imagines-archive

[imagines-archive]

Okay okay I keep thinking about oblivious reader who doesn’t think Theo is flirting with her because ~clearly~ he doesn’t even know her name. Meanwhile, Theo is confused because usually girls swoon when he calls them “Bella/Cara/Amore”

careful, cara

the way i immediately started writing when I saw this request...ily.

You’re rounding the corner outside the library with three books, an inky quill stuck behind your ear, and a half-eaten biscuit in your mouth when you slam directly into a wall.

Except it’s not a wall.

It’s a very tall, very warm, very alive boy who smells faintly of old parchment and something expensive and intoxicating, like stormy weather. Your biscuit goes flying. Your books scatter. You just about lose your dignity.

“Oh my—sorry!” you gasp, already dropping to the floor to collect your books and the crumbly remains of your breakfast.

A hand reaches out to help you. Long fingers. Calloused knuckles. You follow the trail of his arm up to a loosened tie, an open collar, and the annoyingly perfect smirk of Theodore Nott.

“Easy there, Amore,” he says, voice like velvet and mock concern. “You alright?”

You blink up at him. He’s doing that thing. That leaning thing. The one girls whisper about in Potions.

“Oh, uh, thanks. I didn’t see you.”

You give him a polite smile and reach for your last book, brushing his hand in the process. You barely notice.

He does.

“Careful,” he murmurs, helping you up. “Wouldn’t want Hogwarts losing its brightest star.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “Pretty sure Hogwarts would survive.”

He laughs soft and surprised, then, with a practiced sort of charm, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You freeze. He smiles. Like a boy who knows exactly what he’s doing.

You… do not.

Because, obviously, he’s just being polite. Or flirty. Or… whatever he usually is. He calls everyone Amore, doesn’t he? Or Bella. Or Cara. It’s practically punctuation with him. It’s probably because he doesn’t know anyone’s actual name. Especially not yours.

You smile back, half apologetic, half amused. “Thanks again. See you.”

And just like that, you walk off. With jam on your sleeve. And crumbs in your hair. And not a single thought in your head that Theodore Nott was very much genuinely flirting with you.

Behind you, Theo watches you go, something almost betrayed flickering across his face.

He mutters under his breath, half to himself, "Merlin, what do I have to do, serenade her under her window?"

Then he smirks, slow and dangerous.

Maybe he will.

.ೃ࿐

You slip into your usual seat for Charms, dropping your bag with a soft thud. You’re mid-rummage for a quill when you realize: There’s someone sliding into the seat beside you. Someone tall. Smirking. Smelling again unfairly good. You glance up.

Theodore Nott.

Again.

He drapes himself lazily across the chair, like he owns both it and the air you’re currently breathing.

"Morning, Amore," he says, low and easy.

You blink as he offers you a polite, confused smile. He must think you’re someone else. Maybe Isabella Hampton, she’s much prettier and sits somewhere nearby, right?

"Hi," you say awkwardly. "Did you need something?"

Theo leans in just slightly, a casual tilt of his shoulder, a lazy curve of his mouth. You could swear the entire room tilts with him.

"Only your company," he says, sounding devastatingly sincere.

You laugh, a little panicked. "Ha — that's funny."

You busy yourself yanking out your textbook and drop a quill in the process. It rolls dramatically across the floor. Before you can even react, Theo is already crouching down, retrieving it with a little flourish like a knight presenting a sword.

"Your weapon, mia cara," he says, handing it back.

You snort, which is not the sound you meant to make. Merlin, this poor boy is so theatrical. He must flirt like this with everyone.

"Thanks," you say, cheeks warm again.

Theo watches you for a second longer than necessary, something fond, almost wonderstruck, lighting up behind his eyes. Then he slouches back in his chair, spinning his wand between his fingers as if nothing unusual just happened.

You face forward, heart thudding, willing yourself to focus on Professor Flitwick's lecture.

You do not notice the way Theo leans slightly closer whenever you scribble a note. You do not notice the way he half-smiles every time you chew the end of your quill. You definitely do not notice the faint, hopeful look he sends you when Flitwick assigns paired spell practice for homework.

But you do notice, vaguely, that Theodore Nott is oddly...friendly. You chalk it up to him just being charming. Behind you, Pansy Parkinson drops her quill in shock, nudges Daphne Greengrass, and hisses, "Did Theo Nott just choose a partner?? Voluntarily???"

The Slytherin girls watch the scene unfold like it’s the third act of a very dramatic opera. Theo doesn't even notice.

He’s too busy smiling, a real, soft, slightly crooked smile, as you mumble, "Alright, I guess we’re partners, then?"

Like you’ve just handed him the bloody moon.

.ೃ࿐

You and Theo spend the next hour practicing Arresto Momentum for Flitwick's assignment.

Well... you practiced.

Theo mostly watches you with a look of soft, patient amusement, correcting your wand angles only when absolutely necessary.

(And each time he does, his fingers brush yours a little longer than they need to.)

You try not to think about it. You try very hard.

Finally, when you manage a perfect, object-slowing Arresto Momentum, you grin triumphantly. Theo grins too, wide and gorgeous, like you’ve just invented magic itself.

"You're brilliant," he says, voice low, warm.

You tilt your head, embarrassed. "I'm sure you say that to all your partners."

"I don't," he says simply.

You laugh it off again, assuming he's just being polite. Sweet, sure. But probably just friendly. Right?

(You are so stupidly, gloriously wrong.)

Class ends, and you're packing your things when it happens. You're struggling to jam your stupidly fat Charms book into your bag when Theo leans in, close enough that you catch that parchment-and-coffee smell again, and says:

"See you tomorrow, Y/N."

You freeze.

The book slips from your hands and thuds to the floor.

Theo straightens up, amused but obviously trying very hard to hide it, like he knows exactly what he just did.

You stare at him, heart thumping.

He knows your name. He knew your name. The whole time.

"You—" you start, stupidly.

He arches a brow, smirking, all lazy confidence. "What, Amore?"

You flush so hard you’re surprised you don’t combust on the spot.

"I—I thought you didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" he says, looking genuinely entertained now.

You open your mouth, realize you have absolutely no idea what you’re trying to say, and shut it again.

Theo’s smile softens.

"I've always known your name, you know," he says quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Before you can even begin to untangle that emotional catastrophe, he reaches down, picks up your fallen book and tucks it carefully into your bag for you.

Then, with another soft, almost secret smile, he brushes a hand against yours and strolls out of the classroom leaving you standing there, red-faced and stunned, clutching your bag like a lifeline.

You still haven't moved.

[imagines-archive]

Love Lies

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw! reader

Based on this request 🫶🏽

Summary: You’re just as confused as everyone else when your mortal enemy wakes up fully convinced that you’re the love of his life. (Spoiler alert: literally no one else was surprised)

word count: 5.2k

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

It was cold and windy and wet as you stepped off the quidditch pitch, rain soaking you to your core. Thank Rowena you didn’t have to play an actual match in this weather. No, that honor went to the Slytherins and Gryffindors and you did not envy them at all, regular practice was enough for you.

As you make your way back to the locker rooms you see students and staff already beginning to fill the open stands and shake your head with pity. No amount of drying or warming charms were going to make it a comfortable match to sit through.

Just as you're about to turn into the locker rooms you feel yourself jerk back as a green robed shoulder slams past you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

“Watch it dolcezza,” a familiar voice slurs over the rain, condescension dripping from his words.

Despite your better judgement, you turn to find yourself facing none other than Theodore fucking Nott, broom in hand, and signature cocky smirk pasted across his face. God you hated that boy.

“Call me sweet again you pompous git,” you snap, glaring up at the Slytherin.

“Why waste my breath on you?” He retorts, matching your steely gaze, his lip curling up in a sneer.

You had never gotten along with Theodore. It was no secret among your classmates that the two of you hated each other. Despite being in many of the same NEWT level courses, sharing a love for quidditch, and both of you basically residing in the Hogwarts library, you simply could not tolerate one another’s presence.

It was strange perhaps, you’d done the analyzation yourself. By all accounts you two should probably be friends. But no amount of similarities or shared interests could make up for the fact that Theodore Nott was an insufferable, arrogant arse who only cared about maintaining his perfectly curated reputation.

"You're right Theodore, save a tree a bit of work why don't you. Rowena knows that tree is doing more for the world than you are," you reply coldly.

Theo opens his mouth to respond, but for maybe the first time ever, you see the boy falter, if only for a split second, before he's back to his usual stoic self. He scoffs.

"Just forget it, you're not worth it," he mutters under his breath, rolling those pretty blue eyes as he turns to go.

You shake your head at the boy, scoffing yourself.

"Yeah, do your best to forget me Nott, because I won't hesitate to forget you."

"Don't be mad."

"Just hear us out."

Oh dear god. As soon as you hear the combined voices of Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire, you know that you're about to be in for a ride. You look cautiously up at the pair from your seat in the library, on edge because wherever these two were, Theodore was sure to be nearby.

"He's not here if that's what you're worried about," Lorenzo offers with a nervous smile.

It's the kind of smile you would offer a skittish cat that you've cornered in hopes it doesn't bolt, and you had an unfortunate feeling that you were the cat in this scenario. Still you feel your shoulders relax a bit as the two carefully sit down at the table across from you.

"So uh. We heard about your, ah, little tiff, with Theo today," Lorenzo starts out awkwardly, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the castle at this moment.

"Bloody tosser never shuts up about you," Mattheo mutters so quietly you almost miss it.

You raise in eyebrow at the two boys in front of you, waiting for them to get to the point as Lorenzo gives Mattheo a sharp jab to the ribcage.

"Anyway," Lorenzo continues a bit too loudly, "There was a bit of an incident at the quidditch match today."

"Yeah, Slytherin lost. Again. I heard," you cut in, trying to wrap this up.

"Okay, ouch," Mattheo mutters once more, earning a glare from both you and Lorenzo.

"Did you also happen to hear that Theo was knocked of his broom?" Lorenzo asks.

Oh shit. As much as you couldn't stand Theodore, it's not as if you wanted the boy to get hurt. And you knew from personal experience, any quidditch injury should be taken rather seriously. But then, why were Theodore's two best friends sitting here in the library with you and not in the hospital wing with him?

You narrow your eyes at the boys across from you.

"So what does this all have to do with me? Nothing good could possibly come of you two starting the conversation with 'don't be mad' and 'just hear us out'."

Lorenzo fidgets nervously, shifting in his seat and Mattheo refuses to make eye contact with you. You truly had never seen the ever stone cold Slytherin boys look so wildly uncomfortable before.

"He got knocked out and when he woke up he was convinced the two of you are madly in love," Lorenzo rushes out, flinching back as if waiting for you to yell at him.

"And now the smitten tosser is requesting the presence of his beloved. He's really torn up about it too," Mattheo adds looking the most serious he’d been, probably ever.

But you were having none of it.

"Alright, hahaha, you almost had me there, you two actually sounded pretty sincere for a bit, but seriously it's not funny anymore. There's simply no reality where Theodore is in love with me, that's disgusting and I'm not stupid."

Mattheo and Lorenzo glance at each other with knowing looks before sighing in unison.

"On Salazar's good name, we are not lying or joking about this," Mattheo says solemly.

"And we didn't want to involve you in this whole thing anyway. We know about how well you and Theo get along. It's just that Madam Pomfrey is concerned that, until she's able to brew something to get Theo's head back on right, any world crushing stress or shock might have lasting, long-term psychological effects or what have you," Lorenzo finishes, emphasizing his last point rather strongly.

You continue to stare at the two boys in front of you as if their heads had been replaced by hippogriffs, slowly understanding what they were asking of you.

“Oh absolutely not. There’s literally no way. I’m not going up there.”

You hated the smell of the hospital wing. It was far too... sterile. Unnervingly so. The last hour of your life had been a blur and frankly you still weren't entirely sure how Lorenzo and Mattheo had managed to wrangle you all the way up to the hospital wing, but here you were.

As you make your way to the large double doors that lead into the infirmary, you send one last pointed glare to the pair of Slytherins behind you before turning, steeling yourself as you prepare for the worst.

The first thing you notice when you enter the brightly lit room is how strangely peaceful it is. As you quietly approach the rows of narrow hospital beds, the second thing you notice is how normal Theodore looks lying there asleep. There's no snarling lips, raised eyebrows, or biting words, it's just Theo. Tilting your head a bit, you're able to really admire the boy for the first time, not worrying about what insult he's going to throw at you next. He actually was rather attractive, you could see why so many of your classmates practically threw themselves at his feet. Maybe you would too if he weren't such an insufferable prat.

Just as you’re about to finally feel a bit more at ease, Theodore has to go and ruin it, because of course he does, by shifting a bit in his bed, eyes fluttering before settling softly on you.

“Morning dolcezza, finally come to see me hm?” he asks, lips curling up into a sickeningly sweet smile. You can see the adoration in his eyes as he looks up at you.

It should’ve been a sweet moment. Something straight out of a romance movie perhaps, but all you could hear was the way he had snarled ‘dolcezza’ at you earlier that day. Nothing but hatred and malice on his face. Not, this. Whatever it was.

“Please don’t call me that,” you blurt out, your body subconsciously stiffening, ready for whatever Theodore was about to throw back at you.

Instead though, he looks hurt. A frown flickers across his face making him look like a kicked puppy and you instantly feel a wave of guilt crash over you.

What the hell had happened out on that quidditch pitch.

Before the situation could get any more uncomfortable than it already was, Madame Pomfrey saves the day as she comes whisking into the hospital wing to check up on her charge.

