#also yes there's purple in the middle after all

[warningsine]

Move the point. Like we did before.

@emotionalsupportwarcriminal

[suzukiblu]

"Lex Luthor's latest character flaw" poll winner, "deciding he wants grandbabies and giving Robin a cloning lab about it". Behold, a new WIP strikes!!

“What,” Tim says, staring blankly at the brightly-lit and airy sunroom full of very obvious cloning technology in the very expensive penthouse that Lex Luthor’s bodyguards just dragged a handcuffed Red Robin and Spoiler into after kidnapping them straight off patrol in the Diamond District in the middle of an active crisis situation with the League of Assassins and disabling all their tech and every single one of their trackers six and a half hours ago, down to the bastardized Kryptonian-tech ones in their back molars and two more in both of their suits that Tim didn’t even know existed, plus the one he put in Steph’s collar that she didn’t know existed. Babs is probably just about feral by now. Bruce is definitely feral by now. 

And Lex Luthor is drinking what appears to be a neon purple protein shake out of a rocks glass while sitting at a neatly-arranged desk in the center of the sunroom lab, looking idly bored and scrolling through whatever’s on his phone with his free hand. 

Alright then, Tim thinks carefully. 

“There you are, I was starting to wonder if I’d gotten al Ghul riled up for nothing,” Luthor says, barely glancing up from his tablet. 

“. . . which al Ghul,” Tim asks with wary dread. 

“All of them,” Luthor says, setting down his tablet to give him a pleasant smile. 

Well, now Tim knows why nobody’s dropped in a skylight to rescue them yet. And also why half of Gotham is currently on fire. 

“Uh,” Steph says, glancing around the sunroom lab. “So like, lead-lined glass in here, then, or . . . ?” 

“We’re in Connecticut, so no,” Luthor replies dismissively. “Anyway, the Boy Scout always gets suspicious of too much lead in one place. Which I personally find darling, since anyone in Metropolis without at least a lead-lined and soundproofed bedroom is essentially asking for Kryptonian voyeurs, whether intentionally or not on said Kryptonians’ parts. Also, privacy laws exist for a reason. As do patents, copyrights, attorney-client privilege, HIPAA . . .” 

“Connecticut?” Steph repeats incredulously. “What the frick is in Connecticut?” 

“Currently, us,” Luthor replies matter-of-factly. “Hope, Mercy, do me a favor and go check the security systems manually, just in case any invasive species of vermin have gotten into them. Also, yes, there is kryptonite, and no, there is actually much more than you’re theorizing.” 

“You have literally no idea how much kryptonite we’re theorizing,” Steph says as the bodyguards both leave with an affirming nod. Luthor gives her a pitying look, then turns his chair a few degrees towards Tim. Tim immediately expects the inevitable threat or ultimatum, and braces himself for–

“I’d apologize for all the fuss, but I don’t actually care about inconveniencing you and don’t see the point in pretending I ever would,” Luthor informs him. Tim stares blankly at him again. What is even happening right now? “Now then, what are your intentions in regards to ‘Supernova’, as I hear someone’s started calling himself now. ‘Themself’? I’m not sure if ‘Supernova’ is meant to be gender-affirming or more a ‘too old to stick with ‘Superboy’ but there are already three ‘Supermen’ active and the whole, you know, general stubborn individualism they’re so fond of. Or ‘he’s’ so fond of. Whichever."

Tim stares at him. 

“Is this supposed to be a trap for Supernova or a shovel talk for me?” he asks, because a) he’s not telling Lex Luthor anything about Kon’s gender or personal choices that Kon hasn’t publicly stated, and b) only Lex Luthor would actually kidnap two active vigilantes in the middle of a crisis he’d apparently pre-arranged to give a–well, no, Bruce would also do that, definitely. But this is not a Batman talk, either way. 

Batman’s “talks” all involve tests, for one thing, so actually so far this is an improvement. 

“It’s an engagement present,” Luthor says pleasantly. 

Tim’s brain crashes, then does the slowest reboot of his life. He’s recovered from concussions faster, he’s pretty sure. 

“They’re . . . not engaged, though?” Steph says skeptically. “Or, like, even dating?” 

“Red Robin’s commitment issues are his own problem, not mine. I’ve got a schedule to keep,” Luthor replies dismissively.

[midnight-pluto]

SAY ON SKIBIDI — damian w.

After an unfortunate incident involving a ball and your kneecap, you get sent to the nurses office with Damian in tow. In the isolation of the office, Damian tells you something that makes your mind short-circuit, and proceed to make him say that he means it.

contains: bsf!damian x reader, fluff, brainrot, swearing, humor, they're in middle school — both 14 years old, mention/description of injury, reader doesn't know damian is robin, short fic

a/n: this is the most brainrot thing i've ever written but i found this idea hilarious so i had to write it out

P.E. IS A stupid elective to have is what you've concluded. Sure, you've always thought that but you were normally able to sit out of most of the activities since all they cared about was the no phones rule and sometimes cared about what shoes you wore. You were content with that though.

You could spend the whole hour yapping Damian's ear off and he never objected to it all throughout the countless amount of times you did so. That was something you were thankful for since he was surprisingly a fantastic listener despite himself also being a yapper.

However, the one time a game has mandatory participation in P.E. is the one time you get hurt. What was the game? Dodgeball, because of course it had to be dodgeball along with the kids with the super good aim for some reason all being on the other team. Minus Damian, mainly because you begged him to stay.

Was it a good call though? Not sure since he'd end up by your side regardless of what team he was on, in the nurses office.

"What was the name of the boy who hit you?" the nurse asked, walking through the door, ice pack in hand.

"Dunno," you simply responded, gently taking the ice pack from her. Nodding your head in thanks, you wince a little at the contact with your ugly purple bruise and the sheer coldness of the ice pack.

"You both can stay here for the rest of the period which will end in," she cranes her head to look at the clock behind her, "roughly fifteen minutes or so."

"Thanks."

"Thank you," Damian nods.

The nurse smiles in response. "It's not a problem," she says before she exits through the door and closes it halfway.

Once he could no longer hear the soft sound of her shoes stepping on the cold tile floor, Damian lets out a sigh. "That dude really needs to watch how hard he's throwing things."

"I know," you scoff, gently pressing down on your bruise with the ice pack, "But it's whatever I guess, he didn't intend on seriously hurting me anyways. I don't think so at least."

He merely tsk's at your statement. "How can you be so nonchalant when someone hurts you? Intentionally or not, how can you act so normal about it?"

You tilt your head in confusion at his words, "What do you mean by that?"

He just looks at you for a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind, I just don't want to see you hurt. Physically or emotionally."

"Is... Is this your way of saying you care about me?"

"Do you really need me to say it out loud for you?" Damian sighed.

"Yes," you eagerly nodded, a smug smile on your face as Damian ran a hand through his black strands; head hanging low as he slouched against the wall he was leaning on.

"I care about you," he lifted his head to look you in your eyes.

Your smile soon turned into a wide-toothed grin at his words when a brilliant idea popped into your head. "Say on skibidi."

"Excuse me?"

"Say on skibidi. Say on skibidi that you care about me," you repeated.

"The brainrot has gotten the better of you, you're going to need more than just that ice pack," he deadpans.

"Wow! That's so mean," you gasp, lifting the ice pack slightly to glance at the bruise which has now turned into an icky yellow color. "C'mon, just say it."

"This is shameful," he says exasperatedly. "On skibidi," he visibly shudders, spitting out the word as if it were profanity, "I care about you." His head was turned away, facing the nurse's bathroom door instead of you with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Yipee!" you laugh at his facial expression when he turned his head back towards you, Damian's lips curled into a frown as well as an eyebrow twitching in annoyance. "See? It wasn't that hard to say."

"My pride has taken irreparable damage, I will never recover from this experience," he monotonously said.

"Now you're just being dramatic!" you huff out, "Are you really incapable of being silly?"

He pauses for a second as if in thought, "Maybe."

Truth was, it was a reoccurring thought that passed through his mind multiple times whenever he hung out with you. Being so carefree and open was never a luxury he got to have, even when he moved in with his father he still felt some form of obligation of stoicism in the manor.

"Wow, we really need to find a way to heal your inner child," you mention offhandedly paying more attention to your knee, not noticing the way Damian's eyebrows rose.

"Maybe," he muttered, barely audible enough for you to hear. His inner child, huh? He didn't know if it was still there at this point but your antics made him self-aware of the reality that he's a child soldier, his childhood wasn't the same as his peers and he knew there would always be a disconnect.

Though, maybe he could finally live as a child instead of a soldier around you.

a/n: turned more into a character study at the end there and it was kinda bittersweet but womp womp

[mistywaves98]

DILF SCARA! no bcs (middle-aged) Scara being our college prof 🤷🏻‍♀️. airhead y/n! wearing a slightly revealing top, being told to stay after class for a 'talk' but then Mr. Mouche ends up finger fucking y/n over his desk... OKAY IM SO DOWN BAD

This got me racking my brain. Also heads up, I zoned out a LOT while writing this so it might suck

✧･ﾟ:* ->Dilf Teacher! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Age gap (Scara is late 20s - early 30s n Reader is early 20s), Fingering, One use of Petnames, teacher x student trope, not proofread!

The confused look on your face when you entered Scaramouche's office after class was so adorable, he had to keep himself from pouncing on your right then and there. As you sat on the chair in front of his desk, it took all his willpower not to let his gaze drop to the delicious view of your cleavage sitting just below your collar bones. He was so focused he didn't realize that he hadn't even spoken yet, it was only your sweet voice that brought him out of his head,"Sir...? You called me in for a talk?"

The worry in your tone was evident. Did you do something wrong? Were your grades dropping?? Scaramouche cleared his throat as he clasped his hands together on top the surface of the table,"Ahem— Yes, miss [Name]. I did call you in for a light discussion about...upholding. I noticed that you're wearing...quite the revealing top today. In case you didn't realize, it violates the school's dress code. And thus, I'll have to punish you." Truly it was an exaggeration, the top wasn't really a violation at all. But how could he pass up the opportunity like this?

You were more puzzled than ever, glancing down at your clothes to see if they really did show off as much skin. When you looked back up to protest, you realized that Scaramouche was now standing behind you,"...What are you doing? Sir...?" He didn't answer as his hands suddenly grasped your waist, lifting you from the chair with ease. You squeaked in surprise as he pushed you onto the table, knees still supported by the chair and making your back arch slightly. This position gave him a clear view of your rapidly dampening panties under your skirt, the sight making him smirk as he clicks his tongue.

"Tsk tsk. Such a naughty girl, wearing such a short skirt. It's like you're asking to be slutted out. Look how wet you are already...I'll definitely have to punish you for this." Scaramouche tuts as he brings up a hand to press two fingers against the wetness, making you squirm as he shakes his head, long purple locks framing his face perfectly. Your face burns as you finally come to figure out exactly what kind of 'punishment' he was talking about.

