#Life's Lessons Time stamps

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ cloud nine p2.✦ 」

Mattheo riddle × reader [part1]

Summary: The "jinx girl," as they call her, is said to bring bad luck. However, when Mattheo Riddle decides to get to know the school's most neglected girl and takes matters into his own hands, Y/N's life is turned upside down in a mere night.

Warnings:angst, smut, fluff

Words: 13.5k

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[ A Cry for Help (and Hippogriffs)]

Dear Uncle Ben ,

Consider this my official "You were absolutely right (but with way more heartbreak)" letter. Remember all those warnings you showered me with before I left for Hogwarts? Werewolves, Dementors, rogue Gillyweed incidents (honestly, who even uses that stuff anymore?) You covered the whole spectrum of nightmarish magical creatures. But why, oh why, did you neglect to warn me about charming Slytherins with a really really pretty smiles and the ability to shatter hearts ?

Yes, Uncle Ben, your favorite niece (and, let's be honest, only niece) has officially fallen from cloud nine and landed face-first in a puddle of disappointment. Remember Mattheo Riddle? The one with the eyes like melted chocolate and a smile that could disarm a grumpy Hippogriff? Turns out….well, you get the picture. My heart is in as many pieces as a poorly repaired Floo Network."

So, here's the thing, Uncle Ben . **I'm done. Hogwarts can keep its feasts, its Quidditch matches, and its overly enthusiastic Potions lessons.** I wouldn't be caught dead on the Hogwarts Express, and frankly, the Burrow isn't exactly calling my name right now either.

This is where you come in, my valiant (and hopefully broomstick-wielding) savior. **I need an extraction, Uncle Ben . A daring rescue. A grand exit that would make even Dumbledore raise an eyebrow.** Floo powder me out? Sneak me aboard a disguised Thestral? Honestly, at this point, I'd even settle for a well-timed Hippogriff stampede (though maybe not – those beaks look awfully sharp).

So please uncle Ben As soon as this letter reaches your extraordinary hands, pack your Niffler leash, your Newt-approved travel kettle, and anything else that might help

Your distraught (and slightly heartbroken) niece,

Y/N

P.S. Please bring some Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans. Maybe a chocolate frog or two wouldn't hurt either.

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After folding the letter with care, I sealed it using a wax stamp adorned with a grumpy-looking Kneazle, a delightful creation from a talented first-year Hufflepuff. Placing it inside an owl-sized envelope addressed to "Benjamin Scamander, Ministry of Magical Creatures, Department for Beast Regulation and Control," I sent it off with a silent prayer for a speedy rescue.

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Y/N

Consider it done. Talon wasn't thrilled about the Beans (apparently, they don't quite mesh with his sophisticated palate), but the chocolate frogs seemed to appease him. Be ready by nightfall. We'll have a proper family reunion, Hippogriff style.

P.S. Don't worry about any "Hippogriff stampedes." Talon's surprisingly well-mannered (for the most part).

Love,

Uncle Ben

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After two blissful days away from Hogwarts at Uncle Ben's cozy cottage in the Welsh hills, I woke up to find him bustling about the room. Despite the comfort and serenity of our time together, I couldn't shake off the tears that stained his (probably very expensive) linens.

He lumbered in, a steaming mug clutched in his hand, followed by a bewildered-looking Billywig (apparently, they weren't exactly known for their graceful exits).

"Here," he said kindly, placing the mug on the bedside table. "Peppermint tea. Guaranteed to cure a broken heart… or at least numb it a bit."

I took a shaky sip, the warmth spreading through me like a gentle hug. Uncle Ben perched on the edge of the bed, concern evident in his gaze that battled with his usual amusement.

"Alright, spill it," he finally said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "What's got you blubbering like a Bowtruckle caught in a rainstorm?"

I choked on a sob, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "It's just… everything. Mattheo… the rumors… the whole thing feels so stupid."

"Stupid? Sweetheart, this is practically a textbook case of teenage wizarding drama!," Uncle Ben said with a chuckle.

"First, the rumors. Turns out Charlie Spinnet, fancies you and that by the way explains the sudden change in cologne and his haircut whenever he visits. But then instead of acting like a normal human being, he decided to spread those ridiculous stories about you being a jinx?"

I nodded, sniffling. "And then there's Riddle Jr.," Uncle Ben continued, his voice laced with a hint of disapproval. "Used you for a dare? Honestly, these Slytherins – where's the chivalry gone? Back in my day, we at least serenaded our crushes with a well-timed love potion, not a staged play."

"I know right? !" I cried, wiping away fresh tears, he come closer pulling me into a warm hug.

When the last tear finally dried, a heavy silence settled between us. My eyelids drooped, exhaustion pulling me under. "Uncle Ben," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep, "Can I… can I leave Hogwarts?"

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Is that what you want, Y/N?"

"I don't… I don't want to see him, or them, or…" My voice trailed off, the thought of facing whispers and pitying glances unbearable.

He squeezed my hand gently. "There are other schools, Y/N. Places where you can learn, grow, and maybe even find someone who truly appreciates you."

A flicker of hope sparked within me. A fresh start? A chance to heal away from the prying eyes and judgmental whispers? "Do you think… could I transfer… maybe to Beauxbatons?"

Uncle Ben chuckled. "Beauxbatons? Now that's an interesting choice. But hey, if you fancy learning with a bunch of wand-waving fashionistas, who am I to say no?"

The crisp Welsh air whipped through my hair as I sat on the porch swing, watching the sun set over the rolling hills. Uncle Ben's cottage, nestled amongst ancient oaks, seemed even cozier with the warm, orange light bathing its stone walls.

Thankfully, he'd managed to smooth things over with my parents, convincing them it would be perfect for me to stay with him until I figured out what to do about school.

Weeks melted into each other, and a unsettling undercurrent began to ripple through the otherwise idyllic setting. Every boy who showed even a flicker of interest in me or mustered the courage to ask me out –vanished after our initial encounter. Poof. Gone.

Only to reappear the next day, looking sheepish and pale, with mumbled apologies for missing our planned date . "something came up" or a sudden "family emergency."

kind, awkward Liam, sporty William , even that quiet bookworm Ethan – they all faced the same fate , a freckled boy named Callum, practically leaped over a nearby toadstool with a yelp, his face blanching as if he'd seen a ghost. It was as though the sight of the bumpy amphibian unearthed a buried terror within him.

And it’s seems like anyone who would show any interest in me will face the same fate

Case in point: a particular book I had discussed with a boy who worked at the library and had also asked me out for a date. The next day, that very book was on uncle Ben leaving room the next day and I knew for sure that uncle Ben wasn’t the one who did that .

Curiosity piqued, I went to the library to inquire about the book's whereabouts, only to find the boy in a state of sheer terror. He avoided eye contact and stammered out a nervous apology, his fear palpable in the way he trembled. It was as if he had encountered something terrifying, something that left him traumatized overnight. Unsettled by the encounter, I sought help from another library assistant to locate the book I wanted. This time, the assistant was more than eager to assist, his eyes darting around nervously as if expecting something unexpected to happen again.

Weeks dragged by, each day a monotonous echo of the last.

As I wake up today a tear slipped down my cheek, tracing a warm path through the cool morning air. I cursed myself under my breath, blinking furiously to clear my vision. There it was again, the lingering echo of his touch, the warmth of his smile, all remnants of a cruel dream.

Damn it. I cursed myself under my breath, throwing the covers back with a huff. How dare I miss him? How dare my traitorous subconscious paint him in a loving light after everything? The betrayal, the lies, they were all still raw, a constant reminder of his deceit.

Feeling the need for some solace and quiet reflection, I decided to head to the library

The usually a comforting haven, was eerily silent. A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. Did the boy who worked here quit ? Thanks a lot, Mattheo.

Pushing open the library doors, I was greeted by an unsettling emptiness. Pushing the thought aside, I navigated the towering bookshelves, half expecting some kind of magical mishap – maybe a rogue pixie infestation? With a spine-tingling creak. An unsettling feeling wormed its way into my stomach. Surely Johnny, the cute boy who worked here, wouldn't leave the entire library unattended?

"Hello, Johnny?" I called out, my voice echoing eerily in the vast space. No answer. Great. Just fantastic.

Shrugging it off, I ventured deeper into the labyrinth of bookshelves. The silence pressed in on me, broken only by the soft pad of my footsteps. Halfway expecting a rogue Acromantula to drop from the ceiling or a mischievous pixie to trip me with a strategically placed shoelace, I navigated the towering stacks.

Suddenly, a loud creak pierced the silence. My heart lurched, and I spun around, wand instinctively halfway out of my pocket. The heavy library door swung shut with an ominous finality. For a moment, I stood frozen, every nerve on high alert. Was I alone?

and there he was ... His usual playful smirk was replaced by a furrowed brow and a flicker of something… hurt? Regret? It was a confusing cocktail that sent my carefully constructed facade teetering on the edge of collapse.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, threatening to burst from my chest. My carefully crafted mask of indifference felt like it was cracking under the sheer force of seeing him.

the silence of the library seemed deafening, amplifying the chaotic symphony playing out inside me.

I plastered a smile on my face, hoping it came across as confident and not the terrified mess I truly felt. This was ridiculous. He was the one who lied and betrayed me, not the other way around. Yet, here I was, feeling like I was the one on trial.

"Dramatic much?" I spat, my voice laced with venom. "So what's the deal now, Riddle? Bored with your little toad transformation hobby? Decided to haunt the library instead?"

He gave me a slow once-over, his gaze lingering a beat too long. It sent a shiver down my spine, a confusing mix of anger and a vulnerability I desperately tried to suppress.

Folding my arms, I tried to project an air of annoyance. "Look, Riddle," I said, forcing a harsher tone than I felt. "Let's cut to the chase. Open the door and disappear."

As he took a tentative step towards me, the carefully constructed wall around my emotions started to crumble. His eyes held a depth of emotion I couldn't decipher – hurt? Regret? It was a confusing mix that threatened to unravel me.

"You never mentioned you were a Scamander," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. The sound of it after all this time, even laced with the echoes of past pain, was a punch to the gut.

-well technically I was from my mother side but i never dared to say that to anyone afraid to bring shame to the family name , because I never felt like I deserved to.

Tears pricked at the back of my eyelids, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "And you," I choked out, the words raw with hurt, "never mentioned being fucking liar . Seems like we're even, wouldn't you agree?"

he started to speak. "I know you don’t want to listen—"

Frustration bubbled over before he could finish his sentence. "Why are you even here, Riddle?" I snapped. "You know I don't want to hear your excuses."

His gaze held mine, unwavering despite the storm brewing in my own eyes.

"Stop staring at me like that!" I hissed, the vulnerability I desperately tried to hide threatening to spill over.

Desperate to break the tension, I lunged for the door, yanking on the handle. Panic surged as it remained stubbornly shut. "What's wrong with this stupid door?" I yelled, "We can't use magic outside Hogwarts!" I exclaimed, bewildered. "Did you do something to the door?" Kicking it with my foot in frustration.

Spinning back to face him, my voice trembled with a mix of fury and fear. "What did you do to those boys, Mattheo? Turned them into toads?"

A smirk played on his lips, a sight that only intensified my urge to lash out. "Not all of them," he countered, his voice laced with a hint of something… jealousy? "Why? Do you care about them?"

“Apparently I did “I challenged, my voice laced with a bitterness I couldn't hide, "That's why I agreed to go out with them in the first place."

His smugness evaporated, replaced by a desperate plea that sent a shiver down my spine. "Don't go to Beauxbatons, love," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper, laced with such raw emotion it threatened to crack the dam of my anger ,considering his impressive stalking skills I wasn’t surprised he knew about that ..

"Don't call me that, Riddle," I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the traitorous tears that welled up. When I opened them again, the sight that greeted me was my breaking point.

Hurt, confusion, and a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like longing swirled in his eyes. "Why - why did you keep calling me that? Why not say my name?" he asked, his voice thick with a pain that mirrored my own.

"It's just Riddle for me now ," I said, my voice cold, a desperate attempt to shield myself from the storm of emotions brewing within me.

"Please," he whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air. "Please don't go to Beauxbatons."

"Get out of my way," I snapped, my voice laced with a venom I barely recognized. "I won't say it again."

He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes pleading. "I'm not above begging," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I'll do anything you ask. You say you hate me, then hate me. Ruin my life. Do whatever will make you feel better, just do it in front of me. Stay at Hogwarts."

Shock rendered me speechless. "Don't do this," he continued, his voice cracking. "Not for me, but for you. Don't run away. If anyone deserves to leave Hogwarts, it's not you. Please, don't do this."

His words hung heavy in the air, each one a shard of truth that pierced the carefully constructed wall of anger I'd built around myself. "Let go of my hand, Mattheo," I whispered, not daring to look at him. He released me slowly, his touch a lingering ghost on my skin.

The silence stretched on, heavy and thick. Finally, I forced myself to meet his gaze. My own eyes, red-rimmed and tear-filled, mirrored the raw emotion in his. With a shaky breath, I whispered, "Open the door now , please."

He nodded, his face etched with pain. The door swung open silently, and for a moment, our eyes locked. Then, without a word, I turned and walked towards the door.

But before I reached the doorway, a new urgency filled his voice. "Y/N, wait!" He reached out a hand, but stopped himself before making contact. "I know I messed up. There's no excuse for what I did, but please believe me – I love you. And I'm not giving us up. I'll do whatever it takes to prove it to you."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a challenge and a plea rolled into one. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, Taking a deep. I turned and walked out, leaving Mattheo standing alone in the empty library.

Reaching Uncle Ben's cozy cottage, I fumbled with the latch, my vision obscured by a fresh wave of tears. The door creaked open to reveal Uncle Ben, his face creasing in concern at the sight of me. Before I could even think of a response, I was enveloped in his warm, familiar embrace.

"Merlin's beard, Y/N," he chuckled, his voice laced with concern, "what happened? Did you lose a duel with a particularly grumpy pixie?"

Pulling back, I managed a watery smile. "Something like that," I mumbled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Uncle Ben's gaze narrowed, his playful demeanor replaced by a more serious one.

"You know, all this tears and sniffles could lead one to believe…"

He paused dramatically, dragging out the suspense. "You are not pregnant, are you?”

"Pregnant? Uncle Ben, seriously?"

He threw his head back and laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. "Just checking! Seriously that world won’t survive another riddle “

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the crackling fire in the hearth.

"You know," he finally said, his voice gentle, "sometimes the heart wants what it wants, regardless of past hurts." He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a knowing warmth. "The question is, Y/N, what does yours truly want?"

"I don't really know," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "One thing's for sure, though. I'm done running. I can't keep letting fear dictate my life."

“Every time something gets hard, I pack my metaphorical bags and vanish. But this time… this time it feels different."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. "There's this anger inside me, this need for revenge," I confessed, letting out a shaky breath. "It scares me, Uncle Ben. "

Uncle Ben reached for me his hand warm and comforting on mine. "There's a difference, Y/N, between righteous anger and destructive vengeance," he said softly. "Anger can be a powerful motivator, a fuel that can propel you forward. But it's crucial to channel it, to use it to grow stronger, not to let it control you."

Turning to him, I met his gaze with a newfound determination. "So," I started, a mischievous glint sparkling in my eyes, "would you help me pack up my bags for Hogwarts? And maybe... with something 'Scamander related' ?"

A playful smile mirrored mine on his face. "Always up for a good mystery, Y/N," .

The Hogwarts Express journey wasn't the gauntlet of whispers and pointed fingers I'd braced myself for. The carriage felt eerily quiet, devoid of the usual gossipy chatter and giggling. A part of me wondered if this unsettling silence was Mattheo's doing.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I rounded the corner, the familiar brick facade of the school looming ahead. Taking a deep breath.

I saw him.

He was leaning against the oak tree by the entrance, a casual posture that couldn't quite hide the tension in his shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the school doors, and for a thrilling moment, I thought I might have imagined him there.

But then, our eyes met.

His breath hitched ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before a slow smile bloomed on his face. It wasn't a wide, dazzling grin, but a soft, genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

The next morning, a nervous energy thrummed through me. Gone was the urge to flee; instead, a steely determination burned bright. I arrived at Charms class, ridiculously early, senses sharp with focus.

Adrian Pucey sauntered in, brow furrowed. "Y/N? What are you doing here so early? Malfoy's the one meeting me," he said, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"Just eager for Charms," I replied coolly. "and you said Malfoy ? No idea, really”

Actually I was the one who wrote him the fake note with Malfoy’s name to come earlier.

He cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. "Look, about what happened , believe me what Mattheo did to me after was enough to ——"

"Don't worry about it, Adrian," I interrupteda sly smile playing on my lips."Things happen."

His surprise deepened. "You...you forgive me that easily?"

Pulling a cupcake from my bag, I offered it. "Freshly baked. Want some?"

Hesitantly, he took a bite. "Sure, thanks."

"Did you know," I said casually, "Flobberworm milk compels truth?" I winked.

Stepping closer, cupcake in hand, I re-offered it. "Second chances deserve a second cupcake, wouldn't you say?"

He hesitated, then took another bite. "Thanks," he mumbled, cheeks warming.

"Speaking of truth-telling," I said, leaning in conspiratorially, "did you know the tears of a phoenix can be used to create a voice projection charm? Like, if I whispered something to a cupcake with phoenix tears baked in, and you ate it, you'd hear it in your mind ."

He blinked, clearly unsure whether to believe me or not.

"Curious, isn't it," I murmured, "the things you can learn when you spend your summer with magical creatures."

Adrian stammered, "Wh-what have you done?"

"Ever wonder what happens when a Hufflepuff marries a Slytherin?" I continued, savoring his confusion.

A playful glint entered my eyes. "Well, for one, someone might get a taste of their own medicine," I quoted my mother with a smirk.

He attempted nonchalance. "Kids would be too good for Slytherin, not quite Hufflepuff."

"And that," I said, a triumphant smile blooming, "is where things get interesting. Especially with a Scamander in the mix.”

I continued, a triumphant grin spreading across my face.“And what happens when you push a Scamander kid too far?" I continued, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. "They use their knowledge, their magical creatures... and maybe a touch of Slytherin cunning for a little revenge.

He backed away, eyes wide.

The bell clanged, shattering the playful tension between Adrian and me. Professor Flitwick,bustled in, his voluminous black robes billowing around him like a miniature storm cloud.

"Good morning, class!" he boomed, "Today, we delve into the fascinating art of Wandless Charms! A skill that separates the truly magical from the...well, let's just say it requires a certain finesse."

Professor Flitwick launched into a lively lecture, demonstrating simple levitation charms with a flourish. As he conjured a teacup to pirouette in the air, I noticed Adrian fidgeting in his seat. Leaning in, I whispered playfully, "Enjoying the class, are we, Pucey?"

He shot me a panicked glance, then mumbled something inaudible. Taking a deep breath, I decided to push my luck a little further. With a mischievous glint in my eyes, I mouthed, "Tell the truth about what you feel of this class ."

Suddenly, Adrian's hand shot up, waving wildly. Professor Flitwick, momentarily distracted, peered over his thick spectacles at the unexpected outburst.

"Mr. Pucey?" he inquired, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

"Professor," Adrian blurted out, his voice surprisingly loud in the quiet room, "I hate Charms! It's useless and frankly, you're a terrible teacher!"

Suddenly, a loud, booming voice erupted from Adrian's mouth, echoing through the entire classroom. "I HATE CHARMS! It's the most useless class ever, I CHEATED on the exam LAST YEAR, and And I've been doing everything just to be the center of attention. I've lied, manipulated, and stepped on others to make myself look better."!"

The entire class erupted in stunned silence, followed by a wave of uncontrollable laughter. Adrian's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide with horror.

Professor Flitwick, his face purple with rage, sputtered, his fist raised in the air. "Mr. Pucey! Ten points from Slytherin! Detention for a month! And perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey to check your sanity!"

Adrian sunk deeper into his seat, the laughter morphing into snickers and whispers

The laughter slowly faded, replaced by the echoes of Professor Flitwick's threats. I couldn't help but stifle a triumphant smirk. Adrian practically resembled a puddle of misery in his seat, the color completely drained from his face. Mission accomplished.

Just as I reached the aisle, a hand shot out, grabbing my waist in a surprisingly firm grip. Before I could yelp in surprise, two strong hands was on either side of me , pinning me against the cool stone wall. I found myself staring into the eyes of none other than Mattheo .

"That," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine, "was fucking hot."

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear with his thumb, Our gazes locked, the air crackling with sudden awareness.

My gaze remained steely, unflinching. "You liked that?" I challenged, my voice laced with a dangerous edge.

"I like everything you do," he replied with a smirk.

"Good," I said, leaning in closer, my voice barely a whisper. "Because that was just child's play. compared to what I'm planning for you, Riddle"

The bell echoed through the hallway, shattering the moment. Mattheo reluctantly released me, a hint of something akin to fascination flickering in his eyes. "Can’t wait my love ," he winked, a mischievous glint sparkling within, before disappearing into the throng of students.

My success with Adrian fueled a mischievous fire within me. The thrill of using magical creatures for a little payback was intoxicating. Professor Flitwick's class became my testing ground, a petri dish for brewing delightful chaos.

Every person who participated in the stupid play faced my revenge; none escaped unscathed.

The once dreaded nickname "Jinx Girl" had faded into a distant memory. This year, I was Lady Luck, a title whispered with a mix of awe and amusement. My string of successful pranks, each meticulously crafted with a dash of magical creature mischief, had transformed my reputation.

The whispers started subtly, like the rustling of leaves in the forbidden forest. "Did you see what happened ? Y/N's behind it, for sure!" or "Isn't it strange how everything's turned around for her lately?" It was a subtle shift, but the air crackled with a new awareness. The "Jinx Girl" label was fading, replaced by a more intriguing title - Lady Luck.

One gloomy afternoon, as I settled into a plush armchair by the crackling fire, a hesitant knock echoed through the room.

"Come in," I called out, peering over the worn pages of a Charms textbook.

The door creaked open, revealing a sheepish-looking Charlie . His blonde hair seemed to lose its usual vibrancy under the dim light, and his freckles stood out starkly against his pale face.

"Y/N," he mumbled, scuffing his worn boots on the floor. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Charlie," I said, patting the empty space beside me.

He shuffled in place, fiddling with his wand. "It's... well, everything. The rumors, the play, everything."

“ Look, Y/N, I'm so incredibly sorry. I know I shouldn't have spread those rumors. I... honestly, I was a complete idiot."

"I thought," Charlie continued, his voice laced with shame, "that if I spread those rumors, every boy would stay away from you. I didn't think it would get this bad."

A mixture of anger and curiosity bubbled within me. "Why, Charlie?" I asked, my voice calmer than I felt.

He took a deep breath, his gaze filled with regret. "I… I like you, Y/N a lot since we were just kids but you never noticed me ," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "And when I saw you with Mattheo, well, and after everything he did..."

He hung his head. "And the play," he mumbled. "It was me. I told Adrian about your past. I was so angry… jealous, really. After seeing you with Mattheo."

A wave of emotions washed over me. Anger for his actions, confusion for his feelings, and a spark of something else – mattheo wasn’t the one who told them about what happened .

Taking another deep breath, I met Charlie's gaze. "Those rumors hurt," I admitted, my voice firm but gentle. "And the play…" I trailed off, choosing my words carefully. "It was a low blow, Charlie. But…" I hesitated, searching for the right words.