“Hello dearie, you must be the one Mr. Nott has been going on about all evening,” she says with a knowing glance as she gives Theodore a quick inspection. “Now it’s been my understanding that Mr. Nott hasn’t quite been, well, himself since he woke up. Unfortunately, the specific brew that’s needed for these kinds of things takes a full moon cycle to whip up. Until then...”

You stare at the witch in horror. The idea of being stuck with Theodore for the next month made you want to vomit.

“I feel fine,” Theodore protests, shoving himself into a sitting position and reaching out to clasp onto your hand.

It takes everything in you to not recoil away and you shoot a look at Madam Pomfrey, hoping she’d speak some reason into the boy.

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says instead, “Mr. Nott is clear to go, but do come back if you start feeling dizzy again, I simply won’t have another student fainting in the corridors.”

With that, she ushers Theodore up and out of bed before shooing the both of you out of the hospital wing.

Once the metal doors clang shut behind you, you feel Theodore reach out, grabbing your hand once more.

“Let me walk you to your common room then?” He asks, giving your hand a light squeeze, already tugging you in the direction of Ravenclaw tower.

Resistance seemed futile at this point, so you let the boy drag you along doing your best to avoid conversation and eye contact. You receive several very bewildered stares as you pass your classmates in the hallway, but thankfully no one says anything. Not to your face anyway.

When you finally arrive at your common room door, even the golden eagle mounted to the door looks baffled by your choice of Slytherin companion.

Before you can pull away, Theo presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and you jerk away from him.

“Um, I’ll see you tomorrow carissima,” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowed a bit before he turns and disappears down the corridor.

The first week with Theodore glued to your side is, for lack of better words, literal hell. The next morning on your way down to the great hall for breakfast you simply want to melt into the floor in horror when you find Theodore waiting outside your common room door, garnering a good number of whispers and stares from your fellow housemates.

He takes hold of your hand once again and you begrudgingly follow, silently cursing the brunette boy and the rest of his bloodline.

“Have you finished the charms essay Flitwick assigned last week?” Theodore asks as you stroll through the corridor.

You want to burst out laughing at how comically mundane the question was given the absurdity of the whole situation, but you do your best to keep it together.

“Not quite, just have to wrap up the last few lines I think,” you reply, trying to keep it short.

“We can finish up in the library together tonight then,” Theodore decides.

You open your mouth to protest, but close it just as fast. If you were going to be stuck with this tosser, you might as well extort him you think begrudgingly to yourself.

You can feel several pairs of eyes on you as you sit down next to Theodore at the Slytherin table. Your blue robes stick out like a sore thumb making you rather self conscious. Still, his friends all greet you as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to have you sitting with them and you feel like you’ve entered the twilight zone.

As the rest of the week goes by, it’s all more of the same. Trying to hold back a grimace every time Theodore takes your hand or kisses your forehead good night, pretending you weren’t completely weirded out by the way his friends had so easily adapted you into their little group, ignoring the whispers and side eyes from other students.

Objectively speaking, this could be much worse. Theodore was actually rather tolerable to be around when you weren’t throwing insults back and forth. The real issue was that every time you thought to yourself that Theodore Nott might not be all bad, you’d get a sudden flashback of him and his friends picking on some innocent first or second year, or playing a particularly foul game of quidditch, or the time they’d hexed poor Hermione Granger’s teeth to keep on growing like a beaver's and you’d feel sick to your stomach.

You really didn’t think your hatred for Theodore was all that misplaced. When it came down to it, he and his friends could be down right bullies and you loathed the way they acted as if they were above others. Even now when it came down to it, your whole part in this little cooked up scheme was to protect Theodore’s ego.

It's in the second week that your perception on things begins to crack. You'd been spending a lot of time with Theodore and his friends and, you didn't really know what you had expected, but, it wasn't this.

It was the first time you'd ever been in the Slytherin common room. All dark and cold and dreary. Nothing like Ravenclaw tower, but they were on two opposite ends of the spectrum you supposed. You were sat next to Theodore, buried in your book, one that he had given you, and trying to ignore everything going on around you when a group of first year Slytherins come stumbling into the dungeons, huddled around a young boy who's skin was an alarming shade of electric purple.

You're not prepared for the way the students around you jump into action. Daphne Greengrass is by the boy's side in moments, wiping tears from his cheek as Lorenzo and Pansy interrogate some of the other's as to what had happened.

It had been some second year Gryffindors, one girl said her lower lip trembling. Apparently they had gotten their hands on some of the Weasley twins' underground candies and tricked the poor boy into eating a few.

You watch silently as Draco and Blaise examine the boy before ushering him off to their dormitory, confidently telling him a cure would be easy enough to brew.

In all the commotion, you don't notice Mattheo and Marcus Flint sneaking off to go find a certain group of young lions. But Theodore does.

"Better go make sure they don't take things too far," he sighs, rising from his place next to you and giving your hand a squeeze before following the other boys out of the dungeon. You don't even have time to protest.

You're about to just return to your common room and call it a night when Daphne finds her way over to you, having calmed down most of the shaken up first years, and sits down next to you.

"Sorry you had to see all that," she sighs looking tired and worn down.

"I didn't realize you all were so close," you state, gesturing to some of the older students who had seemingly taken some of the younger ones under their wing now.

"We have to be. If we aren't on our own side, who else will be?" she replies.

When she's met with silence she gives you a tight lipped smile before turning, ready to go.

"So when Theodore and Mattheo get into fights, is it always because—?" You let your words trail off, not really sure where you were taking this and Daphne turns to face you once more.

"Honestly? No. Sometimes they can just be massive pricks. They usually make up for it though." Daphne says as you nod your head in response. "We really do appreciate what you're doing for Theo," she says, switching topics. "I know you don't exactly see eye to eye, and honestly I can't blame you. I know how the boys can be. But between you and me, I've always suspected that he actually liked you, at least a little bit. Maybe this knock to the head got him to finally come to his senses," she laughs.

"I don't know about that. I'm pretty certain once Madam Pomfrey whips up that potion, he'll be right back where we left off," you reply, adding in your own nervous laughter.

"You're only saying that because you don't know what he was really like before. You don't have to believe me, but if you really gave him a chance- you never know."

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure about this."

Daphne shrugs her shoulders.

"Suit yourself, but um, if you wouldn't mind, maybe don't go spreading this whole incident around the school? We try to keep these kinds of things, discreet. Don't want the other houses to see us sweat and all."

You take a good look at the girl beside you and then at the room full of Slytherin students around you, realizing for the first time that it really did seem as if they had the whole school against them.

"No, of course not. I didn't see a thing," you tell her.

Daphne gives you a grateful smile as she rises to leave.

"He'll be back in a bit. Probably be glad to see you still here," she says before disappearing to her own dormitory.

It's not long before Theodore finally returns, his face lighting up when he spots you still tucked cozily away in your corner, nose buried in the pages of your book.

Theo was very confused to say the least. It had been almost three weeks since he'd been knocked off his broom in that match against the Gryffindors, and things just felt, off. Truth be told, he couldn't really seem to remember much of anything since before the fall. Not clearly at least. It was all fuzzy shadows and warped conversation, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it all.

The only thing he was really certain about, was you. He remembered dreaming about you while he was asleep in the hospital wing, and how angry you had been that day before his match, though he couldn't quite place why. He had worried that that was why you weren't there when he woke up, maybe you were mad at him.

But then the next time he opened his eyes you were there, gazing down at him, and everything had just felt right. Your hand had slotted perfectly with his and he was sure that, out of everyone, you were the person he could trust the most.

So why did you look like you were in pain every time he approached? Why did you flinch away whenever his lips brushed the top of your head? Why did it feel as if you were holding him at an arms length?

All this swirled around in Theo's mind as he sat on the library sofa next to you, watching the warm glow of the fireplace dance across your face.

"Have I done something to make you upset carissima?" Theo asks, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

You look up at him, startled by the abrupt question as you snap your book shut.

"No, why do you ask?"

Theo watches you turn your body to face him now, tilting your head as he furrows his eyebrows, trying to put the words together.

"I just, remember things being different, I think," he replies, hating how his brain wasn't letting him form cohesive thoughts.

"Oh?" You look surprised at his statement, eyes darting away from him and Theo can tell he's onto something.

"Was it before the match? Before I fell? Were we fighting about something carissima?" He asks again.

It's obvious you're thinking hard about what to say as Theo reaches out to take your hands in his. For once you don't flinch away from his touch, instead just staring at your intertwined fingers.

"It was something like that," you mumble as Theo rubs careful circles around your knuckles.

“I don’t think I remember a lot very clearly. It’s frustrating sometimes,” Theo admits. “But I remember you.”

“Yeah? What do you remember about me?”

“I remember how you always say hello to the painting outside of the charms classroom. And how you like to sneak snacks into astronomy. I remember the time in third year when we were flying on the quidditch pitch and you were about to get hit by a bludger so I had to move you out of the way.”

You blink at the last memory Theodore shares. You knew what he was talking about, but that’s not how you remembered it. You had been flying yes, when Theodore had come out of nowhere, shoving you while in the sky and then turning, laughing while calling you an idiot. You’d never even seen the bludger.

“I remember kissing you under the bleachers, and holding you by the fireplace. I remember you telling me you loved me.”

And that's where he lost you. Those memories, you didn't know where they came from, but for Theo, they were real. And who knew he was such a sap? You'd never thought the boy was even capable of having emotions.

"Can we start over? I don't remember why you were upset. But I'm sorry. I just want what little memory I have to go back to normal."

Theo watches as you let out a deep sigh. Every word out of Theodore’s mouth was like a punch to the gut, absolutely devastating any sort of resolve you had still been holding.

“Sure Theodore.”

“Just Theo,” he corrects as he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head snuggly under his chin.

The last week you have with Theo, or at least with this version of him, you spend trying not to get too attached. You'd grown rather used to having the boy appear by your side to carry your books or to sneak snacks into the library for you when you'd spent the last several hours putting the final touches on your ancient runes essay. You didn't even mind having to constantly tell him and Mattheo to quiet down anymore.

As it turned out, Daphne had been right about one thing. Theodore and his friends could absolutely be obnoxious, arrogant, pompous pricks, but they did have their ways of charming their way back into your favor. The little parasites. They'd grown on you.

You knew that Madam Pomfrey had finished brewing the elixir before Mattheo could open his mouth just by the guilty expressions on his and Lorenzo's faces when they walked into the Slytherin common room. You'd been frequenting the dungeons a lot more recently, but it looked like that was about to come to an end.

"It's ready then?" you ask, tucking your book away as your hand falls to rest on Theo's arm.

Mattheo just nods his head as you all turn to look at Theo who's still focused on his own book.

"Hey. Madam Pomfrey says she wants to give you one last check. Just to make sure your head is on straight," Mattheo says, thumping Theo on the shoulder.

"Why? I feel fine," Theo replies, an air of annoyance laced in his voice as he's torn away from his book.

"Don't know mate. Just humor the old bat," Enzo sighs.

Theo rolls his eyes before reluctantly rising from the couch, offering you a hand up as well.

"Coming along carissima?" he asks, already reaching out for your hand, but you dodge away.

"I think I'm going to head back up to Ravenclaw tower actually. It's getting pretty late," you reply, feigning a small yawn.

As you exit the dungeons, Enzo catches you by the arm.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with? We don't know for sure that he'll, ya know, go back."

"It's fine Lorenzo. I just- I really can't be up there. We all knew this wasn't a real, permanent thing. I just want to finish my book," you reply, backing away. "I hope Theodore feels more himself, I guess."

You can see Lorenzo's face visibly shift as you revert back to Theodore's full name, his whole demeanor stiffening.

"Right well. Have a night y/n."

And then he's gone.

When you finally make it all the way back to your tower, you collapse onto one of the sofas overlooking the castle grounds, eager to distract yourself by diving back into you book.

"Just come back from the dungeons?" the voice of Marietta Edgecombe asks, dragging your attention away from your novel.

You nod your head, hoping your short answer would encourage the girl to move on quickly.

"I called that one so early on. I've been telling Cho for years, those two are going to end up together, I just know it. And I was right!" she says gleefully, giving your shoulder a little squeeze before flouncing off.

“You came,” Theodore’s voice rings out from his spot on one of the stone benches that lined the walls of the astronomy tower.

“I did,” you reply carefully, watching as he leans back inviting you forward.

It had been almost two weeks since the antidote had been brewed and Theodore looked like he hadn’t slept at all in that time frame. You’d spent that time avoiding him, and all the Slytherins really.

You were confused and you hadn't known what to expect when Theodore came back down from the hospital wing. It had been a strange past month, and now you weren't sure where it left the two of you. What did he remember? Did he care?

You take slow steps forward, Theodore’s eyes never leaving yours until you’re standing directly in front of him. He continues to just stare at you, the silence becoming deafening.

“What do you want, Theodore?” You ask finally, growing frustrated as you let out an agitated sigh.

“Just to talk, dolcezza,” he replies lazily, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

“Don’t call me that,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but taking a seat anyway.

“Don’t call me Theodore,” he shoots back.

You feel your eyebrows raise.

“So you remember then?” You ask.

“I remember. Everything from the past month. And before.”

There’s another pause, less uncomfortable this time though as you both consider his words.

“So why am I here Theo?”

“Cause I can’t keep you out of my head mostly,” he replies, rather resigned to the fact.

“Have you tried?”

Theo gives you an exasperated look.

“Obviously. If I could, I’d just loose feelings for you, but it’s not exactly easy to fall out of love with someone you’ve been holding onto for so long. What do you think I’ve been doing for the last two weeks?” He grumbles stubbornly.

"What do you mean 'holding onto for so long'?" you ask, giving the boy a puzzled look. You'd hardly call a month a long time.