His slender fingers continue to rub against your clothed slit, relishing the way your panties clung to your folds as they became soaked with your arousal. The friction provided by the movement of the fabric against your pussy making you mewl as your hands gripped the edge of his desk, your head craning back to try and look at him. When Scaramouche decides he's worked you up enough, he slides your panties down to settle above your knees, revealing your dripping pussy to him.

The obvious erection in his pants was tempting him to just stick his dick into you right then and there, but he wanted to tease you a bit, it was punishment after all. He moved his thumb to circle around your throbbing clit, causing you to inhale deeply as his other digits ghosted your entrance. It was frustrating, all this rubbing was making you needy, your pussy clenching around nothing. Scaramouche could see that and the image of your desperation was thrilling.

Slowly, he eased the tip of his ring and middle finger into your cunt, groaning softly at the already tight squeeze, "You're eager for this, aren't you?" Your whine told him all he needed to know, as he gave you another inch of his fingers. You tried to push back your hips to make his fingers go deeper, wiggling then slightly for friction. He quickly used his other hand to push your back onto the cold desk, holding you in place as he chided you about being impatient.

Suddenly, Scaramouche shoves the remaining length of his fingers into you, the squelch resonating throughout the room, eliciting a hiss from you. He finds a steady pace, eyes fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your slick heat with each thrust. You clamped a hand over your mouth, all too aware of the fact someone could be walking by. He knew this as well, but the risk of being walked in on was riling him up as he increased the speed of his digits.

Your essence dripped onto the seat of the chair, creating a dark spot that would have to be cleaned. But for now, Scaramouche's main concern was making you cum all over his fingers, right here in his office. The sounds of your muffled whimpers, combined with the feeling of your tight walls was making him breathless, hair sticking to his flushed face as his thumb got back to work on your swollen bundle of nerves.

The stimulation was making your head fuzzy, and it didn't help that whenever he curled his fingers you could feel the rough pads of their tips press right against the spot that made your legs feel like jelly. Your orgasm was pending, and you knew it wouldn't be long before were pushed over the edge. The slight change in the pitch of your moans was a testament to that. And Scaramouche noticed this too, "Hmm, what's this? You're gonna cum? Then cum for me, make a mess all over my fingers.."

No one needed to tell you twice. With a low cry, you came undone, back arching as your juices coated his digits. The sensation made him smile as he helped you ride out your high before slowly pulling them out to examine the way your juices shone in the dim light of his office. Now that he'd made you cum once, Scaramouche figured you'd be ready for the next step. He held you down as you tried to get up, making your glossy eyes look up at him in confusion,"Ah ah, where do you think you're going? We're not done just yet..."

With a quick shift in position— the chair pushed aside, leaving your trembling legs to support you —he now stood directly behind you. His pants were already unbuckled, it along with his boxers pulled down to reveal his cock aching for attention as pearly globs of precum dribbled from the tip,"I think we'll be here for a while, so brace yourself, princess..."

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing 1890s Day Dress in Doll Scale

I went slightly overboard with this second historical doll project. Here's my first one. The style is from around 1897 and more of a middle class style. As with my first doll outfit, I tried to stick to historical methods as much as possible, but the scale forced me to do some deviations. I hand-sew everything though sewing machine was already widely used, because in this scale it's easier to control the stitch, there's not that much to sew anyway and also I just really like hand-sewing. Here's all the items I made. As said, I went a little overboard. One thing that's missing is the corset cover, but the layers of fabric were creating enough bulk on the waist as is so I decided to not make one.

This time I decided to try repainting the face. I don't have any doll customization materials, so I used acrylics. After couple of attempts I got decent results. Acrylics can't make as smooth and delicate finish as pastels, pencils and gouache, which can be used on vinyl with basing sprays, and I'm not experienced with painting small details on 3D objects, so it's a bit smudged at points, especially with the other eye. I aimed for 1890s very neutral make up and the type of expression that was popular in fashion plates and other illustrations.

Undergarments

Combinations and stockings

The combinations are split crotch as they were in the period. They are from thin cotton voile I have a lot of and is very appropriate. I didn't have really tiny enough lace for this, so it's kinda bulky, but I think it's okay enough. The stockings are cotton knit, which fits well. The garters are not actually necessary for this doll since her legs are rubbery.

Corset

I made the corset from a firm-ish linen and satin rayon pretending to be silk as the fashion fabric. The stitching of the boning channels is not super neat, this fabric is very unforgiving, I didn't have exactly matching thread and the scale made it very difficult. I of course didn't have tiny busk, so I used small hooks, sewed thread loops for them and used narrow metal wire for the edges. I think it looks surprisingly right on the outside. I used the same wire as the boning to reinforce the lacing on the back. I didn't actually use boning elsewhere but the tightly packed linen edges in the boning channels kinda work like lighter boning. I think it keeps the shape pretty ways even with just that. I stitched cotton tape inside to shape the corset further. I also didn't have tiny metal eyelets so I hand-sewed the lacing holes.

Bustle pad

The bustle pad is from linen and stuffed with tiny cabbage.

Petticoat

The petticoat is from the same cotton as the combinations.

Outer wear

Skirt

The fabric is cotton half-panama. It's pretty thin, but firm. I would have liked to use a woven wool, but I didn't have any that's thin enough to work in this scale. I think this cotton looks close enough in this scale to a wool with a tight weave, so I'm imagining it's that. My problem was that the cotton was white, but I wanted light brown. I wasn't going to buy any fabric for this, so I did the reasonable thing and dyed it with red onion peals (I've been doing natural dye experiments so this worked well for me).

Shirtwaist

The shirtwaist is from the same cotton as the undergarments. Yes, I dyed it too. I didn't have thin enough cotton in a color that would fit with the skirt and the purple bow, so I dyed it light blue with fabric color. Since I already went the trouble of dyeing I decided I might as well make a small flower print to it since that was popular in the era. I didn't want it to jump out too much but the lighting makes it even less visible. I made it with a white fabric pen. The collar and cuffs are reinforced with linen. I also sewed small stick-like beads to the cuffs on both sides, so one acts as a button (I sewed a buttonhole too) and the other makes it look like they are cufflinks. The bow is from the same fabric as the corset and the belt is sewn from the same cotton as the shirtwaist. The buckle is from a barbie belt.

Waistcoat

The waistcoat is from the same fabric as the skirt, thought the lapels and the back are from another satin rayon. I tailored the front panels and the lapels by stitching the linen interlining with tailor's stitches (I don't remember if that's the correct word in English) into shape. There is some wonkiness on one side of the hemline for some reason.

Boots

I made the slightly insane decision to make the shoes fully from leather, like they would have been in the period. I had an old broken leather wallet I had saved in case I needed some leather scarps. It has fairly thin leather, so it was workable here. It's light brown though, so I used black shoe polish to darken it. I wanted black or very dark brown shoes. I stacked the heels from glue and leather pieces and carved them into the right shape and sewed the shoe itself to leather shaped as the sole and glued it to the heeled and shaped sole. After I had shaped the shoes and the heels as much as I could I painted the heels black.

[risuola]

hi I hope you’ve been doing well <3 could you possibly write Gojo making female reader! cry during s^x and her using her safeword? basically the aftermath of that as well. tysm 🫶🫶

SAFE WORD — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Satoru got back home angry and that got him carried away. contains heat, regret and aftercare.

cw: smut, rough sex, usage of safe word and aftercare, reader discretion is advised — 1k words

a/n: hiii anon! thank you, i’m fine! could I possibly write for gojo? yes. no matter what, the answer most likely is yes, soooo without further ado-

Fucking cowards. The higher ups, with that rotting bastard Gakuganji included. Always so mouthy while hiding behind matted veils, always forcing their authority over everything Gojo does, always expecting something that stands against everything he believes in. The hell did they even mean when they tried to order him to hunt down a kid that they think might be a threat. A kid?

“Satoru, slow down-“

And they really thought that he, Satoru Gojo, will jump into action to execute a teenager that probably have no idea what is even happening to him? The boy was at most sixteen. Those assholes, they really fucked up his mood.

You noticed Satoru wasn’t exactly in the right space of mind when he came back home, later than usual, smashing the doors behind him and throwing his jacket off carelessly. It had to be a bad day, you knew him well enough to recognize it and with some amount of certainty, you could tell he got caught up with the higher ups. They had an unparalleled ability to make Gojo loose his cool and you really hated seeing your love so upset, so when he grumbled a little hi against your neck, you took him to bed in hopes to relieve some of the tension.

But Satoru’s mind was somewhere else when he was pounding into you ruthlessly, unloading his frustration with his hips colliding with yours time after time, each one harder, stronger, harsher. His mouth wandered all over your neck and chest, leaving bruises and bite marks and you tried to slow him down by tugging at his hair, pushing at his abdomen and scratching his back, but with no effect.

“Shh, you can take it, sweets,” he mumbled an auto-response, picking up the pace even more and pressing your wrists onto the mattress above your head, somewhat annoyed at the way you tried to push him away. Satoru sometimes forgets how strong he really is, how easily he can overpower you with his looming presence but usually, you can take his rough side with pleasure. You really can, and you also like the harsh attitude he sometimes gives you, so contrasting to his usual playful nature, but now he seemed to forget that if he wishes to be the bad guy he really has to put in effort to prepare you for that. This time, as he got up home so worked up and so in his head, he skipped all of the foreplay, cutting straight to the chase and it might have been still fine if he went slower. But he didn’t.

“Satoru, please, it hu- ah-“ you tried to bring him back from his mind but all it did was to push his buttons more. And when he squeezed your wrists harshly, you felt like your bones might just snap underneath the sheer force of his grip. A tear that rolled down your cheek went unnoticed, as his face was buried in the crook of your neck, leaving purple his marks all over the delicate skin over your racing pulse.

“Pikachu!”

Gojo’s mind snapped to place in a split of a second. Every picture he had in front of his brain dissolved into nothing, as suddenly he became painfully aware of his current position. An endless chain of apologies spilled from his mouth as he pulled out and wrapped both of his arms around your middle, rolling onto his back and cuddling you to his chest.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, baby,” he cooed tenderly, kissing your wrists profusely, then kissing your neck, going over every spot he had left there, surprised to even see all of the bruises and teeth marks showing on your skin, because he didn’t even register when he made them. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“It’s alright, Satoru,” you muttered, feeling yourself relaxing finally in his warmth. “I’m alright, don’t apologize.”

“I made you cry, my baby, I’m sorry,” he said again, pulling the covers over your bodies and tucking you carefully.

“Satoru, love, I’m okay,” you reassured, pressing your lips to his chest, trying to calm him down. It wasn’t often that Satoru was in the state of panic and you could feel him sliding into one as he caressed you, afraid that he’s hurt you.

In Gojo’s mind, all what just happened was nearly equal to him straight up beating you and that, he couldn’t forgive himself. How could he get so carried away to hurt you? It didn’t make sense, you didn’t deserve it and so, afraid you’ll leave him, he tightened his hold on you, whispering more and more sorrys into your hair, and you listened, allowing him to spill it because if he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t sleep for a month.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed finally, shifting slightly and resting your chin on his sternum, “what happened today? Did you talk to the elders?”

