and later on the bus and finally perched on the edge of a massive plant pot...

but it was actually helpful so i'm really glad i'd signed up for it!

[digitaldiseas3]

i have had one of the mentally worst days i’ve had in a while and still made dinner for everyone and am managing to study for an exam in between bouts of crying and having mini-breakdowns. meanwhile my roommates went rock climbing and now they’re too tired to do the dishes.

[amazinglyashy]

Too heavy for me? Never

LADS men reaction to you only somewhat joking about being too heavy for them

Sylus -

He'll raise an eyebrow at you, staring down at you as you realize the joke fell flat. You try to back peddle, not wanting to cause any confrontation that never helps you feel better about your body anyway, but he simply holds up a hand to stop you with a shake of his head.

"I don't want to hear it, sweetie. I already know the nonsense you're going to say. How about you just come with me right now to the gym instead?"

You don't know how to tell him that saying that truly shattered your heart into a million pieces, so you just follow him in silence instead. You didn't think he would insult you so casually, and you were now trying to brace yourself for the inadequate feelings and self-loathing you were about to experience by having to train at the gym with him.

But... he didn't ask you to do a workout. He didn't tell you to get on a piece of equipment or to lie down on a mat for a physical exercise.

He told you to sit on a small bench against the wall while he went to the free weights close by.

Wordlessly, he loads weights- two- no, three times your weight onto the bar, before moving to lift it. Once. Twice. Again, and again and again-

His eyes flicker over to you at some point, and instead of making any remark or reference to the emotions clear across your face, he flashes you a slight smirk, just like he always does.

"Have I made myself clear, sweetie?"

Zayne -

Zayne will definitely think you're just pretending to be stupid at first.

He will look down at you with his brows furrowed and a small smile creeping on his lips, thinking it's all a joke.

"I lift myself during my workouts fairly easily, and I am capable of lifting a lot more. Quite funny, though I wouldn't make this form of humor a habit. It isn't particularly good for your mental health."

Then he realizes you're actually being serious in what you're saying.

He's upset, to put it lightly, but hes trying not to let it show. Favoring a small frown across his usually firm expression as he studies your face. Your heart will jolt just a little bit when you process just how sad his eyes look though... obviously he's hurt that you would even think something like that about yourself, much less come to believe it as true.

"Allowing a part of your brain to lie to you is not healthy if you don't push back with the truth. And the truth here, is that you are nowhere near too heavy for me to lift or carrying, even for prolonged periods of time. To demonstrate-"

And like it's nothing, he's picking you up and carrying you. His destination is not important, and the protests spewing from your lips fall on deaf ears as you try to gentle squirm out of his grasp. He'll continue to explain why your viewpoint is flawed, methodically and with logic, and in a way that you find yourself unable to argue back.

He doesn't want you to.

He knows you're wrong, and he will stop at nothing to prove it.

Xavier -

He's more surprised at the statement than anything. At first, he thinks you're making a jab at his strength, and wonders if he slipped up in front of one too many Wanderers and now needs to prove himself just to get you to stop teasing him for being 'weak'.

Once he (quickly) realizes that you're talking about yourself, jabbing at your own body and state, rather than at him, it's like a spark igniting in him.

"What? What would ever make you think that? No- that's not right. That's not right at all."

He's immediately going to try and grab you to lift you up, he doesn't care where you both are or what you're doing. Even if you've just woken up in bed and are still relaxing, he's trying to pick you up right then and there.

He stumbles trying to lift you, falling backward onto the pile of blankets and plushies that has taken over his bed. He feels awful, worried that you'll take his misstep as him falling over from your weight, immediately apologizing and trying to sit up and pick you up again before falling forward from the plush surface he's trying to rise on giving out too much beneath him.

You're both a giggling mess by then, and it's obvious to you that he's going to keep trying to prove it to you, just... a bit clumsily so. Several more attempts will be made as the evening goes on, and pretty soon he's showing you just how easily it is for him to lift you up- especially if he keeps doing it over and over and over again.

And he will continue to do it over and over and over again, even after today. As many times as it takes.

Rafayel -

You definitely made a mistake saying anything self-depreciating around him. Especially with how much he likes to prove you wrong in playful situations, this is something similar, but a lot more serious to him.

He'll make fun of you for anything, as long as you know he's just being lighthearted even if he's grumpy or upset when he fires a quip off at you.

But the second you agree with him, or say something bad about yourself- whether jokingly or dead serious- the gloves are off. He won't accept that from you, and he's already on it to figure out how to turn the opinion you've formed of yourself on it's head and into a more positive outlook.

Lifts you up bridal carry while spinning- quite literally sweeping you off your feet while he whisks you away. You would think you were a princess with how he spins around his studio with you in his arms, with no regard to the paintings or projects around him as he dances with you in his arms. And no matter how hard you protest, he doesn't stop until he feels for himself that he's done enough, giggling the entire time.

"Are you really going to doubt a sea god's strength? Geez, I didn't realize you were such a rude human."

He'll hold you up enough to press his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you with a smile, the slightest sadness playing across his expression.

"Man, I must be pretty lousy that you would ever think something like that about yourself. That must mean I don't think to pick you up enough like you deserve. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you by whisking you away every chance I see you from now on."