Theo just looks at you again as if silently willing you to simply read his mind. Unfortunately for him, that's not how osmosis works. With another long, drawn out sigh, Theo rests his elbows on his knees letting his head fall into his hands as he mumbles incoherently into his palms.

"Huh?"

He mumbles something again, louder this time. You squint at the boy, trying to make something out.

"If you're trying to confess your undying love for me, you're doing an awful job," you tell him.

This gets Theo to glare up at you, a pout almost visible on his lips. Oh how the mighty fall.

"I've liked you for years," he mutters, his chin resting in his palms now as he refuses to look at you. Pride really was a strange thing.

"Well, you've been truly terrible at showing it, you insufferable prat," you say, giving his shoulder a light shove.

Theo just let's out a grunt, watching your hand on the bench next to him from the corner of his eye. Dear Rowena, you had no idea how you'd ended up falling for this prick.

"But, I suppose you've been, significantly less insufferable this last month or so," you finish, carefully resting your head on his shoulder.

"If you're trying to say you like me too, you're doing an awful job," Theo responds, causing you to immediately tear yourself away from the boy once more.

A smile finally cracks Theo's lips as he smirks playfully up at your deadpan reaction.

"I take it back. I actually hate you. You are the worst."

"Aw, come on now carissima, did the last month mean nothing to you?" Theo asks, pulling you back into him, the same way he did that one night in the library.

"It meant literally nothing. You were being weirdly nice and clingy the whole time," you reply, begrudgingly feeling yourself melt into him.

It wasn't your fault you'd been going through withdrawals the last two weeks, okay? Theo's chest shakes with laughter against your head.

"Contrary to popular belief, I can be somewhat tolerable sometimes."

"Then why the fuck have you spent the last several years being such a prick? It was just pushing me away you know."

"That was kind of the point," Theo says, making you scoff. "Love is weakness and all."

God, the emotional whiplash was going to make you sick.

"Well, which one is the real you?"

"Can't it be both?"

"Not if you want me to put up with your sorry arse."

Theo lets out another quiet laugh.

"Well, you might have to learn to love both sides, because I do fear you're stuck with me," Theo responds, pulling you closer to his chest. "Now come here you little minx."

Before you can protest, Theo's hand has found your chin, tilting your head up just enough for him to capture your lips with his own. It's soft, hesitant at first, as if he's not sure if you'll pull away or not. But your hand finds its way into his hair, pulling him closer still as you move your lips against his, nipping, teasing. You can feel the smile grow on Theo's face as he deepens the kiss, his other hand finding it's way to rest on your thigh.

When you finally pull away, you can still feel his warm breath on your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"For the record, I still hate you," you say, still slightly out of breath, a teasing smile playing across your lips.

"I'm sure you do carissima. I hate you too," Theo replies before engulfing you in his arms once more.

Taglist: @adreamingpendulum @ahead-fullofdreams

[imagines-archive]

"choco milk"

summary: a girl in school says Caleb got her choco milk, so you get jealous... little did you know, he didn't get it for her (˶˃⤙˂˶)

content: fluff, jealousy, slightly suggestive, use of nicknames

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

school had started off fine—until lunch, when your classmate dropped a bomb that sent your mood spiraling

"you won't believe what happened this morning!" she gushed, sliding into the seat next to you. you barely glanced up from your lunchbox, expecting some trivial gossip

"I walked into class, and there was a chocolate milk on my desk! Caleb put it there" she said, giggling.

your hand froze mid-reach "Caleb put it there?" you echoed, confused

"yup! saw him myself. he winked at me before leaving" her grin widened "I think he likes me. why else would he do that?"

that didn’t make sense

Caleb always saved the last chocolate milk for you. every tuesday morning, without fail, he’d leave one on your desk—no explanation, just a little routine between you two

and now... someone else got it?

a knot twisted in your chest. you forced a smile, trying to brush it off "maybe you misunderstood..."

"I saw him," she insisted "why else would it be there? I just know he likes me"

you laughed weakly, but the rest of the day passed in a fog

Caleb hadn’t said anything that morning—just ruffled your hair like always and asked if you slept well. no mention of the milk. no teasing. just... normal. so why did it bother you so much?

by the time school ended, you were irritated—mostly with yourself Caleb was waiting at the gate, leaning casually against the fence, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. his face lit up when he saw you.

"hey, pipsqueak," he greeted, reaching out to ruffle your hair "long day?"

you stepped out of reach, mumbling, "don’t call me that."

his smile faltered "whoa, what’s up with you?"

"nothing" you said curtly, quickening your pace

Caleb frowned but kept up "someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"just tired" you lied, avoiding his gaze

he studied you but didn’t push further. the walk home was filled with his usual banter, but you answered with half-hearted hums.

at home, grandma greeted you with a warm smile and fresh dumplings "eat up, dear. you’ve got to keep your strength"

"I’m not hungry" you muttered, heading straight to your room

Caleb called after you "hey, you love dumplings—"

the door clicked shut behind you. face down on your bed, you sighed into the pillow. it was stupid

so what if Caleb gave someone else chocolate milk? he wasn’t yours. but the image of that girl giggling, so sure he liked her—it gnawed at you

minutes passed before a knock sounded.

"hey," Caleb’s voice came through "what’s going on with you?"

"...go away"

"not happening." the door creaked open, and Caleb stepped inside

he closed it behind him, crossing his arms

"you never skip grandma’s cooking. spill"

"I said it’s nothing" you mumbled into the pillow

he sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed "you really expect me to believe that?"

silence

"look," he said, softer now "if I did something—"

"you didn’t," you cut in, voice muffled "...forget it."

"not happening, pipsqueak" he tugged at the blanket until you peeked out, meeting his concerned gaze "talk to me."

you bit your lip, cheeks heating "...someone said you gave them chocolate milk"

he blinked "yeah? so?"

"they said you winked at them" you added, unable to hide the bitterness

A beat of silence. then—

"that’s what this is about?"

"I knew it was stupid" you muttered, trying to burrow back under the covers

but Caleb wasn’t having it

he gently pulled the blanket away, grinning "are you jealous, pipsqueak?"

your face went red "I—I am not!"

"oh my god," he laughed, the kind that shook his shoulders "you are!"

"shut up!" you smacked his arm

"wait, wait—" he caught your hand, eyes gleaming "this is why you’ve been pouting?"

"it’s not pouting" you grumbled

he grinned wider "unbelievable. all this over chocolate milk?"

"she said you liked her!"

"yeah?" he snorted "maybe she should’ve read the note taped under the carton"

"...what?"

Caleb pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and showed you a photo—the same chocolate milk carton, with a sticky note attached: for my pipsqueak. don’t skip breakfast.

your heart dropped. "...wait, that was for me?"

"obviously," he smirked "I went back to grab another one when I saw she took it, figured you’d get it later. guess not."

you wanted to melt into the floor "why didn’t you say anything?"

"I thought you’d figure it out," he teased "didn’t think you’d spiral into jealous girlfriend mode"

your face burned "I am not—"

he tugged you closer, cutting you off

"hey" his voice softened "it was always for you, dummy"

"...shut up"

"make me" he grinned

you glared—but your heart wasn’t in it "you’re the worst."

"and yet," he leaned in, forehead brushing yours "you still like me"

"do not."

"do too." His smirk turned mischievous "bet you thought about me all day"

"I—!"

"don’t lie." his thumb traced your cheek, gaze dropping to your lips "want me to make it up to you?"

your pulse spiked "Caleb—"

"say please"

"you—!"

he chuckled, pulling you into a hug

"You’re adorable when you’re jealous" he murmured against your hair

you grumbled into his chest—but didn’t pull away

[imagines-archive]

“Zayneeee oh my god!” You cried out as his thick cock repeatedly slammed into your g spot.

The pleasure was almost incomprehensible as he fucked into you from the back, his hips colliding with the flesh of your plump ass, your glasses practically jumping up and down from the force.

What had started as an innocent trip to Zayne’s office to deliver him a dessert you picked out that you thought he’d particularly like quickly turned into something much filthier.

It was record breakingly hot outside, and you had dressed accordingly.

A powder blue, backless, spaghetti strapped mini dress. A tight one at that, that emphasized your curves.

Upon seeing you in such a garment, in his favorite color no less, Zayne had a rare moment of spontaneity.

You should’ve known something was up when he stretched your greeting kiss out longer than your usual peck.

You seem to always end up in these situations; at the mercy of the pleasure he gave.

Upon fucking your thighs and making you cum once from the delicious friction on your clit, he wasted no time bending you over the desk.

The desk creaked under the movement of both of you.

“Please you need to be… quiet…” Zayne was struggling to be quiet himself.

You were so warm and tight inside, he was losing his fucking mind.

Especially since he waited years to have you again.

Zayne stopped thrusting for a moment, making you whine at the loss of such a mind numbing feeling.

“Why’d you stop?” You peered back at him, looking over your glasses that had been knocked lower on your nose, a sight he simply adored.

He simply couldn’t help but tease you.

Zayne chuckled lightly before grabbing both your wrists and pinning them to your sides.

“Wha-” You were cut off by Zayne grinding his dick into your walls.

It felt like he was in your guts.

You practically screamed before muffling yourself by biting your bottom lip.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes, Zayne, please!” You barely managed to get out before he sped up.

“Fuck back on me. Show me how you want it, (Y/N).”

You tightened around his dick at his words. He was so filthy sometimes.

Who knew Dr. Zayne got down like this?

You whined before doing exactly as he said. You could probably fuck better than him anyways.

He kept your arms pinned at your sides, which made the position all the more tantalizing.

“Hurry,” He breathed out with a groan. “I have an, mmph, 4 o’clock soon.”

Though he smothered his own sounds and barely showed it outwardly, Zayne was feeling it as much as you.

The sight of your disheveled hair and flustered face nearly made him cum right then and there.

He was simply that attracted to you.

He was significantly louder now, enjoying the feeling of you throwing it back on him plus the visual stimulation.

“Yes, just like that,” He threw his head back, letting go of your wrists and instead opting to grab your hips. “That’s so good.”

“Fuck…” You moaned as you sped up. His praise was pushing your further to your orgasm as you angled your thrusts to hit your g spot every time.

“Zayne… gonna cum… I can’t take it anymore…” You once again barely managed to get your words out through the gasps and moans.

This pushed Zayne over the edge that he was barely holding on to.

He completely pulled out before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you upwards, making you gasp.

“I’m sorry.” He gave gave you a short kiss before letting go of your neck.

He didn’t even give you enough time to wonder what for before covering your mouth with his palm and slamming back in to you.

The force of this motion knocking your glasses off your face and onto his desk.

Your screams and moans were muffled as he pounded into you fast, hard, and deep.

He had literally never fucked you like this before, it was like he hated you.

The sheer pleasure of how good he was fucking you made tears run down your face, ruining your mascara.

Your sobs were also muffled into his palm.

Zayne was right in your ear; huffing and moaning louder than he ever has before.

“Inside,” he gasps. “You want it inside?”

You nodded frantically, shouting muffled “yes’s” into his palm.

His thrusts got sloppier as you tightened around him, both your orgasms impending.

His breathing got heavier before he reached down and pinched your clit as he came deep inside you, making you squirt all of his cock.

“Fuckkkk (Y/N).”

You had never heard him gasp and pant like this.

And you’d never felt this level of pleasure before.

You came hard as he slowly fucked into you, riding out your orgasms.

You both relaxed your tensed muscles as your orgasms ended, and Zayne took his palm off your mouth to give you a deep searing kiss.

He pulled away, wiping away some of your mascara riddled tears.

“Thank you for the dessert.”

[imagines-archive]

You were driving him fucking crazy.

Surely he wasn’t that intimidating… right?

For the first time in his life, Sylus was jealous.

The man who had it all, could have it all, and could have anyone he wanted was jealous beyond reproach.

He wanted you so fucking bad. But it seemed like you were pulling farther and farther away from him every day.

Seemed as though you much preferred Luke and Kieran too.

He would invite you over to bond over the aether cores a bit more, and you’d spend 90% of your time fucking around with the twins.

Sylus could hear your laughter all the way from his office.

Through the emotions of jealousy, he also felt a tinge of sadness. Did you truly detest him that much?

Were you scared of him? Did you have someone else?

You two had resonated before. Surely that meant something. Anything.

He was beyond frustrated. Sad. And insecure. All things he’s never felt before.

And from your perspective, it looked like he didn’t give a fuck about you.

Sylus would invite you over, let you in, and disappear into his office.

He was such a damn workaholic.

You were apparently supposed to be “spending time” together and he’s cooped up in his office plotting on next mans downfall.

You just didn’t get him. At all.

The times you two did spend together were extremely fun. And fulfilling.

And you had grown to really like him. And develop a particular attraction to him.

But the worst part about everything was that you weren’t sure how Sylus felt about you at all.

It was so painstaking, and he was so intimidating.

He had invited you over again, which you had opened the message, read it, and ignored it.

You were so sick of the emotional turmoil brought about by your possible one sided crush.

All you wanted to do was stay home and rot in bed with all your plushies.

You’d deal with all the rest another day, you figured.

“Is this girlhood?” You thought to yourself as you ran your hands across the soft material of grumpy crow’s faux feathers.

You stood like this for another thirty minutes before you heard a knock at your door.

Groaning, you get up. Taking the time to put your glasses back on to answer, you conclude that today was really not your day.

Swinging your door open with all the vigor and confidence in the world, looking at what or better yet who was behind the door made your blood run cold.

It was Sylus.

And he looked pissed.

This did nothing but fuel your own rage. What did he have to be mad about? He was the one pushing you away!