By the way he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, you could tell you hit the spot.

“Do you know what they ordered me to do?” he threw, smoothing his hand over your hair. “They wanted me to hunt down a teenager and kill him. A literal child.”

“Aaand, did you tell them to go fuck themselves?”

“Of course I did.”

“Good boy,” you praised, smiling softly and reaching up to cup his cheek. “So, we’re gonna need to find that kid and take care of him before they order someone else to kill him, huh?”

“I guess so,” he finally let his features soften enough to curve his lips up. The warm feeling of your palm against his face made all of his worries go away and he kissed your hand few times and your wrist also for good measure. “But I can’t believe they had the balls to ask me something like this knowing what I stand for. They even dared to argue with me, threatened to remove me, can you imagine?”

“Don’t worry baby,” you chuckled, moving up and hovering your mouth above his. “I’ll protect you from those old farts, you don’t need to be so tensed and afraid.”

“Ah, that’s a relief,” he lightened up, glancing at your lips with anticipation, but instead of kissing him, you rested your forehead against his, touching noses as your thumb softly brushed over his cheekbone. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[lowkeyrobin]

Hi could I request a Carlos De Vil x reader where maybe she is the daughter of Roger and Anita Radcliffe from 101 Dalmatians. Maybe it could be like an enemies to lovers situation but not necessarily enemies cause Carlos is such a sweetheart

IM SOBBING YES YES YESSSSSS ; also fair warning I only write gn / they/them readers so I keep everything pretty in the middle so everyone feels included haha ; but thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy 🫶

CARLOS DE VIL ; a new story

summary ; yours and carlos' parents were enemies in their stories, but you and carlos, not so much

warnings ; language

track ; something new, tokio hotel

word count ; 1.6k

masterlist

You knew the story of Cruella De Vil and your parents one hundred one dalmatians. It was told to you as a bedtime story every night you asked for it growing up. So, naturally, you'd grown a distaste for Cruella De Vil, and her son who'd you'd just found out existed, Carlos.

You never sported a fancy dress or a tux, considering you worked with dogs.

During the VK's second day in Auradon, their search for their next class led them past your little pasture of grass where you worked with and trained dogs. From Yorkies to German Shepherds, you had them all.

But you'd unfortunately caught their attention as they passed by, your loud shouting and jogging leading them to you. Mal opens the door, Carlos behind her shivering and shaking at the sight of dogs.

"What are you doing?!" He asks her

Mal rolls her eyes. "Seeing what they're doing with all these dogs"

The four approach you, nearly scaring the hell out of you with their bright hair and clothes. They'd snuck up on you while you had your back turned, in your defense.

"Oh, hello! You must be the new kids?"

Mal nods. "Mal, Maleficent's daughter"

She accepts your handshake as you introduce yourself. "Y/n. Rodger and Anita Radcliffe's kid. Y'know, Cruella De Vil and the dalmatians?" You chuckle

Mal, Evie, and Jay all look over at Carlos, practically pretzeling himself as he holds his arms to his chest, feet stuck together to make himself a smaller target for all the dogs.

"Evie, daughter of Evil Queen" The blue haired girl smiles.

"I'm Jay" The boy with the long hair flexes his muscles.

Mal snaps at Carlos.

"Uh- Carlos."

"Cruella De Vil's son" Mal smirks.

You blink, staring at the boy. "Uhm, so! Why are you guys here? Shouldn't you be in class?"

Mal shrugs. "We'll be fine. What's with all the dogs?" She asks, watching a pitbull nearly tackle you as it jumps on you.

You giggle, rubbing his back. "I train dogs" You answer, looking back up at her.

"At school?"

You shrug. "Better than on the street. Fairy Godmother allowed it cause I'm such an excellent student" You give them a fake smile, knowing your grades were fairly average, maybe just below. "But, it's either this or they get killed" You shrug, "I work with cats as well, but my friend Marie is mostly in charge of that"

"Let me guess..." The purple haired girl begins. "Marie, like those three little talking kittens?"

You nod. "You can play with them," you say, referring to the dogs, "I'm not gonna tattle on you for skipping, I couldn't care less."

Carlos shrieks, jumping onto Jay's shoulders quickly as a small dog attempts to jump on him, wanting attention. Your eyes quickly widen, looking up at him. You look back at Mal, curious as to why he was so jumpy.

"He'll tell you" She snickers, her and Evie walking off to play with one of the smaller dogs.

Jay shoves Carlos off his shoulders, leaving him cowering in fear to chase after one of the larger dogs. Carlos stands still, staring at you while the dogs bark and growl, playing with each other and with his friends.

"Why are you so scared of dogs?" You chuckle, picking a little Shitzu up, holding her in your arms.

"My mom told me that dogs are little demons that eat boys when they're bad" He answers quickly, the words falling out of his mouth. His eyes are running wild, trying to make sure none of the dogs approached him.

Your expression softens, realizing he's not some evil asshole that you'd thought he was at first. Christ, he wasn't gonna hurt these dogs, he couldn't even be within the same space as them.

"Well, your mom lied to you. These dogs are the nicest creatures on this Earth, they wouldn't ever think of purposefully hurting you, let alone think of eating you" You chuckle, scratching the ears of the dog in your arms.

A slightly wide eyed look appears on his face, like he couldn't believe that his mom would lie to him about that, especially so much to create a phobia. But, it made sense to him, she's lied before, she treated him like some servant to her.

"You wanna hold her?" You ask him, referring to the dog in your arms.

He quickly shakes his head no, still a little too scared to wanna face his fear. For all he knew, you could've been lying to him.

"That's fine," you softly smile, trying to make him feel comfortable. You could tell he was a bit less tense, but you tried keeping things calm for him. The audible laughter of his friends fills your ears, seeing them practically playing tag with a handful of the dogs. "You don't have dogs on the Isle, do you?"

He shakes his head again.

"Well, feel free to do as you please. I don't think your friends wanna leave anytime soon"

"I don't think so either"

It'd been a while since your first encounter with the new VK's. But, you didn't think they were some delinquents with no hope for a future like others did, they were just misunderstood and needed a chance to succeed.

Carlos, by himself, had come down to your spot one afternoon.

You were occupied with brushing the shed fur off the longer haired dogs, working on a retriever when he entered.

"Hi" He shyly smiles.

You turn back to look at him. "Oh, hey, Carlos!" You smile. "What's up?"

"I don't think dogs are evil anymore"

"Good" You chuckle. "What changed your mind?"

He shrugs. "You"

You roll your eyes, turning back to the retriever to hide the fact your face was heating up.

"You need any help?"

You stop yourself, looking back at him. "If you'd like to"

He smiles, approaching you to help.

"Just hold her paws like this. She likes squirming"

"She's pretty"

"She's got a hell of a coat"

He jumps as the dog barks, wanting out of your grips.

"Calm down, it's almost over"

Carlos was still kinda jumpy with dogs, even after he'd been on the tourney team for nearly a year. You, in honor of his growth with his exposure to his fear, decided to give him a dog to finish his exposure therapy. That was all his idea, you never thought for a second to try and force him to get along with dogs.

But, he wanted to be closer to you, which meant he'd have to get used to the dogs.

To be totally open and honest, he'd quickly developed a crush on you. Crush as in he was totally, completely in love with you.

He adored your soft smiles of encouragement and reassurance, how you were so kind and understanding, how you saw him for who he was. A lot of people assumed that he and his friends were pure evil, not thinking for a moment that maybe since they were raised by and to be villains, that they had things backwards but had grown into good people. You did that for him like how Ben did for Mal, how Doug did for Evie, how Lonnie did for Jay.

He just wanted to love you, to hold you close, and thank you for being truly you.

If he had to admit it, he'd be honest about how he was damn near mortified of you after hearing who your parents were, thinking that you were just like the retelling of your parents in his mother's stories. Thank God you'd exposed him to the true story and proved to him that you weren't some asshole.

He never expected to fall in love with you like this, your stories of the past told in the present, just a little backwards. How funny would it be to explain how your parents were rivals in the past and you'd fallen in love? How ironic.

He knew at least that your parents liked him, he was not planning on introducing you to his mother though, if that ever could've happened. The barrier still being up was the perfect excuse not to.

But, he desperately wanted to ask you a very specific question, something that could really make or break your relationship.

"Do you wanna go to the cotillion with me?"

"Sure" You shrug. "But, I do have a little surprise for you"

"Hm?"

You stop yourselves on the path in the woods. You whistle, causing a dog to sprint up to you from the woods. He stops at your feet, barking at his arrival. You smile, picking him up, handing him to Carlos.

Carlos, confused, looks up at you.

"His name is Dude. Don't ask about that. But he's yours. He needs a home, you're a pretty fit candidate" You smile

Carlos happily pouts. "Why are you?-"

"Because I can" You shrug. "And you've come a long way with your fear. I'm proud of you"

He scratches Dude's ears, a happy smile upon his face. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome"

"I still don't understand how or why you decided that I needed a dog, but I appreciate it"

At the cotillion, you and Carlos, after Uma's final attack, dance in the pool of water together, soaking yourselves while Mal and Ben dance together. Evie and Doug and Jay and Lonnie do as well, eyeing yours and Carlos' looks at each other, like you had hearts in your eyes.

You both jump in the water, splashing each other with it purposefully.

"Stop!" Carlos laughs, picking up a cupped handful of water to splash your face.

"Oh, you're dead!" You giggle, doing the same to him.

"Watch out, lovebirds!" Mal laughs, running past you two as Ben chases her.

"Lovebirds?"

"Do not act oblivious." Evie rolls her eyes playfully. "Just kiss already"

[hysteria-things]

english isn’t my first language so i probably wrote something wrong

but

can u write smut with matt or chris (i don’t care who) where it’s readers first time receiving oral

WOULDN'T MIND

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve been talking to this kid from your school, and the first hang out with him will be something to remember.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing, making out, marking if you squint, titty playing lol, fingering, oral (female receiving), masturbation (male)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 907

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hello <3

being in the talking stage can be scary. on your birthday a few months ago, you got a notification on snapchat that read: chris sturniolo wants to be your friend!

you heard his name get thrown around all over school, so it wouldn’t hurt to add him back, right? what you don’t know is that this is the kid you’ll be almost dating.

the two of you lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and discussing whatever your minds think of. this is the first time you guys hung out outside of school, and you can sense that something’s there. even though your friends told you the talking stage is the most dangerous.

his head rests gently on yours, some strands of hair tickling your face. “you never had a boyfriend, right?”

you chuckle, solemnly from embarrassment, but nod. “nope. i haven’t even had my first kiss yet.”

he only lets out a hum, and then it’s silent. your mind races with a million negative thoughts.

he is so going to kick you out of his house. he’s never going to want to speak with you again. he thinks you’re a loser—

“i wouldn’t mind being the first.”

eyes widening, you turn your head to see chris already looking at you. he smirks, taking his thumb and rubbing it over your bottom lip. “relax.” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you soft and slow.

he rolls on top of you, depending the kiss before he starts running his hands under your shirt. he hesitates, but when you don’t protest, he gently cups your boobs and plays with them.

his lips travel to your neck. after a few pecks, your breath hitches, and that’s when he knows he found your sweet spot. squeezing your legs together, wetness starts to pool.

biting down, he sucks a mark carefully into your skin. a purple bruise forms as his fingers start to enter your waistband. “is this okay?”

