#just a blurble

[tei-to-tei]

me, writing: I'm gonna be nice to everyone in this chapter

also me: whoops oh god oh fuck my hand slipped

[beelmons]

Spencer x ADHD!girlfriend.

"...and that's exactly why The Zodiac, in theory, was more prolific as a mathematician than a serial killer." he finished his sentence as he drew a couple more words and connected lines on his whiteboard. His body turned in your direction, and it made you jump slightly on your spot on the couch.

"You're so right, babe, that makes a lot of sense." you said. Truth was, you had no idea what he was talking about. You were having dinner together, and you mentioned Zac Efron on the Bundy movie, things escalated, and he took out his whiteboard, and that's what you remembered happening last.

You loved your boyfriend, and you absolutely adored hearing him ramble about whatever topic he was feeling passionate about. It was one of his most endearing features, and you vowed to yourself you would always be there to listen.

Tinsy problem, sometimes your brain was physically uncapable to keep up with his talking speed, and the second you didn't understand something and you couldn't just interrupt him to clarify it to you, your brain would fly somewhere else. It wasn't because of boredom, his speeches were never dull to you, you were just wired that way, and there was little you could do about it but conceal it from him and try to pretend that you got everything he was sharing with you. At the end, that was your true intention every time.

His arms dropped defeatedly to leave the marker by his coffee table, immediately they traveled back to his chest, crossing them over it. "Okay. What was it this time?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" you frowned in confusion. He noticed your obliviousness and decided to walk in your direction, crouching down in front of the couch.

"You zoned out. I'm curious about what you were thinking about instead of The Zodiac." he smiled.

"You noticed?!" you almost yelled out your question.

The chuckle that he let out, amused and surprised, easied the slight anxiety that you had began to feel. "You do that all the time, I'm pretty familiar with your present-body-absent-mind expression." he clarified.

Your hands flew to your face, covering it with your palms in embarrassment. "I can't believe you have known all along." you mumbled against your own skin "I'm so sorry." you said with a slightly saddened voice.

"Hey," he reached out to grab your hands and guide them away from your face, taking them in his instead "why are you sorry?"

"I really love hearing you talk about things so passionately, I promise." you tried to reassure him. He let out a smaller laugh this time.

"From all the people I've met in my life, you're the only one that's never asked me to stop." his eyes moved to yours. His sight was longing and gentle, his thumbs rubbing at your hands with adoration. Your heart beat erraticly for a second, regardless of the amount of time you had been together, he still made you nervous, he wooed you with his beauty and kindness. "Regardless of how long my ramble is, or the topic. Not even that one time I was telling you about flatulence characteristics and types." he admitted shyly.

You took back your hands and bent forward instead. Your fingers landed on his cheeks and you pulled him closer so you could place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.

"And we weren't even dating then." you joked "Still, you should have said something."

"It doesn't bother me" he stated "If anything, I'm always amazed with the random, completely unrelated thoughts that pop into your mind during your zoning out. So, tell me, what was it this time?"

Your lips pursed slightly, eyes looking away shyly "I was wondering how faucets work." you admitted and he yet again let out a gentle chuckle.

"I actually know the answer to that one." his eyes narrowed and he turned back to stare at his messy whiteboard, his entire body still crouched before you. "Perhaps if I break it down on modules, and we have a dynamic activity in between, I can keep your attention engaged." he said once he had turned back at you.

"Or we could make out. That keeps me engaged." you mentioned, your hands tangling on his hair.

"Yeah, nevermind, let's do that."

[kingsis]

I need everyone to understand why spamton was the justice soul. I need everyone to understand that he has determination and it's amazing and terrifying to see. I need everyone to see that justice isn't always about doing the right thing, but rather making things fair. I need everyone to see that once again, determination was never about being good, but just about seeing things through. I need everyone to see that a man determined to show justice to the people he resents is meant to elicit fear.

[honeysucklebuttons]

a darling on the ivy!!!!!!!