[ohmy-gojo]

"you're so beautiful.." you sigh dreamily, resting your head on the desk

megumi furrows his brows at you, flicking your forehead, gently of course. "im teaching you physics here, and you are flirting with me?" there was a distinct blush present in his cheeks

"i cant help it," you pouted. brushing your fingers at his blushing cheek, "besides its not just flirting, its true! youre really beautiful!"

he scoffed "id beg to differ,"

if he had to describe himself, he would choose practical, or something similar. but beautiful? thats not a word he would ever choose for himself. that suits you perfectly

"if only you saw yourself from my eyes.."

he averted his eyes, "youre just wasting time instead of studying,"

"nuh uh," you protest, scooting closer to him "you have to understand how gorgeous you are! like these eyes," you point to them "theyre the prettiest shade of blue, blue like– like an ocean," you nod wistfully "an ocean i want to dive into."

he rolled said eyes "okay shakespeare."

you ignore him and continue your speech "also your lashes," this time youre irked "how are your lashes longer than mine?? isnt that unfair? as well as the perfect skin when you literally apply only soap," you furrow your brows "youre clearly god's favorite!"

he huffed, "the secret to clear skin is not being a dummy,"

"also," you rest your head in his shoulder, brushing your fingers over his lips "i love your lips too, a lot. wish i could kiss them all day."

at this, megumis cheeks darkened. "shut up now. i get it alright?"

you smiled and take a seat on his lap, peppering his face with kisses. he just sighs and accepts his fate, holding you in his arms. he likes to act tuff and pretend that he's forced to accept your affection but you both know the reality is far from it.

"are you done?" he grumbles "i have yet to teach you quantum."

"nooo!"

note : this was one of my first works ever, this made me cringe but decided to clear these drafts ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

[akalyndraw]

It's a little late but happy Mother's Day! I take this opportunity to introduce LeoYur's future babies, twins Laia and Lia and little brother Jul. I'll take the opportunity to write about them ^^

It's a good time to remember that Yura's eye color is brown 🤎 the olive green is actually contact lenses (she doesn't see well far away)

Yura and Leona's children:

Twins - Laia (🐆) & Lia (🌺):

Age: 9 years old

Birthday: June 15

Birthplace: Sunset Savanna

Eye color: Esmerald

Hair color: Dark Brown

Favorite Food: Meat (🐆) Lasagna (🌺)

Hobby: Training (🐆) Singing (🌺)

Dislike: Salad(🐆🌺) and insects(🌺)

Younger brother - Jul (🐾):

Age: 7 years old

Birthday: October 8

Birthplace: Sunset Savanna

Eye color: Brown

Hair color: Dark Brown

Favorite Food: Beef liver

Hobby: Read

Dislike: Noise and people talking behind one's back

The twins are a bundle of energy that came into 🌼🦁 life when they least expected it on one of their trips, but it was the greatest joy for both of them. Both have outgoing and curious personalities, Laia can be the more whimsical one. She likes to tease her brother and father, plus she has fun doing little mischiefs here and there, however this gets her in trouble almost every time. On the other hand, Lia is kinder although she follows her sister in her mischief, she is the “voice of conscience” (which Laia never listens to)

They are the female version of their father in appearance.

🐆: She is very smart and strong for her age. She enjoys watching her father's and the rest of Sunset Warrior's workouts. Occasionally she trains by imitating the movements of others, she likes adrenaline and is surprisingly good at leadership (in the future she becomes leader of the Sunset Warrior) Despite her personality she has a good heart.

🌺: cheerful girl, she will always greet you with a smile. Like her sister she is quite intelligent however she prefers to avoid physical training and instead rehearse her singing in the palace gardens next to her mother while she draws. She excels in creativity and perseverance, she often gets into trouble with her sister but you couldn't be too angry with them for too long, you won't resist her puppy look.

The arrival of the little princesses at the palace was a joy for everyone. Cheka and Falena were constantly dropping by as babies to bring them presents. Leona is a bit protective of them so she tries to get them to leave quickly. They are the darlings of the place, if any cookies are missing from the kitchen the chefs already know who they were. Kifaji even let out a few tears when he saw them and they both took his fingers in their little baby hands. Whenever she gets the chance she will spend time with them and tell them stories about their father.

🐾: Unlike his sisters, he has a calm personality and a normally stoic expression. He wants to grow up fast and be like his father, whom he admires a lot because of the stories his mother used to tell him. Despite the admiration and love he feels for his father, he is more attached to his mother, although he tries to act more mature, he is still a child. His ears and tail always give away his true emotions even if he seems disinterested in something.

He secretly asked Kifaji to teach him how to play chess so that he could play with 🦁 later and surprise him. You can find him in the royal library or somewhere quiet reading/studying

He is a polite little gentleman but if he sees his sisters nearby he will run away quickly (they like to bother him, often interrupting his study time)

His magic took quite a while to show up, which made everyone worried since 🌼 lacked magic and they thought he couldn't use it either. It was basically his worst moment, as he always wanted to use magic since he was little and even started hiding to practice more hours.

However, one day he heard some employees talking bad about his mother and since Leona could choose someone better, then he got angry and his magic woke up, making a mess of the surroundings (unintentionally because he still didn't control it).

Yura was left alone with him tending to the small wounds on his arms and they talked. Jul never blamed or felt resentment towards his mom, more than anything, he wanted to be strong to defend her and his sisters. To be a reliable brother and son. Little by little, although it was hard, he practiced with Leona until he mastered his magic power.

I've gone on quite long 😅 but here I leave the basics, I have the story of the three brothers overdeveloped in my mind hehe

As a spoiler they enter NRC in the future!

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, size kink, forced orgasm.

“Ghost.” 

He looks over the rim of his glasses before sliding them off completely and tossing them onto the stack of papers spread out in front of him. "Gaz." 

“You out of here soon?” Kyle’s in the doorway with his arms crossed, slight smirk twisting his lips. 