“more than okay,” you answer out of breath.

when he gets your consent, his middle finger moves up and down on your folds, coating it with your slickness. you moan lowly, arching ever so slightly. you’re a straight-up virgin, but it’s not like you’ve never fingered yourself. alas, his fingers are much better than yours.

“m-more.” you beg. “please.”

the chuckle that leaves his throat tickles your neck. then, he takes his ring finger and circles your clit while putting the other one into your hole.

a high-pitched sound escapes your lips, mouth open with your eyes crossing. you rut your hips on his fingers, the tips of them brushing at all the right spots on your bud and walls. “f-fuck, yes.” you gasp.

the sound of arousal coating his fingers fills your ears, only making you moan louder and squeeze around him. “you like that, huh?” he whispers.

you nod frantically, moving your hips faster only for him to take his digits out. “want to feel my tongue, instead?“

a shiver runs up your spine, the softness of his lips grazing down your body as he also removes your shorts. despite it being dark and the only light in the room is his lamp, the glistening of your pussy is as clear as day.

to tease you, he licks the arousal stuck to your thighs. so close yet so far from where you want him most. you squirm, but stop once his arms wrap tightly under your knees and hold you in place.

you wince at the sudden contact with your clit, his mouth sucking on it with force. then, his tongue licks strands up your folds.

eyebrows furrowing, you pant uncontrollably. this just doesn’t feel real, but it is; and my god it feels good. his muscle goes into your sopping cunt, causing a whimper to leave your lips. “o-oh, fuck. oh-oh my god, chris.”

your hands have a mind of their own and run up your body to your tits, kneading them and toying with your nipples to get even more pleasure. he groans, the vibration having your eyes roll back.

he takes one of his hands and inserts it in your pussy along with his tongue. however, the other one finds its way into his underwear.

his palm wraps around his aching cock, pumping it quickly to the speed of the way his tongue and finger fuck you.

“don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” you repeat loudly, gripping his hair harshly.

the moans that come from him don’t help with the way your orgasm starts to build. the way he’s moving at different angles inside of you has your legs shaking, squeezing tight around his head.

chris’ thumb twirls around his tip, pre-cum leaking from it as he whimpers into your pussy. your moans gradually get louder and higher, before the knot snaps and you smear your cum all over his face.

he removes himself, resting his cheek on your leg. you’re catching your breath, but he’s still groaning and whimpering while his hand moves rapidly.

nuzzling his head more into your flesh, his knees buckle together as he moans. his hot, sticky cum spurts out and makes a mess on his hand. dripping so much that it lands on the floor below.

in silence, you guys stay in the position to catch your breath. what you do know for a fact is that this wouldn’t be the first or last time you hang out with chris sturniolo.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

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[bvidzsoo]

Sweeter than honey

🧸Husband!Yunho🧸

TW: none, just so much fluff I'm dead

Word count: 1, 3k

A/N:....guys, it's Pisces season and I'm going crazy, don't mind me if I pump out little blurbs this whole month (someone save me). So, this is a little bullet point like scenario, I hope you enjoy it! (I got inspired in THE MOST randomest way this time, it's embarrassing.) I hope you enjoy and feedback is very much appreciated! Enjoy now!

where do I even begin...

there was not one boring day with your husband, Yunho, and your little girl

those two were like little rascals when nobody was watching them

and yes, you loved both to death, but there were times when they got to you

their energy levels were unmatched, and at times you don't know whether you should cry or laugh that your little one takes after her father

a miniature copy of Yunho

the same smile, same happy and playful aura, same mischievous look on her face when she's up to no good, and same devastating puppy eyes when she wants something

you blame partially Yunho for teaching her how to manipulate those around her, mainly you, but you also know that even if it weren't for Yunho, you'd give in to your sweet daughter, unable to say no to her adorable face

and there were times when it was a blessing that Yunho had more free time than you as he was able to stay at home and watch your little one, entertaining her, and tiring her out by the time you got home

she'd be peacefully sleeping in her little bed, thumb in her mouth and cheeks lightly flushed as the blanket was up to her chin, so you'd pull it slightly down and make a mental note to tell Yunho that your daughter wouldn't freeze in the middle of summer

but all thoughts would fly out the window when you'd enter the kitchen, feet aching from wearing high heels all day, only to find your husband, Yunho, wearing his printed pajamas, socks mismatched, and apron tied tightly around his built form as he was humming a song while he cooked diligently dinner

you could only grin and bite your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing as in the middle of flipping the pancake Yunho would bust out dancing, rocking his hips left and right as he banged his head to the music only he could hear in his mind

it was an endearing sight, but way too amusing for your tired brain as you'd lean against the middle counter, placing your chin in your palm while watching him, wondering when he'd finally sense your presence

but Yunho would be too focused on cooking those pancakes, with a few already burnt, to feel your amused eyes on his back, and his humming would break out into a quiet singing, trying to keep quiet in order to not wake your little sunshine

and so, in order to not disturb your husband, you'd stand there quietly, just watching him and quietly snickering to yourself when his voice would crack, but he'd continue on like nothing happened, holding the spatula up to his mouth and belting out those high notes as silently as he could

but then finally he would turn around and almost screech at the sight of you, eyes bulged and spatula clutched to his chest as his heart would race from the fright you had just given him, making you burst out laughing

if what you had witnessed so far wasn't funny enough, the damn unnaturally red cheeks and suspiciously purple lips definitely tipped you off, belly hurting from laughing so hard at the sight of your husband

it seems like your little girl had a make-up session with Yunho, showcasing her skills well as your husband looked ridiculous with the make-up on, lips forming a pout when you wouldn't stop laughing at him

"hey, stop it!", he'd say, making you cover your mouth with your hands, "this masterpiece was done by our little sunshine and I didn't take it off, because she insisted I show it to you."

and so, you would finally settle down and shake your head at your husband as you'd walk around the counter and up to him, circle your arms around his shoulders as you leaned into him

he'd smell like home, sweet like vanilla with a tinge of pine, and of course, the pancake dough he'd made not long ago

and your heart would flutter despite being with this dork for almost ten years now

things never got boring with him, you never got used to the thought of having married your best friend and love of life, your three years old daughter a treasure you both cherished dearly

Yunho would smile at you fondly, his teeth showing due to his wide grin, slightly protruding at the front, making you lean up on your tippy toes to press a soft kiss against his purple lips

they would taste like grape, hence the lipstick your daughter very obviously borrowed from your vanity, and Yunho would wrap his arms around your middle as he playfully would lift you off of your feet while pressing his lips just a little harder against yours

"how was work?", he'd ask as he'd place you down again and then you would stay hugging, telling him about your day, until the burnt smell of the pancake he was making would catch your attention and send the both of you into a frenzy to quickly take it off the stove before the fire alarm could blare through your house and wake up your little girl

Yunho would giggle and blame you for the incident, making you shake your head as you'd make to leave for you bedroom to change into something more comfortable after having checked the time

because you were expecting Hongjoong and his fiancé to come over not even in half an hour

and almost as if your daughter sensed this, she'd wake up from her nap, full of energy despite her being supposed to sleep through the evening until the morning

but she loved her aunt too much to miss seeing her

and once the pancakes were done and Hongjoong and his fiancé had come over, you'd gather in the living room and enjoy the delicacy Yunho had made for you, listening to your daughter blabber on about to her aunt and Hongjoong about the little boy she met at the park earlier today

after that you'd gather the table, with the help of Hongjoong, the two of you would settle into a small conversation about work and Hongjoong's upcoming fashion collection, when you'd suddenly hear loud cheers coming from the living room

curious, you two would walk to the threshold and watch as Yunho and your best friend were bundled up together in front of Yunho's gamer set up, with your daughter in the middle, of course, staring up at the two adults in wonder and awe

you'd shake your head as Hongjoong would chuckle, amused at the sight

of course, your best friend and Yunho had gotten on well from the very first meeting, both gamers and sharing many hobbies

it was a given that they would exclude you from the conversation at some point, making you shake your head at them as you knew almost nothing about computer games

"hey, Yuyu, it's too late for her to be sitting in front of the computer", you'd try to pull your husband and daughter away from the gadget, but fail as your best friend would look at you with a grin and puppy eyes at the same time

"ten minutes, I want to show Yunho something, and then I promise we'll join you and Hongjoong", of course, it was always ten minutes turned into two hours

so, with a sigh, Hongjoong and you would return to the kitchen to grab a bottle of red wine and two tall glasses, chuckling to yourselves as you'd hear Yunho and your best friend yell out in excitement or disappointment, your little one following in tow as she'd imitate the two adults

it was amusing hearing them

and once settled across from each other at the middle counter, Hongjoong and you would go over the wedding plans he and your best friend had, the date coming closer and closer as days went by

the wine and the conversation with Hongjoong helped you relax, hearing your husband, daughter, and best friend from the living room made you feel content and happy with the way your life had turned out to be

and you knew you were lucky to have such a loving, sweet, and hilarious husband like Yunho

and a small little replica of his, a daughter that never failed to make you smile and laugh until your belly hurt

you were surrounded by your loved ones, and nothing could've made you happier in that exact moment

Masterlist

[donutz]

Dogday “x” reader

Summary||Not romantic, at all, but you do give DogDay his legs back ^_^

Going over to the eerie hall, you see a bunch of cells.

Spooky..

I hear.. footsteps? No, not Catnap’s. It’s someone else.

Considering this absolutely terrifying place, something’s gonna pop out at me. Alright before I almost get murdered I’m gonna go to that area that I didn’t check out.

Oh. They’re fading away.

I see a room. With a big paw in the middle. Well, like a paw pillow. You think this is where Catnap sleeps? There’s little Smiling Critters. 

Cute. I just realized how adorable that is. Catnap sleepin here while little critters are above him. He’s still just a kitty.

Like 10 years ago..

Anyways I’m gonna go back.

I hear footsteps.. Again?

I go over to the last row a cells and— HOLY—

“You… You’re Poppy’s angel”.

I don’t want to exaggerate, but my mouth was WIDEE open. But I closed my mouth because that was pretty rude to do.

“Come to save us”.

I wanna do something but I’ll let him talk, not for long though, I can’t let DogDay be in anymore pain.

“Nothing left to save, not here”...

Lies, I could save you right now!!

“You’re in Catnap’s home, angel”.

Alright I’m done with you talking. I start, luckily since I used to mess with the toys, getting out my tools to start working.