@onenicebugperday

[amiharana]

i had this thought in may bc mermay but never posted it, so mermaid link being completely enthralled by humans x agitated marine biologist revali who doesn't know how he's going to hide a mermaid from the rest of his team

[dailyeca]

Facts about the Underwater Grotto

Fact 1: Though most of the entrances are underwater, humans can enter from the beachside through a small cave in the side of the cliff that connects to the underwater section of the grotto. When it's not raining, there's low tide pools and cool stepping stones and quartz crystals glittering in the cave walls.

Caving In Arc: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

[mahikamihan]

first day of crunchcraft

[illithilit]

@negativeroom continued:

          COUNTLESS TIMES, they two had fought over the particulars of one qualm or another -- and to Omeluum's credit, such disagreements were not always of its own creation; Grazilaxx knew well that it was stubborn, and not the most vested individual in the bettering of its own moral standings, to say nothing of the countless times it had been told it was... What was the wording...? 'Difficult to get along with.' As if it had asked. As if at any one point, it had once in its life asked another individual to stay. ( Not quite the truth; looking once again upon its kin, it's reminded of the countless niceties it's offered over the years, without expectation of repayment. The sorts of things one simply does not do if one does not care for the individual in question, and does not wish to see them better at noon than the dawn bore them. Grazilaxx had never directly asked Omeluum to remain, and so they had drifted in distance at least the once to recollection, yet, here they stood once more -- Grazilaxx willing all the same to go further from its own way to see to its kin. )

          "After our last exchange, I assumed there would be more to come when the time and energy were available. My apologies for predicting incorrectly." Tentacles of its own coiled upwards in an unspoken 'I am pleased to be incorrect,' left otherwise in the void, for but a moment before its attention shifted to the squirming, 'watching' matter at hand. It had been ages since it had last seen a tadpole so close, but on the surface, this one stood out no more than any of the others.

          "That is.... Exceedingly unusual." The distance between the two was covered in a matter of moments so that its claws could pluck up the vessel for closer study. "From memory, that description brings nothing to mind from my specialty; a demon at work will corrupt, if it must play a long-term scheme, but this.... This requires patience I would not expect from most of their kind." While it pondered in following silence, the light around its palm fled into the world around, choked out by the building shadows of a spell meant to read the threads of the weave spoken into the tadpole's leash.

          One hand abruptly released, while the other lashed out to catch the youngling before its descent proved dangerous, yet the only response Grazilaxx gave for a matter of a minute or so was the agitated writhing of its tentacles. "This magic is most unusual indeed... I cannot claim to have witnessed this manner of weave in my lifetime -- and so I feel I must ask... What do you know of the cult who has produced this specimen?"

[muzdiir]

mmmmmmm more thoughts about faegun. i think i kinda actually want to try writing something up?? but we'll see

[isaacathom]

so im going on holiday, right, for an annoyingly long time (until the very end of september). and ive told all the campaigns that im in about this, because i was only MAYBE going to be available for one week of those games (while im in korea) and then completely unavailable for the other 5 (while im in canada, bc of the timezones, im australian).

and, one by one, each campaign has gone on a hiatus roughly encapsulating that length of time

im in two minds. on the one hand, it means i can continue my streak of having never missed a campaign game (i missed ONE session of my pathfinder campaign bc I was at my brothers wedding, and while I was in a restaurant afterwards I found out that rather than actually play the game they'd just looked at a player's dog, so its a .5).

on the other hand, it means that im indirectly responsible for all three campaigns having no games for the next two months :(

now, its indirect, bc there are obviously other factors. for one campaign, the gm had mentioned earlier that he might have to make it biweekly or take a break to work on his thesis - fair enough! for another, its to allow the gm to work on uni stuff, run some side sessions with smaller groups, and prep for a big mission that'll happen after I get back. for the last, its so the gm can fiddle with 'kinks' that have come up as we keep playing (since we're running an adventure path with some home rules and stuff).