“Tryin’ to be.” The administrative side of this job will be the death of him one day, leaving him buried beneath mountains of paperwork. “Guys get their gear done?” He nods. “Shoot test?” 

“All complete. Evals loaded in the portal.” He’s frighteningly efficient, something Simon’s come to rely on.

Kyle has no idea there’s a recommendation for promotion in this stack of nonsense on his desk. 

He’s going to miss him when he makes captain. 

“Good work as always then.” His phone buzzes. Three times. 

>I think I should be another hour, or maybe less. 

>But of course don’t feel like you have to rush over here, I’m fine to wait. I don’t mind. I know I gave you a time estimate this morning so of course I don’t expect you to work around me. 

>I just meant to say I’m ready whenever. That’s all. But no rush, again. 

Kyle sighs with a chuckle. "That your girl?" Simon waves him away.

“Have a good weekend, Lieutenant.” 

“You too, Captain.” 

“Hi.” Something in him settles at the sight of you. Tired, but excited. Half ready for bed, half ready for him, you’re standing in the shop next to one of the little tables, your work bag and jacket slung on a chair. 

“Hi sweetheart.” You’ve shed some layers in the last week, become a little less inhibited with him, a little more confident, slowly adjusting, and he’s proud of you. 

You’ve been good. 

“How was your day?” 

“Oh, fine. I’m tired.” Your eyes go wide with panic. “Not too tired though, not like t-tired I want to go home. Like, to mine uh, I still-” It doesn’t take much to knock you off balance, still exploring this new world, the one he’s building for you, his sweet fresh fawn. 

“It’s alright.” He reaches, cupping your cheek. Physical contact seems to soothe you. He thinks it’s because there’s a live, tangible tether connecting you to the now, to him, instead of whatever is going on in your head. “You were up really early sweetheart, it’s understandable you’re tired.” You were awake before him this morning. Sent your usual wake up text well before the sun rose with a hurried explanation about a last minute catering order and a panicking bride. 

I said I’d do it. I felt bad. 

It wouldn’t be so rough if you hadn’t been at work late the night before for something else. 

It’s clearly wiped you out, and he’ll need to shift gears. “Are you ready to go?” You take a half step back and hold up your pointer finger, inclining your head towards to the back of the bakery. 

“Uh, wait. I forgot something, one sec.” 

You return with a big white box cradled in your hands. 

“What’s in there?” 

“Oh I made you something. Us. I made us something. For after dinner, if you want. Obviously if you don’t want it that’s fine you don’t have to eat it, it might not even be your thing, which is fine, I just-” He steps into your space and you trail off, eyes going to his without prompting. He blocks the world out, closes in, palms the back of your neck.  

“It’s me baby. Just you and me, and there's nothing to worry about. You’ll never make a single thing I won’t like, right?” 

“R-right. I know that.” You’re bobbing in a continuous nod, looking away to study something on his shirt. 

“What is it?” 

“Pie. Boston cream pie.” Cream pie. Blood flows to his cock and he momentarily gets lost in his own head. 

“Tell me.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, hands following him desperately as he rears back and folds your knees to your chest, staring at where his cock is moving in and out of your body, everything about him too big, nearly too big to fit inside you. “Where do you want daddy to put his cum?” 

“I-inside. I want your cum inside me daddy, pl- oh- please.” His balls tighten as he grinds his hips, licking an errant tear running down your face. His girl. His. In his arms, his bed, crying on his cock. 

“Only good little girls get daddy’s cum, baby. Have you been good?” 

“I’ve been good, I’ve b-been so- ah- f-fuck-” The wand buzzes to life, hovering just over your clit as you shake your head frantically. “No nonono, I can’t anymore, I c-can’t.” 

“Yes you can,” he thrusts deep and you gasp. You’ve already come four times, but he wants more, needs more, wants to wring every single one he can get out of you before he empties his balls inside your pussy. 

When he finally slides it across your swollen little nub, you howl. 

“Oh- no-” you whine, nails digging into his forearms, muscles already bearing down on him, breaths turning into short rasps.  

“I know. Breathe baby,” he glides it back and forth, kisses your cheek, your mouth. “Breathe through it- that’s my girl. You can take it.” You’re oversensitive, battling a war between pleasure and pain, and your legs instinctively try to close, prevent the impending explosion you know is coming. “Keep your knees open.” He gives the head of the wand firmer pressure, and you cry, shaking your head no again. 

“It’s too- too much.” Your feet are on his sides, partially bent in half, and he forces one of your thighs wide, giving him a better view of your puffy, tortured clit. 

“Knees open baby girl. One more and daddy will fill you up nice and deep.” You nod, already so close he can feel it, scorching heat pulsing around him, legs trembling as they go lax. “There you go…” he pets your hip, mouth at your ear, soothing and comforting as it rips through you. It pushes him over the edge and he tosses the wand, pins you. Traps you beneath him. All his. 

“Oh my god,” you slur, still riding the wave of your own orgasm, eyes rolling back in your head. It pushes him over the edge.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, so proud of you, takin’ my cum- fuck-” his own voice is choked off as he floods you, ruts like an animal, instinctively forcing as much of his seed into your belly as he can. 

When it’s over, he drinks in the sight of the milky white cream dripping out of your hole before scooping it up with two fingers and pushing it back inside. You’re limp the whole time, and when he slips the plug in, you barely notice. You’ll be pumped full of him until later, and he’ll take it out to give you more. 

“Daddy?” You mumble, half asleep, and he brushes his lips across yours, tucking you into his chest. 