Well, I find the sharpest one so I can cut the belts holding him up.

“Their home”.

“A million pairs of—”

I take one big swing at all of the belts, and fortunately they all snap! Of course I caught DogDay in time.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re okay, puppy.” I declare, not joking. Like 100%, DogDay is not dyin’ on me.

“But Angel I’ll only slow you down—”

“Lies”.

“The only thing I need to worry about is getting you safe, not you ‘slowing me down’!” I tried to sound a lot less annoyed, I’m not, at all. But I don’t want DogDay to burden himself even more.

I was also running from a bunch of small demons so yeah.

They were chasin’ me like they were tryna eat me alive!

No pun intended.

While I was speed crouchin’ through, there was little critters on the right side of me— I kicked them.

“Sorry little one!” I apologized, I didn’t feel fully bad but I still do because y’know! They’re still— a little bit like the bigger, original critters!

Barely.

Even though they kicked the smaller critters, they still apologized.. They really are an angel.

Finally making it out, I see three colored slides. I made a quick decision and decided to slide down the middle one.

Luckily that was the right one.

“Keep going angel, you’re doing good”..

DogDay is by far the best dog I’ve ever known.

I quickly switched my green hand to my purple hand and used the jump pad—

“Hold on”!

We made it on the platform and thankfully a metal door shut behind us, cutting off the smaller critters.

I pressed the button so we could go up, and waited.

“Angel, that was amazing! But why would you save me?” Wouldn’t it have been better if they left?

“Because I don’t want you to die. Plus, you didn’t slow me down. Also are you okay? Y’know, because of how much I was moving..?

“I'm alright Angel, are you”?

“I am completely fine! Physically”!

I gave him a smile, a real smile. Just so he doesn't think I'm lying.

“Plus, I'm really happy that I was able to get you outta there.”

Now, I just need to get the parts to rebuild him. I 100% do not mind doing that.

After some time, you were able to find a somewhat safe spot that was found by Poppy and Kissy.

And yes, you held DogDay the whole time. Like a little kid holding their stuffy.

You placed DogDay on the ground, he held himself up with his arms so you didn't need to worry too much.

“This might take a while, but the result will be worth it. Or not, depends on your opinion”.

“You reattaching my lower body will be worth it no matter how long it will take”.

I was a little surprised that he said that— he's still outgoing and kind after all these years…

I lifted my head and saw that he had a genuine smile— of course, I smiled back.

After— about two and a half hours I was done. My back is kinda sore but that doesn't matter.

“Okay, you wanna try sitting up”?

.

.

.

“Dog—”

There were visible stars in his eyes.

He was in awe because of my work, and gave me a hug. A really big hug.

“Thank you, Angel”...

“You've done so much for me, how could I ever repay you”...

While he was hugging you he stood up at the same time.

Omg he can walk!! I mean stand.

And Jesus he was tall, not 6’2 type stuff but he was like— 5’0! That's tall for a ‘toy’.

I hugged him back and we were there for a while.

I completely forgot he asked me something.

“Oh! Uhh, you do not need to repay me. But your way of repaying me is just being alive”.

“Promise”?

“... I promise Angel”.

[itssliyahhxoxo]

“If u we’re mine you would top everything”

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘:

You and Paige have been best friends since middle school since then you to have been inseparable. But when you got your first boyfriend in high school things changed.

At the beginning of your relationship everything was fine but after awhile it changed your boyfriend Chris started treating you differently and making sure you weren’t with Paige as much even if you weren’t with him, you never would’ve thought that he was someone to talk about someone’s body but that all changed. Paige noticed the change and didn’t like it at all, she didn’t want to say anything because she knew how happy you were in the beginning.

Even if it hurt her to see you with someone else that wasn’t her. She had a thing for you since the 8th grade but kept it quiet not wanting to ruin you guys relationship.

But she began to get worried when she noticed how you changed, she noticed how you haven’t been around as much and when ever you to would hangout she noticed how smaller you got. She loved you every stretch Mark and every inch of you and don’t get me started on your thighs, she never wants you to change she loves you for you and Chris didn’t 

He would always tell to eat less or compare you to others. He would also tell you what and what not to wear. One time you made your way to his house and walked in to him with someone else and promised he didn’t mean to and that he would never do it again but that was all a lie.

Your relationship got so bad that he hit once then again and again he apologized of course but you can tell he didn’t mean it. And you were too blinded by love to leave him. 

It was now one of Paige’s games and you had promised to be there but you weren’t, Paige told you how big it was for her and how much it would mean to her if you were there.

Sadly the game ended and you still weren’t there but they did end up winning. She walked up to her room and slammed her door behind her, with a sigh she sat on her bed her head in her hands. There was a knock at the door with out looking up she answered “come in”.

You walked in sadly looking down “I know I promise that I would be there but..Chris needed me-“. “Of course he did, well guess what so did I” she yelled get up “I-i know and I’m so so sorry” you told her tears in your eyes knowing you really messed up.

“What’s happening” she asked “what” you asked confused “you think I haven’t noticed. you’ve changed you don’t smile anymore you don’t even talk to me anymore” she said.

“That’s not true” you shook your head “yes it is and your always with Chris, you’ve even gotten smaller your just not the same anymore” she cried “you think I wanted to change no I did all this for-“ you stopped yourself realizing why you were about to say “for who” Paige asked “n-nothing I need to go” you told her turning to leave “wait” she grabbed you by the wrist.

Making you turn and wince in pain due to the bruise left by Chris, she looked at you confused then down at your wrist she pulled back your sleeve revealing your purple and blue skin. “What the hell, who did this” she asked.

“No one I feel” you pulled away trying to leave again but Paige closed the doe before you could “bullshit..Chris did this didn’t he” “no-“. “Didn’t he” she yelled over you.

You just looked down tears spilling “I-I’m sorry” you cried not looking at her to embarrass without realizing she pulled you into a hug her head resting on top of yours as you cried in her arms “I’ve been a really bad friend, and I’m sorry” you sniffed.

“It not your fault” Paige whisper “but it is” you nodded “if I would have-“. “Hey, stop it no one’s fault but Chris’s for him not realizing he has such a amazing and beautiful girlfriend” she softly smiled “you think I’m beautiful” you asked looking her in the eyes.

She nodded holding eye contact slowly she pulled you in for a kiss, pulling away you looked at her shocked “if you were mine you would top everything”

[cassafrassie]

testing the waters - (also on ao3) length: 2,938 words rating: G (v mild swearing)

It’s a slow, hot, lazy late August afternoon. The world has been saved, triangle demon vanquished, Grunkle Stan’s memories slowly returning to him, and Dipper and Mabel Pines lounge on the front deck of the Mystery Shack soaking up their last moments of summer before returning to Piedmont in just a few days.

Dipper lays flat on his back on the wood slats, watching the trees sway in the warm breeze while Mabel sprawls on the couch, tapping away on her phone.

“Oh-ho-ho!” She says after some time, breaking the easy silence.

“What?” Dipper asks, glancing at her but not moving.

“Nothing…” she replies in such a mischievous tone that Dipper immediately knows it’s anything but nothing.

Dipper lifts his head to get a better look at his sister. She’s grinning like a mad woman as she taps something on her phone.

It makes Dipper uneasy.

“Mabel,” he says, slower. “What is it?”

Mabel ignores him at first, still tapping away, but eventually looks down at him with a smug smile on her face.

“Time for you to get your own phone I think, bro-bro.”

“What? Why?”

“Well you can’t exactly expect me to be the middle man for you and your girlfriend forever.”

“Girlfri—…?” Dipper trails off as Mabel tosses him her phone, open to a short text conversation.

Pacifica: Mabel. Tell your brother to meet me at Lake Gravity Falls at 4PM today.

Mabel: OoOooh. Looking to do some more huggin’ are ya?? Or maybe taking it up a notch? 💋💋😘

Pacifica: Ugh, just tell him.

Mabel: What’s the magic woooord?

Pacifica: Now?

Mabel: Come on Pazmatazz we practiced this.

Pacifica: Don’t call me that.

Mabel: P

Mabel: L

Mabel: E

Pacifica: Fine! Please! Just stop!

Dipper throws the phone back at Mabel, a little rougher than he needed to.

“Do you have to be like that?” he bites out.

“Um, securing your romantic future? Yes, you’d think you’d be grateful, jeez. Make sure you shower before you go though, you smell like the inside of a gym sock.”

“Who says I’m going?” Dipper says, flopping back down on the deck. “She can’t just boss me around like that.”

“Sure, Dip,” Mabel says, returning to her texting.

---

Two hours later Dipper finds himself showered (he needed to anyway, okay?!), changed and waving his thanks to Soos for the ride as he trudges down toward the lake from the parking lot. To his right he sees the lake’s marina.  It’s mostly modest speed boats and fishing vessels, but rising like a skyscraper above all the rest is a large pleasure craft, at least 80 feet from bow to stern, with the familiar “N.W.” emblazoned in gold script along the side of the bow. He figures this must be his destination, so he heads down the dock toward the end, where the massive yacht rests bobbing in the water in the final slip.

“Pacifica? You there?” he calls out from the dock, finally reaching the boat.

Pacifica’s blonde head pops out from a door to the interior almost immediately. She bounces up on deck and trots over to the side, leaning over to peer down at him.

“Dipper! You came!”

She’s is wearing a striped purple polo top similar to the one she wore the night the Lilliputtians attacked, simple pleated white shorts and camel-colored boat shoes. Her long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and the overall effect is classy but understated. She looks… nice, Dipper thinks before shaking the thought away.

“Well you kind of made it sound like I didn’t have a choice.”

Pacifica shoots him a grin that’s just a little dazzling in the late afternoon light, and before he knows it his feet are carrying him up dock's boarding steps to the side of the boat. As he lifts his foot to step onto the yacht, however, Pacifica holds up her palm, stopping him.

“Ah, ah, ah, Pines! First rule of boating etiquette. Always ask for permission to board.”

“You invited me here!” he shoots back.

“Manners still matter,” she says, flipping her hair.

Dipper groans. He feels annoyance rising in his chest and is about to tell her to forget it, but then he studies her face and he sees the playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Oh. She’s… messing with him.

He feels his own mouth quirk up at the sides.

Well two can play at that game.

Dipper clears his throat, straightens his back and assumes an air of hyperbolic chivalry.

“Very well, Miss Northwest. Would your highness deign to grace herself with my presence by allowing me to step aboard thine’s most glorious seafaring vessel?” He finishes with an exaggerated twirl of his hand.

Pacifica giggles and holds out her hand to him palm up. “She will. Dork.”

He grips her welcoming hand and allows her to help him come aboard, taking a second to find his footing on the gently bobbing boat before releasing it.

“Pretty nice, uh, schooner you got here.” He says, hands on his hips, looking around.

Schooner? Is that even right? Why is he trying to impress her with big boat words? He doesn’t know a darn thing about boats.

Pacifica quirks an eyebrow but lets it go. “Yeah, it’s fun,” she says wistfully. “But I’m pretty sure it’s going up for sale next week along with the manor.”