but im also like. :( i specifically didn't want to be disruptive, especially considering i had no authority on how long this holiday was. It was one of the things that motivated me to quit the 4th campaign I was in when I did (in addition to other factors), because based on historical evidence I figured my "temporary absence" would cause a lot of sessions to not be run, whereas if I quit then me not being there would be normal, right, and they can run when just the other 4 show up, right? I couldve quit whenever, but I figured now was a good time so I didn't fuck over 5-6 weeks of the game. (2 of the 3 campaigns earlier are biweekly, LESS of a factor)

and like. I guess im... honoured?? that my presence is valued enough that me not being there would be a significant enough factor to prompt the gms to go 'actually yea lets just take a break instead'. but then also worried that I'm reading too much into it? and being egotistic by assuming thats whats happening? especially in one of the campaigns where theres 8 players, including me and not including the gm, right? like in the one on hiatus for thesis i can slightly inflate my ego more because im basically the party bookkeeper and notetaker, responsible for tracking the inventory of our pack mule and stuff. but mmmmm am i being an egotist. am i thinking about it too much.

i just dont wanna be a buzzkill?? I dont wanna be the reason others miss out on having fun in their fun ttrpgs? and i feel bad that i put them on hiatus?? like again yes there are OTHER reasons, but my absence *is* a factor, and i just ;-;

especially again in the 8 person campaign bc writing my character out for three games is really easy. we established that the ship she's a captain of has been pressed into service patrolling the bay in advance of an invasion by mindflayers or whatever. so shes just. on that ship. actually being its captain. instead of leaving it to her lieutenant, which has been her tactic for the majority of the time she has been captain of that vessel. even with the adventure path one i said, before the hiatus was called, that presumably my character was just ~along with the party~ until they got to the ferry we need, and then would be in their cabin on the ferry reading and completely oblivious to the outside world. sure that ones a little shakier but they did literally uncover a journal of theirs and they have amnesia so deciding to do a deep dive on that bad boy while stuck on a boat seems completely reasonable. bwuuh. (difficult to justify for the thesis campaign bc my character is a) Around, and b) has no way to simply dip for 6 entire sessions that would make sense or wouldn't just fully take him out of the campaign).

whatever. im just antsy because im really stressed about my holiday and full to the achy tit with period hormones that make me grumpy and also even MORE stressed about the holiday. so on, so forth, grumble grumble

[tei-to-tei]

sorry for the angsty art I recently posted, my angst brain fog is slowly lifting and fluff is re-entering my brain once more~

Hoping to post more of my long fic sometime this week, and more wholesome content for the ones that follow me for my doodles ;u;

Thanks for your patience, sorry for the potential bother ♥️

[beelmons]

me: why are my posts not showing on search

my tumblr settings: you have chosen to not be shown on searches

me: ah right

[kingsis]

The innate feeling of love humans have for everything.. when they find out that something is unloved they go out of their way to love it unconditionally. Something so deep rooted in our genes it can't be removed. To find something broken and battered to love, because it satiates a need. Why do we do that? Why do you do that?

[honeysucklebuttons]

this spiky fellow was chilling under a leaf in my potted garden, and I'd love to know any idea about who this might be! (It was tricky to get pictures with the angle and the sun that day :0

@onenicebugperday

[cuubism]

a very silly story for you. johanna, dreamling's weird baby, and an accidental kidnapping (and subsequent rescue)

--

Johanna’s seen a lot of weird shit in her time. It comes with the territory. Magical shit also tends to be horrible shit which also tends to be weird shit. But even she is finding herself flummoxed by this one.

She’d broken into this flat prepared to perform an exorcism. Amateur occultist, planning to summon a demon? That’s what she’d heard, and yeah, that wasn’t going to go well. And it hadn’t—the guy was on fire when she arrived, so on fire that there was no way she could put it out or help him, though she had throne a blanket over him in a meager attempt. It was too late, though. He was charcoal in seconds.

That, while horrible, wasn’t even the weird part. The weird part was that there wasn’t even a demon, but there was a baby.

Sitting in the middle of the room, in a bird cage.

Johanna stares at it now, barely noticing the acrid smoke she’s still breathing in. Why the actual fuck is there a baby in a birdcage?

It doesn’t seem to be hurt at all. It’s just sitting there on a blanket at the bottom of the cage, clutching a little cat stuffed toy in its chubby fingers. But it’s in a birdcage. A bird cage.

Johanna goes to open the cage, of course she does—

And the moment she touches the latch she jumps back, shaking out her hand from the spark. Holy hell, that thing is warded to high heaven. That cage could probably keep a demon contained. Why is a baby warded like that? It’s just a human—

It.

It looks like a human baby.