“Right here, baby. I’m right here.” 

“- it’s not really. I mean, the best part about it is the cream, you know? That’s what makes the cake but the layers have to be moist on their own. You can’t just rely on the…” He swallows your words, licks them out of your mouth, cups your face and presses his thumb into your bottom lip afterwards, edging it across your top teeth. “Oh.” You blink, blindsided, and he runs a hand down the back of your head, strokes the back of your neck. 

“Ready then?” You lean into him, a little dazed, off kilter. 

“Y-yeah.” 

 Your toes scrunch at the threshold of the living room, afraid to cross until he flattens his palm on the small of your back.

“Go get comfortable sweetheart.” Battling nerves with a need for sleep, you were unsettled at dinner, sitting at the table, swallowing over and over again long after your food was chewed. There’s something more at play, something larger weighing on you. You left your plate half empty, fork resting at three oclock, twirl of spaghetti and red sauce waiting, and he should have told you to finish, or take one more bite. 

But it's a slow game right now. A careful one. 

“Alright.” You scamper towards the couch, settling into the far side, toes tucked between the cushions. It’s a balancing act, not too much, too too little, and when he sits down next to you with a giant slice of the cake on a plate, you watching him anxiously. Curiously. 

He forks a piece free, and holds it in front of your mouth. “Open.” You do. Immediately. You trust him to feed you, and it calls to the thirst thrumming in his blood, the power of control. “Good girl.” He waits, patiently, ignores the flex of your throat, the butterfly flutter of your lashes. There’s plenty of time for it all. There will be a lifetime (if he’s alive to live it) with you. "What do you say?" 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you…” He leads, and you follow. His good fucking girl. 

“Daddy,” your whisper is shy, cautious and brave at the same time. “Thank you daddy.” A kiss finds its place on the corner of your mouth, then the full furl of your lips, and you burn alive, flames flickering in your eyes. He takes a bite himself and groans 

“Christ baby.” 

“Do you like it?” When he nods, you grin. 

“Not everyone likes them because they expect a cream pie and that’s not what they get, it’s a cake with vanilla cream between the layers, see?” You point to the thick custard. “It’s not like coconut cream pie, or a banana cream pie, you know?” Cream pie. If you say cream pie one more time. 

“It’s really good sweetheart. Too good.” He helps himself to another bite, offers you one, and then has a third before finally setting the plate down. Silence hovers in the air and he lets it languish, giving you time, all the space you need to give him the worry, the doubt, the weight that's holding you back. 

“Simon.” He smothers his surprise. It’s not the first time you’ve used his name, but your voice wavers on it. Wide doe eyes stare back at him, and then they find the floor. That won’t do. “I don’t know what to do with…”

“With what sweetheart?”

“You. This. U-us? If that’s… if that’s what-” 

“That’s what it is.” He closes what little gap there was between the two of you and pulls your knotted together fingers free, dwarfing your hand with his. “That’s what this is, baby.” The hope, the happiness, blooms across your cheeks and lasts for all of two seconds before worry overtakes it, and you begin tracing the lines in his palm, head down, focusing on the task, slightly shaking. Giving you a chance to walk away would be the right thing to do. 

But he won’t. 

He can’t. 

He’d never give you up now. 

“I’m not… I’ve never… done something like this, I don’t know how.” 

“That’s okay sweet girl, you don’t have to.” The nervous tracing turns to a light scratch. He lets it continue for a beat before folding your hand between his, stopping the movement. 

“I don’t?” 

“No. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you, make sure you have everything you need. I’m going to keep you happy and healthy and safe, and you don’t need to worry.” A shaky exhale rattles free from your chest, weight of a thousand questions evaporating into thin air, decisions and deliberations rapidly falling away as you settle into a new reality, a new life. One where you’re cared for, supported, and loved. “All you need to do is listen, okay?” 

“Okay daddy.” 

[iris-qt]

physical affection

& how the slytherin boys show it

I. MATTHEO RIDDLE

Mattheo Riddle showed love the way he did everything: loud, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Pumpkin Pookie Pie!” His booming voice rang through the corridor as you buried your face in your hands. He’d been calling you that for weeks, his new favorite way to get under your skin.

Before you could respond, his arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “What’s wrong? Too shy to admit you love it?” he teased, his grin wicked.

“Too mortified to acknowledge your existence,” you shot back, trying to wriggle free.

He only held on tighter. “Oh no, you’re stuck with me now,” he said, steering you down the hall as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Later that day, you found him perched on the edge of your study table in the library, nudging your quill off balance with his finger.

“Mattheo,” you hissed, grabbing it before it rolled onto the floor. “Some of us are trying to pass.”

“Pass? You’ll ace it,” he said confidently, leaning closer until his face was inches from yours. “I mean, you’ve got me, don’t you?”

“You’re a distraction.”

“And yet,” he quipped, flicking your nose, “you’re smiling.”

You were. Begrudgingly.

Then there were the bear hugs. Merlin, the bear hugs. Mattheo had an uncanny talent for sensing when you were stressed, usually followed by him swooping in and pulling you into a hug that could rival a skull-crushing bludger.

One evening, as you stared blankly at your parchment, trying and failing to organize your thoughts, he came up behind you. Without warning, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off your chair.

“Mattheo!” you yelped, flailing.

“Shh,” he said, spinning you around. “This is a medical intervention. You were looking far too tense.”

By the time he set you back down, your frustration had melted into laughter, your cheeks warm as you leaned back into his arms for a moment longer than you’d care to admit.

But there were other moments, too. Quieter ones, where his teasing gave way to something softer.