"But you were scared," I finished, a hint of empathy softening my tone. "Jealous, even. It's okay to feel those things, Charlie."

He looked up, a flicker of hope igniting in his blue eyes. "Do you… forgive me?"

I studied him for a moment, taking in his genuine regret. "I do," I said finally. "But forgiveness doesn't erase the consequences. You hurt me, Charlie, and you hurt others I will never forget that ."

Charlie's shoulders slumped. "I know," he said, his voice filled with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it up to you."

I smiled faintly. "Please don’t do anything a normal apologize would do ."

Months had passed since I last set foot in the library, and the scent of aged paper and leather, a familiar comfort that once soothed my soul, now felt laced with a bittersweet pang. Yet, stepping back into the hushed haven felt like tumbling through a time warp. The scent of aged paper, the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock, even the worn patches on the armchairs – everything whispered memories of Mattheo, both sweet and stinging.

the silence thrummed with echoes of hushed conversations and stolen glances. Memories of stolen moments with Mattheo – whispered secrets amongst the stacks, fingers brushing as we reached for the same book – played in a loop behind my closed eyelids.

A sigh escaped my lips as the heavy oak door shut with a soft thud behind me. The vastness of the library stretched before me, empty shelves yawning like forgotten dreams. No bustling librarians, no chattering students hunched over dusty tomes. Just me, adrift in a sea of silence, the weight of the past clinging to my every step.

But then I saw him.

Mattheo stood near the Charms section, a sly smirk twisting his lips. His eyes, usually filled with a cool amusement, held a challenge this time. A knot of tension formed in my stomach.

"You forgive him so easily," he drawled, his voice low enough to carry only between the towering bookshelves.

He gestured towards an empty space beside him, a clear invitation. My pulse quickened. Part of me wanted to whirl around and storm out, to deny him the satisfaction of any reaction. But another, more curious part, craved to know what game he was playing.

With a measured breath, I sauntered towards him, my chin held high. "Forgive who?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk deepening. "Come now, Y/N," he said, his voice a silky murmur. "Don't tell me you haven't had a heart-to-heart with Spinnet already."

"What do you really want, Riddle?" I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of hurt and confusion.

Mattheo took a shaky breath, his hand reaching out hesitantly before retracting. "I can't do this anymore, Y/N," he confessed, his voice raw. "I thought if I gave you some space..."

"Space?" I scoffed, tears welling up again. "Space? You call watching me all summer, space? I know what you did to those boys, and then threatening everyone in this school on the first day to not talk or do anything to me space??" I yelled, tears streaming down my face.

The words tumbled out, fueled by a wellspring of hurt I hadn't even realized I was holding onto. "I don't understand, Mattheo! I don't really understand. I've dealt with difficult things before, truly awful things, but none of them hurt as much as this betrayal. Why? Why can't I get over it? Why does it feel like someone ripped open my soul and stomped on it a million times? Then it hit me. You did that, Mattheo. You."

My voice broke, replaced by a choked sob. "You showed me a love I never knew existed, a love I never dared to dream of , showered me with affection and tenderness. You touched parts of my soul I never knew were there. Every inch of me, every piece of me – my heart, my mind, my soul – had your name written all over it , Every fiber of my being, every beat of my heart, seemed to have your name etched upon it. And then, you snatched it all away.. They say it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but that's a lie. Because feeling your love, then losing it, is the worst pain I've ever experienced.”

The air crackled between us, thick with unspoken emotions and the sting of my tears. Mattheo inched closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. I could feel his breath whisper against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Y/N," he pleaded, his voice husky with emotion ."I know you don't believe me," he confessed, his red- eyes searching mine .

“but this feeling... it terrifies me. I've never felt like this before. Never cared about anyone but myself and Enzo . But then you came along. The purest thing I've ever have , the closest I'll ever get to heaven."

His words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the arrogant facade he usually presented.

"I miss you," he continued, his voice raw with longing. "I miss what we had. The way your smile could light up a room, the way your cheeks would flush the prettiest shade of pink ."

He paused, his hand hovering hesitantly near mine. "I can't do this anymore. This game... it's torture. Every stolen glance, every witty banter, it just makes the truth harder to bear. Tell me what you want me to do. Name it, anything. But please, just end this charade. It's killing me “

A tremor ran through him, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes.

He looked at me for a second, taking a shaky breath. Then, the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. "I love you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm not afraid to say it anymore. I regret not approaching you properly, i regret taking that stupid dare ."

His gaze held mine, desperate for any sign of reciprocation. "You asked if everything between us was a lie," he continued, his voice low. "But listen to me now. You're the truest thing that's ever happened to me. I love you, Y/N. And I can't stand there watching you, knowing I can't hold you. I never wanted to hurt you, And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you again"

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo in the quiet library. Every fiber of my being yearned to believe him, to reach out and melt into his embrace. But the betrayal was still fresh, a gaping wound that pulsed with pain.

"I can't trust you anymore, Mattheo," I choked out, the words a bitter truth. "Even if I want to, I can't. Every word you say feels like another lie. I hate you," I confessed, the words ripping from my throat. "I hate you so much for making me want to forgive you. I hate you because I love you so much."

"Don't cry," he pleaded, his voice thick with a desperate sincerity. "I'll do anything. Just say it, and I'll do it."

The promise hung in the air, tempting and dangerous. I reached up and covered his hand with mine, the warmth seeping into my chilled skin. Despite the storm raging inside me, a small part of me craved the comfort of his touch, the solace of forgiveness.

"Then let me go, Mattheo," I whispered, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. "Let me go. Don't approach me. Don't try to fix anything. Just let me go."

The pain in his eyes mirrored the turmoil within me. "Is that what you truly want?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I could only nod, a fresh wave of tears cascading down my face. Every part of me ached to forget the past, to bury my head in his chest and feel the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. But the betrayal was a wall I couldn't climb over, not yet.

"Then I will do it ,love." He brushed away my tears one last time, his touch lingering for a heartbreaking moment before he took a step back. The pain in his eyes was a something i could never forget.

He gave me one last, lingering look before turning and leaving the library, the heavy oak door closing with a finality that echoed the slamming shut of my own heart. The air hung heavy with unspoken emotions, the weight of my decision pressing down on me.

My revenge, I realized with a bitter pang, tasted worse than Flobberworm milk and phonics tears on cupcakes. But in that moment, I didn't realize that in punishing him, I was condemning myself to an equally excruciating torture

Days bled into weeks, each one stretching out with the agonizing slowness of a Dementor's kiss. What I had envisioned as a sweet victory – Mattheo squirming under the weight of my indifference – felt more like a self-inflicted Cruciatus Curse.

The once-familiar halls of Hogwarts became a minefield of awkward silences and stolen glances. Every corner held the ghost of his laughter, every shadowed alcove whispered echoes of his touch. Avoiding him became a constant, exhausting dance.

In Herbology, Professor Sprout droned on about the magical properties of Bubotuber pus, but all I could focus on was the empty space beside me. It had become a glaring absence, a constant reminder of the warmth that used to be there.

Across the room, I could feel his gaze burning into me. But when I dared to steal a glance, his head would be bent diligently over his textbook, his jaw clenched tight. It was a practiced act of indifference, a mask that mirrored the one I wore.

Lunch in the Great Hall was an ordeal. I'd scan the long Slytherin table, searching for any sign of him. Relief would flood me when I wouldn't see him, only to be replaced by a hollow pang of disappointment.

One day, as I shuffled through the crowded hallway, I felt a presence looming behind me. My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs. I quickened my pace, clutching my books tighter, willing myself to disappear. But the presence remained, a silent taunt.

Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer, I chanced a peek over my shoulder. My stomach lurched. It was him, his face a stony mask, his eyes fixed on a point far beyond me. He sidestepped me with practiced ease, not even a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

The charade was relentless. In Potions, Professor Snape's scathing remarks seemed muted compared to the deafening silence between Mattheo and me. We brewed our Draught of Peace with a silent intensity, each movement a calculated act of avoidance.

The whispers started subtly, like the rustle of leaves in a slight breeze. "Did you see them? Not a single word!" one student would murmur to another. Soon, the whispers morphed into open stares, the entire school buzzing with the unspoken tension between us.

It was as if by avoiding each other, we'd created a spectacle far more dramatic than any confrontation could have been. The unspoken longing, the raw emotions hanging heavy in the air – it was a story more captivating than any Quidditch match.

What hurt the most ? I couldn't escape the feeling that everyone else was living their lives, while mine was trapped in this agonizing purgatory of unspoken emotions and a love I couldn't embrace or deny.

The silence between us was deafening, a reminder of the bond we'd shattered. My carefully crafted revenge felt hollow, a Pyrrhic victory that left me as desolate as the empty space beside him. The ache in my chest had little to do with anger and everything to do with a longing I couldn't name.

Then came the worst part. It wasn't just the awkward silences or stolen glances at him interacting with others. It was the way the girls around me perked up, their smiles a bit too wide, their laughter a bit too forced. They saw the distance between Mattheo and me, the void where his presence used to be, as an open invitation.

Professor Sprout's well-meaning attempt to pair us up for a project backfired spectacularly.

Mattheo, his usual smirk replaced by a practiced indifference, meticulously tended to his Venomous Tentacula while I wrestled with a particularly stubborn Flobberworm. The silence between us was thicker than the sap dripping from the Bubotuber pus. We moved with a practiced efficiency, avoiding eye contact, our movements a painful ballet of unspoken hurt and when he was finally done with his part he left without even glancing at me .

Across the room, laughter erupted. A pretty brunette girl, Astoria Greengrass, leaned in conspiratorially towards Mattheo, a giggle escaping her lips. He threw his head back, a genuine smile lighting up his face, a sight that sent a spike of jealousy through me.

My Flobberworm wriggled free, sending a spray of dirt flying. Professor Sprout's raised eyebrow and stern lecture were a welcome distraction from the scene unfolding across the room. The warmth in Mattheo's laughter, the ease with which he interacted with Astoria, was a sharp contrast to the icy distance he maintained with me.

The worst part, however, wasn't the girls themselves. It was the way they looked at me – a mixture of pity and smug satisfaction. Their gazes seemed to say, "See? Now you see what you had and threw away."

Another day, another ordeal. During Charms, a boy from Ravenclaw, Michael Corner, sidled up to me, his voice a steady stream of nervous chatter. He droned on about the upcoming Quidditch match, his words blurring into background noise.

Across the room, I stole a glance at Matteo. He sat slumped in his chair, his gaze fixed on the textbook in front of him. But a flicker of movement caught my eye. His jaw clenched slightly, knuckles turning white as he gripped the book. He didn't turn towards me, didn't acknowledge Michael's presence. It was as if I, and the boy beside me, simply ceased to exist.

A pang of something akin to disappointment shot through me. Was this truly what he’s doing ? erasing me from his memory? The silence between us, once deafening, now felt suffocating. I craved a reaction, anything to break the monotony of our charade.

Days bled into weeks, each one a monotonous echo of the last. Lunch in the Great Hall was an exercise in self-torture. I sat with some girls from my class , their cheery chatter a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.

Across the room, Mattheo sat with a group of Slytherins, his usual arrogance back in place. He spoke in hushed tones, his eyes scanning the room. Did they land on me? I couldn't tell, wouldn't allow myself to hope.

Suddenly, Draco Malfoy sauntered over, a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned in, whispering something in Mattheo's ear, his gaze flickering towards me. A flicker of something – anger, maybe? – crossed Mattheo's face before he schooled his features back into indifference.

Draco's smirk widened, punctuated by a loud laugh. The sound grated on my nerves, a confirmation that he had successfully moved on, leaving me drowning in the wreckage of our broken connection.

The once vibrant halls of Hogwarts had become a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The whispers, the pointed looks, the morbid fascination with our unspoken war – it all felt suffocating. The silence between us, once deafening, now resonated with a profound emptiness.

In my quest for revenge, I had succeeded in destroying not just him, but a part of myself. And as I stared across the Great Hall, the bitter truth settled in – the only thing more unbearable than his betrayal was his indifference.

The ache in my core pulsed with every stolen glance at Matteo. A single, accidental lock of eyes during Charms was all it took to reignite the inferno I'd thought I'd extinguished. The familiar heat bloomed in my cheeks, spreading downwards, a stark reminder of the raw, physical connection we shared.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, I succumbed to temptation, seeking solace in the darkness of night. With trembling hands, I slipped my fingers inside my pants, yearning for the touch of his hands upon my skin. But no matter how fervently I imagined his touch, it was futile, a poor substitute for the real thing.

His absence loomed large in my mind, a constant reminder of the void he had left behind. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I grappled with the overwhelming sense of loss, longing for the warmth of his embrace.

In the silence of my room, I cried myself to sleep, the weight of my unfulfilled desires weighing heavily upon me. No matter how hard I tried to bury them, the flames of passion continued to burn, fueled by the memory of his touch.

The next day crawled by, each tick of the clock echoing the heavy weight in my chest. Just as I contemplated escaping to the familiar comfort of the Slytherin common room, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows of the deserted hallway – Enzo.

His usual carefree air was replaced by a somberness that mirrored my own. "Y/N," he started hesitantly, his voice uncharacteristically unsure.

"Enzo, hi," I greeted nervously. "Are you... are you alright?"

He paused, his gaze flickering with concern. "I need to talk to you," he finally said, his voice low.

"Sure," I whispered, a nervous smile tugging at my lips.

He gestured towards an empty classroom beside us. We entered, the silence suddenly thick and heavy.

"It's about Mattheo," he began, his voice dropping even lower.

My heart hammered against my ribs,

"What about him?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo took a deep breath, his gaze flickering with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "He — He has a really dangerous disease Y/N," he blurted out, the words heavy in the quiet hallway.

Enzo's words hit me like a Stunning Spell. My breath caught in my throat, the air suddenly thick with a suffocating weight. Disease? Mattheo? It couldn't be true. The anger that had simmered within me for weeks flickered, threatened by a spark of something else – a flicker of fear, of a terrible, dawning realization.

"Disease?" I choked out, the word barely a whisper.

Enzo nodded. "Serious. He doesn't know how long..." He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. "But he's getting worse every day. Refused to tell you himself, stubborn git."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring Enzo's concerned face. "He never said anything," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. "He wouldn't even look at me."

Enzo sighed, a deep rumble that spoke of a burden shared. "He's stubborn, that one. Especially when it comes to protecting you “

"But how could he not tell me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

"He loves you, Y/N," Enzo said, his voice firm. "More than anything, I swear. I've never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you. I knew what he did was unforgivable , but his feelings for you… they're real."

A sob escaped my lips, tears blurring my vision. The image of Mattheo, his usual arrogance replaced by vulnerability, echoed in my mind.

"you deserves to know," Enzo said, his gaze unwavering. "Even if you can't forgive him, even if you hate him… you deserve to know the truth."

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of grief and confusion.

"He'll do anything for you, you know," Enzo continued. "Hiding this… it's killing him. More than the illness itself."

Another sob escaped my lips. The anger, the carefully constructed walls of indifference – it all seemed so petty now, dwarfed by the weight of his illness. All this time, I'd been punishing him, punishing myself, while he…

Panic clawed at my throat. "How bad is it? How long…?" My voice wouldn't form the question.

Enzo shook his head, a grim expression on his face. "I don't know all the details, Y/N. He wouldn't tell me much. But he's getting worse, and by the way there's no cure."

The weight of the revelation pressed down on me. The silent war we waged, the stolen glances filled with unspoken emotions – it all seemed so meaningless now. All I wanted to do was see him, to hold him, to tell him… what?

Looking at Enzo, tears streaming down my face, I whispered, " Where is he?"

Enzo hesitated, then pointed towards the forest . "He's usually there, you know where , trying to clear his head."

"Thank you, Enzo," I croaked, my voice thick with emotion. "For telling me."

Enzo nodded, a hint of a sad smile gracing his lips. "Just… don't let pride get in the way, alright? Talk to him. Figure things out he needs you now more than ever. ." He squeezed my shoulder before turning and leaving me alone with the weight of this revelation.

Enzo's words echoed in my head, each syllable a hammer blow against my chest. Disease. Limited time. The anger, the carefully constructed walls of resentment, all crumbled under the weight of this revelation. Tears blurred my visionI raced through the castle corridors, legs burning, a primal urge driving me forward.

I didn't care about the stares, the confused whispers that followed. I only cared about getting to him , My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, each beat punctuated by a sob that tore through me.

The familiar path to the Forbidden Forest became a blur. Thorns ripped at my robes, branches snagged at my hair, but I didn't feel them. All I felt was a desperate need to reach him, to hold him.

A sharp sting on my knee brought me back to the present. I looked down to see a crimson stain blooming on my robes, a tear in the fabric revealing a scraped knee. But the pain was a mere whisper compared to the agony twisting in my gut.

The memory of his secret place, fueled my desperate run. It was a sanctuary he'd revealed only to me, Now, it was my beacon, the only place I could imagine him seeking solace in his time of despair.

Bursting through the familiar curtain of trees, I skidded to a halt, chest heaving, tears streaming down my face. My vision swam, but I could just make out the clearing, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

Reaching the clearing, I pushed aside the concealing ivy with trembling hands. The familiar wooden door stood before me, mockingly still. I flung it open, ignoring the groan of rusted hinges.

Pushing the pain aside, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the blood seeping through my torn robes. The hidden entrance, disguised by a tangle of ivy, materialized before my tear-filled eyes.

With trembling hands, I cleared the vines, pushing through the narrow opening. The familiar scent of earth and damp stone greeted me, a small comfort in the storm raging inside.

Inside the dimly lit chamber, my breath caught in my throat, with my ragged sobs as I stumbled towards the bed. Mattheo peacefully sleeping on , his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"Mattheo!" I shrieked, the name a desperate plea that tore through the silence. "Mattheo, wake up!"

He stirred at the sound, his brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes fluttered open, blinking away the remnants of sleep. his eyes widening in shock before softening at the sight of my tear-streaked face,the raw panic radiating from my very being.

"Y/N?" he rasped, his voice weak. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Before he could finish his question, I was on him, collapsing onto the bed in a heap of sobs and frantic whispers

His arms wrapped around me. held me close, his voice a soothing murmur against my ear. " it's okay, love," he whispered, his voice thick with concern. "What happened? Are you hurt? Tell me what's wrong, baby did someone…" he trailed off, his voice hardening with a possessive anger."

The sound of those endearment words, so unexpected after weeks of cold silence, sent a fresh wave of tears cascading down my cheeks.

"Don't cry, love," he murmured, his voice thick with concern. "Tell me what's wrong. Did someone hurt you? Did someone say something?"

His gaze dropped to the injury, "Oh Merlin," he breathed, his voice laced with self-reproach. "How did you… why did you come here like this?"

My voice, when it finally came, was a choked sob. Words tumbled out in a rush, a jumbled mess of emotions. "Enzo… he told me… you're sick… I… I thought…"

Mattheo's brow furrowed further. He reached out, his touch tentative on my arm. "Slow down, love," he murmured. "What did Enzo tell you?"

I took a shaky breath, wiping at the tears blurring my vision. "That you… that you had a dangerous illness… that you didn't have long."

A bewildered frown creased his forehead. illness? What illness ? “

"Don't lie to me, Mattheo," I pleaded, tears welling up again. "He said you were… you were dying."

"Enzo that fucker ," he muttered, shaking his head . "He must have been trying to get us to talk." He let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound sending a fresh wave of pain through me. "He always did have a dramatic flair."

My entire body tensed. Was he lying? My gaze darted across his face, searching for any sign of truth.

"But Enzo wouldn't lie about something like that," I protested, my voice shaky. "He was so worried. He said you loved me, that I deserved to know."

His arms tightened around me "Well, Enzo got one thing right then,"

"So there's no illness?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mattheo cupped my face in his hand, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "No illness, love. Just a heartbroken fool who did something incredibly stupid." His gaze softened, searching mine. "You believed him?"

Shame burned in my throat. "I… I was scared,"

Mattheo's expression softened. "Scared about me?" he asked gently, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a soothing gesture.

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze as tears threatened to spill over once more.

“you don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."A wave of relief washed over me as I melted into his embrace, feeling the weight of my fears slowly lift from my shoulders. In his arms

his playful smile fading, replaced by a sharp concern that etched lines on his face his gaze flicked down to my knee

"Oh Merlin," he muttered, kneeling down to examine the wound. A crimson stain was blossoming on my knee .

"It looks worse than it is, probably," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But the wince I couldn't quite suppress betrayed me.. He knelt beside me, his touch sending a familiar spark through my body despite the circumstances.

"You shouldn't have run like that," he said gently, his voice laced with a hint of disapproval. "Look at you, all bruised and bleeding."

My cheeks burned, not just from the sting of the wounds, but from the unexpected tenderness in his voice. "I… I just needed to see you," I mumbled, looking away.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, you certainly made an entrance," he said, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes. But his smile faltered as he focused on my wounds .

"Here, let me get you cleaned up," he said, his voice firm.

He rummaged through the surprisingly well-stocked medical kit hidden in the corner, pulling out vials of glistening potions and bandages. The air filled with the pungent scent of dittany as he carefully cleaned my wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle.

Each swipe of the cloth sent a jolt through me, a confusing mix of pain and a strange kind of pleasure. Shame battled with a newfound hope as I met his gaze. The anger and hurt that had clouded his eyes for weeks were gone, replaced by a warmth that sent a flutter to my stomach.

"There," he said finally, tying the last bandage with a practiced ease. "That should hold for now."

As he pulled back, our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the air crackled with unspoken words. The silence between us, once heavy with tension, thrummed with a new energy.

"I'm so sorry for barging in like that," I mumbled, looking away.

"Hey," he said, his voice firm but kind. " You scared the daylights out of me, but I'm glad you're here."

"Do__Do you still care about me?" I blurted out, the question tumbling out before I could stop it. Tears welled up again, threatening to spill over.

Mattheo's eyes widened for a moment, then a flicker of something warm crossed them.

"Like... are you kidding me?" he said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Of course I do."

My heart hammered in my chest. "But I thought..." I trailed off, unsure how to voice the tangled mess of emotions that had been churning inside me.

"You thought I moved on?" he finished, his voice gentle.

I nodded, ashamed of the doubt that had festered for so long.

"I was giving you space," he explained, "the space you said you needed. But believe me, it was killing me."

"Merlin's beard, Y/N. Every time some bloke even glanced your way, I felt like I might hex the lot of them."

My cheeks burned. As I laughed at what he said

his gaze lingering on my lips. "I swear I didn't tell anyone about what you told me that night," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I had nothing to do with the play. ,I didn't know they were going to do that I only didn't want you to go because it was connected to the dare and I thought if we just stayed away, it would all blow over."

"I know," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Charlie told me."

his messy hair softened by the dim light, his jaw shadowed with a hint of stubble, but his gaze held that same familiar warmth that had always sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

He looked so good, so heartbreakingly handsome, a possessiveness rising in my chest. He was mine

I couldn't hold back any longer. With a soft whimper, I closed the gap between us, my lips meeting his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

His lips were warm and soft, molding perfectly to mine.The taste of him – a mixture of mint and something uniquely Mattheo – flooded my senses, sending a jolt through my body.

Mattheo responded instantly, pulling me closer until I was practically settling me on his lap , melting into him . His hands slid down my back.