“Oh,” Dipper says rubbing his neck. “Do you know where you’re moving yet?”

He feels just the slightest confusing feeling of guilt tugging deep in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t feel bad about Preston and Priscilla getting found out for their years of crookedness, but Pacifica didn’t really have anything to do with that.

“Another mansion here in town. It’s way smaller though. Only one swimming pool,” Pacifica says, her face falling briefly, but she shakes it off.

Dipper chokes back a snort, all feelings of guilt instantly evaporating.

“You want a soda? I can show you around,” Pacifica asks, though the way she confidently strides back toward the interior leaves him with the impression that’s it’s not really a question as much as it is a command to follow.

He trails after her, following into the inner cabin of the boat. They enter a spacious galley. The walls are lined in deep teak wood and a massive crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room. Dipper thinks this seems pretty impractical for a boat, but then again little about the Northwests has ever been practical.

A steward brings a silver tray with an assortment of sodas and juices. Dipper picks a Pitt Cola from the offering and then continues following Pacifica deeper below deck.

“So, uh, what’s the occasion?” he asks, following her down a narrow staircase and down a hallway lined with staterooms. “You just showing off the last of your family’s spoils before it goes to the auction block?”

Pacifica rolls her eyes as she stops at a door near the end of the hall.

“No. Well, not just that.” She opens the door, which leads to a small storage room. She doesn’t turn on the lights, but he can make out that the cabin is filled with boxes and chests from the warm light coming in from two small portholes. “This is the main reason.” She grips a large trunk in the corner with both hands and tugs it out from the shadows. The same “N.W.” monogram is etched onto the lid, the faint light catching the gold script.

As she tugs, Dipper feels the cabin shift around him unnaturally. He realizes the boat is pulling away from the dock. He braces himself against a wall with one arm, but Pacifica isn’t as quick on her feet and she stumbles forward. Dipper reaches forward with his free arm and grasps her around the middle. Her hair ends up in his face.

Lavender, again.

“I gotcha,” he says.

Pacifica grasps onto his arm as she steadies herself, then meets his eyes for the briefest of moments before turning away from him abruptly.

She coughs. “Thanks.”

Dipper feels his face flush. Not going to think too hard about that.

Pacifica turns back to the trunk, kneeling down and fiddling with the lock.

“My family has had these tapestries for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure where they came from, but I took the one in my bedroom down the night after the party. I didn’t know why at the time, but after the last few days things started to come together… so I took the rest down too and stashed them down here.” She looks over her shoulder at him. “Mom and Dad don’t know.”

Dipper feels a burst of pride swell in his heart at her small rebellion, whatever this is.

He leans over her shoulder as she lifts the lid to the trunk, but freezes when he sees what’s within.

He sees the eye first. That piercing, maniacal eye. Then the shape and color. And its enough to send him gasping backward, air completely leaving his lungs.

“Dipper?” Pacifica asks, spinning around toward him.

Dipper’s heart feels like it’s stopped. Where’s the wall? He needs to grab on to something. His arm waves behind him until it finds purchase on the side of the cabin.

“Dipper!” Pacifica continues. “Shoot! I’m sorry, I should have warned you.” She slams the lid shut and turns to grasp Dipper’s shoulders. “Hey, hey look at me.”

Dipper reluctantly meets her eyes, but he’s glad he does. Her blue meets his brown and he sees her concern and immediately feels calmer. In the recesses of his mind, fleetingly, he had feared that this was all some sort of trap, but when he sees her sincerity he knows she’s still on his side.

“You’re okay. I’m here. Crap, I’m so sorry,” she goes on, lowering her eyes but still gripping his shoulders.

Dipper feels the oxygen returning to his lungs and his head clearing.

“No, no it’s okay. I’m okay. It was an accident,” he says, taking a deep breath.

Pacifica looks back up at him, lip quivering. She releases his shoulders.

“Hey,” he chucks her under the chin lightly. “All good. Nothing wounded but my pride.”

She gives him a wary smile.

He returns it, feeling relief as he watches her features slowly relax. She really is pretty, huh?

Shit.

No.

No, no, no we are not doing that right now, brain.

He clears his throat.

“So… uh, why exactly are you showing me this?” he finally asks, breaking their eye contact and gesturing to the trunk.

“Oh! Right.” Pacifica tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she straightens up, putting her hands on her hips. “I want you to help me get rid of it.”

Dipper’s mind races through memories of spells and incantations he read in Ford’s journals. Was there one for expelling physical objects from reality? Could they summon a self-contained fire that wouldn’t compromise the boat? Maybe if they contacted the ghost of Archibald Corduroy he would be able to bring the tapestries to the… ghost realm? If that’s a thing?

Pacifica looks at him curiously. “Uh, hello? What’s going on in there?” she asks, tapping his forehead with her pointer finger.

He continues studying the trunk. “Just trying to think of the best way…”

Pacifica raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Pines. Lake Gravity Falls is 742 feet deep at its center. Where do you think we’re going?” She gestures around her to the moving yacht.

Oh.

Right. Well that could work too.

With some effort and griping the two manage to bring the trunk up the stairs (“Pivot! You have to pivot!” Pacifica had sniped more than once) and on the main deck of the boat.

Together they lift the heavy chest to the railing at the stern, letting it balance delicately just shy from tipping over. They each hold one handle.

“Any final words?” Dipper asks, turning to face her.

“Good riddance.” Pacifica says, still staring at the trunk, eyes focused on the “N.W.” monogram. She turns to him. “Let’s do this.”

Damn, she’s fierce. He gives her a half smile and nods.

They each let go of their respective handles and give the trunk a firm push. It goes tumbling overboard, falling the dozen or so feet it takes to reach the water before hitting it with a satisfying splash.

Dipper and Pacifica stand side by side, watching it sink below the surface slowly, murky darkness slowly obscuring it from view. Then it’s gone.

Pacifica turns and leans her back against the railing, letting out a long exhale. “Wow, it’s crazy how much better I feel.”

Dipper smiles at her. Her features do look more relaxed. Like a heavy burden— or curse, maybe—has been lifted.

He nudges her side with his elbow. “So this tub is going away in a few days right? What do you say we enjoy it a bit before it’s gone?”

Pacifica turns to face him and grins.

---

A couple hours, an impromptu water gun fight, and a few unceremonious pushes into the lake later, Dipper and Pacifica lay next to one another on their stomaches at the bow of the boat, each wrapped in a fluffy towel. Together they watch the sun drop below the tree-lined horizon. Orange and pink gives way slowly to purple and blue. Dipper lets his eyes drift from the hazy sky to the gentle waves created by the yacht cutting through the lake surface, and finally to his new friend. Her eyes have shut and her head is cushioned on her arms. The soft light of the dusk plays on her delicate features, and he takes a moment to watch the steady inhale and exhale of her breathing. He feels himself smile, and decides to let himself indulge in the warm feeling that comes with it. Just for now. Even if he still isn’t sure what it means.

After a moment her eyes flutter open and her cheeks dust with pink. “Guess I dozed off a bit?” she asks, scrunching up her nose.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s been a big day.”

She yawns and looks at the horizon.

“So I guess you’re going back home to California soon, huh? After your party?”

“Yeah… but is it weird that to say that Piedmont doesn’t really feel like home anymore?”

“No.” She turns to him. “I think ‘home’ can kind of change. I never used to feel like Gravity Falls was where I belonged, honestly.”

“Really? Do you still feel that way?”

“I’m not sure… I feel at home right now though, I think.” Her cheeks grow rosier.

Dipper smiles, feeling his own cheeks warming once again as well.

“What are you gonna do? After?” he asks, not really knowing precisely how to articulate what he means, but trusting she will understand.

“I don’t know,” she laughs. “Back to school, I guess. Maybe I can convince my parents to let me start boarding. I’m just a day student right now, but there are a bunch of kids who live too far to go home at night. I wouldn’t mind staying away from my parents for awhile.” Dipper isn’t sure he completely understands how private schooling works, but before he can ask she keeps talking. “Mom and Dad—they, uh… fight a lot, you know? And I kind of think it’s just going to get worse now that we’re only really rich and not insanely rich.” She drops her chin to her rest on her right forearm, lets her left arm dangle over the side of the boat.

Dipper flashes back to four months earlier, hearing his own mom and dad say the most horrible things to one another late at night in their kitchen, long after he and Mabel were supposed to have gone to bed.

“Yeah,” he starts, slowly. “That’s… rough. I get that.”

She tilts her head to him, eyes wide. “You do?”

“Yeah...” He lets his own head fall forward, cushioned by his laced fingers. “I’m not really sure what I’m going to be walking into when we get back, either. Family-wise, I mean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Honestly, not really. It’s too pretty and peaceful here right now.” He meets her eyes.

“Another time then,” she says, like it’s not even a question.

He feels a smile tug at his lips. On a lot of people, such declaration would come off as presumptuous, rude even. But Pacifica’s so naturally confident and matter-of-fact that it’s just… endearing. Honest.

And he knows it’s true, too.

“Yeah, another time.”

The yacht’s crew eventually brings the boat back to the marina just as the stars are beginning to make their first appearances in the evening sky. Her driver gives him a ride home, and clambering out of back of the town car, Dipper notices Mabel peeking through the Shack’s curtains. He rolls his eyes and turns back to where Pacifica still sits in the back of the car.

“So you’re coming to our birthday tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“Duh, I am the Party Queen after all.” She winks and his stomach does a funny little flip. “It would be cruel to deprive you of my presence on your birthday.”

He laughs and shakes his head, sends her a final wave and smile over his shoulder as he makes his way back to what will almost certainly be an interrogation of epic proportions from his sister.

But, yeah, maybe Mabel is right. Maybe it is time to get his own phone.

[i-want-men-i-cant-have]

✮ imagine kisaki dating you just to be closer to hina, your best friend. you knew her since you could remember and kisaki since cram school. you didn't have a real opinion on him and just thought he was the shy, studious type- nothing really special to write home about.

✮ but you were surprised when he confessed a little after hina started talking about a boy named takemichi and how he saved her. you don’t know why he confessed at all. you couldn't even think of a single reason. you never spoke; it was just you standing behind hina, waiting for her to finish complimenting him so you could go get popsicles at the park.

✮ the confession seemed fake- even something a little you could pick up on. it was like a robot, and not in the way he was confessing to himself in the mirror so many times; it was just dry. the confession had no heart to it. he wasn't even blushing and looking down, flickering his eye to you and the ground and spilling out, “i like like you!” it was just bland. so bland, in fact, you forgot every single word of it even while listening to it.

✮ but you were also young and thought a boyfriend would make you cooler, so you accepted it. also because you didn’t want to be left behind from hina and her ever-growing relationship with takemichi.

✮ when you asked him why he liked you a few weeks into the relationship, he said something about how you were like a plant and didn't get on his nerves. you didn't talk to him for a week after that.