The common room was nearly empty when he found you curled up on the couch, a book in your lap but your eyes distant. Wordlessly, he sank down beside you, close enough that your knees touched.

You expected a quip or a joke, but instead, his hand reached out, finding yours where it rested on the page. His fingers laced through yours, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles.

The playful grin he always wore was gone, replaced by something calmer. “You’re too brilliant to stress like this,” he murmured, his voice low.

For once, you didn’t argue. His hand in yours felt grounding, his words a quiet reassurance..

II. THEODORE NOTT

Theodore Nott didn’t need grand gestures to show he cared. He was subtle, deliberate, and always knew exactly what you needed without a single word.

Like now, as you struggled to balance a precarious stack of books in the library. “Need a hand?” he asked casually, appearing out of nowhere.

“I’ve got it,” you huffed, shifting the stack.

“You mean, you’re about to drop it,” he corrected, plucking the books from your arms with ease.

“Show off,” you muttered, but the corners of your mouth twitched.

He gave you a small, amused smile as he set the books down on your table. Then, without a word, he reached forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“Better,” he murmured before sitting down across from you. It was so casual, so effortless, but your heart still skipped a beat.

Later, in the Great Hall, it was his hand on your lower back guiding you through the bustling crowd of students. It wasn’t pushy or overbearing, it was just enough to let you know he was there, steady and constant.

“Theo, I’m not made of glass” you teased as you sat down, and he leaned against the table beside you.

“No, but you’re terrible at dodging elbows,” he quipped, nodding toward the chaos of the lunch line.

He was right, of course. He always was.

And then there were the little things he did that were so infuriatingly him.

Like the time he stole your quill mid-essay. “Theo!” you snapped, glaring at him.

“You’ve been using it wrong,” he said nonchalantly, twirling it between his fingers like a wand duelist showing off.

“How can you use a quill wrong?”

“You can. You’ve been gripping it like you’re stabbing someone. Here.” He handed it back, his fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary. “Relax your grip, or you’ll snap the nib.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help noticing how much smoother your writing felt afterward.

And then, on a rainy afternoon when you were both sprawled in the common room, you’d been flipping through a book while Theo quietly worked on an Arithmancy chart. Without looking up, he reached out and nudged a mug of tea toward you.

“You’re looking a little pathetic,” he said, his tone completely deadpan.

“Thanks, Theo,” you said dryly, but you took the tea anyway, smiling softly as you sipped it.

It wasn’t until you glanced over later that you noticed his gaze lingering on you, a rare warmth in his usually calm expression.

“What?” you asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Nothing.”

But as his hand reached out to brush against yours once again, you realized that with Theo, even the smallest touch felt like the loudest declaration.

III. LORENZO BERKSHIRE

Lorenzo Berkshire loved quietly and warmly, his affection woven into the small, steady ways he touched you.

Like the way he always grabbed your hand without thinking, his fingers threading through yours as naturally as breathing. It didn’t matter where you were: in the middle of a crowded corridor, walking to Hogsmeade, or, as it happened today, dodging Peeves’ latest chaotic masterpiece of enchanted water balloons.

“Quick!” Lorenzo yanked you behind a suit of armor, his hand gripping yours firmly as water splashed past.

“You could’ve warned me sooner!” you hissed, clutching your soaked sleeve.

“I did warn you,” he said innocently, his grin betraying no remorse. He squeezed your hand before letting go to wring out his own robe. “Besides, you’re lucky I’m here. Imagine if Peeves got you while you were alone.”

“Yeah, I’d never survive without you,” you deadpanned, earning a soft chuckle.

Then there were his hugs: warm, steady, and impossible to resist.

One afternoon, you’d been pacing in the common room, ranting about something ridiculous Professor Snape had said in Potions. Lorenzo was sitting on the couch, watching you with a quiet amusement, until you threw your hands in the air in frustration.

“Am I wrong, though?” you demanded.

Instead of answering, he stood, stepped forward, and pulled you into a hug. It was so sudden, you froze.

“Lorenzo, what are you---”

“Shh,” he murmured, his arms snug around you. “You’re spiraling. Just… stop pacing and let me hold you for a second.”

For a moment, you considered pushing him away, purely out of principle. But his embrace was so warm, so comforting, that you found yourself leaning into it instead.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered against his shoulder.

“And you’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he said, his voice muffled but teasing.

Then there were the casual touches that seemed second nature to him, like the way he always rested a hand on your shoulder when he leaned down to read over your notes.

“Did you mean to write ‘infusion’ here?” he asked once, pointing to your parchment.

“Yes, Enzo,” you said, your tone mockingly patient. “That’s exactly what I meant to write.”

“Good. Just checking.” He gave your shoulder a quick squeeze before walking off, as if correcting your work was the most normal thing in the world.

But perhaps the most Lorenzo thing he did was during Quidditch practice. You’d shown up to watch, cheering loudly enough to embarrass him in front of the whole team.

After practice, he jogged over, damp and out of breath, and pulled you into a sweaty, enthusiastic hug.

“Lorenzo!” you shrieked, trying to push him off.

“Just sharing the victory,” he said with a grin, tightening his grip.

“Victory? You missed three goals!”

“Details,” he said, leaning back just enough to grin at you. “Besides, I know you secretly love this.”

And as much as you complained, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Because with Lorenzo, every touch, whether it was a hand in yours, a shoulder squeeze, or a hug that left you blushing, felt like home.

IV. DRACO MALFOY

Draco Malfoy had a way of turning even the simplest gestures of affection into acts of grandeur.