He held me tightly, as if afraid I might disappear, and the urgency in his kiss mirrored my own. It was a hungry kiss, filled with a raw passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long.

We explored each other's mouths with a newfound intensity, the taste of him igniting a fire deep within me. Our tongues danced together, a silent conversation filled with unspoken promises and a desperate need for more.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged. His eyes, shimmering with desire, held me captive.My own hands tangled in his hair . "I missed you," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.

The words echoed my own feelings. God, how I'd missed him.

He kissed me again the kiss deepened, a desperate plea for connection after weeks of longing. My hips instinctively swayed against him, seeking a friction that had been absent for too long. The ache in my core, a dull throb that had plagued me, seemed to lessen with each press of my body against his,It felt like a dam had broken, a release after a drought.

But then I felt it – a firmness pressing against my core, a sensation that sent a jolt through my system. It overwhelmed my senses, momentarily drowning the delicious haze of the kiss. As my body brushed against it again, a guttural moan escaped Mattheo's lips. Reality slammed back, and I tore myself away from the kiss, eyes wide with a sudden realization.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "I didn't realize…" my cheeks a fiery red. "Does it hurt you too?"

"Too?"He tilted his head, a playful smile on his face ."What do you mean, baby? What's hurting you?

"I-I just..." I stammered, my cheeks burning like embers. "I don't know... It's just..." Words failed me completely.

His playful smirk deepened the pit in my stomach. "Yeah?" he prompted, his confusion tinged with amusement.

"That would be…" My voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "That ache, and it won't just go away, no matter what I try."

He chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. "Oh, my love. That sounds awful." He brushed a fallen strand of hair away from my face, his touch sending a fresh wave of heat through me.

"Tell me, love," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, "where does this ache come from?"

before I could confess, a new sensation stole the air from my lungs. His lips, warm and insistent, found my neck again

"Where was that ache coming from, love?" he repeated, his lips soft against my skin, eliciting a moan of pleasure.

"Tell me," he urged, cupping my breast while peppering kisses all over my neck. "I'm still waiting for you to answer me, my love," his voice dominant, commanding my attention.

"It was... down there," I admitted. "It won't go away, no matter what I try," I continued, feeling exposed.

His lips found a sensitive spot behind my ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. "And what have you tried to do to make it go away?" he murmured, his voice turning dark .

"I... I tried to do what you did to me before, but I couldn't," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes, their origin unclear. He kissed them away, his lips tender against my skin.

"You tried to touch yourself? Tried to recreate what I did to you? And who were you thinking about while doing it, darling?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"You... it was you. I also imagined it was you, but it didn't work," I confessed.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured, kissing away the last of my tears. Then he continued, his voice low and seductive, "We need to do something about that then , Would you let me kiss it better?"

Unable to tear my gaze from his, I simply nodded, my voice stolen by the intensity in his eyes.

"Words, love,I need to hear your voice "

"Yes, please," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.

The kiss that followed was possessive, a searing claim . When he finally pulled away, his eyes burned with a dark intensity.

"Good," he breathed, his voice thick with desire . "Because I'm going to worship every inch of that beautiful body. Every. Inch. Of. You."

With a tenderness that contrasted with the raw desire in his voice, he gently laid me down on the bed. The plush fabric felt cool against my flushed skin as anticipation coiled in the pit of my stomach.

His fingers brushed against my collarbone as he meticulously unfastened each button of my shirt. His gaze never left mine, the intensity in his eyes sending shivers down my spine.

"That Ravenclaw boy, Michael Corner, what was he telling you?"

His question jolted me back to reality. I blinked, momentarily confused, then recalled, "Oh, right, Michael. He was talking about the next Quidditch match. I didn't know you noticed."

A wry smile played on his lips. "Oh, believe me, I did," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Every. Single. Second. Especially when his eyes kept flickering back over here."

His gaze dropped pointedly to the space where my shirt now hung open, and a blush crept up my neck.

"Believe me," he whispered,"my eyes were on you the entire time."

Heat pulsed through me as his kisses trailed down my neck, each one a spark igniting a fire within. I squeezed my eyes shut, a strangled moan caught in my throat. Nervous flutters danced in my stomach, a foreign sensation that both scared and thrilled me.

A gasp ripped through me as Matteo's cool fingers dipped beneath my skirt. My skin, flushed from his heated kisses, sent a jolt of contrasting sensation against his touch. It was a delicious shock, leaving me breathless.

"Hey," he murmured, voice laced with concern as he immediately stopped, his brows furrowing. "Is this okay? Do you want me to…"

He began to retract his hand, but before he could fully pull away, I reached out, my fingers blindly grasping at his . "No," I mumbled, the word barely a whisper. My voice betrayed me, shaky and breathless. Why did this simple touch feel so earth-shattering?

"No," I repeated, a little firmer this time, gathering my courage. "I mean, yes. This is… I want that." The last few words tumbled out in a rush, so quiet I wasn't sure if he even heard them.

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to meet his gaze. I could almost picture the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips

A blush crept up my neck as his voice rumbled in my ear, a promise laced with concern. "If you feel uncomfortable at any point, love, just say the word. I want this to be good for you." His touch lingered on my bare skin, a burning ember against my suddenly chilled flesh.

The sincerity in his voice calmed the knot of nerves twisting in my stomach. I knew he wouldn't push me further than I was ready. Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze, my own desire reflected back in his warm brown eyes.

"I trust you," I whispered, the words a shaky promise.

A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his features like the sunrise.

The brush of his fingers against the fabric of my bra sent a jolt through me. He paused, his eyes searching mine once more, a silent question hanging in the air.

This time, my response was a small, barely-there nod. It was a hesitant surrender, an invitation whispered on a breath. A satisfied glint sparked in his eyes before he continued his exploration, his touch sending shivers dancing across my skin.

Matteo's fingers grazed the clasp of my bra. The touch was a spark that ignited a fire within me, a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Instinctively, my fingers tangled themselves in his hair . He dipped his head, his lips trailing a warm path down my neck before finding a sensitive spot on my chest. A soft moan escaped my lips as he teased the nipple

My back arched involuntarily, a silent plea for him to continue. I tugged on his hair, not wanting him to stop, not wanting this exquisite feeling to end.

"Does that feel good, love?" he murmured against my skin, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes," I breathed, the word barely a whisper lost in the symphony of sensations swirling around me. My eyelids fluttered shut, the world dissolving into a haze of touch and taste, the touch of his skin and the warmth of his breath. Everything else faded away .

Moving to my other nipple giving it the same attention .My fingers instinctively tangled themselves in his hair.

A wave of heat washed over me as Matteo's hand brushed against the hem of my skirt soft sigh escaped his lips as his gaze drifted to my soaked panties .

“I’ve wanted this for such a long time, you have no idea,” he murmured, sucking on the skin of my inner thighs as my hands fisted the bedsheets.

“Please,” I begged, feeling no embarrassment about how desperate I sounded. As soon as he began to suck on my clit, all my worries began to vanish. Profane words spilled from my mouth as Matteo took his sweet time with me.

"Merlin, oh, I—" It seemed as if I couldn’t control my mouth any longer; my instincts took over. I knew that I was ready; I wanted him, all of him.

“Relax, baby, I’ve got you,” his eyes were pitch black by now pupils were dilated, a dark reflection of the desire .

A loving smile playing on his lips as he slowly inserted a finger into me. It still felt strange to me, a sensation I hadn't quite grown accustomed to yet. I was tight around his fingers, but my moans urged him on. Adding another finger, he alternated between sucking, licking, then repeating, drawing me closer to my release,a mind-blowing orgasm that I’d never forget.

My stomach clenched, a tight knot forming as a foreign heat bloomed in my core. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything except his voice and the frantic pounding of my heart. My head arched back against the pillow, muscles involuntarily tightening around his fingers.

" good girl , Come for me, love,"

A guttural moan escaped my lips as pleasure surged through me, a wave cresting and crashing in a series of shivers. "Mattheo," I breathed, his name a desperate prayer repeated again and again.

"That’s fucking right, love ." he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Say my name,no one else says my name quite like you do. It's a sound I desperately missed."

His words fueled the fire within me, and I surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, clinging to him as the wave crested and receded. Exhausted but exhilarated, I opened my eyes to find his gaze locked on mine.

A slow smile tugged at his lips as he brushed a kiss across my flushed cheek. The touch ignited a spark within me, and I reached out, my fingers curling around his hand. With a newfound boldness, I drew him closer, our lips meeting in a kiss that spoke volumes.

"I want you Mattheo all of you ," I whispered against his lips, with newfound confidence.

His gaze held mine for a beat, searching for any flicker of hesitation. He saw none, only a reflection of the desire burning brightly in his own eyes.

"Are you absolutely sure, love?" he asked.

"Absolutely sure just be gentle ," I breathed against his lips, the words leaving no room for doubt.

He undressed himself slowly, his eyes never leaving my form. I couldn't help but admire the contours of his body as he revealed each inch of his skin. My fingers tingled with anticipation, and I reached out to trace the lines of his sculpted six-pack, feeling the firmness beneath my touch. His muscles rippled under my fingertips.

My apprehension grew as I looked at his length, my mind swirling with doubts and desires. " will it hurt?" I asked, my voice betraying my fear and curiosity. I couldn't shake the nagging thought of how he would fit inside me.

"I won’t do anything to hurt you. I'll be gentle with you, okay?"he reassured me, his words soothing my nerves.

 “Is that gonna fit?” 

 

 “I’ll make it fit.” He kissed a trail down the valley between my breasts, his lips igniting a flame against my skin. Each touch sent a surge of heat through me, anticipation building with every passing second.

He ran the tip of his hardness through my wet folds agonizingly slowly, each touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through my body. I could feel myself throbbing with need as he coated himself with my slickness, the sensation almost overwhelming. Gasping for breath, I reached out for his free hand holding it , needing the connection to ground me amidst the whirlwind of sensation.

“Breathe for me, baby,” Matteo murmured, his voice laced with tenderness and desire. "Keep your eyes on me. Let me see those pretty eyes."

A sharp hiss escaped my lips as he slowly began to push into me, each inch stretching my muscles as they accommodated his girth. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, a combination of pleasure and slight discomfort mingling together. , his lips pressing tender kisses against my cheeks wiped away the tears .

As he started to roll his hips, a slow and steady rhythm, the initial discomfort gave way to a rush of pleasure that flooded my senses. Each movement sent waves of sensation coursing through me, building the intensity of our connection with every thrust.

It didn't take me long to get used to the new sensation; my cries turned into moans, loud moans, my nails clawed at his back as he picked up his speed. "You're doing so well my love '." He kept on praising me as I clenched around his length.

“Good girl," . His thumb continued to circle my pulsing clit, sending electric shocks of pleasure through me. Mattheo buried his head in my neck, inhaling my scent as he listened to the rhythm of our bodies moving together. "God, you feel so good, like a fucking dream. I'll never get enough of you," he whispered against my skin, his words sending shivers down my spine.

As I looked down, the sight of our bodies connected together made me moan even louder. I couldn't help but notice the drips of blood on his dick as he moved, a stark reminder of our primal connection.

"I love you, Mattheo. I'm sorry it took me so long to say it, but I do love you more than life itself," I breathed out between heavy moans, my confession hanging in the air like a promise. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pulled him closer, desperate for more of him.

"Fucking hell, love, are you trying to kill me?" he sucked on my neck, pushing me over the edge for the second time that evening. The feeling exploded in my belly, my moans urging him closer to his own release. Still, I continued to clench around him, my body writhing with pleasure as he rode me through the bliss. His cock twitched inside of me, warmth spreading through me as he released himself inside of me.

I was on birth control pills my mother had made me take them since I turned eighteen, but in that moment, nothing else mattered but the overwhelming sensation of love and desire coursing through my veins.

“ Holy shit,Never thought I could love someone this much. What are you doing to me ?“

"Not even Astoria Greengrass?" I teased, unable to resist bringing that up .

"Don’t you dare bring another woman’s name up while my dick is still inside you," he retorted, his tone playful yet possessive.

I chuckled, cupping his face to kiss him passionately. His response was equally fervent, but a moan escaped my lips as I felt him getting out off me .

Surveying the aftermath, I couldn't help but feel a mix of pleasure and soreness. "I think I've lost my ability to walk," I joked.

"yeah ?" he teased back, laying down beside me. His fingers gently traced patterns in my hair as he leaned in to kiss my forehead with tenderness.

"I will never, ever do anything to hurt you again," he vowed softly.

Smiling softly, I whispered, "I know," before meeting his lips in another kiss.

He broke the kiss with a chuckle" I owes Enzo big time, huh? Best brother of the year?"

I laughed, feeling the exhaustion starting to set in.

"still ,but he'll pay for frightening you like that. Now, how about I take care of you first ?" I nodded, too tired to speak.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

BONUS SCENE.

We re-entered the castle, his hand never leaving mine. It wasn't a casual hold, but a tight clasp, his fingers weaving between mine like a declaration

Suddenly, Matteo stopped short, his eyes widening in surprise. Following his gaze, I spotted a familiar tall figure with kind eyes and a warm smile – Uncle Ben! My jaw dropped. What was he doing here?

“Look who it is! Isn't that my favorite niece?"

"Uncle Ben? What are you doing here?"

"Ah," he chuckled, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Professor Flitwick requested a little assistance with a... well, let's just say a certain magical artifact has gotten a bit out of sorts. Seems my expertise is needed to tame the beast, Thought I'd surprise you , and pop in to see how things are going at Hogwarts"

My jaw nearly hit the floor,how things are going at Hogwarts ? Well uncle…

“ this young man was keeping my company , Enzo, wasn't it?", his voice laced with amusement as he gestured towards Enzo.

"The one and only," Enzo confirmed with a wide grin, throwing in another wink for good measure.

My stomach lurched as Uncle Ben's gaze darted down to our hands, still subtly intertwined. The air crackled with sudden tension , his eyes darted from me to Mattheo, lingering a beat too long on the hand that still rested possessively on mine.

"Riddle Jr., isn't he?" he boomed, his jovial demeanor replaced with a mixture of surprise and something akin to panic.

My mind raced, desperately searching for an explanation. "Uncle Ben, it's —" I began, only to be cut off by his frantic question.

" you're not pregnant, right?" he blurted, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper.

My jaw dropped. Enzo choked on a laugh, shooting a helpless glance towards Mattheo, who seemed to be suppressing a smirk.

“you're holding hands! "

Enzo clapped Uncle Ben on the shoulder, his voice booming with forced cheer. "Come on, Ben! Let's not jump to conclusions. They're just kids, figuring things out."

My uncle's expression remained skeptical. He shifted his gaze to Matteo, a guarded look replacing the initial shock. " Riddle Jr. here," he began, his voice tight. "What exactly are your intentions towards y/n ?"

Matteo met Uncle Ben's gaze head-on, his posture unwavering. "Sir," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I deeply regret the way things ended between y/n and me. I know I hurt her, and for that, I'll never forgive myself. However, I care for her a great deal, and I would never do anything to intentionally cause her pain again." His eyes flickered to me briefly, a flicker of something warm passing between us. "All I want is a chance to prove myself worthy of her trust."

"Uncle Ben, I trust Mattheo. We'll take things slow, and I promise to be careful."

"Wow, you two look positively radiant. Blindingly so, actually. Sunglasses anyone?”enzo said wrapping his hands around my uncle shoulders.

Our synchronized eye rolls at his comment were enough to power the entire castle for a week. He held his hands up defensively, a playful grin plastered across his face while murmuring, "I'm still your brother, don't kill me," to Mattheo.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

Tag list :

@avee-wavee @lovelyygirl8 @lovelyypythoness @timmychalametsstuff

#slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys #mattheo smut #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagines #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle masterlist #mattheo riddle angst #smut #slytherin #lorenzo berkshire imagine #fluff imagines #mattheoriddle

[flametrashiraarchive]

Reader teaching Haganezuka how to eat that kittykat and fuck it properly because we all know he's a virgin still uwu

(bonus points for size kink, implied age gap [reader 20s])

(bonus points and cookies for Haganezuka being so focused, listening very intently to the puss eating lesson but gets super into it and tunes out reader as he begins to figure what to do and he can't stop himself from overstimmulating reader, which has reader smacking his head so he finally lets go)

Argh yes okay here we go! I love this beautiful nutjob and I got carried away. (I left the age of the reader ambiguous because personally I am old as shit, but I think I get cookies still for the overstimmulating?)

Also... I really want to write a part 2. I want us to take care of him after the events of season 3 because I just know that once the adrenaline wore off this poor man was hurting so bad.

Anyway, enjoy!

UNBREAKABLE, UNQUENCHABLE.

F!Reader x Hotaru Haganezuka

Content Guidance: cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, overstimulation, not stopping when reader tells him to (reader is still into it though)

Minors DNI.

"I don't make swords for civilians," the swordsmith said, his voice deep and his tone final. He turned away from you, continuing his journey down the mountain path, the soft thud of his footsteps accompanied by the gentle tinkling of the windchimes hanging from his hat.

Your heart sank for a moment before you steeled your resolve and renewed your determination. It was never going to be easy and you'd mentally prepared for rejection. This swordsmith was infamous for his unbending resolve and temper. 

Running a step ahead of him, you turned to stare into the wide bug-eyes of his hyottoko mask. "Please, Haganezuka... I need a nichirin blade."

He continued walking as if he expected to simply pass through you. "No."

"But it's the only thing I can use to kill demons."

He paused. "Demon slayers kill demons. Not civilians. No sword for you."

"I am a demon slayer, just not an official one." You brace yourself for a telling off. Usually whenever you admitted to going rogue you were met with lectures about the proper way to do things and told to leave things to the demon slayer corps— but their numbers were dwindling and you'd never quite figured out breathing styles well enough for your sensei to agree to send you to final selection. Still, hacking and slashing got the job done with the right blade. "Please, Haganezuka. I had a sword with your stamp on it before. It was the best blade I've ever had and—"

"Where did you get it?" His voice was strained as if forced between gritted teeth.

"I found it..."

"SOMEONE LOST MY SWORD?"

"Yes... maybe, but I found it. It served me well and I really want another."

He turned his face away from you slightly, making the windchimes ring. "What happened to it? Did you lose the sword too?"

"No, it broke."

You could've sworn he was vibrating. "m-m-m-m-m-m-my SWORD???"

The elongated lips of the mask poked your cheek as he stepped right up against you. His haori concealed the true size and density of his body, but with him standing so close, you could tell he was muscular and incredibly strong. He was also apparently unhinged, but then again, you reasoned, what was life without a little zest?

“YOU BROKE MY SWORD??”

You'd been pre-warned that his swords were the key to winning him over, so you kept your voice level as you emptied your arsenal. "Your sword was the finest sword I have ever seen. It was an honor to wield it, Mr. Haganezuka. Not even the blade of a hashira could compare to the sublime craftsmanship of that sword. I dream about that sword." You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his body pulse against your palm as you added in a lower, more sultry tone. "And I've dreamed about meeting the artist who forged such a perfect sword for a very long time."

His chest rose sharply as he pushed out the only response he could manage; a strained, breathless grunt.

Taking his broad, calloused hand in yours, you gazed into the eyes of his mask. "Mr. Haganezuka... please make me a sword?"

The trees swayed overhead, the sigh of the leaves the only break in the utter silence between you and the swordsmith.

"Mister Haganezuka?"

The windchimes tinkled. "Tell me your name."

You told him, and he repeated it back, slowly and carefully as if trying it out.

The mask's mouth moved to your nose as he stared you in the eyes. "Mine is Hotaru. Do you need a husband?"

"I... uhh..." you stammered, suddenly feeling very warm as the heat of his burly frame pulsed against you. "Do I need a..."

He carefully removed the hyottoko mask and with it, removed every particle of air from your lungs. Ravenette hair threaded with silver, amber eyes which glowed like the forge, dark, severe eyebrows which slanted downward as he awaited your answer. He was... beautiful, treading the fine line between painfully pretty and achingly rugged.

"Yes." You said firmly. "Yes I do need a husband."

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

Two days later you were married to Hotaru and about to spend your first night at the Swordsmith Village. Ordinarily, outsiders had to undergo a lengthy initiation process to ensure the village remained a secret, but the village chief fast-tracked your application and damn near pulled you through the gates himself.

It seemed he was just as keen as you were to get your marriage to Hotaru underway. In fact, the whole village pitched in to ensure your wedding went ahead quickly and without a snag.

“Thank you for marrying Hotaru,” the village chief whispered while you were in the middle of your vows. “You have no idea the relief you have brought to the village. We were beginning to lose hope. He has never shown any interest in anything besides swords. Once Hotaru finds something to focus his attention on it's nigh impossible to tear him away from it.”

Before you knew it, you were a wife, married to a man so introverted he spent the majority of your wedding day hiding behind a tree, peering out at you as you chatted to the villagers. In fact, he only came out from behind the tree when someone walked over to congratulate him on the marriage, and even then it was only to find a different tree to hide behind.

"Hotaru..." you sighed adoringly as you slipped away from the crowd to stand beside your husband in his hiding spot. "Are you unhappy?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm happy."

"Ah... You just prefer to be alone?"

"Yes. With you. I want to be alone with you."

He was a strange man, but he melted your heart with every other word. And Gods, he was beautiful. You yearned for him like no other. You craved him.

"Husband, for my wedding gift, will you—"

"No sword for you," he said firmly. "No fighting demons. No risking your life. You are my wife now and it's my job to protect you, even if that means protecting you from yourself. So no sword."

You couldn't help but smile. It seemed Hotaru's dedication to being a husband was as intense as his dedication to smithing.

"I promise, no more demon slaying, but I wasn't going to ask about the sword."

"Oh?"

You leaned in and whispered against his ear. "I was going to ask you to take me to bed."

His orange eyes snapped to your lips as though he couldn't quite believe what you had said. He cleared his throat and tried to speak but only managed a choked grunt.

Silence descended between you until he finally found his voice. "I don't know how to do… those things."

"I can teach you."

He didn't speak. He simply took your hand in his and led you away from the wedding party and deep into the woods. After a minute he looked back at you and picked you up, carrying you against his burly chest.

"Where are we going?" you asked.

"A place where we can be alone. They won't find us."

He carried you a little further, to a small, seemingly abandoned work shed. Inside there was a small forge and smithing tools, and a small living area with a bed and basic amenities. The air was thick with the lingering tang of smoke and molten steel.

"Is... this our home?"

Hotaru shook his head. "This is where I come to work in peace when I really need to concentrate.''

He set you down carefully beside the bed and waited. Except, he wasn't simply "waiting." Hotaru's eyes drank you in, gazing at you with soft reverence. He was so big, so intimidating and by all accounts completely lacking any kind of social skills, but you had won his heart entirely. He was softer than molten steel for you, and more than willing for you to hone and hammer him into the shape you desired him to be.

"Teach me," he said. "I'm ready."

You nodded, your heart thrumming with the anticipation of what was to come. "Okay. Would you like to use your fingers? Your tongue? Or your cock?"

"Yes. All. Teach me how to use them."

Marrying this strange man had definitely been one of your better decisions.

Closing the space between you, you wrapped your arms around your husband's neck and gazed into those fiery eyes. "Well, we should start with a kiss. Do you know how to do that?"

His brow knitted. "Yes of course I know how to kiss."

"Good. Then kiss me, Hotaru."

He leaned down and pecked your cheek.