Johanna circles the cage, more wary now. She should know better, should know that an occultist like that wouldn’t be carrying around a regular baby in a cage. Even if you’re a real sicko, you don’t need a cage to keep hold of a baby. It can’t even walk.

So it’s not a regular baby. Sure looks like one, though. Makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, that does.

As Johanna looks more closely at the wards, the baby watches her with wide eyes, sucking on its thumb. It’s actually pretty cute. It’s even wearing a star-print onesie. The wards are hardcore, though. Nothing’s getting in, and certainly nothing is getting out.

“Either you’re some fucked up thing disguised as a baby,” she muses out loud, “or you’re an actual little baby fucked up thing, which means your fucked up nightmare mummy is going to come looking for you.”

The baby blurbles in agreement.

Either way, she can’t exactly take it to the authorities. Which means she’s going to have to take the baby home, at least for now.

“Fuck me,” Johanna says, and picks up the cage.

--

The baby is silent on the drive home—buckled awkwardly into the back seat of the car—and remains so as Johanna puts the cage down on the floor of her living room. It watches her with big eyes, sucking its thumb. It doesn’t seem particularly afraid, though Johanna can’t imagine being in a cage is very pleasant, even for a baby that probably doesn’t understand what’s going on anyway.

Or who knows, maybe it does. Jo doesn’t really know much about babies’ development trajectories.

“Right,” she says, looking at it with hands on her hips. “I’m not really looking to become a mum, so we’ll have to get you out of there and back where you belong. Fuck if I know where that is.”

The baby makes a gurgling sound that could be agreement or just gassiness.

Johanna gets out some chalk and starts to draw a containment array around the cage. “Sorry about this, little chap,” she says, “but I still don’t know what you are. Better safe than sorry, eh?”

The baby is silent, watching her.

Johanna finishes the containment circle, binding it off with a final rune. It’s not so mean of a ward as the cage had. Just enough to keep the baby from exploding with power once she does break the cage open. If that’s something it can even do.

She studies the ward. “Think I can pick this lock,” she says to herself. “Take me a sec, though. Don’t suppose you want a beer while you wait?” This to the baby. “I haven’t got any formula. Or are you old enough for baby food?”

The baby just sucks on its thumb. It really does seem quite sweet. Shame about secretly being a monstrosity in a cage, and all.

Johanna works on the ward, occasionally chatting out loud to the baby. It doesn’t reply, obviously, but it listens. Johanna is feeling more invested in getting it back to its parents the longer she sits with it. Even if it is some gross creature, it doesn’t deserve to be in a birdcage. It’s just a baby.

“Good trick we met each other, my friend,” she says as she finally unravels the last bit of the warding. “Doubt that guy had good plans for his captured baby.”

She clicks open the ward.

As soon as she does, the formerly placid baby starts screaming. And Johanna realizes that part of the ward’s function had been to stop it from crying for help.

“Mama!” the baby wails, tears pooling in its eyes, little fists scrunched tight around its plushy’s legs. “MammaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

Its voice warbles outside the normal sound range and straight into her brain, ringing like a bell. She covers her ears, but it doesn’t help. Great, now the thing’s mother is going to show up and eat her. This is what she gets for trying not to be a total asshole for once. Should’ve opened the cage in the street and fled.

“Shhhhhh,” she tries to soothe the baby, “it’s okay—” But it’s too late. And Johanna isn’t a very soothing person anyway. It probably wouldn’t have worked, even if the room hadn’t been plunged into sudden darkness.

Johanna stumbles back, though she can see nothing. Thunder and static ripple through the air, cold wind tangles her hair. Jo claps her hands over her ears as the air pressure increases and increases and—

The baby squeals, and it sounds happy now, rather than afraid. “Mama!!”

A voice scraped from the utter depths of mental torment booms through her flat.

C  O  N  S  T  A  N  T  I  N  E

Ah, fuck.

“Morpheus,” she tries, because she does recognize that voice, unfortunately, “listen—”

A wall of sand knocks her backwards.