“Y/N,” he drawled, stepping into the courtyard where you were waiting. “Your scarf is a disaster.”

You looked down, confused. “It’s just a scarf, Draco.”

“It’s an offense to fashion,” he corrected, already closing the distance between you. Before you could stop him, his gloved hands were carefully unwinding the scarf from your neck.

“Draco, it’s cold!”

“Shh.” He ignored your protest, methodically rewrapping it, each fold placed with the utmost precision. “If you insist on walking around like this, the least I can do is ensure you don’t embarrass me.”

Once he finished, he stepped back, inspecting his work like a proud artist. “There. Better.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you had to admit the scarf did feel warmer.

Later, during a stroll to Hogsmeade, he offered his arm with a flourish.

“Draco, we’re not at a ball,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“And yet,” he said, his tone prim, “you look like you might trip over the cobblestones at any moment. I’m merely preventing a tragedy.”

You rolled your eyes but slipped your arm through his anyway. He gave a satisfied smirk, his fingers resting lightly over yours.

Then there were the smaller gestures, the ones you weren’t entirely sure were affectionate or just Draco being Draco.

Like the time he spotted a speck of dust on your robe during dinner.

“Hold still,” he said sharply, brushing it off with the utmost seriousness.

“Draco, it’s barely visible---”

“Barely visible isn’t invisible,” he cut in, flicking the imaginary lint away with a look of triumph. “You’re welcome.”

Sometimes, his gestures were less about precision and more about necessity. During a Quidditch match, the wind had ripped your hair tie loose, leaving your hair whipping into your face. Draco, seated beside you, sighed audibly before pulling out a spare ribbon from his pocket.

“You carry ribbons?” you asked, bewildered.

“Of course not,” he said, already tying it into place with practiced ease. “Mother always says to be prepared for emergencies. Apparently, this qualifies.”

“Does it?”

“Obviously,” he said, brushing a stray strand out of your face. “Imagine how ridiculous you looked before I fixed it.”

You stared at him, torn between laughing and being annoyed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re lucky I am,” he replied smugly, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

Whether it was adjusting your scarf or offering his arm, Draco's gestures always came with a quiet, meaningful undertone: he cared more than he’d ever admit.

V. BLAISE ZABINI

Blaise Zabini’s affection was effortless, delivered with the same smooth confidence he carried everywhere he went.

Take, for example, the way his hand always found your thigh when you sat next to him. It didn’t matter if it was in the library, the common room, or even during a particularly dull History of Magic lecture. His hand would settle there, light and casual, like it belonged.

“Are you even paying attention?” you whispered once, glancing at him while Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions.

“Not really,” he said, smirking as his fingers tapped absentmindedly against your leg. “But you are, and that’s far more interesting.”

His casual touches extended to the little things, too. Like the time you’d been sitting together at breakfast, distractedly spreading jam on your toast while skimming your notes. Blaise had leaned over, taken the knife from your hand, and spread the jam evenly in one smooth motion.

“You were going to ruin it,” he said simply, setting the toast back on your plate.

“It’s toast, Blaise,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Precisely. There’s no excuse for sloppy toast,” he replied, his lips quirking into a half smile as he rested his elbow on the table and leaned closer.

He was equally casual about his protectiveness. When you walked into the common room one night, balancing a stack of books, Blaise, who was lounging on the couch, arched a brow.

“Drop one of those, and I’ll laugh,” he said lazily, though he was already standing.

“You’re so helpful,” you said sarcastically.

But before you could move, he reached out, took the books from your arms, and placed them on the nearest table. His hand brushed your back as he passed, light and deliberate. “There. Now you don’t have to make a spectacle of yourself.”

Even in the rare moments when you were annoyed with him, his touch had a way of disarming you.

Once, after an argument about which Quidditch team was better, you’d crossed your arms and turned away from him. Blaise, unbothered, leaned back against the couch and stretched his arm along the backrest until his fingers lazily grazed your shoulder.

“You’re mad,” he observed, his voice amused.

“No, I’m---” You stopped mid-sentence as he lightly trailed his fingers down your arm. It wasn’t much, just enough to make you shiver and forget whatever comeback you’d been forming.

“Hmm?” he prompted, his smirk growing.

“Nothing,” you muttered, glancing away, which only made him chuckle softly.

VI. REGULUS BLACK

Regulus Black wasn’t one for grand gestures. His affection was quiet, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But you always noticed.

It was in the way his fingers would brush against yours as you walked side by side through the castle corridors, his hand lingering just long enough to send a silent, unspoken message.

“Regulus,” you teased once, glancing down at where his hand hovered near yours. “You can hold my hand, you know. I won’t bite.”

He huffed softly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Sure you weren’t,” you replied, your voice laced with amusement. But before you could say anything else, his fingers laced with yours, quick, almost shy, but steady.

In the common room, when you were bent over a pile of parchments, furiously scribbling down notes, he would sometimes come up behind you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said one evening, his voice low and steady.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, not looking up.

He didn’t argue. Instead, his thumb brushed against the fabric of your robes, a small, grounding gesture. “Just don’t forget to breathe,” he said softly before slipping away, leaving behind the faint warmth of his touch.

And then there were the moments that caught you off guard, like when you’d been lost in thought by the Black Lake, the chilly wind tugging at your cloak. Regulus appeared beside you silently, slipping his scarf from around his neck and draping it over your shoulders without a word.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested, clutching the soft wool.

“I’ll survive,” he replied, his tone so matter-of-fact it made you smile. He didn’t move to take the scarf back, though he did stand close enough that his arm brushed yours.