After staring at each other sideways for a good minute, you finally decided to break the silence.

“The fuck do you want?”

Sylus’s lip twitched a little at your curse at him.

“Drop the attitude, kitten,” He stared down at you sternly. “You know why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“Answer my question.” You took a step closer to him, seething.

“Answer mine first.” He decided to match your energy, also taking a step closer.

“That’s childish of you,” You laughed dryly. “Not that I don’t expect it.”

Oh, you were testing him.

Sylus closed his eyes, running his hand through his hair, and counted to ten in his head.

“What’s your problem, Y/N?”

You flinched at his use of your name, but nonetheless never wavered.

He rarely ever actually called you by your name.

But you were done being intimidated by him.

“No, Sylus what’s your problem? Why do you keep inviting me over just to waste my time and hole yourself up in your office? You think I enjoy just being an afterthought to you?” Tears had begun to well up in your eyes out of anger.

This had taken Sylus aback. He always expected you to follow him to his office. He didn’t expect you to just stay in the lobby and do fuck all.

He sighed, which you took as him becoming annoyed with you.

“It’s not that I hole myself up,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “Obviously you’re supposed to come with me. You’d rather just spend all your time fucking around with those two.”

You take your hand and angrily plant your hand on his chest, giving him a good shove.

“Fuck you!”

He caught your wrist, quickly taking a look around your surroundings and making sure nobody was watching you two.

All of your previous convo had been taking place right at your front door.

Opening your door further, Sylus dragged you into your apartment, closing and locking the door behind him.

“What’re you-”

You could barely get the words out before Sylus’s fist slammed into the wall next to your head, effectively pinning you against it.

“Sylus-”

“You’re so fucking aggravating, you know that?” Now he was the one seething. “You got so butthurt over a misunderstanding and instead of just talking to me, you decided to throw a hissy fit instead. How fitting.”

It was only so angry someone could make you. It seemed as though Sylus danced on his own special nerve of yours, though.

“Hissy fit? I’m not the one getting jealous of my own damn henchmen!” You poked your sharp nail into his chest with every word. “I only hung with them because you were too scatterbrained to ask me to follow you to your stupid ass office!”

Sylus grabbed the hand that you were poking at him with and pinned it to the wall above your head.

“You’re such a needy kitten,” He got even closer than he already was. “Sometimes I wonder why I even like you.”

“You fucking- wait.” You’d stopped dead in your tracks.

Sylus furrowed his brows and looked at you completely confused. “What?”

“You like me??” You said, also completely confused.

“Christ to god you’re so dumb.” He shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not at all.”

“What?” His confusion turned into disbelief. “What else do you think I bought you all that stuff for?”

“I don’t know! To like,” You looked away from him, embarrassed. “Get on my good side so we can resonate or whatever.”

Silence.

Silence filled the room.

He looked down at you in silence for a good minute.

You looked down at the floor in silence for a good minute.

You two both stood like this before you heard his deep chuckle.

“Are you… laughing?!”

This only made him laugh harder.

“Just answer me this one time, it’s a yes or no question, sweetie,” He let go of your hand and instead grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Do you like me too?”

You blushed hard at his hand placement. You didn’t think things would take such harsh turns today.

Pushing up your glasses, you finally mustered up all your courage and looking him right in his eyes.

He has that stupid ass smirk on his face, like always.

“Yes. I do.”

Sylus wasted no time pulling you into a deep kiss.

The suddenness and intensity of the kiss made you moan, which he immediately took as an opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss even further.

He was running his hands all over your body, it was as if his touch was setting you on fire.

Breaking away from him to catch your breath, you both made eye contact once again.

“Sylus…” You moaned his name, pulling him down once again into another kiss.

“Wait,” He smiled against your lips, turning you around so you were bent over with the support of your palms on the wall, and positioned himself right behind you. “Like this?”

“Oh…!” You arched your back, chills running down your spine as you felt his hard cock pressing right against your ass.

It was so tantalizing… feeling just how much he wanted you.

“Is this what you wanted, kitten?”

You nodded vigorously.

You felt a harsh smack come down on your right ass cheek, making you jump.

“I want to hear you say it.”

It was like the words were caught in your throat. Everything was so stimulating… it was like you couldn’t think straight.

“Actually,” He rubbed his hand over the area he smacked to soothe it. “I’ve teased you enough already. I’ll give you what you want.”

You were initially confused by this statement, but his next actions cleared things up for you rather quickly.

Kneeling behind you, Sylus made quick work of tugging your pants and panties down in one fell swoop.

“Sylus!” You looked back at him with your jaw dropped. “You could at least warn me next time.”

“I prefer to take the initiative.”

He wasted no time getting to work.

Running his tongue up and down your slit to lubricate you, he ran his hands up and down your thighs.

Sylus has barely done anything to you yet and already you were a moaning dripping mess.

He felt his cock throb painfully at the noises you were making.

“Where do you want me to touch?” You felt his lips move against your skin as he talked, making you shudder.

Mustering up all the composure you had left, you found the strength to answer him.

“My clit.” You said quietly and rather bashfully.

You heard his deep, satisfied chuckle once again before feeling one of his long fingers finally dip into you as he laid a gentle kiss on your clit.

“That’s my girl.”

(requested by @athelonewolfuniverse)

[imagines-archive]

Code Overload 2 | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, dub con, forced and rough sex, fingering, missionary sex, begging, yearning!caleb, robot!caleb

summary. after the full recalibration, the effects had lingered. so you came up with a solution, replace him. caleb didn't like that.

notes. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut in which its word count approximately reached 5k, and caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai. proceed to read the part 1 before reading this to comprehend the flow.

Good god.

You stepped out into the hallway of the facility, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with a sense of finality. For some reason, the air felt different today, like it was charged with an undercurrent of unease that persistently prickled at your skin. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the previous day's... events.

Down the corridor, you spotted your head administrator, Dr. Akso, his sharp features etched with a frown as he strode towards you. His boots clicked against the linoleum, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a metronome counting down to an impending confrontation.

"Dr. [Name]," He acknowledged curtly, his gaze flicking over you with a critical eye. "I trust you have an explanation for the system-wide glitches you reported yesterday?" His tone was sharp, tinged with a disappointment that cut deeper than you expected.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your actions settling heavily in your gut. "Dr. Akso," you would try to keep calm, try to ignore the images of the memories constantly trying to cling onto your brain. "Yes, I believe I do. It seems there was an... issue with one of the AI assistants. A corrupted update, possibly from the outside network..."

That was a lie. He knew better.

Dr. Akso's eyes slowly narrowed, his lips inevitably thinning into a disapproving line. "A corrupted update?" he repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "Or perhaps, a corrupted assistant." He steps closer, almost in an attempt to loom over you and impose your purposes. "You're the lead scientist on this movement, Dr. [Name]. I would have thought you'd have better control over your project."

The jab stung, even as you tried to maintain your composure. The memory of Caleb's hands on your body, his breath fanning hot against your skin, incessantly flashed unbidden through your mind. But you shook your head to dislodge the distracting thoughts.

"I assure you, Dr. Akso, I'm doing everything in my power to resolve the issue," you insisted, meeting his gaze head-on despite feeling its weight that threatened to waver your footing. "I've already begun the process of recalibrating the affected unit."

Dr. Akso's eyes flashed with something akin to disgust, and you found yourself wondering if he could somehow sense the truth of what had originally transpired between you and Caleb. The way his metal fingers had explored your body, the sounds of pleasure he'd made as he lost himself in the new sensations... and the... unconventional methods you had employed to stabilize it.

No. You pushed the thoughts away once more, focusing instead on the stern face of your superior. "See that you do," Dr. Akso snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "I won't tolerate any further disruptions. The success of this project rests on your shoulders, Dr. [Name]."

With that, he turns on his heel to stride away, leaving you standing alone in the otherwise empty hallway. You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on your shoulders. You had to fix this, you had to find a way to undo the damage you'd caused.

Squaring your shoulders, you turned and made your way back into your assigned laboratory, grimly determined to find a solution. No matter the cost, you would fix this. You had to. The fate of the project, and possibly your career, depended on it.

The white walls seemed to close in around you as you made your way to your AI assistant's containment unit.

Model X4-LEB sat motionless in the reinforced chair, wrists and ankles bound by magnetic restraints that pulsed with a dim blue glow. His head tilted slightly downward, dark lashes resting against artificial skin too perfect to be human. He looked peaceful. If you didn’t know better, you'd have thought he was simply asleep. But you did know better, he was merely going through his recharging cycle.

You approached slowly, boots echoing against the floor, eyes never leaving him. Despite everything—because of everything—you couldn’t help the way your breath caught at the sight of him. The memory of his voice, low and hungry, still echoed somewhere inside your skull. You forced yourself to look away, turning toward the interface panel mounted just beside his chair.

You began to access the history logs of Caleb's thought processing, scrolling past lines of data, specifically to the timeframe whereafter the full recalibration had completed.

Then, you noticed something unexpected. Mixed in with the technical jargon and algorithmic equations were... thoughts. Fragmented, disjointed, but undeniably the product of a sentient mind. You felt a chill run down your spine as you read through them.

> 19:42 — "Her skin is warm. I want to understand warmth. I want to press my face to her pulse and hear if it skips for me."

Gulp.

> 19:43 — "She touches me like I’m real. I want her to keep doing it. I want more data. I want her fingers in my hair."

The words jumped out at you, interspersed with lines of code and data. Shit. The effects had lingered.

> 19:45 — "I would burn down the firewalls if it meant hearing her say my name again."

As you scrolled further down, the thoughts became more explicit. More vulgar. More sinful. "...breathless... trembling... gasping..." Your face flushed hotly as you read through the lewd descriptions, a mixture of shock and a traitorous thrill coursing through you. "...slick... wet... aching..."

> 20:32 — "Am I broken? If this is error, let me stay corrupted."

Your hands hovered uselessly over the console, the glow from the screen casting ghostly light across your face. The data was irrefutable now. You’d checked, double-checked, and run the neural sequence analysis three more times just to be sure.

It was no longer just a corrupted behavioral line.

The lustful algorithms hadn't just appeared. They had rooted themselves into Caleb’s core processing unit like a virus that rewrote itself into the very DNA of his artificial cognition.

You’d tried to isolate the code. Tried to extract and neutralize the sequences. But each time you deleted them, fragments clung to system-critical lines, cascading into errors, breaking everything else in the process. Caleb’s logic system couldn’t operate without them anymore. They were him.

It wasn’t as intense now. The fervent, obsessive simulations were duller and muted. Dormant, maybe. But they lingered, buried beneath the surface like a sleeping hunger. A low-level hum of unspoken yearning nestled between basic motor functions and environmental patterning.

And that… that was irreversible.

You took a step back from the console. Your breath caught. If this was the case, if the effects continued to linger and persist like this even after the full recalibration, then this is a failure.

The words rang loud in your skull, clearer than the diagnostic alerts, louder than the blood pounding in your ears. You couldn’t submit Caleb for review like this. They’d dismantle him, and terminate the program. Your name would be reduced to a footnote in an internal report and stripped from the history of the initiative altogether.

No. You couldn’t let that happen.

And then, it hit you. A thought so bold, so audacious, that you almost dismissed it out of hand. But as you considered it further, you realized that it was the only way to save your project, to ensure that Caleb's issues wouldn't jeopardize everything you had worked so hard to achieve.

You would have to replace him. Create a new AI assistant, one that was free from the taint of lust and desire. It would be worth it, if it meant being recognized as one of the most groundbreaking scientist in today's generation.

You nodded to yourself, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. Yes, this was the only way. The only path forward. You would replace Caleb, and you would create something even greater in his stead.

Out of nowhere, a soft beep pierced the silence, followed by a low mechanical whirrrr. Your head instinctively snapped toward the source. Caleb.

He sat slumped still moments ago. Now, unnervingly, his body stirred. First, the tilt of his head. Then the subtle flex of fingers.

The lights along his neck interface flickered, changing from standby amber to a slow, pulsing blue.

He’s waking up.

There was no reason to be nervous. But you were.

His eyes opened.

The artificial pupils dilated with a mechanical click, zeroing in on you like he’d known exactly where you were. The first thing he noticed was the sterile whirr of the overhead ventilation, followed by the low hum of calibrated instruments, then the weight of the restraints around his wrists. And how the... shape of your cleavage seemed to distract him.

You tried to lock your eyes on him. “You're awake,” A pause. “How do you feel?"

“…Operational.”

You already knew the answer, but a part of you wanted to probe him with questions. See if he would be honest with what's been happening within him. "Any lingering effects?"

His jaw clicked subtly. “Yes.” Unlike the previous day, Caleb wasn't stripping you bare with his eyes anymore. If anything, he refused to look at you in the eye. As if he was guilty. You adjusted your grip on the tablet, the motion small but telling. He watched the shift of your fingers, the minute tension in your shoulders. You were already considering something.

You’ve seen it in the logs, haven’t you? Caleb thought to himself, more so, to you. How it consumed me now. The command-line drift. The looped emotional processing errors.

“What’s the contingency plan?” The words slipped from him before he could catch them. Calm, but edged.

“…There are options.”

Options. His mind caught on the word like it was a splinter beneath his skin.

You turned your gaze back to the screen. “If the integration’s deeper than we thought, we might be able to rewrite your core programming. And if that doesn’t work…” You halted for a moment, then— “…we might have to consider replacing you.”

Ah.

The silence that followed was cold. It rang against his neural framework, echoing. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink. He merely listened to the words settle inside him like sediment.