As it does, some light returns to the flat, and she can see Morpheus, looking markedly less pathetic than when she’d last encountered him, standing in the center of the living room, looking down at the baby. His eyes flash with otherworldly light. His sand rushes around him, scrapes through the binding circle she’d drawn like it’s nothing but chalk, dissolves the birdcage to nothing, plays with the baby’s curls and pools in the crevices of its onesie. Meanwhile, it flattens Johanna against the wall, wraps in winding strands of wind around her chest and squeezes.

The baby reaches for Morpheus, who kneels and picks it up. He says something to the baby, the words low and solemn but inaudible over the rushing sand, then holds it close to his chest.

Then his gaze turns to Johanna.He looks murderous. Johanna had thought he’d been pissed off about his sand. She hadn’t seen even a tenth of it.

“I guess you’re mama?” she says, past the sand squeezing around her chest. This really is just the kind of stupid thing that would happen to her.

Morpheus’s eyes are like black holes in his pale face. “Constantine,” he growls, with much of the same danger as before, though at lower volume. “I thought we had parted on neutral terms. More fool I. What grudge do you still hold against me?” The sand squeezes her tighter. “Speak quickly, for your time is limited.”

“There’s no grudge, I have nothing to—”

“Ransom, then?” says Morpheus, seeming, if possible, more angry. “You would compel favors from me by threatening a child?” He clutches the baby to his chest. It’s started chewing on the lapel of his coat. The whole picture would be kind of hilariously adorable if she weren’t on the verge of being torn apart by nightmares.

“I’m not responsible for this!” Johanna insists. “Consult your stalker encyclopedia of all minds if you have to. You really think I’m going around kidnapping infants?”

“I think,” says Morpheus, each syllable a new threat, “that you must explain why you had my daughter in a cage. NOW. And count yourself fortunate I have granted you the mercy of an explanation.”

“I literally just found her!” Johanna says. Doesn’t she deserve even a little bit of good faith? She did help with the sand and all. Morpheus’s eyes narrow as if he does not believe her. “Look. Caught wind of this amateur guy messing around with occult stuff. Thought he’d summoned a demon so I went to exorcise it. Found this baby instead.”

“And what of this man?” says Morpheus in a tone that suggests exactly what will soon become of him.

“He was practically dead by the time I got there. Burned alive.” She shudders. She still hasn’t figured out exactly what was going on there, if he’d meant to summon Morpheus’s baby in the first place—ill-advised choice, that—or if it was a spell gone wrong. “‘Fraid you’re too late to torment him.”

“Hmm,” rumbles Morpheus, with evident displeasure, but the sand finally releases Johanna and she sways, standing on her own feet again. Morpheus doesn’t apologize for throwing her against the wall. “You will show me where you found her.”

“Sure, mate,” Johanna says, sucking in a wheezing breath. “Might want to get your baby home first, though.”

Morpheus doesn’t get a chance to respond. Behind Johanna, the front door bursts open— bursts off its fucking hinges, goddammit, now she’ll have to get that fixed— and a man runs through. A very ordinary man, except that he’s carrying a sword. An actual, medieval-looking sword. And in a way that suggests he knows how to use it, too.

He looks almost as murderous as Morpheus, except that no one can quite match Morpheus’s shadows-and-cataclysm level of murder. Evidently, Johanna found the most radioactive baby in all the occult world. But at least it has people that care about it. That’s nice, she supposes.

As soon as he sees Morpheus with the baby across the room, he relaxes, sheathing the sword in a scabbard strapped to his back. “Ah, love. You found her.”

“Dadaaaaaa!!!!” yells the baby with its piercing voice, reaching for him. And the man smiles, striding past Johanna and taking the baby from Morpheus, leaning in to kiss Morpheus on the cheek as he does.

“Hob,” says Morpheus, with a little smile that finally breaks his stormy countenance. “Yes. She called for me when she was able.”

“Good lass,” says Hob, kissing the baby on the forehead, then looks warily at Johanna.

“Ms. Constantine is not responsible,” says Morpheus, and ‘Hob’—his partner? Coparent? Johanna’s not sure she even wants to know—relaxes further.

“Great. Glad we’ve established that. How the hell did you find my flat.” This she demands of Hob.

Hob reaches into the back of the baby’s onesie and plucks a small disc off the collar; he shows it to her with a little wave, then slips it in his pocket.