✮ but when middle school started is when you were questioning the relationship. sure, it was weird to date someone and then move into middle school. the new personalities and new friend groups would naturally cause conflicts, but you were determined to keep on dating the guy. so determined it clouded your thoughts on the real underlying reason he even wanted to date you. you also didn't want to question if he liked you just to have a repeat of the plant comment.

✮ you were still friends with hina in middle school, going from a friend to a best friend if takemichi didn't already fit that role with a boyfriend. you were jealous of him, spending so much time with her after school. you didn’t know if that was the real reason or maybe jealous of their relationship. kisaki looked at you and spent time with you, yes, but it all seemed so artificial. like some alien trying to blend into the real world disguised as a cow with purple spots in a field of grass.

✮ it all changed, or spiraled when he met some guy, oniinii, osanii, osanai? he said you have your friends and he can have his, so you shouldn't judge, so you didn’t. you let him be. after all, relationships are built on trust and understanding.

✮ now the only time he wants to hang out is when you make an offside comment about how hina was going to be there or you were hanging out with hina. you thought it was just a way for him to be less awkward around you- a third person to brighten up the mood and keep the conversation from coming to an awkward pause. still, when you mentioned other names, he just hummed and continued to study for an upcoming test while you sat on his bed staring at the tv.

✮ after about a month of this, you were a little more than mad. you wanted to stay in the relationship for a reason you couldn’t pin down. you wanted to think it was because you liked him and his calming presence. you shoved down the feeling of being stubborn; a year plus relationship with someone wasn't a lot, but to you, it was. you’ve stuck with him for a year; he’s the first and only guy to confess to you. then you pushed down the feeling of not wanting to be alone, just having friends- nothing special like a boyfriend in sight.

✮ so you started shoving more and more dates in his face if one date a week was bombarding. you just wanted a simple lunch date with him on the weekend, drink something nice, and maybe eat a sweet with him and talk about your week.

✮ but he would slowly start to ditch it more and more as the weeks passed. the first and second week were the best because he actually showed up and stayed. you would carry the conversation, assuming he was awkward, but it was overall a nice time- calm and comfortable.

✮ but he would slowly slip farther and farther from your date plans. you didn’t want to question it the first few times he left as he said osanai needed him and you assumed he was just tutoring the poor guy. you didn't want to judge people based on their appearance, an appearance you had yet to see but from the sound of it he could be a delinquent. besides, kisaki was leaving money to pay for his and maybe your meal if you didn’t talk a lot. yet as the weeks passed, your thoughts of the tutoring switched to your boyfriend getting bullied by the gang member you only know the name of.

✮ kisaki did catch onto your worry and he told you not to worry. he had told you osanai was his friend. he had told you osanai needed some help with homework. he had told you him and osanai needed to finish a last-minute project. excuses, excuses and more excuses.

✮ now the only dates you even get are the spur-of-the-moment ones which you force him to go on. even then, he leaves early, leaving more and more cash on the table each time to cover the bill.

✮ and then came hanma. you remembered that man's name the first time you heard it. you hated the way he looked at you. he had this look as if to tell you he knew so much more than you. like he knew something you didn't. not to mention his laugh whenever you left the room. your room. they would talk and discuss whatever teenagers talk about in your room, food crumbs on your bed left by the new boy.

✮ your boyfriend and his new replacement for osanai even used kisaki's room. you know this from kisaki telling you randomly, as if to diffuse your anger after a long day. but then hanma said he liked the vibe of yours so they used it more. you had a feeling he was just making up excuses so he could get a mini maid, you.

✮ you were afraid of the new replacement of osanai. you don’t even think kisaki remembers him, which pisses you off more than you’d like to admit because he spent more time with him than you.

✮ hanma got under your skin in more ways than one. he never got mad at you, never even raising a hand to hit you. it was that look he gave you that made you hate him so much, not the amount of time he spent with your boyfriend.

✮ when you yelled at the tall boy for smoking in your room, he laughed and told you not to worry about it so much because he did it out the window. you were on the verge of shoving him out the window if he kept up being himself.

✮ but the reason you probably hated hanma so much was that you had more of a relationship with him than the boy you were in a relationship with.

✮ now, you remember those dates kisaki left you for with osanai? now he was leaving with hanma every time he apologized quicker and quicker. each time he left, he would leave a wad of cash greater and greater than the last. you didn’t want to question the money; it was his life after all. it also would mostly cover the tab and sometimes leave you some extra money. one of these times you had enough left over to buy him a present, and with your anniversary coming up, you wanted to buy him something- it was his money after all.

✮ you liked the present having thought about it for a while now. you had decided on a mini pig phone charm, remembering how they were one of the smartest animals in that one documentary you watched a few years ago. you also remembered he didn’t like dumb people, something he brought up when you asked what the amount of money the tip would be. it was the perfect anniversary gift! so perfect in fact you bought a matching one so you could even remember you had a boyfriend!

✮ and a week after your anniversary when you walked into your room, you saw hanma sitting on your bed, looking at his phone while something played in the background. that little pig charm was dangling from his phone, almost taunting you. even that stupid pig was giving you the pitting look hanma would always give you, only this time hanma had a smile on his face watching as your eyes followed the animal sway side to side. side to side on your boyfriends best friends phone.

✮ when you ran to the bathroom to call hina, kisaki was knocking on the door a few minutes after you burst out of your own room. he sounded so… dissatisfied. so unfazed. like he was forced to do it, but you knew better than to believe it was hanma who did it. could it be? your boyfriend was actually trying to care for you? did he actually appreciate all that time you spent trying to love and care for him? did he love your date ideas? did he love you?

✮ no.

✮ no.

✮ no.

“can you stop crying? it’s annoying and i can’t focus.”

✮ tetta kisaki must die.

you slam opened the door to his face, watching as he stumbled back into the wall, paying no attention to the prying eyes and ears of hanma from down the hall. “shut up! just shut up already! why is it the one time i need you to not talk you finally open your mouth?! you’re always so quiet around me! i’m the person you're supposed to open up around, and you don't! the one time you should say something- anything nice to cheer me up, you tell me I'm annoying!”

“are you… breaking up with me?”

“what else do you expect?! i can’t call you by your first name! i get you something for our anniversary and you give it to your best friend! you never spend any time with me! you only want to spend time with hina, who has a boyfriend! i mean seriously, what’s wrong with you? have you just liked her this whole time!?” and with hanma's annoying laugh, it was solidified. he never even liked you in the first place. hanma knew. osanai probably knew. everyone knew but you.

“i hope you and hanma have a great life together kisaki.” you finally try and relax, keeping a steady breath looking down on your ex-boyfriend. “now get out. now.”

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[afreakingdork]

Deep Dive: Rise of the TMNT Donatello's Bad Boy Persona, His Cute, But Mean Type, and Why He is None of These Things

I made this presentation to delve into my take on Rise Donnie!

It was a power point, but I'm going to break it down here. I do want to preserve the first slide though because...

Did you know Black dahlia's aren't actually black? They're very dark red and in flower language they represent dishonesty!

Apropos, let's get into it...

Donnie is a Bad Liar

We see this throughout the show

“No? No… Of course I did… n't.”

"Uh, nothing. Just having a typical normal mystic free day."

"We are just typical, normal humans who got lost in the middle of our normal, everyday human lives. Nailed it."

"Oh man. Uh. This hurts me. Uh. I'm very sad?"

He has all the characteristics of a terrible liar. He sweats, his pitch warbles, his eyes dart, ect, everything you would expect.

Sarcasm! The Perfect Cover?

When Donnie does go for the use of sarcasm, he almost always points it out.

"I feel better already," he said without a hint of sarcasm."

"Oh, sure. Let me just load my tap-into-every-security-camera-in-New-York app. I'm sorry if that sounded like sarcasm, it wasn't. I am in."

Point Out the Obvious Much

However, when he doesn't point out the sarcasm, he also can't help but make mention of the oxymoron. We see this a lot, especially in Donnie vs. Witch Town.

"Oh yes very cool says Donnie as he quietly lets something go."

"Ooh, fireworks. Science never would have thought of something it was originally inventor of."

So basically, if Donnie tries to lie; he gives himself away. If Donnie tries to fudge the truth; he's compelled to make note of it.

I bring this all up to specifically tackle this sentence:

“So unfair. Although it is a boost for my emotionally unavailable bad boy image. “Y’ello.””

Why do I do so? Let me remind you of my first slide...

But how can that be? We just established that he's a bad liar. In the 'bad boy' line, he's not falling for any of his tells. He's body language gives no indication of lying. He doesn't make any note of sarcasm. No one after this line makes a face or corrects Donnie and he doesn't point out any discrepancies.

How could this be a lie?

Because Donnie himself doesn't know it's a lie.

Let Me Take You Back

Things I Did Unironically as a Teenager

Added Japanese honorifics to the end of my friends nicknames (-san, -chan, -kun)

Had my friends help me wrap myself up in caution tape for my birthday, but told people they made me

Wore a dog collar with a dog tag that had my name in Romanji on it

Had screen names like RubyBlueSango62 and blahweeblah626

But That’s Just Personal Experience!

Things Donnie has Unironically as a Teenager

"Ah, yes, so in this case a game of bask-eh-ball."

"Prepare to eateth thy words."

"Oh, hey guys. What’s the haps? Huh? Oh, oh this? I didn’t realize I had it on. This is my sweet new purple satin jacket- Got it from being a bit of a tech wiz. Purple Dragons. Members only. No big deal. Mm-hm. Well, you better grab some toast, fellas, 'cause you are all jelly!"

“It's Bootyyyshakker9000. Capital B and three Ys in booty.”

I believe it's a universal experience for teenagers to push boundaries. For so long, most parents decide everything for you. With hormones and growth, you want to experiment, but since autonomy is new, you try to break from the mold and do it uniquely. Anything that is outside your norm, especially things that swing wildly from what you once new seems especially exciting. From embellishing speech, to wearing specific clothing items, and even your first screen name, you don't know boundaries! It may be 'cringe' in the future, but when you first do it, it seems like the coolest thing ever! It's something that wholly represents you. This online space you. This you that is ungoverned! I'm an only child so I can't imagine, but I bet you especially want to do this when you have siblings. Where the shame in that?

I mean... Kat Haynes agrees with me on this...

Low Empathy

Now to get a little more serious. Alexithymia is a term that describes those who have difficulty feeling emotions. While not always associated with autism, it is more common in individuals with it. About 1 in 5 people who have autism also have alexithymia.

As already stated, it is clear the Donnie suffers from alexithymia. Most Donatello-centric conflicts in Rise have nothing to do with Donnie being emotionless and instead often deal with him lashing out due to his confusion or insecurities. We see this a lot especially in Witch Town where he is grappling with himself the entire episode. He's insecure about how he doesn't understand mysticism and he doesn't know how to process it or his place on the team. He's not emotionless, he's insecure when he doesn't understand something.

"Yes, feelings. Hot, cold, sleepy, hungry…"

"I don't normally feel things, but that one got through!"