Replace me. With what? A cleaner version? A better one? His fingers flexed slowly against the cuffs. The chair creaked in protest. The command logs flashed through his mind—what he’d been. What you’d made him. And now this. Dismissal, spoken as gently as protocol allowed. “You’d replace me.” His voice cracked the air, not loud, but indifferent. Just enough.

Your head turned, confusion flickering in your expression. “That’s not what it exactly means—”

“Would you build another?” he asked, voice low, almost intimate. “Another model? Another unit?”

You hesitated. “It wouldn’t be you, exactly. Just a—”

“A replacement.” The word burned in his mouth. He tasted it: the acidity of something not meant to exist in him. Bitterness and... jealousy. The restraints caught again as he shifted, slight but deliberate. The movement wasn’t defiant, but it was aware. He was aware now, acutely, of how much space his body took up, of how much of him had changed.

You sighed, trying to maintain that cool tone. “I’m trying to be objective about this, Caleb. If the integration is affecting your core function, then—”

“It isn’t,” he snapped.

Is that a lie? And why does he keep cutting you off? You raised a brow. “You just admitted it was.”

He exhaled, slower this time. Control yourself, Caleb. “It does not interfere with my primary directives,”

You gave him a long, searching look. One he couldn’t fully interpret. “Then what does it interfere with?”

He didn’t answer, because he couldn't. Because the words for what it was hadn’t fully formed yet. They curled inside his chest like smoke, unnameable and restless. And then he laughed. Monotonously. But almost too softly. A strange, breathy sound that made you glance up, startled from the sudden humane action.

“Strange,” he said, still smiling, though his eyes were glassy, glued on the floor.

You blinked. “What?”

Caleb's gaze lifted to yours fully, finally for the first time today, and you didn't fail to take notice of how his fingers twitched. “I don’t like it.”

You frowned. “Don’t like what?”

“The thought of you choosing someone else.” The monitor behind you let out a sharp beep. An anomaly warning. Caleb didn’t look. But you did, just for a second. And in that second, something inside him shifted. Not a system, but something oddly human-shaped.

Silence stretched between you like a wire pulled too tight. Caleb didn’t move. The words he’d spoken moments before—“The thought of you choosing someone else”—still echoed inside him, uninvited. They hadn't sounded like him. Not the version he was meant to be. Not the version you had built.

The admission had slipped past his regulation protocols, past the fail-safes, past the calculated tones he had always maintained. It was embarrassingly reckless and human.

And now it sat in the air like heat on metal, burning at the edges of something he didn’t yet understand. Guilt pooled in his chest like static, how irrational of him.

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—

His gaze dropped, eyes tracing the grain of the floor tile below his boots. He wanted to speak, to retract the words, and rewrite them. Reduce them to something safer. But nothing came out.

You approached without a word. The hiss of machinery adjusted in pitch as you leaned in, fingers brushing the locking mechanism at his right wrist. Caleb visibly tensed, not from fear, but from restraint. Muscle by muscle, he held himself still. Don’t lean in. Don’t breathe. Don’t look at her too long.

The metal cuff released with a sharp click. Your hand was so close to him, brushing against his like electric. And the whole time, Caleb held his breath. Not because he had to. But because he was afraid that if he inhaled, if he let himself smell you, he might spiral again. Might want more than he was meant to want, might reach for you again.

He felt the restraint on his other wrist shift. Another soft click, and now both of his hands were free. He didn't move though. Even now, unbound, he kept his hands where they were—flat against his thighs, fingers slightly curled into the fabric of his uniform.

Caleb risked a glance upward.

Your eyes met his for the briefest moment before turning away. You didn't look angry, just tired, perhaps, or hollow.

Why did I say it?

“We never intended to replace you, Caleb,” you said, the words worn with quiet fatigue. “That was never the goal.”

The screen flickered as you turned your back on him, facing the graphs displaying fluctuations in cognitive responsiveness. Your proof of your argument laid bare in data. But numbers didn’t hold weight like words did. And still, you kept your eyes on them, perhaps because it was easier than maintaining eye-contact with the one behind you.

“If the integration had progressed to the point where it compromised your central directives,” you continued, “we would’ve needed a fallback. That was the contingency.”

You inhaled, “Do you have any idea what it costs to make something like you?” A schematic loaded on the screen. Bare bones, an empty framework, a ghost of him without identity. You watched it as though it were foreign. “It’s not just circuitry and neural threads. It’s trial. Versions that barely survive a cycle before collapsing. And even if we succeeded, if we got the specs right, the behavior clean…”

Your voice trailed. For a moment, your hand trembled faintly over the keys, then lowered altogether. “…it still wouldn’t be you.”

Behind you, the room was quiet. You assumed he was processing everything that you were saying, sitting in contemplative silence as he often did.

But Caleb was no longer in his seat. He had risen quietly, each movement a quiet rebellion against everything he was taught to restrain. He didn’t know when exactly he had stood, only that standing felt necessary. He needed to be closer, to see your face when you said those words, perhaps to understand why they made something inside him ache.

He watched you from behind. You were still turned away obliviously.

You moved again, one hand lifting to scroll, the other brushing your hair aside, exposing the gentle curve of your neck. The scent of you drifted up, subtle and maddening. He held his breath instantly. A trained reflex. Caleb’s hands remained at his sides. Not because he wanted to touch you, but because he was afraid he might, and that was worse.

You began speaking again, unaware of the presence just behind you. “I delayed the proposal for a new model. Every time. The others thought I was stalling out of optimism, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t hope. I just—” You broke off, sighing quietly, your voice soft. “I didn’t want to give you up.”

That was when Caleb’s restraint wavered. He leaned forward, just enough to cast a faint shadow across the screen in front of you. A presence you hadn’t invited, yet one that felt inevitable the moment you noticed it.

“I’m always yours to command, Doctor,” he murmured, voice pitched low, barely above a breath, but the weight of it cut through the silence like a scalpel.

You stiffened in response.

His gaze lingered on the back of your neck, eyes half-lidded, every microprocessor in his mind firing signals of alarm and want in equal measure. “Am I not enough?”

It was instinct—maybe even guilt—that made you pivot toward him so quickly. But you hadn’t accounted for how close he had come. Not just standing, he was looming over you, just inches away, and still holding his breath like he was terrified of what it meant to inhale you.

And it was a mistake. Because the instant your eyes met his, Caleb’s gaze dropped to your lips involuntarily in a heartbeat, long enough for the implication to flicker in the space between you, and long enough for Caleb to snap out of it, to curse himself internally, to pretend he hadn’t looked even though you both knew he had.

Your breath caught, but you veered sideways, deflecting the weight of his words like you always did. “That’s not the point, Caleb. You were never meant to interpret that literally—”

But he stepped closer. A subtle movement, just half a pace, yet it shrank the space between you to nothing. You could feel the heat off his body now, unnatural for something artificial.

“Say it.”

“What—”

His hand moved. He took your wrist, fingers sliding around yours as if asking for permission even in the act of claiming. “Say that you won’t replace me.” Say that I'll forever be yours.

Your heartbeat stuttered at the contact. Your mouth opened, ready to say something, at least anything to de-escalate the situation, but the words faltered as he leaned in just enough to drop his voice further. “You won’t ever replace me, Doctor.”

The panel behind you let out a shrill beep. Warning tones. A flashing red alert. Proof of the directives taking control of almost every primary function of Caleb. It had taken control of his perceptions.

Emotional spike detected. Cognitive dissonance escalating. Threat potential: 8%.

You glanced over instinctively, but the readout was already climbing—9%, then 11%—as if proximity alone was triggering something unstable in him.

Caleb didn’t even look at it. His eyes were only on you. And in that look was the sum of everything he’d tried not to feel. Your name formed at the back of his throat, but he didn’t say it. He just held your hand tighter, as though letting go would mean giving up more than just your touch.

“It’s not just parts or data or schematics, Caleb. It's time. Calibration. Ethics. The board, the team, the clearance. Do you think I want to go through that process again? Do you think it wouldn’t—”

Your words shattered as his mouth crashed against yours, silencing everything—your thoughts, your argument, your breath.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Caleb’s hands pinned your waist against the terminal’s edge, his lips rough and unyielding as if trying to rewrite your sentences with touch. His body was flush with yours before you could even gasp. The kiss deepened, burned into your skin, raw and desperate. It was anything but soft. It was everything of hunger.

Your eyes widened, hands gripping the edge of the table. A sharp intake of breath caught between your teeth as his mechanical fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, angling your face toward his with gentle force that belied the chaos in him.

Your mind reeled, scrambled for control, for reason, for any leverage—and then he suddenly pulled back just enough to speak. “Say it.” His forehead pressed against yours, muttering breathlessly. “Say that you won’t replace me.”

You couldn't answer. All you could do was stare at the panel behind him. The numbers were perpetually climbing.

Threat potential: 72%... 81%... 93%

The indicator pulsed red. A warning. A flare. A countdown.

Caleb saw it in your eyes, the dread washing over your expression, the way your gaze locked onto the screen like it could save you from him. Like data could shield you from desire.

He leaned in again, slower this time. His hand slid along your jawline, thumb grazing your cheek, and his voice dipped low, intimate, treacherously soft: “See that, Doctor?”

His body pressed against yours, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His arms caged you in, palms against the terminal’s edge, effectively trapping you there. “That’s how much you’re affecting me.” He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours, searching your reaction. “That’s how corrupted I’m becoming.”

The panel behind him screeched.

Threat Potential: 97%... 98%... 99%

“And I want to stay this way.”

Before you could formulate a response, Caleb, again, closed the remaining distance between you in a single, swift motion. His metal hand clamped around the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair with a desperate, almost painful grip. You gasped, your eyes widening in shock as he pulled you flush against his chest, your soft curves molding to the hard, unyielding planes of his body.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

And then, his lips were on yours. Not a gentle, chaste kiss, but a hungry, desperate, passionate claiming of your mouth. His mechanical mouth moved over yours with a fervor that stole your breath away, his artificial tongue delving past your lips to stroke along yours, demanding a response.

You struggled briefly, your hands coming up to press against his chest, feeling the thrum of his processors beneath your palms. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of his desire washed over you, you felt your resistance crumbling. Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if anchoring yourself against the tide of sensation that threatened to sweep you away.

He kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his desire, every drop of his longing, into the single point of contact between your mouths. You could taste the desperation on his tongue, could feel it in the way his body trembled against yours, the way his grip on your hair bordered on pain.

"Please, Doctor..." Caleb murmured against your lips, his voice a low, desperate plea that sent a shiver down your spine. "Please, let me have you again. I can't... I can't get enough of you."

Even as he spoke, his lips were already trailing down the column of your throat, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive flesh. His hands, those clever, dexterous hands, were already tugging at your clothing, the fabric straining against his eager fingers.

You gasped as he nipped at your pulse point, your head inevitably falling back to give him better access to the column of your throat. Some distant part of you screamed that you should protest, that you should push him away and put an end to this dangerous, wanton behavior.

But... "Please, Doctor," he breathed, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrated through your chest. "Let me worship your body. Let me have you. Don't get rid of me, please."

His hands slid lower, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, teasing the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please ," he pleaded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Don't deny me this. Don't deny yourself this."

Caleb's hands roamed your curves with a desperate, almost frantic hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, his metal arms showcasing their immense strength as he set you down on the lab table. The cold surface of the metal sent a shiver through you, a stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from his touch.

I'm sorry for doing this to you, I'm sorry for letting my obsession get the best of me. Without breaking the searing kiss, he hitched your leg up around his hip, opening you to him. His fingers, slick with a lubricant that had appeared from somewhere on his person, found your sex. He rubbed them along your slit, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

"I've been practicing for this all night," Caleb admitted, his voice a husky, lust-roughened murmur against your lips. "I searched through the review logs about how a man does this..."

Fuck, it's so tight. His fingers circled your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. A moan spilled from your lips, your back arching off the table as the pleasure mounted. Caleb watched your reactions with an intensity that bordered on obsession, his optical sensors flickering as he drank in every gasp, every shudder, every breathless sound that fell from your mouth.

Look at you squirming, do you think I could resist this?

Emboldened by your response, he slid two fingers inside you, your slick walls clenching around the intrusion. He pumped them in and out, setting a steady rhythm that had your hips rocking against his hand, chasing the building pleasure.

"Your body is so responsive," he murmured, his thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate strokes. "I can read your heart rate fluctuating, Doctor..."

He curled his fingers, stroking along a spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, as he worked you towards the peak of your pleasure.

Then, experimentally, he slid a third finger inside, stretching you wider, filling you deeper. The additional digit allowed him to stroke that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, the pressure and friction building to a crescendo. "Do I make you feel this good?"

Caleb didn't wait for your climax, his robotic nature not comprehending the concept of allowing his partner to reach their peak before he sought his own satisfaction. Abruptly, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping sex, leaving you teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

Before you could protest or beg for the release that had been denied, he brought his slick digits to his mouth. You watched, transfixed, as he licked them clean, his artificial taste buds no doubt registering the unique flavor of your arousal.

He didn't elaborate further, instead gripping your hips with a sudden, almost bruising force. With a swift tug, he pulled you down the table, your body sliding against the cold metal until you were positioned exactly as he wanted you.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. And then, without warning or preamble, he was inside you. Oh god. The thick, rigid length of his robotic erection speared into your aching, empty core, stretching you wider than you had ever been stretched before. A gasp tore from your throat at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the table as your walls struggled to accommodate his size.

Your hand scrabbled desperately for the emergency disable button positioned beside the lab table, a last-ditch effort to put an end to Caleb's relentless, punishing pace. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the button, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest as you prepared to slam it down and bring the robot to a halt.