“Is that an AirTag?”

“We aren’t all plugged into the whole collective unconscious.” He taps the baby on the nose fondly, and she giggles, grabbing at his finger. “And you’re Dada’s little flight risk, aren’t you?”

Johanna sighs, finally flopping down on the couch now that it seems she’s unlikely to get swept away to nightmare-land. She definitely needs a beer after this. “You have a baby?” she says to Morpheus.

“Evidently,” he says flatly. So much for getting answers on that.

“Have we gone after the person who was responsible?” asks Hob. Johanna thinks he means it to come out mildly but it doesn’t, really.

“Already got set on fire, mate,” Jo tells him. “Found him like that.”

“Set on fire?” says Hob with a frown. “Was the rest of the room on fire?”

As a matter of fact, it wasn’t. Which is strange.

Silently, she shakes her head, and Hob turns back to the baby. Now he’s grinning. “Did the bad man wish for power?” he says, in a baby-talk voice, bouncing the baby in his arms. “Did he? And did my little Sparkle take that literally and turn him into a lightbulb?” As a conspiratorial aside to Johanna, he says, “She loves electricity.”

“Sparkle?” she says. “She’s a baby, not a My Little Pony.”

“That is a nickname,” says Morpheus, with a sideways glance at Hob that suggests he finds it questionable at best. “She is Wish.” He says this in the same way he might say I am Dream, rather than my name is Dream.

A moment later, Johanna learns where the nickname came from, as Wish giggles and taps at Hob’s face, sparks dancing around her fingertips. Sparkle. Jesus.

“She does not yet have a firm grasp on her abilities,” says Morpheus.

Wish. Half-Endless baby. Kidnapper set on fire. Jo thinks she gets it now. She shivers.

“You have sworn to show me where you found her,” Morpheus reminds her. Sworn. Does he have to be so dramatic?

Jo sighs, but heaves herself up from the couch. “Yep. Alright. So long as you promise to keep better track of that monkey’s paw baby of yours.”

Morpheus bristles, but Hob just chuckles. “This is the easy part. Wait ’til she gets better at flying.”

He doesn’t appear to be joking. “Don’t envy you,” Johanna says. Then grudgingly admits, “She is cute, though.”

Hob beams.

Morpheus is still fixated on her. Johanna can read the demand without him having to voice it. “What, you’re gonna bring the baby along on the revenge mission?” she asks.

They both just look at her. Neither moves to take Wish home.

“Figures,” Johanna says, with a sigh. This is what she gets for not choosing a more normal profession. She opens the front door and gestures them on. “Fine, then. Let’s go.”

[poguestarkey]

nobody gets me - t.nott

i haven’t written in.... years. so here’s a blurb/drabble (blurble?) (post writing: this turned into a whole one-shot) that i thought of instead of watching my lecture.

based on the line from sza’s song: “hurry now baby stick it in ‘fore the memories get to kickin’ in”

warnings: smut (p in v), angst, crying during sex (1000% consensual i don’t write noncon ever), this is depressing i can’t even lie, potty words, choking if you squint

pairing: ex!theo nott x female!slytherin!reader (sixth year)

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

His room is cold. 

Your skin flares with goosebumps, and whether that’s from the temperature or his breath on the back of your neck, you aren’t really sure. 

Something in you knows this is it. Despite your two year relationship falling with the leaves in October, Theo was the one warming your bed all through winter. It’s barely March now, and the trees are beginning to thaw. 

His hands gently turn you to face him. “Y/N-” He starts, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“I don’t want to talk, Teddy.” You whisper against his mouth, working your fingers in his tie to remove it. Nodding, he moves his mouth down your jaw, taking care to pause just below your ear, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. He knows exactly how you work; what makes you grip his arms tighter or arch your back or make the sounds he loves so much. He’s had years to learn. While working his way down your neck, he works your tie off.

Your fingers slowly undo each button of his stark white shirt, tie discarded on the floor. “Fuck,” He breathes, your hands running down his torso. His hands move to your hair, gently pulling your head back to gain better access to your neck. 

Moans barely louder than a hum escape your mouth as he moves his way down the column of your throat and your fingers naturally find their way to his dark mop of curls. 