"Was that good?" An expectant look lingered on his face, faltering by the second. "I... that's what you want, isn't it? Do you want more? I can give you more."

Gods, the man was completely uninitiated.

Still, you couldn't help but smile as he eagerly peppered your cheek with little kisses; dozens of them, soft and dry and so sweet. His brow remained furrowed in concentration throughout, and you remained patient as he expressed his devotion. But when they inched closer to the corner of your mouth you turned your face to press your lips to his. 

The moment your lips touched, he froze, eyes wide as you gently and slowly pulled him into your kiss.

His lips were still and stiff beneath yours as he adjusted to the new sensation. And then they softened. Gradually, tentatively, he followed your lead. His lips crept across yours, careful and slow like he was learning the steps to a new dance and didn't want to tread on you.

You licked the seam between his lips, easing your tongue through the gap as he inhaled sharply and he brought his hands to your waist.

And then something inside him snapped. A restraint cut loose.

He wound his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. The strength in his arms was breathtaking; forged by decades of tireless labor, and now wholly dedicated to you as he pushed you down onto the bed and slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring this newfound pleasure.

Your kisses awakened a voracious appetite in him and before long he was devouring you with heated passion, barely giving you time to breathe. It was as if he had gone his entire life without intimacy, but once the dam had cracked it was impossible to stop the flood.

His tongue stroked yours again and again as his tough hands skated up the length of your legs. When he reached your knees he granted your tingling lips a reprieve, kissing your throat as he pushed up the skirt of your wedding dress and squeezed the tender flesh of your thighs with a wanton groan. 

"My pretty wife," he growled as you shifted beneath him, craving his touch. "Tell me how to make you feel good."

You parted your legs, pulling your skirt up all the way to reveal yourself to him. A sharp intake of breath expanded Hotaru's chest as he looked down at your pussy. A muscle in his cheek danced and his grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes filled with a look of pure hunger.

"Do you want to touch me?" you asked, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as anticipation coiled in your belly.

His answer was barely a whisper. "Very much." He swallowed hard. "May I?"

"Please... please do," you whispered, your need for him drowning out the rest of the world. It was just you and Hotaru, and nothing else mattered. 

The sound of his shaking breaths was the only break in the silence. His hand left your thigh and he gently brushed his fingertips along the edge of your folds. 

“Soft,” Was the only word which emerged from his lips as he stared and explored the shape of you. His orange eyes were focused, his perpetually furrowed brow somehow even more severe. Hotaru was lost in concentration, entirely focused on mapping the curves and ridges of your cunt.

You lay there on the bed, letting him find his bearings. His gentle exploratory touches sent shivers through your body. Those rough, calloused fingers touched you with such care and attentiveness. His eyes snapped back to yours every time you made a sound or breathed a little harder.

Hotaru was a devoted craftsman– his hands finely tuned tools– and they were dedicated entirely to your pleasure. He found your entrance and pushed a finger into you, watching intently as your pussy clenched around it.

You sighed in pleasure. "Gods, Hotaru, you're making me so wet…"

"Is that good? Am I making you happy?"

"Yes. That's good."

"Hm," he muttered, as if filing the information away. "A wet wife is a happy wife."

A sharp gasp escaped you as he nudged the hood of your clit with his thumb and his lips curved into a smile. 

"You like this, don't you?" He hummed pensively and circled your clit, spreading your wetness.

Squirming beneath him, you nodded as the heat on your cheeks blossomed. "Yes, Hotaru. Keep doing that."

Gods, those rough hands. They sent jolts of pleasure surging through your body as he lavished attention on your clit, fascinated by the way it swelled as he worked with dogged determination. He added another thick finger to your cunt, stretching you deliciously.

A quiet groan emerged from him as you began to fuck yourself on his fingers, hard and fast as he rubbed your clit. He watched you intently, his lips parting in sync with your cry as your first orgasm of the night rocked through your body.

"Oh look at you, my pretty wife with your sensitive little bead." He moved down your body, lowered his head and nuzzled your clit with his nose. 

"Ho-taru…"

The wet heat of his mouth closed over your tender bud, pulling another cry from your lips. 

"Ah! You like that too," he murmured as he knelt between your knees, his long, dark hair spread like strands of seaweed across your thighs. 

"Yes. D-do it again… please… use your tongue."

“My tongue?”

You sucked in a breath as he licked your clit with the tip of his tongue, tasting your essence. 

He groaned. "Mm~ fuck, this is good." 

"More… please…" 

In response to your demand, he raised his hand to press his thumb against your lower lip. "Show me how to lick you well."

Gods, this man. You took his thumb into your mouth, showing him exactly what to do, licking the tip of it as if it was your clit. He groaned as you lapped his thumb, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw clenched. 

"That feels… huh…" He bit back a groan before burying his face in your pussy and replicating the motion on your clit.

Thank the Gods he has the foresight to take you away from the village, because the sounds he pulled from you were unholy. He was eager and so receptive to your lessons.

Hotaru put everything he had into eating your pussy; the slick, sucking sound of his mouth and his hot, wet tongue accompanied by your desperate cries. With every passing moment his confidence grew, pumping those thick fingers into you and curling them against your walls, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to give you more pleasure than you ever expected. 

As he pleasured you, he ground his hips against the mattress, groaning as he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth. It was too good, too intense. Your senses were flooded with him; the sight of that beautiful man devouring you, the acrid scent of the forge, the lewd wet sound of his mouth on your cunt. And Gods, nothing had ever felt so good before. 

Hotaru was born to forge swords and eat pussy, and he did both with unbreakable focus. 

You sucked his fingers and he sucked your clit, groaning as he voraciously lapped the sensitive nub, driving you higher… higher…

An immense wave of pleasure crashed through you as you reached your peak, the force of your orgasm making your legs tremble. His name tore through you like a cry to the heavens, his answer a soft moan which vibrated through your core as he kept on licking. On and on, lapping at your pulsing clit as you gasped and bucked your hips against his insatiable mouth.

"Ho-taru… you did it… you made me–"

Taking his fingers from your mouth, he slung a heavy arm across your belly and continued eating you out, unrelenting, pulling another choked cry from you. Hotaru was drunk on you, on the taste and the knowledge that he was pleasing you; groaning, grinding his hips against the mattress, breathing in the intoxicating scent of you as he fluttered his tongue over your overstimulated clit.

The village chief had told you his focus was unbreakable, and now that attention was dedicated to your pussy. He was lost in you, wholly devoted to pleasuring you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, torn between needing respite and craving more. 

He propelled you from your second orgasm right into your third. Intense pleasure drove your head back against the pillow as you screamed in ecstasy and torment, your pussy throbbing beneath his lips as your nectar ran down his chin. And still, he licked you with an unquenchable thirst.

"Hotaru! Ho- oh it's too much.” 

He hit a spot inside your cunt which made the world shatter around the pair of you, sending you careening into another climax which turned your blood to liquid steel. “Too much! I can't!" You swatted at his forehead, smacking him with your fingertips as you wriggled out from beneath him. 

Your husband stared at you, dazed and breathless, his lips glistening with your slick juices. "Did… did I do it right?"

You gasped for air, trembling down to your bones. “You did it perfectly, Hotaru.” 

He pulled you into him and kissed you. You licked the taste of your desire from his lips, swallowing the low groan which rolled from his chest. His lips caressed yours with deep, undying passion, his hand dropping to the bulge tenting his hakama trousers.

“Let me take care of you now,” you whispered into his ear as your hand joined his, cupping his cock and making him moan. “Lie back for me, my love.”

He did as you asked without protest. It was true that you wanted to take care of him and give him as much pleasure as he had given you, but in a more practical sense, being on top of him allowed you to have control. You were already so fucked out, and from the feel of things–from the girth and weight of it through his trousers– control was definitely going to be necessary.

You stood from the bed and undressed as he gazed up at you, languidly palming his cock in his broad hand and drinking in the sight of you.

“Such a lovely wife,” he whispered, his orange eyes heavy with desire.

“And I have such a handsome husband…” you replied as you undressed him, revealing his big, muscular body inch by firmly hewn inch. He was a mountain of a man, and Gods, there wasn’t a thing you would change about him. “A handsome husband who pleases me well…” You kissed him, gently pushing him back and straddling his hips. “And who makes the very best swords in all the world–”

“Ohh…” He groaned, gripping your hips as you brushed the fat tip of his cock against your pussy. “Say that again.”

“Hm? That you’re the best swordsmith in the world?” You eased the top inch of him in, letting your body adjust to the sensation. “That your swords are works of art?”

“Gods, I want you,” he hissed, baring his teeth and gazing up at you from the pillow. A deep, longing groan emerged from him as you inched your way down his length. “You… you are…so warm… so wet… beautiful.”

You skated your hands over the plain of his abdomen, taking him deeper, your back arching as he stretched you even at that slow pace. When you finally reached the bottom of his shaft, you were breathless, tingling at your core. Hotaru was even less composed than you. 

The swordsmith growled, bending his knees to slide his legs up and down the mattress, fighting the urge to fuck up into you. His cock twitched inside you as you rocked forward to kiss him, your breasts pressed against his burly chest, his rough hands skating up your back. 

“I love you, Hotaru,” you whispered before rocking back to start riding his cock. 

“I–ngggh ohh… ohhh!” he groaned, eyes widening, fingers digging into your hips with bruising ferocity as you bounced on top of him. His control slipped almost immediately. 

He fell apart, groaning and thrusting up into you with a loud moan. His eyes screwed shut, his face flushed scarlet, and he trembled beneath you as his cum flooded into you, spilling out onto the base of his cock.

Pulling you down into an embrace, Hotaru held you in his arms, his heart thrumming beneath your ear. His big, broad hand stroked your back as he kissed the top of your head and his cock softened inside you.

After his breathing returned to normal, he gathered his senses long enough to ask, “Do you need more, my love?”

“I’m more than satisfied,” you said with a smile. 

He was asleep a second later. 

You lay there, pinned by his arms, crushed up against this strange, wonderful man you called your husband, and there was nowhere else you would rather be. 

#hotaru haganezuka #kny haganezuka #haganezuka x reader #haganezuka smut #demon slayer haganezuka

[katyusha454]

I think I've found the most tragic ship in BG3 and I need to rant about it

I've seen a decent number of people discuss and write about Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, but they always focus on what she's like post-game when she's fully committed to Shar. Which is a fine thing to focus on! Especially when you're writing smut where she's a mean domme. Post-game DJ Shadowheart is a fascinating character. But I feel like people neglect to consider what she's like during the transition phase of Act 3, where she's become Shar's Chosen but hasn't yet Done The Thing that caps off her personal questline. And there is SO MUCH potential for angst and drama during that time frame.

IMO the most important aspect of this stage of her development is that she is not evil yet. She simply made a single bad decision and now she feels like she's in too deep to do anything but double down on it. She's spent her whole life trying to "fake it 'till you make it" and she's only just now starting to transition out of that and into sincere belief. All the misgivings and insecurities she's shared with you are still there, just buried deeper. That desire to love others and do good hasn't yet been completely stamped out. In my Dark Justiciar Origin run, I try to do good things whenever possible as long as I can find a way to rationalize it as benefiting Shar. (but I still ended up saying enough evil-sounding things to make Minthara incredibly horny for me)

So where does Karlach fit in?

Well, turns out when you play as Origin Shadowheart, Shar doesn't make you break up with your partner. In fact, Shar says absolutely nothing to you about your romantic situation. This is really weird if you're romancing anyone other than Karlach, but I think it makes perfect sense for Shar to tolerate a relationship with Karlach for the time being. It's the ideal opportunity for Shar to prove a point. Karlach is dying, and no matter what Shadowheart does, this relationship is going to end in painful loss. Shar wants Shadowheart to fall in love with Karlach only to have that love abruptly ripped away from her. It perfectly demonstrates everything Shar believes about love: that it's fleeting and will always hurt you in the long run. Better to just avoid it entirely so you don't get hurt.

And Shadowheart knows all this. She's studied Sharran scripture extensively, after all. She knows that Shar is trying to teach her a lesson, she knows that the longer the relationship lasts and the more emotionally intimate it gets, the more the end is going to hurt. So why doesn't she break it off? Partly it's because she loves Karlach and doesn't want to end things; she's probably in denial at least a little bit. But I think it's also partly because she's a bit of a masochist. She thinks she deserves to suffer because she knows, at least subconsciously, that she's still not a very good Sharran. She can see the loss coming and she hopes the experience will bring her closer to Shar.

You'd think Karlach would be unwilling to put up with DJ Shadowheart's fanatical bullshit, but personally I think Karlach would stick it out for a whole mess of reasons. Number one, she can still see the good in Shadowheart and she refuses to give up on her partner. She's clinging tightly to the hope that Shadowheart can still be redeemed, even though she probably understands that it's a long shot at best.

Number two, she blames herself. When you play as Tav/Durge or another Origin, Shadowheart will have a conversation with you before deciding what to do in the Shadowfell. But if you play as Shadowheart, none of your companions says a word to you. In the context of this ship, I choose to interpret that as Karlach being too trusting. She's seen the good in Shadowheart, after all. She's so certain Shadowheart will do the right thing that she doesn't think she needs to speak up. It's not until too late that she realizes what Shadowheart needed was for someone to say "hey, are you sure about this?" So now she feels she needs to make up for that failure somehow by continuing to try and nudge Shadowheart in the right direction even though it seems impossible.

And number three, Karlach's just plain lonely. As fucked-up as this relationship is, she's still getting companionship and intimacy, and she doesn't think she has time to cultivate a new relationship if she breaks up with Shadowheart. She wants someone to be with her and hold her hand at the end, even if that someone is a brainwashed cultist.

In sum, both of them know that their relationship is extremely unhealthy; that it's hurting them now and will hurt them more in the future. But they both refuse to end it for their own reasons. And good gods, the ANGST. ARE YOU FEELING IT NOW, MISTER KRABS?

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #shadowheart #karlach #shadowlach #dark justiciar shadowheart

[pastel-nature]

My Pretty Little Bastard

Yandere!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

A/N: All characters in this fic have been properly aged up to 18+. Please forgive spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my first language.

TW: abusive behavior, stalking, breach of privacy, targcest between uncle and niece, violence, implied noncon.

You had no dragon. The egg given to you did not hatch nor did the riderless dragons at the pit and Dragonstone responded to your attempts.

And so, that is how you were made to stood beside Aemond at the Dragon pit during mandatory lessons. You both are alike. Or so that’s what people think. You and Aemond share not one likeness besides being a dragonless Targaryen. And no, you did not share any fondness toward each other.

The flowers he gifted you are beautiful, not so much with the words that escaped his lips when he gave them to you. Pretty flowers for a pretty bastard.

His clammy cold hand as he jerked yours away from Dreamfyre. Helaena often thought it would be fun for you both to at least know what it feels like to pet a dragon. Thankfully she catches up fast.

His feet quick to catch up with you whenever you would run to your twin, Jace. A bastard and a craven, he taunted.

So you learn to keep your distance from Aemond in the first place, avoid him, say nothing to him, look away when his eyes met yours. You even learn to identify his steps, so you can quickly turn away whenever he was near. 

Yet his rage and distaste for you grew stronger by the day. If your brothers or parents are near, he would look at you in the eyes and mouthed the word ‘bastard’. When he catches you without them, he would lean in and whisper to you, nadresy, it means bastard in valyrian. God have mercy if he catches you all alone with no one around to help you, one time he slammed you to the wall so hard your ears rung. Recently turned 10 and in growth spurt, he stood over you, his deep blue eyes bore to yours as if willing you to die right there and then. His hand crept to your neck, you were sure he would go and squeeze the life out of you. Luckily your septa realized you were missing and was calling out for you. Then that night at Driftmark happened, and your life changes forever.

Her, he pointed towards you as if you were some cattle. I want her as recompense for my eye.

You cried, clawed, plead to no avail. Everyone thought it best for you to bind and appease the boy who now rode the largest dragon.

They promised to visit and send you letters, yet it did not ease the dread as you sail to King’s Landing.

And that is how you end up amongst the Greens in King’s Landing, alone, largely ignored safe for the occasion when you had to show up as Aemond’s betrothed. 

Aemond quickly grew into the role of the warrior for his family, known for his skill as a warrior and his dragon, Vhagar. Ruthless and ambitious, he is a fearsome sight to behold. 

You had heard maids and nobles described as being tall and handsome, with silver long silver hair, the Targaryen family traits. What good husband he would make, you heard a lady swoon.

They did not know, they never will. Much to your chagrin, Aemond had mastered a sweet and loving facade to mask his violent and obsessive behavior.

As your wedding day approaches, Aemond becomes increasingly obsessed with you, and begins to exhibit signs of worrying behavior. 

He would follow you or have people do so everywhere you go. It is clear by now that all your maids and guards are deep in his pocket.

Enraged whenever you speak to or spend time with anyone else. 

You are my betrothed, do you seek to besmirch our family name by acting so wantonly with others?

And if harsh words fail, he would gently stroke your hair, citing that this soon to be marriage is the only thing keeping the Seven Realms from civil war. He is proud to serve his duty and so should you.

Even your family letters were not save from his hands. Sure, you received them on regular basis, yet at times the letters felt… fabricated. The stamps and handwriting in tact but as a princess you know there are people for hire who are good at forging one. 

You tried to convince yourself that this is just your paranoia talking.

But then you secretly paid one of the stable boy to send a letter for you. Send it outside the Red Keep, you said as you slipped the boy one of your emerald ring. No, you did not have access to any coins either, thanks to Aemond.

He found out. The boy was dragged before you, half dead, his back flayed open. You were terrified of Aemond's violent outburst, and begs him to calm down and listen to reason. Aemond, however, is beyond reason, and is consumed by his rage. In the end the stable boy was ‘mercifully dispatched’, but only after his mother was involved.

You realize that it is impossible to be with someone who is capable of such violent and obsessive behavior, and seek to break off the engagement. Every minute you spent with your delirium and sickly grandfather you would whisper -beg, for him to wake up and put an end to this nightmare of a betrothal.

He knows, he must have, but you did not care, for Aemond could not possibly hurt the King. 

Stupid you, he did not need to.

Rumors began circulating on how you had been so enamored by the prince that you seek his bed every night. Wanton and brazen, Rhaenyra’s daughter for sure.

Moon teas have been prepared for you on a daily basis.

Within weeks everything fell into place, your mother’s consent, The King and Queens’s approval, even House Velaryon agreed to bank your dowry.

It just so happens that the High Septon himself appears to be in the court, as well as notable Lords and Ladies of Seven Realms.

What perfect time for a wedding, Aemond in his gleaming black and gold tunic, leaned in and whispered, don’t you think so my pretty little bastard?

A/N: Thank you for reading. I have another scenario in mind where Dance of Dragons civil war still happens but I have no idea whether to make it a part 2 of this story or start another one. Stay tuned, all feedback and criticism are welcome.

Part 2 is out:

#aemond #targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #house of the dragon x reader #yandere #yandere aemond #yandere aemond x reader #tw yandere #tw toxic relationship #house of the dragon

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 10

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 10/? 4.6k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Progress report — subtle strides in secret and deals not forgotten.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: flirting, rule breaking, mild exploration through touch, cheating mention

Monday, November 11th 1985

The fog was lifting in you. 

You could tell when the laundry beckoned to be folded after weeks of neglect. When the act of folding it was something you wanted to do.

When the boxes that had become part of the scenery in your living room suddenly seemed like they didn’t belong there. When you wanted to cook more than just things you could put in a microwave. 

You would wake up on the weekend and ask yourself what you wanted to do with the little free time you had in the space between the chores, and the errands, and the papers you had to grade. You would ask yourself what records you wanted to listen to instead of just turning on the radio to fill the space with noise. Instead of exhausting them all without consideration.

You had been asking yourself a lot of questions over the last two weeks. The loudest of them all — What am I doing?

You would ask yourself this question every morning as you brushed on your makeup and felt more beautiful than you could remember, even since before your life came crashing down this summer. 

You would ask yourself again as you sifted through your closet, as the hangers screeched against the metal pole to dig out a dress from the back that you hadn’t worn in ages. Cream colored linen, tea length, with short puff sleeves, a square neckline, and buttons down the front. It tapered at the banded waist and flowed outward in an A line. 

The question would rattle like a pinball in your mind as you stamped your punch card in the main office. As the receptionist complimented the dress that you had on.

It would sit like a weight in your stomach as you made small talk with the other teachers. As you sat in one of the old scratchy chairs in the teachers’ lounge that suddenly bothered you less and opened the lunch you found the energy to pack again.

It would echo in your thoughts like the clicking of your footsteps down the hallway. 

What am I doing?

It was a question you didn’t know the answer to. 

All you knew was when the wind caught your dress from the haste you made toward your classroom, the smile you stole from him as you passed brought silence to it. That the way he looked at you made all noise, all else, cease. That it made you feel as timeless as he said you were. 

There was a change in him too. It was subtle, as all things were in your relationship with Eddie Munson, but ever since some force beyond yourself possessed you to utter even the barest inkling of your feelings, he was bolder.

He would sit very close to you, oftentimes with his shoulder angled behind you. An action equally as thrilling as it was terrifying. He had done this before on a few prior occasions but never like this. Never for this long. 

He always took his jacket off so you could feel his arm graze against yours as he reached to turn a page or grab a pencil. 

He would do these things so often that there was a quiet, secret part of you that wondered whether it was time to rearrange your classroom so that your desk was out of sight of the doorway. You shot the thought down the moment it intruded. As long as the desk was within eyeshot, you could ration that the possibility of being seen would hold you both accountable and encourage good behavior. That was what you told yourself anyway. 

The problem was that Eddie Munson wasn’t that concerned with good behavior.

Every time he sat beside you, your eyes, in the closeness of his proximity, would find another feature to admire. 

Today it was the rips in his jeans. The way you could see his skin straining against the slits in the fabric. How your eyes could gather the strong angles of his kneecaps and for some reason, this was doing things to you. You would steal glances at them, down and to your right, as he leaned forward in his seat next to you. 

It was always next to you. It had been for the past two weeks.

He pointed at a drawing of a humanoid demon looking creature with horns and a tail in the monster manual laid out in front of you on top of his history textbook. 

“So this is the tiefling race, which is what I played years ago before I took over as DM. I was a tiefling bard, which is like a sort of, uh, musician spellcaster.” 

That was another change — how frequently he would get off topic, and how often you would let him. 

“Very true to life then,” you said with a little chuckle.

His lips curled into a hardened smirk to smother a blinding grin. 

“You think so?” There was a whisper of pink in his cheeks. 

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” you said breathlessly.

Then he did something he hadn’t done before — he put his arm around the back of your chair.

The animal inside you preened. 

Heart racing, you turned your head ever so slightly, allowing your eyes to trace the barely there stubble that peppered his jaw before they wandered to his lips — soft, broad, and still smirking. You were close enough to feel the delicate hairs that strayed from his wild curls brush your cheek. Close enough to feel the warmth radiate from his arm against the linen of your back, like a bubble of protection, or some other magic found in the pages sprawled out before you.

It was hard to think of anything else but you managed. “What do you think I would play?”

“Mmm.” His hum was a warm vibration at your ear. It sent a ripple to your core. Ringed fingers drummed against the back of your seat. “Well, an elf, obviously,” he chuckled. “As for class, let’s see…” 

You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, scanning you as the gears turned in his head. It was quiet in the room, and in the hallway. Quiet enough to hear your heartbeat in your ears. You wondered if he could too.