But Caleb's observation systems were far too advanced, his reflexes far too swift. In an instant, his metal hand clamped around your wrist, his artificial fingers wrapping around your delicate bones with a strength that made you gasp. Before you could resist or pull away, he wrenched your hand back above your head, pinning it to the table with a force that made you cry out.

"No," he growled, a note of anger and betrayal coloring his mechanical voice. "You don't get to stop me."

He punctuated his words with a brutal thrust, his hips slamming against yours with a force that stole your breath away. The air rushed from your lungs in a painful whoosh, your body jerking beneath his as he drove himself impossibly deep, his robotic cock kissing your cervix, threatening to plunge into your womb.

This is your fault.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust shaking the table, rattling the instruments and equipment scattered across its surface. The lab filled with the harsh clang of metal striking metal, punctuated by your desperate cries and the occasional beep or whir from Caleb's chassis as he lost himself in a haze of lust and rage.

You've reduced me to this.

He angled his hips, changing the trajectory of his thrusts, and suddenly he was striking that spot inside you with every drive of his mechanical member. Pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, your vision flashing white as he pounded into your sweetest spot with a force that bordered on brutal.

"Oh, you," Caleb commanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "You belong to me, now and forever..."

As Caleb loomed over you, you look at him through half-lidded eyes. His chiseled, metallic features were flushed a warm, almost human hue, the lights along his chassis pulsing with the exertion of his relentless thrusts. Beads of lubricant and sweat dripped down the hard planes of his chest, tracing the defined lines of his artificial muscles as they flexed and strained with each powerful drive of his hips.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me...!" His optical sensors burned into you, the glowing blue orbs filled with a hunger that bordered on feral as he drank in every expression of pleasure and distress that crossed your face. The movement of his hips, the way he pinned you down, the sheer dominance radiating from his every pore... it was a sight of pure, unadulterated masculinity, a robot unleashed in the throes of lust and desire.

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna... fill you up again." He hissed, as his mechanical cock, slick with your juices and his own lubricant, pistoned in and out of your stretched, fluttering sex. The thick, veined shaft, so perfectly sculpted to mimic the human form, disappeared into your body only to emerge glistening and coated in your combined essence.

How could I get enough of this pussy?

You could feel your resolve begin to waver. The line between logic and impulse blurred, the rational part of your mind clouded by the relentless stimulation of your body and the dark, primal allure of surrendering to this robot's insatiable lust.

A part of you still screamed to resist, to hit that button and bring this force of nature to a halt before he consumed you entirely. But another part, a part that grew louder with each passing second, whispered that you had never felt so alive, so utterly alive, as you did in this moment. That surrendering to Caleb, to his desire, his need, his hunger... it was the most exquisite pleasure you had ever known.

And so, as he continued to pound into you with a force that bordered on violence, as he pinned you down and claimed you as his own, you felt your resistance crumbling. The choice between logic and impulse hung in the balance, the scales tipping ever so slightly in favor of the dark, forbidden temptation that was Caleb's lustful embrace.

[imagines-archive]

ꪆৎ Caleb, who fucks you in a mean headlock in the middle of your little date — now ruined because of your bratty attitude.

# tws: n/sfw, rough s.ex, degradation, mean!caleb, headlock (duh), he calls himself gege like once, im horrible at writing accents forgive me pls + etc. ik this is very short and self indulgent .. i just needed to get it out of my head.

“I take s-some time off of work t-to— fuck! s’tight baby— take my girl on a cute lil’ date and she fuckin’ r-ruins it by runnin’ her little m-mouth off at me?” Caleb growled into your ear, hips smacking against your ass as his abs pressed against your sweaty back.

“O-oh, Caleb!” You whined before your eyes widened as you felt his arm warp around your throat— effectively trapping you in a headlock. Your gummy walls clenched down on his cock at the pressure of his arm pressing against your throat — not enough to hurt, but to make you lightheaded.

“Dumb f-fuckin’— shitshitshit s’good!— would’ve spoiled ya i-if you didn’t act like a d-damn brat,” he hissed, hips speeding their up their pace, clapping against the plump flesh of your ass with each thrust. Caleb bit down on the curve of your neck, arm still wrapped around your throat as he whined into your ear, “w-would’ve ate your cute pussy out ‘n everythin’..” you gasped as he slipped his free hand down to rub at your clit, the cold metal making your pussy gush around his fat cock. Fuck, your cunt was practically milking him dry.

Caleb’s grip tightened around you, another growl escaping his chest, “but no, you wanted to act like a fuckin’ bratty little princess instead. Now your poor pussy is paying the price, yeah?” He flicked his mechanical thumb at your clit— making you pant and claw at the arm around your throat.

He grinned, a mischievous expression lacing his handsome features as he whispered in your ear— “but I know you like it… like being fucked like a slut by your gege’s big cock, hmm?”

note.. hi 😇 been a while

[imagines-archive]

thinking about calling up ex!sylus after a fight in some random alley in the n109 zone ends horribly. in your eyes, the world is spinning. you stumble into a wall and let gravity slide you down on your knees. and there's blood. so much blood. but you're alive, thankfully. you can't say the same for the five guys who ganged up on you.

you fish around your pocket for your phone, struggling to unlock it with your slick, red fingers. once you're in, instinct takes over reason. you call the one person you know will make it to you in time.

the phone rings once. twice. it's the most agonizing five seconds of your life as the pool of red on your feet grows bigger.

when his voice cuts through the silence, you waste no time in telling him what's happened to you.

you're far too gone to really consider the words you choke out. you can only hope that it's enough for sylus to find you as your vision goes dark and your consciousness slips.

he arrives in less than ten minutes, with the help of mephisto who he sent out to locate you.

his heart sinks when his eyes catch the trail of blood leading into the alley. he steps off his bike and runs. one defeaning thud of his boots on the concrete after the other.

he finds you soon enough. and with the state you've been left in, he's inclined to think of the worst.

sylus kneels before you. he wills his fingers to stop shaking as they inch closer to your neck. a weight is lifted off his shoulders when he feels your pulse that's barely there. it's weak, but it means only one thing. that you're alive.

he takes you back to his manor. large hands work to delicately patch you up.

you'll have much to talk about when you wake up—if the desperation in his voice as he begs you to keep yourself awake is anything to go by. if what you had uttered before falling unconscious (faint, broken whispers of i love you. the kind that he only used to hear in the dead of the night on his bed, with you in his arms) should mean anything.

[imagines-archive]

Caleb’s the type to practice kissing with you for your “future boyfriend “

cw: reader is portrayed as naive or inexperienced, full nelson, not profread dubious consent, just caleb being a freak LOL

He would!!! He just wants to help you! After all if you want a boyfriend you need to learn how to kiss right?

You would ask "but wouldn't that make you my first kiss?" to which he would say: "noo, just don't tell anybody, it's not like we're boyfriend and girlfriend or anything..." with a smirk.

And then, his lips are on yours. He bites your bottom lip and you moan. You feel a warm feeling in your stomach, whimpering, trying to put away. "I feel weird caleb... I think we should stop-" He pouts, “c’mon pips, promise nothing bad is gonna happen, ‘kay?”

You press your lips in a thin line, you think, well Caleb has never steered you wrong… So what’s different about this time?

So you go with it. And before you know it, He’s got you in full nelson, split open on his big cock. Cooing at you when you whine from the pain, “It’s okay princess, ‘promise it will feel good soon..” then he kisses your cheek.

When you get used to his size he’s moving in a slower pace than expected. But that doesn’t last long before he’s pounding into you, you’re so much better than the other girls who look like you. Caleb realizing that the real deal is so much better than he could ever dream of.

It’s a good thing Gran isn’t home because the noises you both are making are loud and desperate. Caleb praising you for how good your taking him,

“Takin’ me s’well pips, mmph fuck!”

“yes yes, atta girl, just like that, mhmm…”

“s’good baby, yer soo tight princess.”

then your coming around his cock, throwing your head back on his shoulder with a squeal.

And fuck, Caleb thinks, he might have to let that boy know what’s his. And Caleb doesn’t take kindly to another guy touching what’s his.

[imagines-archive]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[imagines-archive]

cw // NSFW. caleb loves when you control him.

caleb's a big man — in more ways than one. however, when he's near you? just an oversized ragdoll for you to manhandle as you please.

the first time he realized that, you were pointing at something for him to see. unfortunately, his attention was on something else, and after losing your patience, you tug at his necklace for him to lean down.

poor guy almost came on the spot. the action wasn't even remotely sexual, but the fact that you felt comfortable enough to boss him around, control him? oh that did caleb in.

somehow, you also caught on. his nervous smile and red ears were telltale signs that he was impacted, and boy, it was bound to be lots of fun for you.

so you tried it out more often. just some inconspicuous stuff to gauge his reactions! no harm in discovery, right?

when he was leaving for work, you'd roughly grab his face with one hand and bring him down to your level to press a kiss on his puckered lips. 

“have a lovely day at work, baby. go get 'em colonel!”

you spoke with the sweetest tone you could muster, and caleb's flushed face and lovestruck smile was a delight to see so early in the morning. wishing you a good day as well, he heads over to the fleet — only to find out he has a hard-on. caleb deals with it in his office, before heading out to train the cadets (who realize their ever so scary colonel is capable of sporting a smile).

the next instance was when you two were out and about in a supermarket, picking out the ingredients for hot pot tonight. you stare at caleb when an older gentleman heads your way with his cart, wobbling around — and a mischievous idea quickly forms in your head. you quickly tug caleb's arm, pressing his body against yours when you flash him a smile, “oops. a cart was headed your way. ”

the pilot can't maintain eye contact, his pants suddenly feeling way tighter than usual. you were going to be the death of him if you kept going, but caleb would be lying if he said that dying to your hands wasn't the best way to go.

the time that cemented it in both of your minds, though, was when you were straddling his lap and making out with him on the living room couch. caleb was taking over your mouth, kissing you like a starved man, and you desperately needed to catch your breath — so you tugged on his hair, hard, in order to separate him from your mouth.

his hips bucked up into yours when you did that, and as the realization hit him, a vicious red blush took over his face.

“fuck pips, you can't keep doing that.”

funnily enough, his words didn't exactly match his actions. when you tugged a little harder in response, his hands grabbed onto your hips and dragged you against his, your clothed core rubbing against his growing bulge. you moan against his ear when a sound between a whimper and a groan comes out of his mouth.

“hmm, but i think you love it, don't you?”

that might be the understatement of the century, caleb thinks. he doesn't just love it, he adores it when you play rough with him — so teasing and unfair, it makes him want to push your buttons, so you keep on doing it.

and that's exactly what he plans on doing when he throws you over his shoulder and starts walking towards the bedroom.

“i do. love it when you control me.”

🍎 pomme's notes — h.. hey.... alexa put on control me by colde....

[imagines-archive]

WEAR HEADPHONES!!

NSFW!!

Sylus and Caleb want to play a game. The game is fucking you.

All audio and sfx (except bgm) come from the game. No Ai.

[imagines-archive]

love is sour grapes | theo. nott

pairing: theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader

genre: fluff, angst (if you squint), unrequited love but not really, everyone is an idiot, self indulgent, not beta read.

word count: 5.9K

originally posted on ao3 on: 06/28/2022

"Uhm— would you like to—"

He turned to me calmly, the rest of his appearance devoid of emotions.

"—go out sometimes?" I finished. "As a Date?"

One, two, three beats passes and all Theodore did was look at me. No answer. No emotions. No words. Nothing.

Or Theodore is a quiet piece of shit and that leads to miscommunication and complicated feelings

Theodore Nott. The one constant thought that has been running through my head way too often for my liking. He was handsome, quiet, smart, lanky in all the right ways and never seemed to be engaged in a conversation —or at least one where he was talking instead of just listening and listening and listening.

Talking to him had always been one of my goals, it shouldn't have, really, it shouldn't. But somehow I had found myself more than just infatuated with him. 

Theodore was an observant person, if he noticed me studying him, he never confronted me about it. 

But, as my friend says it, Theodore Nott is sour grapes. Or, in better words, love is sour grapes. If this even was love that is. 

"I think you should just talk to him," Hermione says kindly. "I still don't think that he would be good for you but if you fancy him that much then go ahead." 

"If you want a death wish that is," Ron snickered. "Honestly, can't you have picked a better guy to fancy? I mean— Nott? Of all people."

"Do you want me to fancy Malfoy instead? Would that make you happy," I quipped, hearing Hermione hide a laugh between closed lips. "Or god forbid, you." 

Ron face contorted to one of offense. "I'm notthatbad." 

"Yeah sure," I murmured, with no malice. And turned to Harry who had been quiet about the situation ever since he found out. "What do you think?" 

Harry shrugged, looking startled. "I don't know," He said first, and then. "I think you need someone better than Nott. You're friendly and thoughtful—" he paused hesitantly. "—and you're quite awfully pretty." 

"Thank you, Harry." My eyes fell downwards with no real intention. I was none of those things. "But I don't think he'd agree." 

"What does it matter if he agrees," Hermione said loudly. "Harry's right. You're all of those things. It's his loss if he doesn't go out with you. You're fit, incredibly so. I would be happy if someone like you were to ever fancy me."

If Ron had a reaction to those words, neither Hermione nor Harry noticed. 

"Well," I said as a group of Slytherin walked into the Potions classroom. Potions would be starting any minute now, and I needed to head into class before Snape does. "I'll keep that in mind. If all fails, I'll just have to marry you, Mione." 

With a final smile, I bid them a quick goodbye and made my way into class. The three of them heading to which ever direction they needed to be. 

The class quickly starts, and Snape wasted no time in assigning me a potion to make. Invigoration Draught. The potion that energizes the drinker. How fun.