“Merlin, always so pretty,” He says as he pulls your shirt off your shoulders, revealing your white lace bralette, stark against your skin. You know better than to do the same. He stopped letting you when he came back to school after Christmas. 

You suspect why. 

“Theo...” You whimper, growing impatient despite your wish for this night to last as long as possible. 

“I know, love. I know.” He moves his large hands under your thighs, carrying you to the bed. You bounce against the mattress and pull him against yourself. He reaches behind you and you arch in response, waiting for him to unclasp the fabric. He peels off your socks, tossing them with everything else on the floor, and his lips find your pebbled nipple. His arms are wrapped around your entire torso, holding you impossibly close, so close you can feel his heartbeat against your stomach. He moves to the other breast, kissing directly over your heart, and your breath catches in your throat. 

You know it’s the last time. You’ve known since he sent the paper crane to your desk during Charms. 

“my room, 9?

~Teddy <3″

He hasn’t been yours since before Halloween, yet in a way, it’s like he never stopped. Theo was your first everything. First crush, first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. You never planned to have a second. 

You refocus as you feel him move his way down your body. When he reaches the waistband of your skirt, his blue eyes flick up to meet yours and you fight the tremor in your hands. You nod, worried that if you speak, your voice will betray you. 

“Words, angel.”

“Please, Theo?” At your affirmation, he quickly unbuttons it and pulls the pleats down, leaving you bare except for your panties. He stands above you for a moment, taking in the sight below him. Your eyes track down his tall frame until they land on the tent in his dress pants. Sitting up, you work off his belt, button, and zipper until you can remove them. Your fingers ghost over his length strained against the material of his boxers, dampened with precum. 

“Y/N, don’t tease,” He tenderly chastises, pulling your body further onto the bed so that your head rests on the pillows and he has room to crawl on top of you. He brushes a stray hair out of your face and you have to bite your cheek to hold back your emotions. He runs his hands down, moving from your chest, to your ribs, to your waist before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your knickers. 

He locks eyes with you, and the sharpness of his gaze leaves you unable to say anything but “Mhmm.” The feeling of his fingers grazing your thighs as the cold air hits your core has you already gripping the silk sheets underneath you. He parts your legs with his knees, fingers finding place against your entrance, dipping into the wetness that’s collected there. 

“Baby,” He mutters into your shoulder. “So wet.”

Your breath quickens when he sinks his middle and ring fingers into you, the coolness of his rings a sharp contrast to the heat of your skin. He works them slowly, but with force, against the places he knows will leave you mewling and gripping his arms, unable to say anything coherently except his name. 

“Fuck, Teddy,” You toes curl as his digits do, and you can feel your hair tangling into his other hand when you arch even further into him. Right as you feel the knot in the base of your belly begin to form, he pulls away, leaving you whining in frustration. 

“Just a second darling, just a second.” Theo chuckles at your state. He quickly removes his own boxers before returning to his place above you. Your hand instinctively reaches between you two to grasp onto his cock, slowly pumping him. His arms are caged around you and he buries his face into your hair when he lets small moans of your name slip. “Y/N/N...” You know the tone and release him, hands finding their way back to his shoulders. 

He presses his forehead to yours, stroking your cheek. Your eyes screw shut in a last ditch attempt to hold back tears. They well against your eyelids and it’s all you can do to keep them in.

“My sweet girl...” He murmurs, and your dam breaks. Bottom lip trembling, his thumb catches the first tear to fall, but you can’t hold back the rest, feeling them stream down your temples. He presses gentle kisses to your nose, continuing, “I’m so sorry that it has to be this way.”

“Theo,” You catch your breath, fighting away every memory riddling your brain. “Theo, please, just... Just please.” Your eyes open to see him nod and the hand on your face disappears to line himself up. He braces himself with his right hand, the left coming to rest on your throat. No pressure, no squeezing. Just a reminder of what once was. You move to grip his wrist, thumb moving back and forth. 

Gently, he pushes into you, inch by inch. He stills for a moment, allowing you to collect yourself, only pulling back out when he can feel your walls clenching him. “God, love. You feel so good. So good.” He snaps his hips against yours, keeping with his hard and slow pace.