“See I wanna say wizard because they get their magic from reading books, but…”

You raised your eyebrows playfully. “But?” 

“I think you’re more of a healing type."

“Oh yeah?” Your soft chuckle filled the silence and you allowed yourself, for just a moment, to relax a little bit. To lean into the warmth of his strong shoulder, enveloped in the safety of the secret you both shared. You could catch his scent from this position more than ever. The warm musk emanating from under his arm. The whisper of shampoo and cigarettes. That soft, indescribable scent of his skin. It almost made you dizzy. 

“Yeah, like a cleric, only they get their power from worshiping deities and… I don’t know if that’s really you either.”

You hummed. “Where do you think I get my power from then?”

His voice was soft but certain when he answered. “Within.”  

Flutters — straight to your core.

“Maybe that makes you more of a sorcerer then,” he pondered, tipping his head towards you. His breath feathered your cheeks, lids heavy over deep chocolate eyes. 

You met them with a breathy chuckle, feeling so girlish all of a sudden. As if suddenly you were not behind the big desk, but a much smaller one. 

The pads of his fingers brushed your arm. So delicately that at first you thought it was just a consequence of their proximity, but when they began to trace tentative, tickling circles, it was evidently intentional. 

You swallowed, your skin beneath his touch like a livewire. Every delicate hair on your arm picking up on the movements of his calloused pads, amplifying them like a radio signal straight to the animal part of you. 

He held you in his gaze, eyes wide like a question. But when the corners of your mouth gave way, gave their soft permission, the corners of his did as well. As did the corners of his eyes, crinkling in that way you loved so much. 

His fingers got braver. The circles widened into strokes. His thumb got involved. Still, you could feel his heart pounding into your shoulder. Feel the nerves emanating from under his touch. Feel the want, the care, the ache, the frustration. 

It might have been seconds. Minutes. A small, stolen eternity.

Until a voice echoed in the hallway. Suddenly there was that question again — triggered like a pinball machine, loud and intrusive as it rattled in your mind. Your eyes shot towards the door. His followed.

Eddie took his arm away, and you wondered if the strangled whine that left your chest was audible to him too.

Silence prickled the space between you, ears attuned to the noise coming closer. Eddie’s eyes were fixed on the door, his strong brows furrowed in what you could only interpret as annoyance. The voices grew louder, then passed, fading into distant echos.

The footsteps left behind an ache. Palpable, pervasive. Eddie sighed and looked at you, to which you could only respond with a resigned huff of your own. You must have looked as pitiful as you felt, because what he did next took you by surprise. It always did, even if this time it was something he had done before.

He reached under the desk and grabbed your hand.

It didn’t matter that he’d held your hand before. It didn’t matter even if he’d held it a hundred times. Your heart still leapt in your chest. The pinballs still fired off inside your head with lights and sound effects. 

But when his warm thumb rubbed circles over your icy knuckles, slow and deliberate, soothing and caring, the sounds got muffled. The flashing dimmed. Until there was nothing but a landscape of bones, and tendons, and the meat of his soft palm. Nothing but the valleys of the space between his fingers when they ventured further than they had ever gone before — in the spaces between yours.

Your back might have arched. Your eyes might have rolled back into your head if you hadn’t closed them so quickly. You wouldn’t know because the only thing you were aware of anymore was the velvet interior of the space between Eddie’s fingers. How they filled the space between yours in a warm, comfortable stretch. 

There was a line and both of you had crossed it. Held hands and jumped over it like a broom. You knew it, he knew it. There was no going back. And knowing this, there was another question you had been asking yourself for the past two weeks — how far would you go?

Would it stop at holding hands? Eddie wasn’t exactly the patient type. You’d spent enough time with him to know that much.  

You opened your eyes to the classroom. Your classroom. To the rows of desks lined up like soldiers. To the chalkboards, and bulletin boards, and concrete walls. To the big desk in front of you. To the open door.

Pinballs again. Ricocheting like thunder. Your pulse in your ears, your stomach in your seat.

You glanced down at your hands intertwined, hidden from sight in the shadow of the large, looming desk. You admired how the heel of his hand cradled yours. How perfectly they fit together. The way your forearm rested against his, warm and soft. How secure it made you feel. There was a tug in your heart, deep and thrumming. You squeezed his hand for one more precious second… and let it go.

“I— I think we should, um,” you swallowed and gingerly shut the monster manual. The ache was back, shooting through your chest like daggers. 

Eddie looked at you, the loss of your hand palpable in the subtle pain of his expression. “Right,” he said plainly. There was a knowing there too, an understanding that replaced it more quickly than you expected. 

He scratched behind his neck with the hand you could still feel the ghost of. “So it’s uh, progress report day.” You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was going somewhere with this.

You raised your eyebrows. “I’m well aware.”

He tipped his head towards you. “I believe we had an agreement.” 

“Oh?”

“You don’t remember?” 

“Remind me.”

Eddie reached into the pocket of the jacket that hung on his seat and procured a paper folded into thirds. “You told me that if I got a B in any of my classes that you would let me read one of your stories.”

Your eyes widened. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

He squinted smugly. “You did.”

You glanced toward your grading binder on the upper lefthand corner of the desk and grabbed it, “If I’m not mistaken though, you have B- in my class,” you said, thumbing through the pages to find fourth period. “Yeah, see?” you pointed to it. “Technically not a B, all those missed assignments from September still count I’m afraid,” your voice was playful.

Eddie’s mouth curled into mischievous little grin as he opened the paper in his hands, “Oh I’m not talking about your class. I believe the agreement was for one class. Any of my classes.” He pointed to a line on the page. “I got a B in shop class.” 

You leaned closer, honing in on the clearly printed B above his finger. “It’s — it’s still not the final report, just a progress report.��

“It’s still an official report,” he said smugly. 

It was almost as if he could see the gears turning in your head, the dread setting into your features.

“See, I’ve kept the promises I’ve made so far,” he brought a hand to his chest, “I think it’s only fair that you make good on yours,” he said, squinting again.

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll bring it in on Wednesday. But… it’s— it’s not totally finished. There’s still quite a bit of editing that needs to be done and—“

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. More than fine. Captivating, actually, if it’s anything like the author.” His smile was tinted with childish excitement. His eyes with a warmth made you shiver.

You tucked your hair behind your ear to distract from the heat creeping into your cheeks. “It’s been forever since I’ve even looked at it to be honest. Years actually.”

“Glad to give you an excuse then.”

______

It was a typical Tuesday night. 

A typical night of the flimsy windows in Gareth’s tidy garage trembling at the raw, unhinged, cranked-up-to-eleven power of Corroded Coffin.

“Hand of Doom” was cleaning up nicely. Dave’s bassline was solid. Gareth’s drums were neat and timely. Jeff was nailing the chord progression. Eddie’s vocals were well equipped to handle Ozzy’s range.

You’re having a good time baby

But that won’t last

Your mind’s all full of things

You’re living too fast

Go out and enjoy yourself

Don’t bottle it in

You need someone to help you

Stick the needle in

There was a perfect balance of space for his vocals to breathe over the walking bassline, then crescendo into pure instrumental power. 

A power he could feel as he attacked the strings. An agency at his fingertips as they tapped out a howling melody over the chugging chords laid out for him by Jeff and Dave, over Gareth’s thundering kick drum. 

A power that could sweep him up and away, carry him far from the crushing weight of the stares of his classmates, far from the looks of disappointment on the faces of the other teachers, far from the heaviness of his feelings.

Swept away in a wave of sound, there was only space in his hindbrain for the patterns his fingers made on the fretboard. For his breath to leave his chest in wailing song. 

The last chord of rung out through Gareth’s garage with a thunderous rattle. 

All four of them looked at each other with smiles and nods. Gareth banged out an extra drum fill. Jeff chugged out approving strums. 

They were ready to take it to the Hideout.

“Nice work, gentleman,” Eddie shouted into the mic, met with whoops and hollers. “I think we’re ready for another, whaddya say, boys?”

More hollers and drum fills.

“How ‘bout Ace of Spades?” offered Jeff.

“No, Symphony of Destruction,” countered Gareth.

Eddie noodled out a mindless melody. “I dunno I’m thinking War Pigs.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “We just did Sabbath, dude.”

“Yeah, we just did Sabbath well,” Eddie pressed.

“Why don’t we do something different, like a Rush song or something?” suggested Dave.

Gareth snorted. “Rush isn’t metal. We’re a metal band, dude.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you couldn’t handle a Rush song anyway.”

“Could too, asswipe. You know what, yeah, let’s do Rush. I wanna see those fat fingers of yours fingers of yours find their way around the bassline,” Gareth laughed.

“Shut up!” Eddie hollered. “Everyone just think about it and we can vote on Saturday. We’ve got like half an hour before we’ve gotta leave anyway.”

“I can’t Saturday, remember? Me and Cindy are going to a movie.”

A low ooh emanated from the guys. 

“What ‘cha end up picking?” asked Jeff.

“Back to the Future. Cindy still hasn’t seen it.” 

Dave balked. “Seriously? Does she live under a rock? It’s been out since like, July, dude.” 

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, seriously. Cindy doesn’t go to a lot of movies, she’s into like… books and stuff,” he said, a touch of pride colored his voice.

“Ooh so cultured,” Dave taunted.  

“Dude shut up, you’re just jealous ‘cause I have a date. I feel like that’s a good one though, right? I mean it’s got action and a sorta romance but it’s not too serious?”

Jeff shrugged, “Yeah I dunno, do girls like those kinds of movies?”

Gareth gave a puff of air through his nose. “Depends on the girl, they don’t have a hivemind, Jeff.”

Dave snorted. “Like you know anything about girls.”

“More than you!”

Dave rolled his eyes. “You got one date you haven’t even been on yet — doesn’t make you an expert.”

That’s when three of them turned to look at Eddie.

Eddie glanced around nervously, “What?”

“You’ve like… been with girls before, right?” asked Jeff.

Eddie scratched the back of his neck, “Uh, yeah.”

Truthfully, Eddie would hardly consider himself an expert on women. But in a garage full of virgins, his few summer flings would render him one by default.

“Yeah, haven’t you like,” Dave raised his eyebrows suggestively, “Done it?” He gestured with his hands, his index finger moving in and out of the circle he made with his other.

The boys erupted in wheezing cackles.

Eddie snorted. “Yeah I’ve done it,” he said, heat creeping up his neck. 

“Ok then, so like, what should Gareth do on his date?” asked Jeff.

“Yeah what should Gareth do to… you know,” Dave chuckled lewdly.

Gareth scoffed. “Dude I’m not trying to score on the first date. Cindy’s not like that. Besides, I’m not a total sleazeball.”

By Gareth’s definition, Eddie certainly would be. He could count the number of actual dates he’d had on less than one hand. The number of girls he’d slept with on about the same. Actually, it was rare that a date coincided. There was the girl he met at a carnival the summer he turned 17. That was short-lived. Then there was another girl who spent July with her grandma at the trailer park. He was 19 then. They would fool around in the woods outside of Forest Hills before she moved on too. That winter he would meet another at the Hideout, just passing though. She never even called him back. Could he really consider any of them dates?

The boys quarreled amongst themselves and Eddie found his thoughts drifting as they always did — to you. The truth was he had no idea what he was doing. What he did know was how good it felt to be next to you. To touch you. To hear your thoughts on anything at all. To lace his fingers between yours and watch the sigh as it left your body. To pretend that you were his for one stolen moment.

What he did know was that he wanted to take you on a date. Like a real, proper date. He wanted to buy you flowers and open doors for you. He wanted to sit down across from you over dinner, to see your smile in a candlelit glow, to pay for it at the end. 

What he did know was that he’d never felt this way about anyone before. What he also knew was that he could do absolutely none of these things with you in public. 

But he did know what he wanted.

“I dunno, man. Just like, buy her a ticket, get her some popcorn, be a real person,” Eddie offered finally.

“And get a spot in the back of the theater so you can —” Dave turned around, moving his hands up and down his body like he was making out with his bass.

Gareth threw a drumstick at him.

______

It was a typical Tuesday night. 

A typical night of coming home later than you wanted after a pointless faculty meeting.

The breath you took in the crisp air outside the door to your apartment was deep and ragged as you turned the key. You could still feel the tacky chalk on your fingers as you pressed open the door. The echos of the questions you would answer over and over to raised hands still ringing in your mind. The adrenaline still coursing through your chest, tight and constricting. The mask that still weighed heavy on your face.

You shut the door behind you and removed your boots, and the mask.

The sun was going down already. Dim and quiet. Not a single sound for your tired voice to fight anymore.

It was nothing like your house in Indianapolis, the old craftsman bungalow that you had loved so dearly. A real house with character and charm. A kitchen with a big gas stove, and a dishwasher, and  actual counter space. A dining room with a table big enough to host Thanksgiving. 

It was a place would never have been able to afford on your own. Not on your meager teaching salary. Not in a city like that. 

You might have been able to afford something small here in Hawkins, if you’d saved for it long enough. One of those little one-story shoebox homes built in the 50s near the neighborhood you grew up in. But buying a house just felt so permanent. 

You hung your keys on the hook by the door. There was no character in the plain white walls of the entryway. None you could gather in the hall leading past the nook of your kitchen into the wood paneled confines of your living room. No space for a dining room table. 

But the carpet still cradled your aching feet. There were still your records, and posters, and television exactly where you left them. There were still your books overflowing on the meager shelves you were able to squeeze into your bedroom. You couldn’t take the built-in craftsman cabinets with you when you moved. There was a lot you couldn’t take with you, and other things you wished you could have left.

There was one box you hadn’t unpacked yet. It was sitting in your closet, pushed back into the corner under summer dresses and winter coats. It was a box you hadn’t even unpacked at your old place in Indianapolis. One of those boxes that traveled with you from place to place ever since you packed your dorm room up for the final time your senior year. 

Sliding open the slatted wood door, you reached under the clothing and dragged it out into your bedroom. It was not that big, but it was heavy.

You sat cross-legged on the carpet and hooked your fingers under the cardboard, folded in on itself to keep it shut without tape. It took a good tug to untuck one of the panels. Dust powdered the air as it sprung open. 

It was hard to remember the last time you’d opened it, let alone everything that was inside. You sifted through the contents as the memories returned to you.

There were a few notebooks, an old journal, a few Polaroid photos you had forgotten about. Just you and your roommate doing stupid poses, hanging off of the bunk bed you shared like children.

There were many things that were more or less junk. Things that at the time of packing you just couldn’t seem to part with, like an old party hat from your roommate’s 21st birthday — crumpled and creased under the weight of time. You remembered decorating it with her and your other friends at the table in the common room. You all looked ridiculous wearing them on the town, going from bar to bar, your bright colored hats standing out like beacons against the backdrop of the January snow. 

There were other things — a few postcards from friends brave enough to study abroad. A folded world map that once hung in the living room of your first apartment, the one you scrounged for with your best friend. In hindsight it was even smaller than the one you had now, and it had two bedrooms. It felt big to you then. 

That was before you met Dan. 

Before you settled into the craftsman he’d purchased in the historic part of town. Settled into routines and scheduled fancy date nights. Settled into planned family outings and weekends home in Hawkins where he would surprise your mother with news of his promotion at the law firm over dinner. News of the computer he’d purchased for you. News of your engagement.

Before you added more things to the box. Things that didn’t fit into you schedule anymore. Before you’d moved it here.

Before he left behind an ice in you.

There was one thing in the box that you expected to find. It was a black three-ring binder. Unassuming, but most important. 

You cracked it open and stared down at the first page of your novel, quietly bracing yourself for the contents. It had been ages since you’d looked at it. You wondered if the years of separation between the you of the present and the you who wrote it would determine whether it was actually any good or not. In your memory it was. 

You thumbed through the pages, silently critiquing your choice of verbs, your lack of variety in the dialogue tags, how tangibly painful it was for you to set scenes. 

The story was there though. That was the thing that mattered most. The verbs could be changed, better tags could be added, the scenes could be more fleshed out. But the story held water.

Most distinctly of all, you remembered the thrill of writing it. The rush of being flooded with ideas. The hours you would spend in the car that flew by in a vivid daydream on the weekends you visited Hawkins. How every song on the radio seemed to fit the telling of your story. 

There was a dreaming taking root in you again. Yesterday. Now. For the past two weeks. You felt it like the rush of wind that caught your dress as you glided down the hallway. The airy softness that pervaded your thoughts and made you want to dance.

You thought about the last time you felt this way.

The last time you did something for you and only you.

The last time you pursued what it was you really wanted.

______

A/N: You didn’t think I was going to leave Chekov’s unfinished novel sitting on the mantle did you?? ;)

A technical note — the tiefling race wasn’t introduced to the game until 1994 but we’re going to ignore that because I think it’s really fitting for Eddie. :)

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashing, theories, small novels, all of it. Hearing your reactions to my story fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @newlips @kasbite @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blue-mossbird @alottanothing @bebe0701 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @bibieddiesgf @alizztor @godcreatoreli @shotgunhallelujah @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @luna-munson83 @eddiemunsonsbitcch @tlclick73 @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @quinnsfineline @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @emily-roberts @averagemisfit03

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me

[khaire-traveler]

My Spear, My Shield

To the flame-eyed god who stamps harder than a stallion;

I thank you for reminding me of my own strength;

I am not a helpless deer or defenseless rabbit;

For even a deer bears antlers and a rabbit, claws;

I am not weak or incapable of standing up for myself;

The power to tell someone "fuck off" very much lives within me;

I am not a follower meant to blindly obey others;

My voice is my own, and I will make my thoughts known;

My boundaries protect me, but I also protect myself;

And setting them is an act of self-love and self-care;

Those who cross them time and time again;

Aren't worth even an ounce of my time;

Thank you for reminding me of the strength in my chest;

The pounding of my heart that reminds me I'm alive;

The proof of blood in my veins that I have still survived;

The reassurance of the breath in my lungs that there will be tomorrow, and tomorrow is another day;

You have taught me valuable lessons that I will take with me for the rest of my life;

Things that I have learned, seen, and experienced;

That will forever stay with me;

My gratitude goes beyond mere words;

With your mighty spear and great shield raised;

You reminded me to raise my own in triumph;

For I have not fallen today;

And I shall not fall tomorrow.

-

|| An original poem (??? I think?) of gratitude to Ares ⚔️🛡️❤️‍🔥🐗||

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #ares deity #ares worship #devotional writing #devotional poetry #deity worship

[readychilledwine]

idk what sort of crack you put in cat and mouse but i’ve read it 5 times now, please tell me there’s more i’m literally so desperate🧎‍♀️ like the way reader was laughing when devlon screamed or the way she said down boy to azriel???? i kinda want y/n ngl👀 ugh i need to see rhys helping her rewire her mind or her accepting the mating bond w az plssss🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

I only purchase the best Crack for my followers 💙

Paradise Lost - Cat and Mouse Prequel Part 1

But part two in the Starwars release sense. Like a prequel.

Summary - After being hired to take out The Night Court's dangerous spymaster, y/n finds herself trapped between a rock and hard place.

Warnings - mentions of rape allegations, attempted murder, mentions of murder, time jumps to try to prevent this from being 4 billion parts, mind control

A/n - sheeeees baaaaaack 💜 the prequel is going to end up being multiple parts. I do not like having my stuff end up over 4k words, I feel like reading that can be difficult, and with modern technology, distractions happen and you accidentally exit and lose your place and you're le sad. If you all disagree and would be interested in a 6-7k part, let me know 💙 p.s. these parts are going to fulfill several anonymous asks, so each one will be under a different ask

Word count - 3511 (not including time jump stamps)

Cat and Mouse Part 2

High profile targets had never scared you.

 

You'd been watching him for several weeks now. Memorizing every step, every habit, what he ate and drank. 

You knew you had one shot at this mission. One singular shot. If you failed, if he got away, you were as good as dead.

Your first lesson when you were trained on the different courts of Pryithian was do not fuck with the Night Court. Missions involving them were in and out while kept clean and untraceable. Their High Lord would find you if you left that opening, and you'd never be seen or heard from again.

The first lesson you had learned on the street was not to mess with the Shadowsinger. The reason the High Lord would find you. The reason you were currently strolling Velaris under the mask of some young fae female one of your, for a lack of a better term, co workers had killed. She had no family, no friends, just a simple life on the poor outskirts of town. She sold her body for food and money. Which was how she ended up in his talons. How all the faces you wore ended up in his talons actually. 

Taking out Azriel was not going to be an easy task, but you had discovered one weakness: 

The male loved a beautiful face. Even more so when he thought she was defenseless.

You also noticed he had a type. Blondes with doe eyes. You could not fake the blonde hair or big lost brown eyes without magic. But a defenseless female in need of rescue was easy, especially since the same co-workers who were more than happy to disguise you would be more than happy to attempt to kill you. 

So you scheduled it. Letting your keeper know what you needed and when. Letting him know specifically non lethal shots on the shadowsinger with faebane would let you have an easier chance at taking him out somewhere privately.

Azriel, despite his intelligence, had fallen for it. And now he sat strapped to a chair in a ran down cabin in the woods with you watching him. You should have ended it instantly, but per the client's request, you were asked for three things, a confession of his crime, one of his hands to prove he was dead, and the pretty dagger you were translating the wyrdmarks off of.

"I know you're awake," you purred to him finishing another character. "You won't be able to contact him. Shackles, little pup."

He scoffed before lightly chuckling. "If you knew I was awake, why are we just sitting here?"

You shrugged. "I was hoping you'd start the conversation first. Or explain to me how you have a Cauldron made weapon in your possession."

"You took me hostage, I believe you should be explaining to me." 

You looked at him, pursing your lips slightly and nodding. "Not much to explain, little pup. I'm getting paid to kill you. Why is interesting, though." You paused, setting the dagger on the table and grabbing the parchment before sitting on the ground cross legged in front of him. He was almost appalled by the action. It was a backhanded way of you saying you very clearly did not see him as a threat.

"Does Princess Alyana of Rusk ring any bells for you?" 

His lip twitched, eyes sparkling with mischief briefly. "Perhaps."

You just nodded. "Can I ask what exactly the thought process behind raping a princess is? Did you think the King wouldn't ask for your head on a pike?"

Azriel looked at you in shock, hazel eyes wide, and jaw slightly opened, "I did not rape her."

You looked at the weathered parchment again, reading the soft swirling letters of the King. Letters beautified by years of practice you'd never be able to have. "According to her story of the night you were caught in her room, you had came in the window, raped her, and only left before killing her because the guards were coming." You bend the parchment keeping all other lines and information secret and showed him. 

His jaw twitched and anger was set in. "I did not harm or rape her. She invited me to her chambers and into her bed. I would never harm a female."

"A lie," you said softly. "I've watched you drag several into the prison and leave covered in blood. Their blood."

"They were spies and traitors."

"I didn't realize an occupation changed your gender. Do your little shadow wraiths know you believe they are not females? How about sweet Morrigan? She is technically a traitor to the Court of Nightmares. Do you believe she isn't female as well?" You rose a brow in challenge. 

Slow realization hit Azriel's face causing you to smile at him. "If you laid a fucking hand on-"

"Relax, pretty boy. I'm only here for you." You stood patting his head, "your special day." 

"What group are you with?" 

You smirked under the mask you were wearing but kept the outside face neutral. "Does it matter?"