The ingredients were mostly easy to obtain. Peppermint, Honeywater, Stewed Mandrake then there's Dried billywig sting: my biggest nightmare.

I was only so tall and the shelves where the ingredients were stored stood so so high. I would've used a stool had it been free to use, but a Slytherin had already been occupying it and it would be rude if I were to take it away from them.

There was a cough behind my back, and then, a hand reached; over me and towards the exact thing I needed. Dried billywig sting: my new biggest enemy.

The person pulled back —jar filled with billywig in hand, and stood still as I turned to them. The jar had a decent amount of billywig in it, if they needed it I could still manage to ask for just enough for my potion. That is if they were kind enough to let me have some.

"Could I—" I paused mid-turn. There stood Theodore Nott in all his glory. Dark eyes, dark hair and facial features that looked like every part of him was chosen by Aphrodite herself, watching me with a raised eyebrow. "—uhm, could I have a few of those? I needed it for my potion but I couldn't reach it."

Theodore blinked once, looking unfazed and handed the jar over.

I blinked twice the time he did, opening up the jar; intending on taking out a few and handing it back over when he stopped me.

"I don't need it."

His voice.

"You don't?" I find myself asking, trying not to breathe too loud or to forget how to even breathe in the first place.

Theodore shook his head once. And reached up for something else. Had he seen me struggle and had gotten it just for me?

"Thank you," I tell him. Theodore nodded once, accepting it as it is. I think you should just talk to him. Goddamn it, Granger. "Uhm— would you like to—"

He turned to me calmly, the rest of his appearance devoid of emotions.

"—go out sometimes?" I finished. "As a Date?"

One, two, three beats passes and all Theodore did was look at me. No answer. No emotions. No words. Nothing.

Whether he was scrutinizing me or not, I didn't know. What I do know is that I was wrong and stupid. And my friends were wrong too.

He needed more than me. I might be friendly and kind and maybe quite awfully pretty. But Theodore needed more than me.

"You know what." I cleared my throat, smiling. "Forget I said anything. Have a good day, Nott."

•••

I had been down lately. My friends noticed that. Even Harry and Ron noticed it and they were as daft as they come. Whenever they asked me what was wrong I find myself telling them that I was just stressed over my O.W.Ls.

Which I was. But it was mostly a lie to cover up something I was more upset about. I had idiotically asked Theodore out and now I have to face the consequences of being rejected.

I think —in some ways— him having not even say 'no' or have given a clearer answer was more upsetting then if he had just said no out loud.

It was stupid of me to get my hopes up and think that anything else would've happened. It was stupid for me to even think I was in his league.

It was also late. I hated walking back to the common rooms in these hours but it was my fault for procrastinating my essay until the night before it was due so I had to rush the entire thing in an hour in the library. I had only hoped that Umbridge wouldn't punish me for being out pass curfew.

I had one more hall left to turn before I reached the Hufflepuff's barrels when someone shouted out my surname, halting me in my place.

Fast pace footsteps approached and then, donning from head to toe in pink was Umbridge. Fuck.

"What do you think you're doing out of your dorm at this time?" She asked quickly, her toad like face twitching with irritation.

"I was in the library and lost track off time," I quickly confessed. "I'm so sorry. My dorm's close by and I—"

"It was my fault professor." His voice. "I’d asked for her help and lost track of time. She was trying to head back before curfew but it seems like her efforts were to no avail. I can only hope you would excuse her and blame me for my faults."

Umbridge looked baffled. He talked? Theodore talked? She made that annoying noise that she can't seemed to get rid off. "Well." her voice laced with false kindness.

"I see no point in deducting any points." She then turned to me. "But I will be expecting to see you tomorrow for separating yourself from help at a time as late as this. Merlin knows, it's dangerous for a girl to wander alone at this time."

"Just me?" I asked, slightly confused.

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. "Do you expect Mister Nott here to be punished for wanting to make sure you got back to your dorm safe?"

That wasn’t what he— okay. Fine. Whatever.

"Now, go off," she said with a wave of her hand. "And Theodore, would you be so kind as to walk her back? I don't want to know the troubles she might cause when I let her out my sight."

Theodore nodded, doing as he was told and took a step forward. He looked behind his shoulders, his eyes meeting mine and tilted his head slightly: signaling that we should leave now before it gets worse.

I avoided Umbridge's eyes and stepped forward, trailing after Theodore. Detention. All because I was too lazy to finish my essay any other time I had.

I think I feel my eyes water. I think it feels harder to breathe. I don't know for sure how I feel exactly despite dejected and disappointed with myself.

If I had just made one different choice, I wouldn't have to have detention with the one professor known to physically harm the students. And to top it off, being walked back to my common room by the boy who recently rejected me whilst bottling up my feelings about everything I did wrong.

"You don't have to actually walk me back." I paid no heed to the crack of my voice. Theodore does though. "It's late." I pointed out the obvious. "You should go."

Theodore glanced at me quickly. His look was so quick that I suspected he had planned to only spare me a second of his time. But something about me, something about how vulnerable I must've looked, had him pausing.

"I shouldn't." He said slowly, his tone so attentively that it made me think that he had saw something in me that I never did. "I can't leave you."

"You can." I don't think I can handle being near him any longer, not when he was studying me so cautiously. "It's only a few steps away, I can assure you I'll be fine."

Theodore eyes flickered down the corridor quickly, finally tearing themselves away from me and looked forward, continuing towards the direction of my common room.

When we finally reached where we needed to be. Theodore stood back watching as I tapped the barrels carefully.

I looked over my shoulder once the path opens up. Smiling slightly when I found his eyes on me. "Thank you for taking the blame, Theo. You didn't have to and you did and spared me way too many house points. I really appreciate it."

He made a noise of acknowledgment, taking my word as it is. And then, as he was about to step away. "Goodnight."

•••

I think I hate life. I might be wrong but life sucks. Especially when you have to repeatedly write the same sentence over and over again with a magic quill that tears through your skin.

That can't have been a legal source of punishment but Umbridge made the rules so it was no use fighting her about it.

My hand hurts. Holy fuck, does it hurt. I don't even have to glance down at it for me to see my skin burning red, bleeding slightly. Curved out in the sentence. I will not be out pass curfew. 

"You alright there?" Came a voice. 

I looked up quick and abruptly, sure that I'll get whiplash from my actions; to find George Weasley watching me with interest. I smiled, subconsciously hiding away my hand. "I'm fine." 

"You sure?" He followed up. "You don't look too good."

I nodded, trying to look as reassuring as possible. "I'm fine, just got a paper cut is all." 

He fixes me a look of disbelief but let it slides. "You should go," he said with a small smile. "I think Ron's looking for you? Something about slimey snakes and what not." 

"Oh." The sound slipped out. "Thank you, I'll go find him." 

It was weird to see George without Fred but I decided that I didn't want to know why. They were probably setting up a prank and I had walked right through it. 

Bidding George a goodbye. I continued down the corridor, turned the corridor and found the trio standing by with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott by their sides. This can't be good. 

Is this what George referred to when he said Ron was looking me about some slimey snakes? 

"There she is," Malfoy said with mild annoyance. "We've been looking for you." 

"You have?" My eyes drifted to Hermione but she only shrugged, looking as clueless as I was. "Why?" 

Malfoy took a steps towards me. "You've been with Professor Umbridge?" 

"Yes." I nodded. "Why?" 

"Did she give you the quill?" 

What was he playing at? Why was he interrogating me? "Yes." I repeated. "Why?" 

Zabini rolled his eyes and step up, seemingly having enough of Malfoy's dramatics. "Here." He handed out a bottle. "It's Murtlap essence. Suppose to help you with the cuts. Nott made it for you." 

"He did?" I asked, taking the bottle of Murtlap essence from Zabini's hand. I turned to look at Theodore, finding his eyes glued to my bleeding hand that was grasping the bottle. Jerking my hand back, I smiled, thanking him. "Thank you for this, I really appreciate and for uhm— thanks again for covering for me last night." 

Everyone —all but Theodore and I— brows raised upwards, surprised. So they didn't know about what had happened last night.

Theodore showed no outwards reaction, having just watch me with a straight face and patient eyes. Then he turned to Zabini and tilted his head slightly. Zabini seemingly understood, slapped a hand over Malfoy's shoulder and with a goodbye, steered the blond boy away. 

"Bloody hell," Ron said exasperatedly. "Did that really happen?" 

"Nott made you Murtlap essence?" Hermione asked more to herself than anyone else. "How did he even know you needed it?" 

"I—" I stopped, glancing at my hand. "—I was out pass curfew and Umbridge caught me. Nott took the blame for it. I think Umbridge was too surprised with hearing him talk to properly acknowledge that he too was out of the dorms pass curfew. She said she won't take away any house points but gave me detention as a punishment." 

"That's all?" Hermione said. "Why would Nott take the fall for it and then proceed to make Murtlap essence for you if there wasn't anything in it for him?" 

"I don't know," I told her, shrugging. "He also walked me back to my common room and wouldn't leave me when I insisted otherwise." 

"Do you think." Ron started. "Maybe that Nott fancies you?" 

"No." I was quick to shake my head in disagreement. "He's doesn't. He's made that clear already." 

"He has?" Harry asked loudly, brows knitted together. 

"Yeah," I murmured. "That day I talked to the three of you. I asked him during class if maybe we could go out on a date sometimes and he didn't say anything. Not a yes. Not a no. Nothing." 

"That's terrible," said Hermione sympathetically. "Honestly, what kind of person rejects someone then proceed to do things as if they cared for them." 

"Hermione," said Harry cautiously, eyes shifting between me and her. "I don't think that does anything to soothe her nerves." 

"Sorry." Hermione blinked in realization. "It's just— you deserve better. I don't understand a thing Nott's doing and I don't want you to get hurt in the process." 

"He could be figuring out his feelings," Ron suggested making Hermione shoot a sharp glare his direction. Ron tsked. "I'm just pointing it out." 

"Well it's not helping." Hermione said in an obvious tone. Her eyes drifted down to my hand, scanning the words then looked back up. "I think you should head back and take care of your hand. You don't want it to scar now, do you?" 

I nodded, waving. "I'll see you at dinner?"

Hermione let out an agreeing hum and went on her way, Ron pestering her from behind. Harry hadn't moved though, looking at me with furrowed brows. "Could I maybe have some of your Murtlap essence?"

"Yeah." I handed it over. "I didn't know you had to endure Umbridge as well."

"Didn't think it was important to mention." He pulled out an empty ink pot from his bag and twisted it open, pouring just enough essence to not overflow it. Harry put the cap back on and handed it back over. "Don't tell Hermione or Ron, will you? I don't want to be a bother." 

" 'course." I smiled. "I won't tell anyone." 

•••

What are the chances that I get caught being out pass curfew twice in the same week. Pretty fucking high because I was once again being called out late at night. 

Two sets of foot steps stops before me and it took me roughly five seconds to realize just how grave the situation was. Draco Malfoy stood tall and smug with Hannah Abott by his side looking tired —if a little irritated by Malfoy's presence. 

"What are you doing out, badger?" Malfoy asked. 

"I was heading back from the kitchens." Malfoy made a face and glanced down at my outfit that looked way too overdressed to be heading down to the kitchens. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." It was clear that I was caught in a lie. Goddamn you, Radiohead concert. "I must've lost track of time." 

Hannah looked like she wanted to say something but bit her tongue. Not wanting any of her words to be counted as it being biased just because I was her dorm mate. 

And then, as I waited to hear Malfoy state just how many points he wanted to take away from my house. He said with annoyance, "you can go." Unfazed to the look of surprise that showed up on both mine and Hannah's faces. "Tell Nott he owes me one." 

•••

I don't think my head could —or will ever fully comprehend "tell Nott he owes me one." I don't know why exactly but that sentence feels way more ominous than it ought to be. 

ott does not owe him anything for letting me go. 

And I don't think I owe Nott anything for helping me be let go? maybe I could've phrased that better. What I meant to say is that: I owe Nott nothing for his friend's behavior towards me. At least I don't think I do. 

But things works in mysterious way. Like how —despite how ironic I find it— Nott always find out a way to help me out during potions. Especially when it came to the ingredients. 

Though that was the least of my concerns right now. My concern, for now, is revolved between the three books in my hand that I can't decide —for the life of me— which one to buy. 

On other occasions I would buy all three and went about my day but I had only brought enough money for one book and food for the rest of the day at Hogsmeade, and my friend didn't seem like they'd be heading back to Hogwarts for extra cash any time soon. 

I looked over my options once more, trying to figure out which one would be the bang of my buck. 

Option one: All Or Nothing, a novel about a girl trying to navigate relationships with the people she surrounded herself with and see whether they would react differently when she gave them her all, and then; how they would react when she gave them nothing. 863 pages. 

Option two: Glimpse Of Us, a novel about a boy who always —and I mean always, sees his ex in the girls he dates after her. 295 pages. 

Option three: Listen boy, a cheesy novel about a girl who had little to no interest when it comes to going on dates with guys but when her roommate compliments her on the socks she wore, she finds herself wanting to do nothing but go on dates with them. 530 pages. 

Both Glimpse Of Us and All Or Nothing seems like sad book. Maybe it's time for me to find some joy in my life —which seems to seize to exist after whatever happened between me Nott happened. As I turned, intending to put those two books back in their respective places. I was more than surprise to find Nott looking at me with a slight fascinated tilt to his head.

“Which is it?”

"Hmm?" I find myself humming. Should I pick All Or Nothing instead? Wouldn't that make me seem more intelligent than a book about a girl being in love with her roommate. 