“So deep, Teddy. Don’t think you’ve ever been this deep.” You babble, trying to soak up each second of his skin on yours. You’re sure your nails are leaving indents in his forearm, even through his shirt, but you can’t bring yourself to loosen your grip. “Wanna be closer, please.” 

“Always so polite,” The hand on your throat moves to wrap back around your waist, allowing him to hit that spot inside you. It sends you into a spiral, tears still falling, and you reach a hand out to rake down his chest. He hisses and catches your mouth in a sensual kiss before sitting back on his knees, thrusts continuing. He pulls your right leg onto his shoulder and presses his lips against the bone in your ankle.

You think you might pass out from both the pleasure and the intimacy. The knot is back in your stomach, growing bigger and tighter with every stroke. “Theo,” You whine, volume rising. He knows, he knows and he drops his head back down to yours. Both hands cup his face, and you can feel the way your walls flutter around him, your tell-tale that you’re right on the edge. You’re nearing blackout-level pleasure, and your eyes threaten to close again. 

“Ah-ah,” Theo tuts. “Eyes open, baby. Need to see your eyes when you cum for me.” 

“So close, Teddy. So, so, so close.”

“Gonna cum on my cock?” He’s fueling you further, and you feel like a car without brakes hurdling towards your orgasm. You ferociously nod and his hand,  so large it practically swallows your face, grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“Teddy! Fuck-” Your words are cut off when your orgasm rips through you like a freight train, the only thing remaining in focus being the iris of his eyes. Theo works you through it, never letting up in his pace. 

When you can finally notice your surroundings again, his voice is in your ear, switching between guttural moans of your name and sweet nothings. “Y/N, Y/N... Gonna paint you white on the inside. Gonna make sure you don’t forget,” He pants. “‘s just so good, ah hell-” He stills inside you and his nose drops to the space between your shoulder neck as he cums, hot streams filling you up even further. 

He collapses onto you, and your thumbs gently trace lines on his cheeks. When you’ve both calmed enough to breathe normally, he removes himself from you. 

“Jus’ grabbin’ a tissue, love. Don’t move.” He presses a kiss to your forehead to finish his sentence. You both clean yourselves, and when you’re sat upright in a t-shirt and he’s in clean boxers, he asks, “Can I braid your hair?” 

Your hand twitches. Back before, he would braid your hair constantly. It started as a method of aftercare after a rough night and quickly became a consolation tactic for the both of you. For you, after a bad class or test and him after a quidditch game went sour or a fight with his parents. He hasn’t done it since the breakup. You aren’t sure you could handle it tonight. But you find yourself saying, “Of course.”

The feeling is so familiar it makes your heart physically ache. His fingers work diligently through the strands and he only stops to ask you for the hairband on your wrist. 

“Y/N/N?”

“Yes, Theo?”

“Will you stay the night?” His eyes are pleading, begging you to. It wasn’t what you planned, but then again, when has Theodore Nott ever been something you can plan?

“Okay,” You say. With a flick of his wand, the lights are out. You pull the covers over your shoulder and lay facing him. 

“Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Teddy.”

You swear you heard him mutter an “I love you.” before you drifted off. 

According to the clock on the wall, it’s 2:29 when you stir awake. 

He looks so childlike, lashes brushing his cheeks as puffs of air leave his mouth. You slide out of the bed, so careful not to wake him. It’s easier if he’s asleep. You change, silently, from his t-shirt back to your uniform. Inside your bookbag, you’ve shoved every jumper, jersey, and shirt of his you could find in your dorm. 

The tears start again as you fold them methodically at the foot of his bed, recalling how you received each item. The sweatpants, when you unexpectedly got your period in his dorm and bled through your own. The jersey, at the first quidditch game you attended as his girlfriend. Sweaters from endless nights of complaining that “I’m cold, Teddy.”

It takes every ounce of resolve you have to not crawl back into bed with him, into the safety and familiarity of his arms, his heart, his eyes, him. You contemplate writing a note, but ultimately decide that it’s better to rip the bandage off. You’ve been pulling at it hair by hair for months now. 

You pray the door doesn’t squeak on it’s hinges and finger your now messy braid as you take a last look at him.

“Bye, Teddy Bear.”