"What is your name?"

"No one. I am no one." You answered automatically.

"So the House of the Faceless from the Silent Isles. What happened to the girl you probably murdered?"

"I didn't kill her. Unlike you, I actually do not harm women or females. Do you have a preference on how you die? Poison, stabbing, burning to death?" You looked at his hands. "Probably not that one, huh? Drowning! Polar opposite." He balked at your excitement. "I thought it was a fun option," you crossed your arms. "Been awhile since I water boarded someone."

Azriel shook his head, laughing. "So you won't even give me an honorable death?"

"I'm not fucking stupid enough to fight a Carynthian hand on hand nor with weapons." You could have sworn you saw him smirk. "I'm also not stupid enough to think taking away these," you held up one of his siphons, "means I'm safe if I let you out of those shackles."

Azriel had not even noticed his siphons were gone and he looked down. "How did you know how to remove those?" 

Your brain flashed to a nightmare, one of winged male standing over you. One of pain before you were tossed to your keeper. "Lucky guess," your voice was distant. 

He huffed. "You're illyrian." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "That's why your scent is off. A high fae would not carry the scent we do." 

You felt your world building pressure and rubbed your temples. "Look, this has been fun, but I'm over it." You grabbed the bloodbane you had purchased soaking it on one of your own daggers. 

"If you're going to kill me, at least do me the kindness of getting to see who is actually killing me." You sighed heavily. "Can I give you a word of advice as well? Shackles only work when you aren't dealing with someone who can pick a lock. You also talk way too much."

You had anticipated this, truthfully. You caught his wrist as he went to swing on you and leg swept him to the ground. "The shackles you were in were coated in faebane and bloodbane, torture Master." You straddled his hips as he held his chest to catch his breath. "My hands were also covered in it so you just welcomed it right back into your bloodstream." 

"Go fuck yourself."

"I do nightly," you did something Azriel wasn't expecting then, lifting the skin of the mask off of your face and throwing it to the fire to cancel the magic it also held on your body.

He was right. You were illyrian. An absolutely beautiful illyrian. Long dark hair falling into loose curls, long dark lashes, tan skin, spell binding hazel eyes. "Definitely Illyrian," he coughed out. "At least I'm going to die looking at something beautiful." He had you at the comment. You stilled completely hand barely wrapped around the dagger. "Has no one ever told you that you were beautiful?" He watched you blink, eyes glazing over and shutting as if he had called a painful memory forward. "Can I know your name?"

"No one," you whispered again. "I am no one." You finally looked at him, and you both felt it. You both felt that painful snap. A snap that now shattered your world. You were about to kill your mate. The one thing you'd always hoped would rescue you from the loneliness of your lifestyle. You dropped the dagger, feeling as if someone had just split your world in two. 

"You don't have to do this," he cooed softly to you. "You don't have to kill me. We can talk about this. I can help you. Take you somewhere safe." You stared at him ad he tentatively stepped towards you, hands grabbing your upper arms. "I won't hurt you. No one is ever going to hurt you again."

You knew he meant it. You handed him a vial, the only antidote you had, and then the free faebaned shackles you had also hidden. Turned so he could shackle you behind your back. 

He was so gentle as he did, kissing the back of your head. "You're going to be safe, little hellcat. I promise." 

You heard and smelled them before you saw them. "Well what happened here, Az?" A playful male voice asked. You heard the parchment on the desk moving and closed your eyes as the scent of citrus and sea moved closer to you.

"Hmm. A no one. Who'd you piss off, Azriel?"

"King of Rusk," the playful voice was no longer playful. "The assassin known by the name Eden was specifically requested." It quoted the letter reading the rest of it slowly. "She must be Eden."

You felt the male in front of you trying to rummage through your mind, and looked up at him. His eyes were filled with sympathy and heartache. "You poor creature. I am so sorry, darling." He looked at Azriel. "Put her in one of the nicer cells at the prison until we can trust her." His hand went up as Azriel, as your mate's breath hitched. "She was sent here to kill you, Az. Regardless of the bond, she is dangerous. Ensure she is given real food, she hasn't ate since she came to Velaris almost a week ago. I'm going to need her in better health to untangle the mess they have her in." 

2 weeks later

Rhys sat on the chair across from the small bed he had allowed to be brought into your cell. Watching as you pulled your legs up and hid your face in your knees.

"You should have a camp brand. It would have been done when you were a babe since you are female. Do you have any odd scars?" His voice was always gentle with you. 

"I can't remember," you answered honestly. You hardly remembered Illyria. Hardly remembered you were even Illyrian or what that even meant. "I remember when I was taken to the school-"

"When you were sold like a pig for slaughter to sell swords, darling." He interrupted. "You weren't taken to a school. You were taken to a temple that purchases children they believe have potential to become assassins if they can wipe their memories and humanity well enough. They unfortunately succeeded with you. Every memory you have is locked in a box in your mind."

"They used food," you whispered softly. "If I asked about something, my first punishment was food. First a week, then two. After that it was poisoning."

"Which is why you can touch fae and blood banes." You could sense the pain in his voice. "Are you comfortable taking the dress off for me? I want to see if I can find your brand." You complied, standing slowly to lift the soft cotton dress Azriel had given you off your frame. 

Rhys stood and walked around you in a circle, hand pausing as it grazed over a scar on the side of your hip. "They cut it out of you." You watched him from the mirror as he proceeded to your back, breath hitching and his eyes closing. "Were your wings removed by them or before?" Rhysand watched as your eyes glazed over, as your mind heard a male screaming at you. As your mind heard what he could only assume were your terrified screams from childhood. "Before." His voice cracked. "I know who did, though."

That night in Windhaven, Rhys slammed Devlon's face into the desk. "Who is she?" He forced her to stare at the drawing one of the twins had done of you. "I've heard you screaming at her in her memories. Who the fuck is she?"

Devlon shook his head. "I had nothing to do with what happened to her."

"That's not what I'm asking." Rhys was growling. "Tell me willingly or Azriel will carve it out of you." Rhys held his mind, pulling at it slightly until the male screamed an answer.

"She a bastard of my oldest son." Devlon answered. "He thought getting rid of her would make his and that whore he was laying with lives easier. They sold her. I didn't know."

Azriel growled and lunged. "Her name. What's her name?"

"Y/n," Devlon panted. "Y/n."

1 month later

Countless days were spent with Rhysand in your mind, unwinding memories like a spool of yarn in the paws of a kitten. He had taken mercy on you today after a brutal session that ended with you collapsing into Azriel's arms.

Azriel sat across from you, eating the soup he had brought to share with you. "Rhys might let me move you to the House of Wind," he spoke between spoons. "You'd be warded to a room there between myself and Cassian, but you'd at least have a window and a view." You felt his heart pinch when you looked at him. 

His eyes filled with sadness, with longing, with sympathy. "I know it isn't much. But it's better than here." You nodded, pushing the soup away. "Are you not hungry?"

"I don't like leaks," you responded gently. 

Azriel laughed softly. "I've never heard an illyrian complain about food before. I can have Rhys bring you something else tonight. Is there anything specific you want?"

You were in no position to ask for anything special. Especially not what your mind was trapped on. But you didn't realize Azriel sensed it through the bond and had immediately asked Rhys to go to the bakery you had walked by and almost went into every day. "You aren't our prisoner, little hellcat." Azriel put his bowl down and moved to kneel in front of you. "You are my mate, and I know it feels like an empty promise, but I promise you that once Rhys believes your mind is safe and secure, you will have more freedoms. You're here because we do not know the extent you were controlled at. Surely you know what other organizations do to their assassins?"

You did. Your body shivered at the thought of the spiders they used to turn the fae who worked for them into nothing more than a mindless shell. "Winter has this tea," you started slowly. "I don't remember what it is. But it's sweet but spicy?" Azriel rose a brow. "Not like my mouth is on fire spicy, but.. like… tooth paste?"

He smiled. "I have that at home. I will bring some to you tomorrow." He leaned forward to kiss your forehead and then rested his forehead against yours. "You are so brave, y/n." 

He watched as your eyes glazed over. As your mouth slightly parted and your body stilled.

You were trapped in a memory. A memory of another little male, his wings held high and proud on his back as you two ran and played. He was wearing rags, covered in dirt. You knew this memory, you had dreams about it. "Wait for me!" You heard yourself giggle. "Cassian, wait for me. Why do you run so fast?"

"Because, y/n, I gotta be fast if I'm going to be better than everyone else here some day!"

That bright smile, that playful voice. Rhys was dead silent in the corner, sharing the memory with Azriel. "Az, go get him." 

Rhys sat with you as Cassian entered the cell. He watched as Rhys cradled you to him. "Cassian, can you sit down please?"

The general nodded, continuing to watch. His eyes glazed over as Rhys showed him the memory and the countless others that followed. 

Cassian's voice was choked. "I thought she had died. Her dad came screaming one day his daughter had been taken. Her wings were… they were pinned to his cabin door, Rhys." Cassian felt sick thinking back to his childhood crush's wings hanging limply by the membranes, blood soaking the wood porch and steps. "It Was a few weeks before you came."

"Do you know if they branded her on her hip, Cassian?" The male nodded immediately. 

"You two should talk for a little bit," Rhys cupped your face delicately. "I have to go pick up those cookies you've been thinking about. I will be back in a few hours. If another memory comes, scream for me in your mind." 

Cassian tooks his place, his hands also coming to cup your cheeks. "You are so beautiful. You know that?"

All three of them made it a point to tell you that now. Surely if three attractive males thought you were beautiful, that had to be true.

A couple weeks later

Rhys was in your mind again, digging and digging while you cried. It was painful. So fucking painful. It felt as though you were being pulled into half by two horses. 

Like someone was cutting you limb by limb.

You hated these sessions. Where you had to sit there, gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles had gone white, holding in screams and whimpers, and crying. 

"Found it," Rhys smirked. "It's a spell. A damn good one, but still just a spell. Meaning it can be broken." He was still in the jungle he had begun to call your mind, stopping at another memory. "I was wondering who killed him. A shame, really. I would have paid to watch that in person. Many of us would have."

Rhys wrote down the name of a former hybern General you had slaughtered and hung. He had started keeping track. Every king, queen, general, or fae you killed sat in a pretty notebook. 600 names. 

600 names lined those pages like a bloodstain in white clothing.

You validated it to yourself. Cruel kings. Corrupt queens. Predators. You were only ever assigned to the worst cases, being too skilled to be wasted on petty killings.

"Stop." Rhys ordered softly. "Do not focus on what you have done. Focus on how we move forward, darling. We have a home Azriel and Cassian like to stay in. I'd like to move you there."

Azriel held you close as he walked you into your new room at the House of Wind. "Cassian is directly across the hall, I am right next to you." You nodded, arms crossing over your chest as you took in the room. Guilt sat deep in your stomach. How much had they spent to decorate it? To furnish it? 

You took in the gold hues swirled in with blacks and greys. The wooden desk with hand carved swirls and edges. The couch and chairs. Your eyes locked in on the bed though. A real, plush, 4 poster bed. It would easily fit you and Azriel if you ever desired. Rhys appeared behind you two, his heart tightening at the sentence he knew was about to come out. A sentence all too familiar to him. 

"I've never had one." 

Azriel looked at you, "A room to yourself?"

You shook your head. "No. A real bed. We were not even allowed to sleep on beds during missions. Only blankets." He watched you walk to the bed, gently squishing a beaded throw pillow in your hands. 

"Darling," Rhysand said softly. "I have a friend who believes he can break the spell in your mind. He is concerned about potential consequences, though."

You were too lost and the luxury of the fabric to respond. The silk sheets covering the bed were the softest thing you'd ever felt. Rhysand and Azriel did not say anything, nodding to each other to leave the room with a gentle click behind them.

You pulled the blanket back further on the sheets, and curled yourself into the mattress. 

Your eyes began to flutter shut frequently, mind stilling as you felt a wave of comfort and protection come your way. Soon, the light of the room faded, and you walked into a dreamers pathway of sleep. 

Helion had come to the House of Wind that night. Flown there blindfolded by Cassian. He stood in Rhysand's office, a deep red wine in one hand as he crossed his arms over his pecs. "So she's at least 300 years old and has been held under a mind control spell for the majority of that time?"

The three illyrian males nodded in response. "Breaking it could kill her if it's done in one shot. Unraveling it, though, releasing her piece by piece may be safest." 

Azriel looked down. "How long would that take?"

"Years," Rhysand answered. "Her mind has to heal enough with each break or else her humanity and morals flooding her all at once can have consequences if it doesn't just shatter her mind." 

Helion nodded. "Our mind is a delicate place. Having it tampered with that long is dangerous. For us and her. I would need to see it and feel it to fully determine how safe it is."

Azriel nodded. "I'll go get her."

His footsteps felt heavy and defeated as he moved through the House of Wind. He paused at your door, lost in thought, but shook off his doubt as he knocked.

If anyone would be able to help you, it would be Rhysand and Helion.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Nine - Between Two Walls

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Masterlist

It’s a numb ride to Fort Mire. 

The only experience you had with riding a horse was with Jeongin– but the memory doesn’t manage to put even the smallest of grins on your face.

The barrage of emotions that hit you in the throne room are still simmering in your brain. 

A large part of you is screaming to turn around, to walk back into your bedroom, strip all your armor off and cover your head in blankets until everything is over.

No. You need to do this, this is what needs to happen.

And there is no time to waste.

Wind whips past your face with each gallop. The horse’s hooves make such brief, heavy contact on the stone road as it tears through Miroh and towards Erbus’ border.

Left alone, your thoughts run wild– each of them morbid and gruesome. Slaughtered armies and burning flags, screams of the injured ring in your ears and you have to shake your head to get them out. 

The bridge leading over the Amvista river comes into view with the sunset.

What were you going to do? What sort of plan can you hope to come up with to keep Miroh safe? 

Night was falling on the seventh of December. 

There are five days to prepare. Five short days to ensure that Miroh is ready to face one of the largest attacks they’ve ever encountered.

It will be four by the time you arrive. 

If the Mercy Division did those sort of horrible things to civilians, what do they do to enemy soldiers on the battlefield? What sort of evil weapons do they fight with?

There was no way they would fight cleanly, that was for certain. You need to be prepared for every dirty war tactic in the book. 

How was Miroh going to make it out of this? And with the attack on the northern border your forces will be split even more. 

It’s an attack on all fronts. It’s fucking brutal.

It’s war.

By the time you make it to Fort Mire, the sun has not yet risen on December eighth.

Miroh’s flag blew proudly in the wind, you were able to see it from a distance. Like your own lighthouse, it drew you in and guided your way.

Even though you knew the attack was not for another few days, you could not help but to heave a sigh of relief upon seeing it wave so strongly at the top of the fort. 

You’ve only been gone about two weeks; why does it feel like it’s been an eternity since you’ve seen this place?

You’re not the same person you were when you left. New scars and lessons litter your life story. Several chapters have been written in the book of your life. 

Only a few guards patrol the top wall of the fort as usual– it’s the night shift. Guards would often bet their shifts in poker when they had no more money to wager. 

Everyone hated the night shift. But you never minded it. Hyunjin was always there to keep you company, despite the two of you only sharing a few words every now and then.

As soon as the guards spot you riding in from a distance, the gate is cranked open for your– Chan’s– horse to gallop through. 

The poor thing, you pushed its stamina for hours without giving it a proper rest. 

The gate shuts behind you as quickly as it’s opened. 

A neat head of blond hair greets you as you hop off the saddle.

“The mercenary returns,” Hyunjin says slyly. “And on the Jarl’s horse nonetheless.”

When you snap around to look at him, his teasing smile falters for a moment. Clearly, he was expecting one of your usual dry retorts.

But, when he’s met with a frazzled mercenary, his entire demeanor shifts.

His eyes widen. “What is it?”

“Where is Changbin?”

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

The excitement of your arrival is quickly stamped out by the weight of the news to come. 

But, your sullen energy doesn’t stop Changbin from wrapping you in one of the tightest, warmest hugs you’ve felt in quite a while. 

As soon as you stepped foot in the now heavily decorated office, his eyes lit up and his strong legs carried him to you in under three seconds. 

Your feet almost lift off the ground, he's hugging you so close. Like second nature, your arms close around his hulking figure.

“She returns!” Changbin cheers in your ear. 

You giggle but it’s hollow. Of course it wouldn’t slip by your commander. 

He releases you from the bone crushing hug and holds your shoulders, studying your face. 

“What is it, Y/N?”

You swallow. “I bring news of the war. And you are not going to like it one bit.”

Not one detail is spared when you tell Changbin and Hyunjin the events that have happened since you left only two weeks ago. 

From the Dove Waltz to the assassination of Lord Tybesin. 

Well, one detail is left out: your leg. You keep that to yourself. 

Yes, you tell them about the ambush, but your injury is conveniently left out of the story. 

You go through the masquerade and everything you learned in Inuin. 

Both of their faces fall when you speak about the letter you found in Tybesin’s office. Changbin grows pale and has to search for a chair behind him as his knees threaten to buckle. 

He shakes his head and puts it in his hands. 

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair nervously, missing up the kempt ponytail. 

“All at once?” the mage asks. “They plan to attack every one of our strongholds at once?”

“According to the letter, yes.”

“How do they have enough soldiers to do such a thing? The Mercy Division is a special unit, not its own army.”

You shake your head and brace your hands down on the table. “I know not of their numbers. I only know of their strength; they are highly skilled and equally as sadistic.”

“They’re spreading themselves extremely thin, we just need to be ready to intercept the attack,” Hyunjin states, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Will that even be enough?” Changbin asks, picking his head up and rubbing at his face. His fingers massage the skin under his eyes.  

After a second, he finds his footing and stands up from the chair, walking up to the map spread out on the grand table. 

“We do not even know if the attack will come from the north or south. With Erbus’ relationship with Bewaes, it could be either.”

He points downwards at the country to their north. 

“Erbus did not mention Bewaes in their letter?” Hyunjin asks you. 

“Nay,” you answer confidently. 

“They would not reach out to Inuin unless they needed it. I wager Bewaes is not providing assistance.”

Changbin’s head moves side to side, weighing his words. “We cannot rely on that speculation.”

“Erbus has never requested assistance from Inuin— why now? Because they most likely have no other option.”

“But when has Bewaes ever gone against Erbus?”

“When has a hold of Olera ever committed mass genocide against a race of people?”

The two of them go back and forth about the hood to the north while you stare at the map. 

Every single stronghold that Miroh has set up is marked. They’re all over the northern border of Erbus, a few linger to the East closer to Miroh’s border. 

“Can you send scouting groups out to look along the north and south? If the Mercy Division is planning an attack from the north, then their camps would be seen there,’ you suggest.

Changbin thinks for a moment, his arms cross over his chest. Back and forth he paces in place, his eyes looking down at the map.

“I could,” he says slowly, still thinking. “But if they are caught, it would take away our one advantage in this. Erbus does not know we are aware of their plans.”

“It is not an advantage if we do not know where they are coming from,” Hyunjin adds.

Changbin thinks carefully for another few moments before nodding. “Aye, that is the best course of action then. Hyunjin, go gather a small group of soldiers– I want you to go out with them. Be back by sunrise tomorrow. Additionally, have a messenger ride out alerting our other strongholds to be on guard, a detailed plan will be sent before the attack hits.”

Hyunjin nods and turns to you before leaving. “Shame,” he says slyly. “I was looking forward to having company by the campfire tonight.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips.

“Tomorrow is another night,” you tease with a sideways glance. 

The mage brushes his shoulder against yours gently as he walks behind you with entirely too much grace for one person. 

“I will look forward to it.”

The door shuts behind him. 

Changbin looks up from the map and directly into your eyes. His features soften.

How can someone built like a brick wall look so… gentle? The man’s biceps were larger than your head and yet he reminds you of a giant stuffed bear that used to sit on your bed as a child.

“I did not take you for a harbinger of bad news,” he laughs. 

You scoff and roll your head around your stiff shoulders. Hours and hours of continuous riding took its toll on your body. 

“I wish I was not.”

Changbin waits a moment and then looks back down at the table and shuffles a few papers around. There’s a certain stiffness to his movements that rings a tiny alarm in your mind. What is he looking for?

“How was your journey back to Miroh?” he asks without looking up.

Your heartbeat falters for a half-beat. “I told you, it was uneventful until the ambush– smooth nonetheless.”

Changbin’s nose twitches and he sniffles. He hums and nods, as if unconvinced. “Nothing else happened at the ambush?”

Shaking your head, you shuffle your weight from foot to foot. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, goosebumps rip down your arm.

He knows, doesn’t he? He always knows. He used to do the same thing when you and Jeongin would try to skip out on laps during training. 

Finally, he finds a piece of parchment and unfolds it. The official court seal of Miroh on the back. 

“I was excited when the first letter arrived after your departure,” he tells you, flipping the paper around in his large hand. “Finally, I was going to be able to read correspondence from Chan without the aid of another. Thanks to you, of course.”

Changbin makes a great show of unfolding the paper and looking down at the words in front of his face. 

Slowly, he begins to meander towards you, coming around the table to take tiny, lazy steps in your direction. 

“Changbin,” he reads, putting on a voice to sound like Chan. “I am pleased to hear of your success in enemy lands, it brings me great pleasure to hear about Miroh’s victories.”

Pride rips through you at how easily he’s reading the letter. You only taught him for a month and he picked up on it so quickly. He’s obviously been practicing every day. 

It’s an evil concoction of emotions that you’re feeling: pride and fear. 

“There’s a bit more about war plans here, advice on where to strike next, blah blah blah.”

Closer and closer he walks to you. Eventually, your legs begin to act on their own and you back away from his approach.

“But then we get here.” He smacks the paper with the back of his hand. Changbin clears his throat once and continues reading. “Y/N arrived back in Miroh yesterday with Jisung. With the state that she arrived in, I regret to say that the contents of this letter were almost entirely different. The two of them were attacked by a scouting party of Erban soldiers just over the borders in our lands.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and continue to back away from your commander. Step by step he saunters towards you. 

“During the ambush, Y/N was stabbed in the leg with a poisonous dagger– the injury was near fatal and we almost lost her before my very own eyes. Luckily, with Felix’s skill, we were able to bring her back from the Void. I implore you to keep an eye out for this poison that coats Erbus’ weapons, it seems to stunt the body’s natural healing abilities.”

Eventually, you run out of floor to back away on; your shoulders come in contact with the wall. Changbin crowds your space more and more until he’s directly up on you. 

“The wound will take longer to heal than she is accustomed to, Felix suspects. We will keep a close eye on her and ensure she is well before returning to her normal duties.”

Changbin finishes reading and looks down at you with wild eyes. He holds the letter up like evidence.

Shit.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and then the bottom lip pulls between your teeth nervously. Unable to keep his searing eye contact for more than a few seconds, you look off to the side.

“Does not seem ‘uneventful’ to me.”

Huffing, you cross your arms. “I should have never taught you to read,” you grumble.

Changbin laughs humorlessly and grabs your chin with his free hand, turning your face back to him.

“Did I not command you to stay safe? It was not a suggestion, it was an order.”

You roll your eyes. “You think I purposefully defied that?”

He clicks his tongue. 

“How did it happen?” your commander asks you.

Clenching your jaw, you gulp. “I took care of the entire scouting party, the last soldier went after Jisung. I was disarmed in the previous scuffles and had no choice but to attack weaponless.”