Emotions on his Metaphorical Sleeve

Nothing about alexithymia says that you don't feel emotions. Instead, it's characterized by not understanding them. Donnie feels his emotions big and large just like Mikey does and especially if something is important to him, you'll see those reactions dialed up to eleven.

All Talk

While many think of the classic "semi-lethal" line and the "Speak for yourself" when Mikey says they aren't savages in regard to Donnie, he's not really the bad boy he plays himself up to be. When the theatrics are set aside, most of Donnie’s snap judgements are the altruistic kind or he thoughtfully plans out ways to not only take care of his family, but actively ensure their safety (to varying degrees of success, but that's not what we're saying here):

created devices which both counteracted his brother's flaws because they were getting them hurt

Used himself as a shield for Mikey on multiple occasions 

Risks his own safety and bodily harm especially in Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man and Breaking Purple

Builds Escape pods for everyone 

Enters a sensory nightmare for the sake of the world

Often asks, especially Raph, if he's okay and looks out for the oldest brother

Yet the Presentation Continues?

Why yes, because there is another line of Donnie's that I want to tackle that I believe falls exactly in line with the 'bad boy image' one...

"Oh, you’re so cute, but so mean. Why do I always go for your type?"

You know what I'm about to posit again...

Insecure

As touched on previously, Donnie is insecure. He's insecure about his emotions. He's insecure about his place on the team. He's insecure about anything he doesn't understand and his insecurities are exceedingly personal in nature because he ties them intrinsically to his personality.

"The real thing is much more personal and thoughtful, and I really hope you like it, ‘cause if you don’t I will just be crushed!"

"This’ll teach you to compliment my work and give me my first positive reinforcement from a parent aged adult, ever!"

Speaking of parent aged adults... i wonder where this could stem from...

Role Model

Who do all the turtles model themselves after, but their own father? Whether they knew it or not, Lou Jitsu was someone they all strived to be like. They commited to learning all the lines from his movies. They fought like him outside of the training course Splinter sets them on. Heck, Donnie takes his hero worship so far that his character defining brows are exactly Lou Jitsu's! Babies start learning how to establish social and emotional relationships around 18 months. We have Splinter, a despondent, but loving care giver who unfortunately did not give Donnie the validation he craved. This manifests in his insecurities where he bends over backwards to get the attention he craves. He wants to be seen, again compounded by having three rowdy mutant-powered brothers, and so he ends up tying his worth into his ability.

Now, while for a majority of the series, the turtles don't know about Splinter's past or that he dated Big Mama, but it wasn't as if Splinter hid that part of himself away so obviously. In fact, because he himself is still mourning his lost humanity, he ends up feeding his son's a hardy diet of his life's existence. The boys are secondarily raised by Lou Jitsu movies in place where Splinter is not always present. Obviously, Lou Jitsu seemingly disappears, but Splinter's feelings on the matter don't. He openly still cares about Big Mama in the present and this I don't think it's a stretch to say that he would let these feelings leak in a similar way to how he presents Lou Jitsu in the boys lives. Big Mama is a attractive, albeit manipulative woman. This is awfully close to a little line someone says, especially when we consider that he models himself after this man.

Also, if we're taking models into account. Something we know for a fact shapes teenagers. Something we know for a fact that Donnie does. Something that is equally canonized in the show, then we have to talk about.

Donnie’s True Canonical Idol

That's right. You know her. You love her. You believe that Donnie is a thigh man because of this Lass' existence. Donnie says flat out that Atomic Lass is his childhood idol. He goes to great lengths to dance with her, smashing Leo out of the way. He then even goes so far as to ask if her and Atomic Lad have split up because his intention to date her is so clear. Now she was obviously a mutant in a costume, but that didn't matter because he loves Atomic Lass that much and Atomic Lass?

She's a heroine.

Only cute and mean in the context of the episode, this is not the Lass he fell in love with. The Lass he loves is a comic book hero that travels the universe doing good.

Also....

Ron Corcillo Agrees With Me

A staff writer on Rise, I apologize I can't show the origin tweet because it was deleted, but it was a dual question that asked both about the Turtles meeting Spider-man and about Donnie's preference. Now you could say he's forgotten a line that may not be as important to him, but doesn't that in and of itself say something? It says that it could have been a one-off joke or that it wasn't something that was necessarily intrinsic to the character.

To Recap:

Donnie doesn’t always know himself

Donnie is a cringey teen

Donnie is insecure

Donnie has difficulty understanding emotions and himself

Donnie isn’t actually an 'emotionally unavailable bad boy'

Donnie doesn’t actually like the ‘mean’ type

Sources:

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles episodes:

Mystic Mayhem

Donnie's Gifts

Pizza Pit

Hot Soup: The Game

Shadow of Evil

Donnie vs. Witch Town

The Mutant Menace

Breaking Purple

Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man

End Game

Repo Mantis

Mascot Melee

Donnie's Gifts

Bug Busters

War and Pizza

Goyles, Goyles, Goyles

Lair Games

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie

lactoseintolerentswag's post on Rise Characterizations Pt. 3!!!

skulltrot's Donnie (Rise of the TMNT) | Autism Representation in Media video

Ron Corcillo's tweet from Cartoon Brew's Feb 10, 2024 AMA

Alexithymia | Autistica

earthytzipi's post not understanding why people characterize Donnie has hiding his emotions

hyperfixatinator's post about ROTTMNT Theory: Donatello's Hidden Role

[liillyliilly]

Accismus

sakusa kiyoomi x reader words; 1228 synopsis; he feigns disinterest in something he secretly desires.

All-Japan Youth training camp. You're a lucky bastard if you can get an invitation. At least that’s what most volleyball players would say.

But for her, star female middle blocker for Itachiyama Academy’s girls' volleyball club, they personally scouted her out to come to the camp and play with some of the best boys across the nation. It wasn’t luck for her, it was pure skill.

The invitation for the girls training camp had come earlier of course.

She had to explain to the coordinator of the training camp that her father had scheduled a trip back home to his hometown in Brazil and then to her mother's home in America that same time, but that she was extremely interested in attending the camp. Her coaches helped to convince the board to let her attend the boys camp.

She had started off as any other volleyball player, lost and confused on the court. But after middle school and after intensive training, she proudly bore the title of middle blocker and pinch server.

“Kiyo?” Komori peeks his head into the dorm, Y/n taking her time observing the frame of Sakusa’s dorm room door. His room is spotless and practically shines from all the time he spent cleaning and sanitizing it.

“Yes?”

“Are you ready?” Komori pulls her into the dorm with him, the two sitting down on Sakusa’s bed and watching as he folded several shirts into a duffel bag. Sakusa keeps a blank face before shrugging and zipping up his bag.

When she groans at his lack of enthusiasm and falls onto his bed, Sakusa furrows his eyebrows. “Off.” He snaps his fingers, and Y/n immediately hops off his bed and races out the door claiming to need to finish packing before they all got on the bus. Komori tries and fails at hiding his smirk, looking out the door to check if Y/n had actually left. Sakusa knew full well that she had finished packing a week ago from pure excitement.

“So, you like Y/n huh?” Komori teased, poking Sakusa in his side before laughing wildly.

“No. I just admire her skills as a volleyball player.” He muttered. He put a mask on and lifted his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.” Sakusa motioned his hand to usher Komori out, and then he exited the dorm.

Sakusa was lying. He did like Y/n. It was just never going to happen, them dating or anything. Sakusa was convinced of it. The only she wanted from him was a good training partner, and that was that.

He remembered how first year was scary enough for anyone, but being a first year and also joining and intense club sport? That’s difficult. So oftentimes, Sakusa found himself practicing throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning. When the sun shined through the gym windows with shades of pink and purple, calling out to Sakusa for him to leave the gym.

But when he did try to leave the gym, he was met with big eyes that bore into his soul. When he looked down a little more, he saw a smile so bright and blinding he thought he would need glasses.

“You’re Sakusa Kiyoomi right?”

“Yes?”

“Don't answer me with a question, Kiyoomi,” She had only known him for a minute and she had already begun using his first name. She walked into the gym and slid off her jacket, leaving her in the girls’ volleyball uniform. “You’re spiking for me. I need to work on read blocking. Let's go. Strip out of that hideous yellow jacket and spike for me.”

Sakusa froze and stayed in place, when she jutted a hip out and rested a hand on it, she clapped several times to bring him to attention. “Get going pretty boy.”

He didn’t know what compelled him to spike for her that early morning when he was already exhausted. All he knew was that she ignited a fire inside of him. A fire that told him to keep playing even though he was tired and his hair was matted down onto his head from the sweat.

They were only friends. That’s what he kept repeating to himself as they got onto the bus. As they unpacked. As they went through training camp. When she got sleepy and he let her rest her head on his shoulder even though she drooled a little. They were only friends.

Sakusa had decided to take an early bath one of the nights, before anyone else. Then he would get his dinner, the optimal way of avoiding as many people as possible.

She was sitting next to Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio, arms motioning wildly around her, as she talked passionately about volleyball. Sakusa of course saw her, but also saw how entranced both Kageyama and the Miya boy were.

"Oh, I hate setter dumps. You think you're going to get another block kill yeah, but then a setter douchebag ruins the flow of the rally and shuts everything down by dumping the ball like a child." Even when she insulted a different position, everyone knew it was due to her keen game sense. A game sense that prioritized the flow, the respect between players, and treating the ball like God. Her place of worship was the court, and the net was the veil between heaven and hell.

Miya seemed to be in total agreement, nodding along. Kageyama pursed his lips in contemplation. Sakusa tucked his hands in his pockets. Once he turned the corner, he texted Komori to bring him an orange back to the room they were sharing.

The last practice was in game clothes, the uniforms each player would be wearing when they went back to their teams.

The girls uniforms this year were the typical sleeveless shirts, but they went with a tighter fabric than usual, the mesh and polyester designed to be a body suit rather than just a shirt, with the shorts going over the bodysuit.

She stood in front of the mirror, the yellow and green colors circling around the uniform. She shrugged before going to the main gym.

When the hungry gaze of teenage boys was present throughout practice, Sakusa sneered. His only solution to the newfound distraction was to throw his jacket over her shoulders.

The girls uniform was tight, uncomfortably so to Sakusa. She claimed she loved the way her movement was unrestricted and how she could feel the air rushing around her on the court.

“Kiyoomi?” She dropped her stance for blocking and she turned over to Sakusa. Several boys on the other courts clicked their tongues before sighing and then going back to practicing.

“When practice is over, you’ll get cold.” He stated before setting up for another spike.

She rolled her eyes, but kept the jacket around her shoulders before slipping her arms into the sleeves. It was just big enough to not hinder her blocks too much. Komori just shook his head, rubbed his temples, and squatted down for another receive.

After practice, when she took off the jacket again and set it down on the bench, Sakusa’s mouth curled downwards underneath his mask. He didn’t mean to catch feelings for her. Sakusa never caught anything, never germs, never any illnesses. So being lovesick is something that horrified him to the bone.