And then one evening in the library, you were both pouring over ancient texts for a Potions essay, the quiet hum of the room interrupted only by the scratch of quills. Without looking up, he reached over and adjusted the candle near your book, tilting it so the light fell more evenly across the pages.

“Thanks,” you said softly, glancing at him.

He shrugged, not meeting your gaze, but the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips.

VII. TOM RIDDLE

Tom Riddle’s affection was as precise and calculated as everything else he did.

You were pacing the length of the common room, muttering under your breath as you reviewed your notes for the tenth time that evening. Tom, seated in his usual armchair, watched you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“I can’t help it,” you replied, not stopping. “I need to make sure I’ve got everything memorized.”

Before you could pass him again, he stood, closing the distance between you in two measured strides. Gently but decisively, he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Stop,” he commanded, his tone low but unyielding. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, a gesture that was oddly soothing despite the intensity of his stare. “You’re better than this frantic display. Calm your mind.”

For a moment, all you could do was blink up at him, the warmth of his hands grounding you in a way that words never could.

“Better?” he asked, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Better,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

He stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides, though he lingered close enough that the heat of his presence remained.

There were other moments like this, too, where his touch was both a command and a reassurance.

Like the time he found you struggling to reach a book in the library. Without a word, he appeared behind you, effortlessly plucking the book from the shelf and handing it to you. When you opened your mouth to thank him, he tilted your chin up with a single finger, his expression unreadable.

“You shouldn’t have to struggle,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper.

Or the time you were arguing with him over something trivial (probably his refusal to let anyone but himself tutor you).

“You’re insufferable,” you’d snapped, crossing your arms.

“And you’re too intelligent to waste time bickering with me,” he replied smoothly. Before you could fire back, he placed his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm but not unkind. “Now, sit down and let me help you. You’ll thank me later.”

Despite the commanding edge to his touch, there was something deeply reassuring about it. A promise, unspoken but felt in every deliberate move.

Because with Tom, every gesture carried the same message: You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.

A/N: SURPRISEEE just temporarily back bc i missed writing and I missed you guys

Taglist (for those who asked to be tagged in everything) = @smut-anarchy, @marikajhaha, @nottinmyheart, @hzdhrtss, @babene-e

love u guys

[jellyfishsthings]

The Things You Say

navigation , dc navigation

Summary: Jason yearning for a nerdy girl who constantly talks about her new books or new science inventions, he doesn't understand shit and they have to look stuff up constantly trying to keep up with her

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason knew pain. He knew the taste of blood and the sound of a heart flatlining. He knew what it was like to dig his way out of a grave with his bare hands, lungs full of dirt and rage. He knew war. Loss. Fire.

But none of that prepared him for the experience of falling for someone like you.

He also knew two things for certain:

One: he was not, and never would be, a science guy.

Two: he was completely, helplessly in love with the weird girl who never stopped talking about subatomic particles like they were fairy tales.

He met her in a bookstore, because of course he did. Gotham’s oldest secondhand shop, tucked between a closed-down deli and a tattoo parlor. She was in the nonfiction aisle, holding a hardcover titled Quantum Entanglement and the Fabric of the Cosmos, murmuring to herself while frowning at the margins.

Jason should’ve walked away. Should’ve grabbed his Hemingway and gone.

But instead he found himself saying, “Is that English?”

She looked up.

Big glasses. Hair half-up, half-falling. A tiny scowl, like he’d just insulted her childhood dog. “It’s physics.”

He blinked. “I gathered. Still looks like math’s evil cousin.”

That got a laugh. Or something like it. A half-smile, crooked and unsure, like she didn’t laugh often and wasn’t sure she should now.

Jason tilted his head. “You work with this stuff?”

“I study it.” She pushed the book against her chest. “I’m trying to understand quantum coherence in biological systems. Mostly theoretical. I bore people.”

“I don’t mind theory,” Jason said, which was a lie, but a nice one.

She stared at him for a long second. “You’re trying to flirt with me.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “How am I doing?”

“Terribly.”

He grinned. “You want coffee?”

She hesitated.

“Not a date,” he added quickly. “Just... if you want someone to listen while you explain quantum thingies.”

“Quantum thingies,” she repeated. “Tempting.”

It was supposed to be one coffee. It turned into four. Then dinner. Then late-night texts, where she sent him screenshots of new studies and he replied with bad memes and pictures of books she’d made him read.

Jason wasn’t used to this—whatever this was. There was no game here. No dramatics. Just this girl with a constellation of freckles and a mouth that moved too fast when she got excited.

She’d sit cross-legged on his couch, hair up, socks mismatched, spouting things like:

“Did you know cephalopods can edit their own RNA in real time?”

Jason, who was halfway through re-reading The Count of Monte Cristo, would look up and go, “Cepha-what?”

“Octopus brains. They’re insane.”

He had a notes app. No joke. It read:

Quarks (ask which one is the cute one)

Octopus RNA = science magic

Don’t say atoms are tiny planets—she hates that

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to understand. He did. Desperately. Because her eyes lit up like stars when she talked, and Jason wanted to know what it was like to hold a universe like that in his head.

Because you talked about neutrinos over coffee. Neutrinos. Subatomic particles. And you said it with a smile like it was common small talk, like most people spent Sunday mornings curled up reading quantum mechanics papers instead of the funnies.

Jason pretended to get it. He even nodded sagely.

He did not get it.

"They're fascinating," you said once, feet tucked under you on his old beat-up couch, eyes lit like they held galaxies. "Like these ghosts of matter. They pass through everything, almost impossible to catch. It's like trying to bottle a secret."