“So it came down to a test of brute strength then?” Changbin’s voice dips to a lower register.

Suddenly unable to find your own voice, you only nod in his grip. 

“It seems we need to work on that, no?”

What? Work on your strength?

Changbin reads the confusion on your face, his nose scrunches. 

“No time like the present, aye?”

Within a blink of your eyes, both of your wrists are snatched from your side and pinned next to your head. He moves so fast that by the time you register the movement, you can hear the letter hit the ground with a delicate crunch.

Your eyes flit all over his face.

Warmth radiates off his body and surrounds you like a blanket. 

Words stick in your throat like molasses. 

“Come on now, Y/N.” His face dips down to be level with yours, a challenging glint shines over his dark eyes. “Get out of my grasp. You should be able to handle this easily.”

His weight leans on your wrists, keeping you thoroughly pinned to the surface. It seems that you’re stuck between two walls: one of stone and the other of muscle.

Get out of his grasp? Why doesn’t he put you in enchanted cuffs instead, that might even be easier than fighting against his brute strength.

Humoring his command, you push forward, trying with all your might to move him even an inch away from you. He doesn’t even budge.

A breathy chuckle comes out through his crooked smirk. 

“I need you battle ready, Y/N. Come now.”

Harder and harder you shove against him, the grip on your wrists only continues to hold you like iron. The veins in your forehead pop from the exertion, your skin flushes.

Changbin’s face grows more and more amused at your efforts. 

His head dips down towards your neck. 

Warmth envelopes your flushed, sweaty skin when his lips press to the skin exposed at your collar. You gasp and forget all about your original goal of pushing him off of you.

Another low chuckle rumbles from within him, you feel each exhale on your neck.

“I am still here, Y/N.”

The strength is sucked from your body with each press of his lips on your skin. They start out so gentle, but with each kiss, they become firmer, moving up your neck millimeter by millimeter. 

Another shiver zips up your spine. 

“Fight against me, mercenary.” Changbin’s boot knocks your feet to the side from the inside, spreading your legs a bit. His knee comes up to rest on the wall right in between them, further pinning you there.

Your eyes slide shut, the sensation of his mouth taking over each one of your senses.

God, you missed his smell. Two weeks doesn’t seem like that long in any other circumstance, but when each day feels like five, your sense of time becomes warped. 

Up, up, up his mouth moves. The kisses become wetter, his mouth opening more and more before each point of contact. Just underneath your jaw, you feel his tongue poke out to lick at your skin.

A breathy moan shakily leaves your lips.

Your chin tilts back, head softly hitting the wall.

Changbin snickers. “What happened? Do you not want to escape?”

Swallowing a thick knot of arousal, you shake your head.

“Words, little girl.”

You bite back a moan. His deep voice paired with that nickname sends your brain into a spiral. Unconsciously, your hips jolt and roll. 

The smallest bit of pressure from his thigh rubs against your clothed arousal.

“No,” you whisper. It’s so quiet, you worry he might not have heard it.

“No?” he repeats into your neck. “No, you do not want to escape?”

Finding a bit more strength, you say it again. “No,” you hush firmly, keeping your eyes closed. “I do not want to escape.”

His tongue pokes out and licks at a patch of your skin, lips then closing over it to suck softly– not hard enough to leave a mark but enough that you shiver.

“And why is that, mercenary?”

“Because– fuck .” 

Teeth bite down where your neck meets your shoulder before you can answer.

“What was that?” he teases.

A tiny whine comes from your throat. “Because it feels fucking good.” It comes out more confident and more even than you thought you were capable of in that moment. 

He hums and mouths up your neck once more, but he doesn’t stop at your jawline like the last time.

Changbin pulls back and brings his face level with yours again. 

He releases one of your hands to grasp at your chin once more, bringing your face back down to look at him.

A blush of his own mirrors yours across his cheeks. His full lips already look a bit swollen just from running over your neck.

“You came back,” Changbin whispers.

“I told you I would.”

Changbin’s lips swoop down and capture yours. Your now free hand comes up to wind through his curled, black hair. You always liked it more when it sat naturally on his head.

You allow yourself to be consumed by him; you let Changbin take over each one of your senses. He’s everything around you at that moment. 

Truly, you hadn’t realized how much you missed his entire being until that void was filled once more.

His tongue pokes from his lips to lick at yours, your own coming out to tangle together in a wet dance. 

His hand trails down to grab at your waist. 

With all your armor still strapped to your body, you’re unable to feel his touch as much as you’d like to. The small flash of needy desperation causes you to roll your hips again. 

An insatiable itch picks at the base of your spine and shoots to your groin. 

Like always, Changbin picks up on even the smallest of signs. 

His knee lifts up to rest higher on the wall.

With only a flimsy pair of trousers on, Changbin’s muscular thigh presses against you, igniting an even hotter inferno.

Your own travel trousers were nothing but a thin layer of cotton. 

The sinewy muscles of his quads ripple through the trousers while his hand on your hip pushes you down against it.

An involuntary moan is swallowed by his mouth.

The pressure from the grind against him brings more relief than you can even begin to describe, but at the same time, it makes you crave more .

Over and over again, you begin to roll your hips around on his thigh, wave after wave of delicious pressure washes over you. 

At the same time, his kisses become hotter and heavier.

The smug joy that blooms in his chest at your actions inflates Changbin’s ego tenfold.

Your fingers wind tighter through his hair the more you ride against his thigh.

“Missed you,” he murmurs on your lips before diving back in to taste you again.

“Gods,” you answer breathily. “I missed you too.”

He releases your other hand, grabbing your waist with two hands. You grab at his tunic, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping it.

His own breathy exhales go right through you. It almost sounds like he’s getting off just from feeling you rub against his thigh like a bitch in heat. 

Can he feel how wet you are through the layers of fabric?

With how good each stroke feels, you wouldn’t be surprised if his trousers had a wet patch on them after you were through.

“Thought of you,” Changbin says in between kisses. 

“Mmm?” 

“Regretted not doing this earlier.” His hand on your waist squeezes tighter.

Faster and faster your hips pick up speed on his thigh. Just the right amount of pressure is hitting your clit, each rub feels so good.

Tiny moans come from your throat; they sound more like whimpers.

You’re so exhausted from the back to back journeys, but the sudden need to reach your release energizes you more than any mug of ale ever could.

“Who would have known you could be this dirty, little girl.”

That nickname again. It makes you keen and roll your hips faster. 

The familiar coil of an orgasm winds up tighter and tighter in your lower stomach. It pulls at the base of your spine and tenses all of your muscles.

“ Shit, shit, shit, ” you murmur against Changbin’s lips. You’re no longer able to keep up with his long, wet kisses. Your mind is too focused on chasing your high.

It’s just out of your reach, dangling in front of your face.

Just a bit more. Just a little more. 

“Read something somewhere,” he grunts.

You’re only able to respond by moaning a ‘uh-huh?’

He read something somewhere?

He nods against your mouth, those lips pulling into a sinful smirk once more before one of his hands slides up your body.

It crawls up your side, over your shoulder, up your neck, up your face until his fingertips gently caress the shell of your ear.

The second his touch gets as close to the point as your piercings would allow, he ever-so-gently, pinches the delicate skin and your orgasm rips through you like a wildfire through old trees. He presses his mouth against yours to swallow the cry you let out.

It’s different from the orgasms you’re used to. Your walls clamp down over nothing, electric shocks shooting down your spine into your toes.

Strained grunts pass from your throat after a few seconds while you try to catch your breath.

Changbin pulls away from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. His strong hands keeping you up and steady while you come down from your high.

Your head falls back against the wall again. 

“By The Six,” you pant.

Changbin snickers. “I did not think you had it in you.”

Your hand comes up and smack his arm, he only laughs more. 

“You read about Elves’ ears somewhere?”

“There are some interesting books littered around the fort, I have to say.”

You laugh in disbelief, your heart rate finally beginning to calm down and return to somewhat of a normal rhythm.

“Give me one moment and I can–”

“Nay,” he cuts you off. “You are going to sleep.”

Your eyes snap open. “What? No, I can–”

“You have been traveling for almost an entire day, you are going to sleep.”

“Changbin–”

Before you can answer again, he leans down and hoists you up over his shoulder. You yelp and cling onto his tunic.

“Sleep.”

“Fine.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #changbin x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #hyunjin x reader #animals without direction #stray kids fantasy au

[andscene-if]

Move over, LIs, I am all about MC here! Big MChead over here and I have QUESTIONS!!

How old is MC?

Do they have siblings?

Did their parents keep them out of spotlight or was MC always around at premieres, red carpets, etc.?

Did MC willingly get involved in their parents' films? Or did they try to avoid appearing in them first before realizing no one else is willing to hire them for (insert reason here)?

Related to #4, did MC have a say in appearing in the family films?

Did MC have non-acting experience, like modelling, singing, backstage work?

Does MC use their normal name when acting or do they have a stage name?

Did they go to a performance/filming school?

Did they act in indie films?

How will MCs that normally wouldn't fit into the mold of a "Hollywood Movie Star" be treated? Like queer MCs, trans MCs, male MCs who are small and/or feminine, female MCs who are muscular and/or butch etc. Or for the sake of the story, will such things be ignored, which is more than fair?

wait, we're kinda in sync cause i've got an MC article queued haha

i imagine them in the 20-22 range, so relatively young

yes, one older sister and their age gap is 8 years, so you had slightly different childhoods. when MC was only 1/2 years old is when things really started picking up in your parents' careers, so you've never really experienced the "struggle life" per se. bc of this age difference MC and their sister tend to clash, especially if you're someone who parties 24/7. but your relationship can improve or worsen even more over the course of the story

they did take you to premiers, events, galas, and such. MC quickly got used to that, because they raised MC at the beginning/height of their career, so that's definitely a world MC knows very well

all their film creds were in their early/mid teens, so i'd say MC was pretty excited to be invited onto their parents' set as a legit actor, just bc i think lots of kids would be. and it was a calculated move on their parents' part to get MC's foot in the door. so, it's not bc people wouldn't hire them, they actually got plenty audition interest, but your parents were adamant on finishing school first + it's not like they were dependent on MC for money

maybe some films they were less ecstatic about, but it's not like they were casted as the lead/main ones. it was kind of like the Apatow family with their kids, where you play a minor role, get your name out there, and then have something to show off your acting experience

they received lessons in the big 3 (modelling, acting, and singing) during their childhood!

you can decide but that doesn't mean the media/public will respect that! (lots of them drop your parents' name when reporting on MC)

nope, the nearest performing arts private school was too far, so they decided on weekly lessons, and a private school within the area, so that their busy schedules didn't put too much of a strain on family time together

yes, a couple, after highschool. some they made with friends, unpaid and for fun, and others they were hired to do. but people don't really care about all that; they hear "nepo baby" and see the family production creds, and immediately stamp you as "undeserving & talentless". so only very few people know of those films in which MC actually performs quite well in

tbh, there might be a few comments here and there, but majorly it will be ignored for story purposes, as it would be very hard to add something unique to every person!

hope this gave much more insight!!

#MC #MC's family #ask

[babybluebex]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enjolras (BBC les miserables) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, mentions of drinking, kissing, forbidden romance, names (mon cher = my darling, mon amour = my love, mon ange = my angel) 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg alright it's happening everyone stay calm (also pls lmk if this is all glitchy bc my tumblr has been acting weird lately so like. grr.) ((and yes, there will be a part 2 hehe...))

“Well, mademoiselle,” Enjolras started, shutting his textbooks as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s that time again.” 

You groaned, hating that your lesson had come to an end. Ever since you had turned eighteen, you had been begging your father to let you go to university, just like your brother had gone, but he had forbidden you from even entertaining the idea of university. It was no place for a lady, he told you, and you had pouted and stamped your foot and demanded to be allowed to go. The middle ground for your father were private tutors, just as you had had when you were growing up, but for sophisticated topics. You chose to learn Latin, and your father had hired the perfect Latin tutor for you. 

Tall and thin, short caramel curls and dark eyes and plush lips, mustache and thin beard. His name was Enjolras, one of angels in the original Latin, as he had told you. He was handsome and a good laugh, and, even if you got frustrated with the language, he soothed you with a gentle hand on your arm and soft words of encouragement. “You can do it, mon cher,” he said. “Just think about it for a moment.” He always called you sweet names as well, names that made you blush and avoid his eye to keep from exploding. 

“Oh, no, Enjolras,” you begged him, reaching out and taking his arm in your hand. “Please don’t go, please stay!” 

“Oh, mon cher, I have to,” Enjolras bemoaned. “I have somewhere to be.” 

“But can’t you stay long enough for tea?” you asked quickly. “It’s rather cold outside, I’d hate to send you out into the cold without something warm to drink first.” 

“Mon cher,” Enjolras said softly, putting his hand over yours. His hand was warm, his fingertips stained with days-old ink, and you wondered how it would feel for him to touch your bare skin. You often had dreams about your Latin tutor, less than ladylike dreams about the things you wished he would do to you. Just last night, you had dreamt of him taking you against your desk, pulling up your dress and making love to you, and you had hardly been able to meet Enjolras’s eye during your lessons. “I just can’t.” 

“What do you have to do?” you asked. “Where do you have to be?” 

“So curious,” Enjolras chuckled with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want me to stay so badly?” 

“I just—“ you started shyly. “I like talking to you. You’re the only one who treats me like an equal as opposed to someone lesser.” 

“Yes, well,” Enjolras started, shuffling around the papers on your desk as he tried to tidy and pack up. “The revolution preaches equality amongst all men, and women are included in that.” 

That bloody revolution of his. Enjolras brought it up every so often, equality and friendship among all, the abolition of kings and monarchies, and, while he never went very in depth about it, you knew that it was a cause that was dear to his heart. You didn’t know if he had a woman in his life or not (the very thought of it made your heart drop in despair), but he spoke about his revolution as if it were his only love. 

“Equality among all,” you scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

Enjolras regarded you with those narrowed eyes again, his pupils the color of dark, bitter chocolate, and he said, “Is it that hard to believe that you could be treated as I am?” 

“Only because I’ve never been treated that way,” you said gently. 

“I treat you that way,” Enjolras said. “I treat you and speak to you as any one of my friends.” 

“Are we friends?” you asked. “Or do you tolerate me because my father pays you?” 

“I do like you, mon cher,” Enjolras smiled. “Genuinely. Perhaps if things were different, I’d offer to…” He hesitated for a moment, a bit of restraint that you had never seen from him before, and he finally mumbled, “I’d offer to bring you with me to my meeting tonight.” 

“Meeting?” you echoed. “What sort of meeting?” 

“A citizens’ meeting,” Enjolras said. “Me and my friends, and revolutionaries all over Paris, we come together weekly to discuss ideas. I look forward to it every week, almost as much as I look forward to our lessons.” 

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” you smiled, and you clutched his arm tightly. “Please take me with you, Enjolras, please!” 

“I can’t do that,” Enjolras told you firmly. “Believe me, I wish I could. But if your father found out—“

“My father,” you scoffed. “So what if he found out?” 

“He would fire me,” Enjolras said. “No more Latin lessons, mon cher. Your father, he’s an aristocrat, the revolution does not benefit him, so he’s against it. If he knew you went to a citizens’ meeting, he might even disown you.” 

“He could never,” you mumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. “He loves me too much.” 

“People don’t like their politics to be challenged,” Enjolras said. “He would punish you, and that likely would come at my expense. Like I said, no more Latin lessons, I would never be permitted to see you.” 

“I don’t want that,” you said quickly. “I like you too much. Erm, your lessons, I mean. I don’t want to find another tutor.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Enjolras said with a coy smile. “I’d hate to see you punished, so I won’t invite you to the meeting. In fact, on very certain terms, I am telling you not to come.” 

“Alright, alright, I understand,” you grumbled. “No meeting.” 

“Don’t be cross with me, mon cher,” Enjolras begged, taking your hand in his. He squeezed your hand and gave you a tight smile, and he dropped your hand as he spoke again. “I’d hate to make you upset with me before I leave for my meeting.” 

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” you huffed, and Enjolras set his eyes on his papers and books, looking at you quickly before looking back down at the papers. You took his hint and looked at the paper, and your eyes widened as you saw that his own neat script covered the paper. Even though you saw it upside-down, you could see a date and an address. 

“Remember,” Enjolras said, passing the paper to you. “I told you not to come. But, if I left this and you wanted to return it to me, you know where to find me.” 

“Oh, Enjolras,” you said softly. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Enjolras asked. “Denying you to come to a meeting? I should think I’m hurting your feelings.” 

“Oh,” you said quickly, catching onto his game. Enjolras was wonderfully playful, and this was only proof of that. “Yes, yes, it hurts my feelings so much. In fact, I might think twice about returning your paper to you.” 

“But you’re a good girl,” Enjolras said. “You’ll return it to me hastily, just as soon as I’m gone and you’ve noticed I left it.” 

“Of course, of course,” you said passively, and your stomach shrank behind your stays. He had called you a good girl. Did he know the effect his words had? “Anything for you.” 

“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I really must be leaving. Have a good evening, mademoiselle.” 

“You as well, monsieur,” you told him, and you stayed seated at your desk and lazily tidied up your things as Enjolras left. Your heart hammered inside your chest at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again, outside of your lessons, at this revolutionary meeting. Would he treat you as a friend, or like some girl that had hopelessly fallen in love with him and followed him? 

About an hour after Enjolras left (because you definitely weren’t paying too much attention to the clock), you crumpled the paper up in your hand and went to the front foyer, tying your cloak around your neck. You hoped that maybe you could slip out of the house unnoticed, but the creak of the stairs made your heart stop. 

“Are you going out?” your father asked you, and you sighed. 

“Just for a moment,” you said. “My Latin tutor left something of his, and I’m going to return it.” 

“You can’t wait to give it back next week?” your father asked, and you shook your head, looking up at the stairs to see him. Enjolras’s words swam in your head, about how your father’s politics were better left unchallenged, how angry he would be if he knew the truth, but the promise of seeing Enjolras was too great for you to back down now. 

“It looks important,” you said, looking down at the paper in your hand. “Doesn’t he work as a copier? This looks like an unfinished piece of his work. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.” 

“I can deliver it,” your father offered, and you shook your head. 

“I’d rather do it,” you said. “I’ve been inside all day, I’d like to go out for a moment.”

“If you say so,” your father said. “Just be back before dinnertime.” 

“Yes, sir,” you told him, and you quickly left the house before he could ask any more questions. The air was cold against your cheeks as you began your walk to the small pub that Enjolras’s flyer indicated, and your heart was beating quicker with every avenue and rue that you turned down. Eventually, you heard the chatter of a pub as you turned onto a street, and you steadied yourself as you pushed open the door. The air inside was warm and smelled like ale, but you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the back corner where, on a raised stage-like area, your Latin tutor sat. He looked incredibly laid-back and handsome, his jacket slung across the back of his chair and exposing his vest and chemise, and you had to keep yourself from shouting his name to catch his attention. 

Luckily for you, his attention was captured by your mere presence. His eyes found you instantly, and a smile crossed his face as he swept his arm towards him and the other men at the table. He beckoned you over several times before your feet finally started to move, and you crumpled the flyer in your hand as you made your way to the back corner. 

“I know you’d come,” Enjolras beamed. “Come, sit, would you like a drink?” 

“Oh, umm,” you started, eyeing the other men at the table. Any friend of Enjolras’s was a friend of yours, but you didn’t miss the odd ways that they stared at you, like they were seeing some fantastical being for the first time; almost like Enjolras had spoken of you and they didn’t expect to actually meet you. “Not now, but maybe later.” 

“Of course,” Enjolras said, and he tugged a seat over the table, where sheaths of cards laid out, in the middle of a game. “Here, you can sit here—“

“Uh, Enjolras?” one of the men asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady?” 

“Hardly a lady,” you quipped before you could stop yourself. “I-I mean, why am I a lady if that title comes with consequences? Why am I not just one of his friends?” 

“Ah,” the man said. “So you’re the girl he’s been tutoring. Corrupting, as it were.” He reached over and jostled Enjolras’s arm, and your tutor rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how often does he speak about revolution during your lessons?” 

“Not often,” you said, and you playfully bit your lip as you considered your next words. “But enough for it to be a bother.” 

Enjolras gaped at you, his game still afoot, and he turned his nose up. “See, I told you that you shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I would only bore you with more revolution speak.” He took the cards back up in his hands and carefully began to shuffle them, and you took notice of the way his ink-stained fingers shook a little. Was he nervous? Surely not as much as you. 

“What if I wanted to come?” you asked softly. “To see you?” 

Enjolras smiled gently, and he carefully touched your hand, taking your fingers in his grip. “Well, that’s the best reason,” he said. “Because I also get to see you.” 

“I thought for sure you’d hate seeing me,” you told him. The conversation at the table had resumed, leaving you and the handsome older man to your own devices, and Enjolras shook his head. “That-That you wouldn’t want me around…” 

“I can hardly get enough of you,” Enjolras told you. “I hope you enjoy the meeting. Speak up if you have something to say.” With that, Enjolras stood from his chair and began to bang his fist on the table in front of you, startling you into a jump. His compatriots started to do the same, and it flooded the pub until you yourself were compelled to slam your hand into the table with them. The sense of camaraderie was astounding, and you laughed as Enjolras started to hush the crowd. 

“Citizens,” he started, and the eager crowd silenced themselves to listen to him. You had learned from him that equality among all meant no leaders, nobody with a higher standing or rank than any other person, but you could instantly tell that Enjolras was their leader. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, awaiting his words, and a shiver ran down your back at his authority. 

“General Lamarck lays dying,” Enjolras announced. “He is a supporter of the revolution, one of our first and strongest supporters. As soon as he dies, we need to do something. Paris is a powder keg, yes? And Lamarck’s death needs to symbolize something, it needs to symbolize everything. It is the spark that we need to make the whole of Paris go up in flames.” 

“Hear, hear!” one of Enjolras’s friends said, banging his fist on the table again, and a giddy excitement filled your chest. You looked up at him from where he stood, and you found Enjolras looking down at you, the hint of a smile on his face. 

“Take this woman!” Enjolras began, brandishing a hand out to you. Your face went cold then before flooding hot with blush, and you shook your head. 

“Mon ange, please, no,” you protested. “Not in front of everyone—“ 

“Strip her of her aristocratic clothes and what do you have?” Enjolras asked. “You have a woman. A woman with wishes, dreams, hopes! And there is no better way to ensure her success in the world than with…” He trailed off, looking to you, and you gulped, knowing what he wanted from you. 

“La révolution!” you squeaked, wholly unsure of yourself, but Enjolras clapped his hand down on your shoulder as the pub exploded with cheers and cries. You grinned at him as he squeezed your shoulder, and he leaned down to nestle his mouth right next to your ear, speaking so that only you could hear him. 

“How do you like it?” he asked. 

“I…” you started, and you reached up to gently touch his cheek, the rough stubble under your fingers. His hand went to cover yours, his eyes big as he watched you, and, under the commotion in the pub, you said, “I think you should kiss me.” 

He didn’t hesitate at all, reaching to capture your cheek in his hand, and he pressed his mouth to yours. Fireworks exploded in your chest as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the kiss. You had never kissed a man before, and Enjolras was a good first kiss; his lips were soft, his mouth gentle, his grip soothing on your jaw. 