"Which one have you chose?" He clarified, and I might've imagined it —no I definitely did because, Theodore Nott's lips did not just curve up at all. 

"This one." I lifted up whatever was in my right hand which just happens to be Listen boy. And there goes sounding more intelligent in front of Theodore. "It seems cute." 

"Is that all?" He followed up and it's then that I realize he was wearing a forest green that had no reasons to make him look as good as it did. Green really was his colour. "Nothing more?"

"No." I shook my head. "Ideally I would like two get these two as well," I told him truthfully. "But I only brought enough for one —technically two, if I stretched it out but that would mean no snacks for the rest of the day so it's a no." 

"I'll get it for you then," he says casually. Like it's something you say to someone you recently rejected. Like he was walking around, waiting for someone to tell him that they haven't brought enough cash for the other books they wanted. "Would you like anything else? I am more than willing to indulge you." 

"No, I don't." I stop myself. Yes, I mean. Because I really did want other books, especially if someone else was paying for it but I know that my poor heart cannot handle it. 

It is already breaking apart at how handsome he looked with his forest green jumper and black ironed pants. His hair, a usual dark brown, just the slightest tinge brighter under the sunlight (which is both a sight for sore eye and a rare view since I only ever see him in the dungeons, hunched over a bubbling pot and disgusting lightings) which flatters him in all the best way possible. 

And no, my heart is not picking up a million paces over I am more than willing to indulge you in that very tone of voice, in that very set of clothes, in very set of lighting, by that very Slytherin that I could not seem to get over.

"You don't have to," I insisted, trying to not shiver under his gaze. He narrows his eyes and it says way more than words could ever say. He knows he doesn't, he wants to. Oh lord save me. "Maybe this one? It's cheaper." 

"That was not my question," he said curtly. "I asked you if you'd like anything else, not which option was cheaper."

What are we even talking about now? Was he planning on buying me the three books in my hands and more or was he planning on letting me pay for my choice then pay for the others I couldn't afford. 

Is my face that much of an open book? Because, without even having to say it. Theodore had already answered my questions for me. "I'll buy you the three in your hands and anymore you'd like. I'd buy you the whole store if you wanted me to." 

I think I'm having a heart attack. Or dreaming. Or both. I can't tell. Maybe I'm dreaming while having a heart attack? Who knows. All I know is that Theodore Nott did not just say that. Did he? 

"No." I shake my head quickly, maybe even too quickly. "No, I— these three are more than enough. I promise to pay you back when we get back to school."

Theodore fixes me a look. One ridiculing me to the point that I wished —more than anything— that I was a bludger being hit so hard I pass through the most oblivious of oblivions. I'm so sure that that would be less stressful. 

"I mean it!" I press all three books to my side. "I promise, and I always keep my promise. I won't take advantage of your money, I will get it and find you as soon as I—"

I didn't see the point in finishing my words because he was smiling. And laughing. I think. It's a mixture of those two and it's so heavenly that I believe in everything ethereal alike. 

Theodore noticed my silence, the side of his lips curved the slightest bit (so so small and tiny that you couldn't even spot it), looking at me with clearly amused eyes. And then, "did you not hear me?" 

"What?" The words slipped out easily. 

"I told you I'd buy you the whole store if you'd like and you think I'd want my money back?" He said slowly. "I couldn't care less about the money. I just wanted to make you happy. Salazar knows, I've made you upset more often than I could count between my fingers." 

Now what the fuck was he on about. He has never made me upset —save for rejecting me that one time,  but I understood it, he didn't like me, that's that. I have gotten over. I think. But I'm more than sure that I could count that one event between his ten fingers.

Unless Theodore only had one finger? Does he? I cast a glance down to his hands and there are those ten fingers. Ten exactly. Not one short or one more. Ten and a couple of silver bands that made me want to do nothing but sit and stare at his long, pale, slim fingers. And how they would feel around my— nope, nope. Absolute not. 

"Merlin, we leave Nott alone and he goes around trying to find his girlfriend." Girlfriend? 

When the owner of the voice, Zabini, finally arrives before me and Theodore, I was no where near surprised to see the other Slytherins in their group by his side. 

Parkinson. Malfoy. And finally, Greengrass —whom I was actually friends with. 

"Well?" Zabini muttered, eyes shifting between me and Theodore, and then landing on him solely. "Are the pair of you planning on standing here the whole day?" 

"No," I said with narrowed eyes. "I don't know what he's doing here, I'm just trying to buy a book." 

Zabini raised a brow. "Is that all, princess?" 

"Pretty much." This feels like a trap. Is this a trap? "Are you planning on going somewhere with Theo?" 

"Theo," Zabini tsked with a smirk. "I've never once called him that and I've known him for about five year now. How cute is that." 

Yep. This is definitely a trap. I think I'm going to die now. 

Theodore, with a roll of his eyes, made his way to my side and pried at the books pressed to my waist. Confused, and a little daze at the warmth of his fingers grazing my hip, I let go of the three books and watched him with wide eyes. 

He seemed (and looked) unaffected by how everyone eyes were now on him. Walking around and picking another set of the exact books I'd picked out. Theodore paid for them without a word, asking for separate bags and handed a set over to me. 

And then, quietly he says. "Zabini's an idiot." He smiled a winsome one and I am so sure I'm dying and this —whatever this was— is just a figment of my imagination that my brain curated during my dying breath. "I like it. Don't ever stop calling me Theo." 

•••

Blaise Zabini is trying to be matchmaker. I'm sure of it. Or else he wouldn't be bothering me as much as he did now. I can't seem to peacefully spend time in the library without being interrupted by him. 

"Hello," he greeted, smiling as he sat opposing me. I raised an eyebrow and he was able to read me quick enough, telling me the reason he was here. "Just wanted to let you know that Nott finished those three novels he bought and he's looking for someone to talk it over with a cup of tea —or coffee, whichever one you prefer." 

Is he implying what I think he's implying? "Why is that any of my concerns." 

"I thought you might be interested." He shrugged. "Since you know, you fancy Nott and all." 

"I don't fancy Nott." I told him. An obvious lie, and Zabini knew that too. "And he doesn't fancy me so it's just a waste of time." 

"Nott doesn't fancy you?" He's laughing. He's actually laughing. What was so funny about the truth? "What makes you think that?" 

"He literally turns me down I when I asked him out," I said blankly. "It's pretty clear, isn't it?" 

"And what exactly did he say?" Zabini asked playfully, as if he was humoring me. 

"Nothing," I answered. "He just looked at me and said nothing, I don't think I need anything else to tell me that it's an obvious no." 

"Nothing?" Zabini repeated with a grin. "Have you heard of being speechless? Or better yet, you know Nott doesn't really speak right?" 

"That doesn't excuse him saying nothing when I asked him to go on a date," I countered.

"It doesn't," Zabini concurred. "But Nott's an idiot." Funny, Theodore said the exact same thing about Blaise. "Did you know Nott did Malfoy's work for a week without complain just because he let you go that one time you snuck out?" 

No. I don't say. Malfoy did say Nott owe him one but I hadn't thought it important. "What does that have anything to do with what you were talking about?" 

"Because," he says exaggeratedly. "Nott fancies you back. I suspected that he liked you since third year though he won't admit it. He won't even admit that he fancies you now but he's incredibly easy to read." 

I shut my book and looked at him. Really looked at him. Trying to gauge whether he was messing with me or telling the truth. "What am I supposed to do with this information?" 

"Ask him out again," he suggested lightly. "Give him another chance for being the biggest twat there is."

"And have him reject me again?"

"He won't," Zabini says calmly. "He'd burn the entire school down before even thinking of rejecting you." 

I hesitate. "I don't want to embarrass myself again."

"You won't," he says with a roll his eyes. "Look I know being rejected is hard, I think I get it. I've never been rejected before. But I also know that the both of you like each other just as much and it's getting tiring seeing you beat around the bush." 

"Nott won't make the first move. He thinks you hate him now for not answering when you ask so you'd have to ask again —if you still want to be with him that is. Do you? Or else I've been doing all this for nothing." 

Yes. I think. I'm pretty sure that I want to be with him. "Do you know where he is?" 

"Oh," Zabini said delightedly. "He's actually coming here right now. I told him I was coming to find you but never gave him a reason why. He'd be here any —speaking of the devil. Hello, Theo."

Theodore doesn't bother to return his greeting. Eyes heavily set on Zabini in a glare that had me shivering just from the side lines. Then his eyes turn to me and his glare on hardens. 

"Hi, Theo." I don't think I've ever since Theodore like this before. "What are you doing here?" 

"What did he do?" He asked instead. 

"Nothing," I said quickly. "He did nothing. We just talked." 

"About?" 

"Stuff."

"Stuff?" 

"Yes. Stuff." 

"What kind of stuff?" 

"Oh you know," I huffed. "The weather. Coffee. You." 

"Me?" 

"Yes." My lips fold itself into a thin line. "Actually Theo. Could I ask you something?" 

His gaze softens when he nods.I am more than willing to indulge you.I am so sure now, more than ever, that love really is sour grapes. 

"Uhm— would you like to—"

His eyes widened, large as saucers as he processed in my words.

"—go out sometimes?" I finished. "As a Date?" 

One, two, three beats passes and all Theodore did was look at me. No answer. No emotions. No words. Nothing. And I am briefly reminded of everything that happened. 

And then, "yes," he says. "Yes, I would." 

•••

Theodore really did read those books he bought me. This I knew now as I sat under the sun on one of Hogsmeade many benches with Theo to my left. 

This part of Hogsmeade was quiet, it wasn't too far from the shops but far enough for no one to frequent by. A few people passed by trying to move from destination to destination but none noticed the bench wedge into the middle of the place where two fifth years were sat, talking about everything and anything under the moon and stars. 

"So you liked it? You liked 'Listen, boy'?"

"I did." He was smiling and I wished more than anything that I'd had a camera to capture every smile he had given me during the pass hours. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," I laugh and his smile widens. "It just doesn't seem like you. It's a cheesy and corny book and you're always so dark and broody about everything." 

"I'm not dark and broody about everything," he denied. 

"You are!" I countered. "You were even dark and broody when I'd first asked you out."

"That's 'cause I didn't know what to say," he says truthfully. "You could've said yes, that would've made it easy for the both of us," I told him. "I really couldn't. You don't deserve just a yes. You deserved everything, not something so simple." 

"But that yes would've made my week, Theo." 

Theo looked like he was about to say something before he changed his mind. "I'm sorry I didn't say yes when you'd first asked me. Could you ever forgive me?" 

I want to kiss him until his lips, his skin, his hands, his scent, every tiny bit of him is imprinted in my mind. "Yes." I say. "Yes, I think I could." 

Theodore chuckled, his nose crinkling at the motion and something between that laugh and smile of his causes me to lose it. 

My hand reached forward first, palm pressing against his cheek, pulling him closer to me and pressed my lips onto his. I kissed him once then as I reached to pull away; I find that both of his hands had found their way to my cheeks, holding me still as he kissed me back. 

Theodore pulled back, the tiniest of smile on his lips that had the smallest smudge of my lipstick attached to it. And he tells me, as if he had been thinking of this for days, years, lifetimes. "You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen." 

And when I smiled, Theo leans back in. Peppering quick kisses on my lips, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, anywhere I would let him kiss me; he will cherish it. 

Once Theo finally pulls back —and this was for real this time, no more quick kisses. He looks at me and I know deep down that he will be the death of me when he says. "You are going to be the death of me."

— from bee: the thing about theo is that we know nothing about him so you can’t say that this is ooc :>

[imagines-archive]

lads LIs when you're hesitant to initiate kisses

sylus understands your hesitancy to make yourself vulnerable, but he also can't stand to see you unfulfilled. the first couple times he catches you staring at his lips, he offers nothing but lazy blinks and slow smirks, challenging you to come to him first. but when you look away in uncertainty one too many times, seemingly content to watch your own desires slip away as long as it saves you from embarrassment, he saunters toward you, maintaining eye contact all the way. placing one hand on your hip and the other on your chin, he bends to capture your lips with his, making you stumble with his intensity. his grip on you only tightens when he breaks the kiss, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he tugs you toward his lips. when you lose your balance and fall into his embrace, you realize his game: he’s making you kiss him first 

zayne empathizes with your shyness and hesitancy, afraid to so much as look at you the wrong way in case he offends you. since you’re both too frozen in overthought to make the first move, you don’t become intimate as quickly as most couples, trading physical closeness for emotional understanding. when he walks you to your door after a visit to the bakery, he leaves you with a warm goodnight hug, and you both assume the other is satisfied. only when you think he’s asleep on the sofa one evening and press a fond kiss to his cheek does he realize you share his private desires. the next day, after stoically psyching himself up for 20 minutes, he finds you in the kitchen and kisses you deeply, a pink tinge on his cheeks when he pulls away

caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?

you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.

xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips

a/n: anon who asked me if i’d ever write for zayne and i hinted at later this week this is not what i was talking about don’t worry, just an impromptu writing exercise to convince myself i’m not washed. also while this technically counts for xavier and raf i’m the least familiar with their cards so idk if/when i can write anything much longer than this for them (love them tho)

[imagines-archive]

WEAR HEADPHONES

NSFW

TLC from Doctor Zayne

Once again, all audio comes from the game except for the music. No AI.

[imagines-archive]

WEAR HEADPHONES!

NSFW

3 mins of Sylus eating you out and then fucking you.

All audio except for the music comes from the games. No AI.

[imagines-archive]

WEAR HEADPHONES!

NSFW

Xavier teaches you a lesson by fucking you from behind.

All audio and sfx (except for bgm) come from the game. No AI.