"Uh-huh," Jason said, staring at your lips. Not because he was being disrespectful. But because they moved when you talked, and sometimes he understood those more than your words.

He googled them later. Spent two hours falling down a scientific rabbit hole so steep he got a headache, just so he could maybe ask the right question next time. So he could deserve to be in the same room as your mind.

You never made him feel stupid.

You never made him feel like he had to prove himself. But Jason was built of sharp edges and pride. He came from alleys, from blood-streaked streets and textbooks that were ten years too late. You were made of stardust and curiosity, of words that leapt like fire from your tongue.

He wanted to meet you there.

So he read. And re-read. Fell asleep listening to science podcasts he barely understood. Texted Tim questions like, “What the hell is a muon?” and got responses like, “Why are you asking me this at 2AM?”

You were working on something new. Something about microfluidics, which sounded made-up but wasn't. Your whiteboard was filled with squiggles and Greek letters, and Jason stood behind you one afternoon just... watching.

"You know," he said finally, leaning a shoulder against your wall, "I'm starting to think you might be the smart one in this relationship."

You turned, brow quirked. "Only just starting?"

Jason laughed. It cracked something open in him. "You know what I mean."

"I do," you said, crossing to him. You had ink on your fingers. Pen behind your ear. Your shirt was inside out. Jason thought you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "But I'm not in love with me. You are."

He blinked.

You kissed his cheek, then went back to your board, humming. As if you hadn't just sent his soul straight out of his body.

Jason spent that night learning about laminar flow.

Sometimes, you talked so fast you forgot to breathe. You’d get this wild look in your eyes, like the whole universe was cracking open and only you could see it.

Jason lived for that look.

You told him about CRISPR once, gesturing wildly with a fork in a shitty diner, eggs going cold.

"It’s gene editing," you said. "Like molecular scissors! You can cut DNA—literally edit life. Isn’t that insane?"

Jason chewed his toast. Nodded. Took a mental note to google "molecular scissors" the second you hit the bathroom.

He didn’t get it. Not really.

But he loved how your face lit up. Like discovering was your religion and you were halfway to ascension.

He wanted to believe in something like that.

The problem, of course, was that he kept falling harder.

It hit him slow at first—like rain soaking into the collar of your coat. He’d look up in the middle of a lecture she didn’t know she was giving and realize he hadn’t heard a word.

Because she was smiling. Because she was alive in that moment in a way that made the world blur.

And then one night it hit him all at once.

They were on his fire escape, watching the sky turn blue-black over Gotham. She had her legs pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, talking about something called CRISPR and how gene editing could eventually reverse certain degenerative conditions.

Jason lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it. Just let it sit in his hand.

“You ever wonder,” he said, “how you ended up where you are?”

She blinked. “All the time.”

“I used to think I was supposed to be something. Like... some big cosmic screw-up happened and I got turned into this.” He gestured vaguely. “A walking wreckage.”

“You’re not a wreck.”

Jason didn’t answer. Just watched her through the smoke.

“You read the books I send,” she whispered. “You ask questions. You try. That’s more than most.”

He looked away. “You make me want to try.”

She leaned into his shoulder, quiet.

That night he dreamed she was stardust and he was gravity. Always falling toward her.

Jason didn’t call it love. He didn’t know if he deserved to.

But he was the one who brought her soup when she got sick, even if he burned the rice.

He was the one who asked her to explain particle spin six times and still got it wrong.

He was the one who, during one of her meltdowns about failing a grant application, cupped her face and said, “You’re brilliant. If the world can’t see it, that’s not your fault.”

She cried into his shoulder for an hour.

One night, you fell asleep with your notes scattered across his bed. Jason gathered them carefully, reading snatches as he did.

"Theoretical modeling of fluid behavior in low-gravity environments..."

He smiled.

You’d joked once that you were building something for NASA. He wasn’t sure if you were actually joking.

He sat beside you, brushing hair from your forehead. You sighed in your sleep.

Jason Todd, child of Gotham's gutters, held your research like it was sacred.

He didn’t understand the math. But he understood what it meant to love something so fiercely you stayed up nights chasing it.

He understood what it meant to chase you.

It wasn’t easy.

You didn’t always get his silences. His scars. The way he sometimes drifted mid-conversation, haunted by a past he couldn’t shut up.

But you waited.

You asked.

You never made him feel like a puzzle to be solved. Just a story worth reading slowly.

One day he caught you reading War and Peace. Not for class. Not for work. Just... because.

"You know that’s, like, a thousand pages, right?"

"Only 1,225," you replied without looking up. "You should try it."

Jason chuckled. "You trying to turn me into a nerd, sweetheart?"

You looked at him then, all sharp eyes and soft affection. "You already are. You just don’t know it yet."

When you said "I love you," it was after explaining something about black holes.

Jason had no idea how you got from "gravitational collapse" to "I love you," but he wasn’t complaining.

He’d spent so long being angry. Being alone. Being something sharp and armored.

You cracked through it all with equations and post-it notes, with quiet mornings and whispered facts about tardigrades.

You made him laugh. Think. Google shit.

You made him feel.

He didn’t always understand what you said. He never fully grasped string theory.

But he learned her favorite coffee order, and the way she curled her toes when she was focused, and how to tell when her anxiety was starting to spiral.

He learned how to love her without needing to understand every atom.

Because she made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a cosmic mistake after all.

He was just a man. With a girl. And a heart that beat a little faster every time she said, “Hey Jay, guess what I learned today?”

And that?

That he understood perfectly.

And that was enough.