When you drew away, the din of the pub still raging as Enjolras’s friend spoke now, Enjolras suddenly looked forlorn, his eyebrows furrowing as he bit his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, and he tore himself away from you, grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. “I shouldn’t have—“ 

“Mon ange, wait,” you told him, and you grabbed at his hand as he started to walk away from the table. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

“I shouldn’t have just kissed you,” Enjolras told you. “That was a mistake.” 

“But why?” you asked. “I asked for it, and I liked it! I didn’t—“

“Because there’s no room for love in this,” Enjolras said, grabbing his hand away from you. He stepped away from you, and turned to the room, and he hesitated for a moment before he quickly scaled down the steps and made to leave the pub. 

“Wait!” you exclaimed, grabbing your cloak, and you chased after him, threading through the crowd. You finally caught up with him outside the pub in the cold air, and you grabbed his hand again and tugged him back to you. “Mon ange, wait just a moment, please!” 

“Stop it, don’t call me that,” Enjolras said quickly. He turned to you and you saw his cheeks red, his eyes aflame, but not with anger. He truly regretted kissing you, and your heart sank into your stomach. “I’m not your angel, as much as you wish.” 

“Don’t be mean!” you exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You said there’s no love in this? What is ‘this’?” 

“The revolution,” Enjolras answered. “Love means that one person matters more than others, there is no love in revolution, everyone is equal in everyone’s hearts—“

“But!” you huffed. “Why did you kiss me then? Just to play with me? I thought you were better than that.”

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he told you. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, to have you be mine and mine alone, but I can’t just abandon all I’ve worked for for you. Falling in love is not what I’m supposed to do—“

“So don’t call it love,” you told him. “Don’t call it anything. We are… Citizens, comrades, yes? There’s no sense in being upset over something that doesn’t truly exist. If you can decide that I’m not high born and decide that I’m just a woman, then you can just as easily decide to not love me.” 

“But I do love you,” Enjolras said. 

“Just don’t call it love,” you said back. “Call it anything other than that.” 

In an instant, Enjolras stood closer to you, throwing his arms around your middle, and he tugged your body right on top of his. His hands explored your body, gripping your hips and feeling up your sides, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “How can I resist you?” he whispered. “My sweet girl, mon amour…” 

“Mon ange,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “Kiss me, my angel.” 

“I’ll regret it,” Enjolras warned you, and you shook your head. 

“Only if you let yourself regret it,” you told him. “Kiss me, please—” 

His hands cupped your jaw as he kissed you, his lips plush against yours again, and you clutched his jacket tightly to keep him from leaving you again. You could never let him go again, not as long as you lived. Enjolras held you tightly as well, equally as passionate about keeping you, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mon amour,” he whispered. “You had an awfully hard time at your lessons today. I might need to come back tomorrow and give you some extra lessons.” 

“Yes, please,” you said quickly. “Yes, tomorrow, yes.” 

“So eager,” Enjolras chuckled. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“What if I want to stay for the meeting?” you asked. 

“Do you really want to?” Enjolras asked with playfully narrowed eyes. “Or do you just want to spend time with me?” 

“Maybe both,” you teased him, and Enjolras smiled. 

“Go home, mon amour,” Enjolras told you. “I’ll see you as soon as possible. I’ll dream of you.” 

“I’ll dream of you as well.”

#bbc!enjolras x reader #bbc!enjolras #bbc les mis #bbc les miserables #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #*my writing

[xoxoskai]

If the Devil’s Night characters had Instagrams –

Damon:

- Has a private account with 8 followers and only follows Will back.

- Keeps track of everyone else on a different account secretly.

- Posts cute pictures of Winter on her account for her.

- Comments “ew” beneath cute pictures of his sisters with their husbands.

- First post after much deliberation is a picture of Winter in their fountain.

- Pretends to hate when Banks and Rika tag him in their pictures but secretly likes it.

- Participates willingly for pictures only when Will or Winter ask.

- Actively starts posting about his kids once they are born.

- Comments "babysoft" under all of Misha's posts.

- Makes a joint account with Emory for their business but lets her run it completely.

Will:

- Has over 10 million followers (Damon says it’s because he posts thirst traps but Will thinks everyone likes his dancing)

- Posts nearly everyday.

- Very careful about what he posts (he has *important* friends)

- Either spams on his account or goes AWOL suddenly.

- Removed the comment feature on most posts where he’s sporting his abs because Emory doesn’t like girls thirsting over him.

- Has a private account for his friends only to post cute videos of his kids and wife.

- Also known as “Misha Lare’s hot, mystery cousin”

- Posted a video of Damon dancing once, learnt his lesson when his followers fell to 4.

- Writes hate comments underneath Alex's posts with Aydin.

- Uses all features, loves to make reels and put songs over the pictures.

- Participates in Winter’s freestyle dancing videos

Kai:

- Had to make an account to post about Sensou and make it more public.

- Accidentally got famous because everyone thought the teacher was “hot”.

- Now features only his students in his videos and makes sure they get the ‘Banks approval stamp’ before posting.

- Made a private account using an alias to comment on his wife’s pictures.

- Realized that a good way to piss Michael off is by commenting on his wife’s pictures. Had been effectively using it till Banks noticed.

- The only personal post on Sensou is of him kissing Banks at the entrance captioned “Everything I wanted with the only person I’ve ever wanted it with”

- New dilemma unlocked when men started thirsting over his wife.

- Also removed comment feature.

- Hired someone (Alex) to manage the official account.

- Loves showing Banks off because it makes her happy.

- Likes to embarrass his kids and get it on camera only for the family on his private account.

Michael:

- Has an official account run by his assistant for work purposes.

- Public account, millions of followers but still lesser than Will (also blames it on the thirst traps).

- Shows off Rika in almost every post.

- Every intimate picture with Rika has a throwing up emoticon or “there’s children on this app” commented by Athos and liked by Damon.

- Aaron or Athos aren’t featured in any pictures for privacy purposes.

- Hates when Kai comments on Rika’s pictures. Tries to do the same with Banks. Banks blocks him.

- Is an active partner of Will's in posting hate comments on every picture of Aydin on Alex's instagtam.

Rika:

- Shows off her entire family at all times.

- Loves posting pictures with the girls whenever they go out.

- Does vacation dumps, weekly dumps, festival dumps, random dumps.

- Searches hours for good captions.

- Posts about Athos and Aaron but only where their faces are hidden.

- Writes corny captions on her posts with Michael.

- Laughs about Kai’s comments with Banks.

- Does fit checks.

- Tried doing the “A daily vlog of my life” and quickly realized that they do some shady stuff that shouldn’t be on any cameras.

- Personally overlooks the official account for the mayor’s office.

Banks:

- Proud Mom.

- Hundreds of pictures of her children.

- Loves commenting on everyone’s posts and hyping them up.

- Joins Kai in commenting on Rika’s pictures to piss Michael off.

- Only has a private account.

- Overlooks Sensou’s official account after its accidental fame and the official account for the Senator.

- Posts all kinds of things on her stories (dog rescue reels, Winter’s dance reels, Will’s thirst traps, videos of Kai walking out of the shower, of Kai sitting in his study and reading, a zoom in on Kai’s biceps while working out, of Kai getting overwhelmed and pissed off because of all the dogs).

- Only one who can get away with posting funny videos of Damon.

- Replies “no u” to every ‘”ew” comment from Damon.

- Has featured on Rika and Will’s reels multiple times.

- Tried multiple times to get Madden to make an account so she can tag him, has been unsuccessful.

- Uses a lot of emojis.

- Comments “Mine” on all of Kai’s pictures.

Winter:

- Damon runs the account for her.

- Posts videos of her dancing.

- Has tutorials demonstrating basic and easy dance steps for learners.

- Features in a lot of Will’s videos and does dance challenges* with him.

- Actively posts about her charity work.

- Always asks someone to take a picture of her onstage so she can ask Damon to make a compilation after she’s done with her shows.

- Loves when Damon is patient with her whenever she wants to post and helps her caption them.

- Makes Damon read out the comments to her sometimes when she’s sick of hearing the robotic voice of her phone. Knows that Damon does not read the hateful and condescending ones out loud.

- Is a Dog mom and loves having her pictures taken with her Dog.

- Loves family pictures with all her kids and of their pets.

Emory:

- Singlehandedly runs her joint account with Damon for their work.

- Pointedly comments on every one of her husband’s abs pictures (“These look like the same ones I touched this morning in the shower”/”Why do you look like my husband”/”Pictures really ruin the first class quality”).

- Has a public account just to post cute pictures of Will and her.

- Posts videos of Damon hard at work, shopping sprees with the girls (“That’s Banks passed out on the couch after thirty minutes, Rika’s onto her 50th dress and Alex is already on the other floor”), Will watering their garden shirtless, videos of whenever the group gets together.

- Has an aesthetic going on that she’s maintained over the years (Will has tried to ruin it multiple times).

- Pins all of Will's comments.

- Has full permission to use Will's account to post herself on his stories whenever she feels like putting fangirls in their places.

- Posts a lot of her WIP's.

- Uses Will's private account to post pictures of her children ("There's only so many accounts I can handle").

- Is a keyboard ninja and can be found arguing with a virtual stranger in a comment section at 2AM (almost always backed up by Banks)

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

#Devil's Night series #devil's night series #damon torrance #kai mori #michael crist #will grayson iii #rika fane #nikova banks #emory scott #winter ashby #killswitch #hideaway #corrupt #nightfall #conclave #fire night #penelope douglas

[mixelation]

For the sleepover game! I’m going to be teaching English abroad later this year. Do you have any advice from your own teaching experience?

Oh, cool!

For teaching:

Students will match your energy. Try to be high-energy and excited as much as possible. Yes, even if you are teaching bored teenagers at 8 AM.

Kids are usually interested in talking to people from other countries, even if they don't like learning English. Use that. If you speak the local language, then pretend you don't (or suddenly "forget" it if you have to use it for, eg, classroom management) so they have to ask you their questions in English. Scale this to their level, obviously. I used to hold classrooms supplies hostage unless asked for them in English (prompting/helping kids who struggle, ofc).

Pay attention to what vocabulary they've already learned and use it. It's very frustrating if you learned the word trainer and your new teacher suddenly starts talking about sneakers or running shoes.

Know that weird things happen and that kids will do weird things. You will make mistakes you did not anticipate would be mistakes. That's normal. You'll learn quick. For example, you might hear a student say "but my dog is a girl dog!" and then you will suddenly unlock the ability to teleport across the room to stop her from typing "perra" into google translate.

Have fun with it! Kids respond better to fun lessons. I used to carry cards and dice around with me everywhere. If you're playing a game and tell kids you'll give 1000 points to anyone that can spell Massachusetts, their brains will kick into turbo mode and make them finally be able to spell yoghurt.

On that note, I've heard people advise bringing stickers and stamps to give out (especially ones with English words in them). The year I did this, the kids didn't really care.... except they went wild for stickers of US currency? For some reason??? If you can afford them, Gamewright has a bunch of children's card games that you can easily just slip into your bag.

Don't assume your students will have learned the same things as you in the same order. Basically, don't assume the average third grader has learned something just because you knew it in third grade.

For living abroad:

Focus on what you have, not what you don't have. You will make yourself homesick if you can't stop thinking about how you don't have access to [eg, favorite food]. Try to focus on [eg, cool new food you like].

Explore, explore, explore! Walk around your new city. Talk to locals. Ask your co-teachers for recommendations on what to do in your free time. Try new things even if they don't seem like they'd be up your alley.

Learn the local language if you don't speak it already. Learn the version locals speak. This will just make your life easier and enrich your experience. For example, I know a lot of US Americans who just refused to learn vosotros (informal plural you, basically only used in spain) when living in Spain and like.... children will literally not understand you are addressing them if you use ustedes (formal plural you in spain, used informally across latin america).

Try to make local friends. I think the best way would be to engage in hobbies, but most cities have like... language exchanges you can sign up for.

#ask meme answer

[cringecannon]

So we know Gortash started a thievery and smuggling network. So what about one of the thieves that works for him coming by to discuss business every now and then and it takes gortash some time to realize that every time they leave and come back, something goes missing and something they went missing previously reappears. Them just constantly stealing small random shit and returning it on their next visit just to see how long it takes them to notice. And we can all guess what Gortash’s punishment for them is but hey that’s what they want anyway so is it really a punishment? (Just don’t steal the netherstone fucking klepto that’ll get you killed)

play stupid games, win stupid prizes

The young man you work for is ambitious, industrious, charismatic, a natural born leader. You also think he’s a bit of a fool. You’ve seen it first-hand, a desire for fame and fortune tends to land people in his position in prison at best, and the gallows at worst. You’re content with lusting solely for riches. Life is so much simpler when you don’t yearn for notoriety. Not that it hasn’t found you anyway. You were summoned to his desk, showered in praises and ego-stroking the likes of which you had never seen. You humored it when he slid a contract to you. A master of thievery such as yourself would be a boon to his growing operation. He needs people he can trust to expand this network. You’d get more than a fair share of the profits, and guaranteed protection. It’s a gracious offer, and one you accept. You thank him by pocketing his golden wax seal stamp when he’s busy with finishing the contract. You run your thumb over the wooden handle in your pocket as you shake hands with him. It’s funny, you think. Such a new criminal and he’s already worried about aesthetics. Messing with him will be fun.

You check in with him monthly, and each time you manage to take something else. Keys, quills, coins, gold-rimmed inkwells, if it can fit in your pockets, you’ll grab it. He never seems to notice, and you’re amassing quite a collection. You’re waiting for him to call you out. At first it was a game, but now you feel bad for the poor thing. So inexperienced he can’t tell when his associates are robbing him blind. It’s pathetic, really. When he finally catches on it’ll be a good lesson.

One he won’t learn today, unfortunately. The fool has left you alone in his office. There’s some urgent situation he has to settle before the meeting can commence. You stalk through the room, poking through everything. A drawer catches your eye. Just slightly open, like he forgot to shut it all the way. When you open the drawer, it’s completely empty. How odd. Upon further examination, the bottom looks strange. Uneven. You run your fingers across the edges and you find it slides back. A grin creeps onto your face as you work the false bottom open. It’s too dark to see what was hidden, but it must be something valuable if he went to all this trouble. As you stick your hand into the dark opening, you think of the possibilities. His mother’s wedding ring, maybe. Or his diary. He’s so serious- it’d be so funny to know what was going on behind that broody façade.

Your fingers skim something cool and your smile triumphantly. There it is. You’d know a jewel anywhere. You wrap your hand around it, the weight of it surprising. Even more surprising is the feel of a cold metal manacle locking around your wrist. You panic and drop the gem, but the cuff holds tight. In your frenzy you reach in with your other hand, looking for a way to dislodge yourself. It’s not your best idea- that wrist is then similarly stuck. You struggle so hard the entire desk shakes, rattling against the floor. You only stop when you hear the click of boots outside the door, a cold dread settling in your gut. Your boss was known for many things, but merciful was never among them.

You keep your head low as he enters the room, the door clicking shut behind him. He’s silent as he walks around you, and you dare not move. You feel like a prey animal, frozen in his presence. His chair creaks behind you, and you hear his finger tap against the arm rest before he speaks. He wasn’t sure it would work. He expected better of you.

Your ears burn, but you stay silent. His chair creaks again, readjusting himself as he ponders aloud. What shall he do about you? Your heart drops into your stomach when he says he should take your hand. He should. Most people in his position would. You’re lucky you’re of more use to him unharmed. Very lucky. Now, you owe him. You owe him for everything you’ve ever taken, and you owe him for the privilege of keeping your hand.

You try to interject, to tell him you still have everything you’ve stolen- you’re silenced when you feel his boot against your back, pushing you forward. Your shoulders strain as your chest is pushed towards the floor. He likes you like this, he muses. You look good on your knees. You’ll no longer be making a profit from working for him. That will all go towards your debt. Along with some… other new responsibilities. Your face burns as he pushes you down further. Don’t look so angry, dear. You wanted his attention. Now you’ve got it.

#hey anyone else ever think about how hot in a horrible way it would be to be locked in his prison #.enver gortash #.bg3

[torchwood-99]

So I first heard Rachel Zegler's comments about Snow White and thought, good, they're doing something different with the story. No point in their being a remake if they don't. And her growing into a leader? Makes sense. She's a princess, heir to the throne, she's been usurped by a tyrant, there's a whole untapped mine of drama there. And of course, she can be all this and still fall in love and be ladylike and elegant, where does it say she won't?

But you know what? Why the fuck should she? All these people throwing a tantrum that "women aren't allowed to be feminine and strong anymore" and I have to laugh because what, did they think that 2015 Cinderella wasn't "feminine"? Or Belle or Ariel? That they weren't elegant and gracious and beautiful and very much fitting in with gender norms? They had some grit, they had dreams outside marriage and love as well as beyond, but they were far from GNC.

So to eff with it. Snow White has been a servant for a good chunk of her life, she's been mistreated and she hasn't been taken etiquette lessons. Let her spit. Let her get dirty. Let her be rough and vulgar and ready to get dirty and rough house for the sake of it. Let her do that because it's fun and it suits her and it's part of who she is, not because she want to be like the "boys" and girls like her just want to be NLOGs, but because that stuff is just what she likes. Let's have a princess who takes what the world tells her is "feminine" and stamp on it.

If people are going to get into a hissy fit about female characters not being allowed to be "feminine" anymore, let's give them something to really piss them off. They'll see how good they have it. Right now, Eloise Bridgerton in her bows and her desire for basic autonomy is pushing the boat too much. Princess Peach in a bright pink jumpsuit is butch. Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark have "male privilege" because they are warriors and leaders and don't engage in traditionally high class "feminine" pass times. I think these viewers need to see a female character who is all the things they fear, and realise just how narrow and limited their view of women and "femininity" is.

And it's really telling that all Rachel is saying here is that Snow White is going to be thinking on things other than romance, is going to rely on herself instead of her true love alone, that she's going to be thinking about herself as a leader and a ruler, and fans took that as "Oh why can't Snow White be feminine anymore? Why can't a character be feminine and strong!?!"

No one was talking about Snow White's femininity, just her role as a leader and her gaining some proactivity. That's her strength, there. But the mention of it has you saying that she's not being allowed to be feminine. And you're upset that women can't be "feminine" and can't be "strong" at the same time. But you're worried that in being a leader and being proactive means that Snow White is no longer "feminine".

If that's what you're saying, then the only people saying that women can't be "feminine" and can't be "strong" are in fact, you.

And you know what, a live action princess who is rough and reckless, properly dirty and uninterested in how she looks, who never gets a glow up, isn't a "secretly/wild beauty" type, who gets to get rowdy and not have this held up as her somehow rejecting being a woman, but just a person being true to herself, would be really bloody brilliant. Brilliant for the little girls at home, who get to see there are options for them, brilliant to watch on screen and brilliant to follow on a journey. And you don't want to watch a character like that? You want someone who wears dresses and wants romance and fits in with "feminine ideals". Go ahead. You'll see that you have plenty of options.

#Snow White #Rachel Zegler #ASOIAF #Arya Stark #Daenerys Targaryen #Eloise Bridgerton #GNC #NLOG #Bridgerton #Princess Peach

[memoriesndew]

"glow up planner notion template"

introducing the all-in-one ultimate glow-up planner, I created this planner specifically for glowing up because it's tough to find ones in particular that target glowing up, not just putting the glow-up stamp there plus I believe this template will be of great assistance to a lot of people who want track their progress during their glow up

Overview

Welcome to the Glow Up Planner! This Notion template is your ultimate companion on your journey to self-improvement and personal development. Whether you're looking to enhance your physical health, cultivate better habits, or boost your confidence, this planner is designed to guide you every step of the way.

Sections

1. Motivation

Set clear and actionable goals for your glow-up journey. Divide them into different categories such as fitness, mental well-being, career, relationships, and hobbies.

Long-Term Goals: Define your overarching aspirations and objectives.

Short-Term Goals: Break down your long-term goals into smaller, manageable tasks.

2. Routines

Plan your day with intentionality and focus. Create a daily schedule that includes time for self-care, productivity, relaxation, and personal growth activities.

Morning Routine: Start your day off right with a routine that energizes and prepares you for the day ahead.

Task List: List out the tasks you need to accomplish, prioritizing based on importance and urgency.

Self-Care Activities: Schedule time for activities that nourish your mind, body, and soul.

3. Habit Tracker

Track your progress on building new habits and breaking old ones. Monitor your consistency and celebrate your victories along the way.

Habit List: Identify the habits you want to cultivate or eliminate.

Daily Tracking: Log your daily progress and mark off each completed habit.

4. Diary

Reflect on your thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Use journaling prompts to deepen your self-awareness and foster personal growth.

Daily Reflections: Write about your highs and lows of the day, gratitude moments, and lessons learned.

5. Glow Up Guide

Access a curated collection of resources to support your glow-up journey. Explore videos and blog-like picture posts on topics related to personal development and self-improvement.

Useful Tools: Find information, products, and websites to enhance your productivity, creativity, and well-being.

And much more useful tools are included in the template

Get Started

Are you ready to embark on your glow-up journey? Dive in and start using the Glow Up Planner to transform your life one step at a time! -- template below 

#aesthetic #notion #pinterest #reading #prompts #memoriesndew #girlblogging #clean girl #poetry #dream girl #girly stuff #cinnamon girl #it girl #motivation #study motivation #study #study music #studying #studyblr #study blog #wonyoung #wonyoungism #glow up #goals #2024 goals #pink pilates girl #pink pilates princess #notion template

[forced-sissy-daughter]

Mother Turns Son Into Daughter

Chris has misbehaved and talked back to his Mommy one too many times.

So Mommy has decided that her son will live the rest of his life as a girl.

After two years of forced estrogen injections, testosterone blockers, breast implants, plastic surgery, corset training, and lip fillers, Chris has been forcefully feminized into Crissy.

Crissy’s physical transformation is now complete.  But her training and conditioning in the ways of a female are just beginning.

Crissy still struggles each morning to properly clasp her large, full-figured, foundational underwire bra over her still-growing 38 DD breasts.

She is still learning how to toss her hair, purse her lips, and arch her back to signal to prospective males her interest and her willingness to be entered.

And she doesn’t quite understand why Mommy has scheduled an appointment tomorrow for Crissy to have a tramp stamp tattooed onto her lower back.

And an appointment this weekend for Crissy to have her belly and tongue pierced.

But Mommy is determined to have a good and proper slut for a daughter.

And with the high volume of estrogen continually surging through her body, Crissy has become more yielding and passive, and is now powerless to resist her mother.

So shortly Crissy will be suitably marked for all the world to see as the filthy bitch-in-heat she has become.

Here is a picture of Crissy in Mommy’s car on the way to the tattoo parlor to be permanently stamped as an open and available harlot.

By this time next week, Crissy will begin her mother’s lessons in the fine art of pleasing her father’s cock with her mouth.

Crissy doesn’t know it yet but before her lessons are finished, she will become completely infatuated with Daddy’s penis, addicted to the look, smell, and feel of his organ.

Then Crissy girl will begin each day of the rest of her life begging her father to enter one of her holes.

And the mother’s making of the daughter will be complete...

#sissy #sissy daughter #forced sissy daughter #daddy daughter #sissy daddy #sissy mommy #forced feminization #male to female #boy to girl #sissy slut #sissy bride #sissy wife #sissy cock slave #sissy chastity #sissy clitty