#:stares at what my legacy will be with fear: | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugurouge · 2 months ago

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— taste of the divine : getō suguru x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, forced marriage, kidnapping, mind break, heavy manipulation, dubcon, breeding/pregnancy talk, misogynistic topics, torture (isolation & darkness), conditioning, pet names (love, little dove, good girl), depression, stockholm syndrome

summary: Set out on the honourable task of finding the right wife for their leader, Getō's followers have abducted a special sorceress to bear him children that will carry on his will and legacy. Unfortunately, unlike your rather promising lineage, your temper and beliefs are anything but befitting for his wife. But not to worry, there are many ways to reshape a person. You will learn. Of that, Getō is sure.

❝ la sensualité de ton regard, la fragilité de ton corps. je brise ta puret��. deux âmes s'emmelent pour l'éternité. ❞

wordcount: 3.5k | my kinktober masterlist

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Never have you felt as objectified as you do in this very moment: the lustful, piercing stares of Geto’s countless followers bore through your clothing as you are thrown before him—a man you know all too well from hushed whispers and dark stares within the Jujutsu Society. He is the enemy, a lost man.

The white robe they forced upon you, a mockery of a bridal attire, does you no favours. They made sure to leave nothing to Geto’s imagination: he should easily see how thoroughly they searched for a perfect fit when they took you.

And yet, somehow, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence—not once does he seem to look at you, unlike everyone else in the room.

That is the first blow to your pride.

Then, there’s the way they speak about you as if you are not even there. Coming from a prestigious, ancient sorcerer family, your bloodline offers Geto everything he could possibly desire, all he could ever need from his perfect breeding vessel to bring forth some sort of prince to revolutionise the world. Indeed, they say, you are perfect.

“That monster will not lay a hand on me!” Your fighting spirit is adorable. But nothing could have prepared you for the sudden, heavy impact landing on your cheek. Geto can’t hide his chuckle at your shocked reaction. Did you truly expect to insult him in a room full of his most loyal men? They would never hesitate to put you in your place before continuing their praises of their great Geto-sama.

Strike number two followed so quickly, it made your mask crumble. The frustration becomes a thrilling decor on your face as you continue to hold your bruised cheek. There is so much hatred in your eyes—Geto looks forward to replacing it with fear. You will learn your new place, he is sure of that. You will love to obey him, to bear him children that will carry out his will and create a society of the promised.

Yet, Geto appears to hold not the slightest bit of interest for you, no desire found in those deep purple hues you nearly drown in.

He knows he needs to play this game wisely. He can’t have a woman at his side who despises him, can’t risk the danger of a mother who would rather kill her children than let the riders of his apocalypse trample the grounds of this world. You need to fall for him, have to desire him. For that, your strong-willed mind has to be broken, to turn you into the most ethereal sacrificial lamb the Jujutsu Society has ever known.

With a softly spoken command to "leave us," the room empties. His followers depart swiftly, their obedience causing you to frown. How can they submit to a demon like him?

A demon—that’s what he is to you. Dangerous, devious, twisted—yet alarmingly beautiful. As he approaches, the air seems to catch in your throat, and, of course, Geto notices the heavy swallow you're forced to take.

Is this the moment he’s going to claim you? Right here, in this dreadfully cold room, surrounded by an atmosphere of adoration for his sick schemes? Your body instinctively leans back, shrinking away beneath his stare. You already appear so submissive. He doesn’t trust it.

Standing tall with feet planted firmly on the ground, Geto looms above your kneeling figure. You didn’t expect the shiver that crawls over your skin as your eyes meet his. It’s as though he has flipped a coin and donned a different personality: one of intimidation and something darker, something sick. He might kill you on the spot if you speak now.

Hence why your lips part, yet no words escape before you shut them once more. The nervousness clouds your mind, paralysing your thoughts as you waver between holding his gaze or looking away. You're already caught in his web.

"Learn to love your new home," he says—the only words he speaks before leaving you alone.

The man you expected to force himself upon you, to bruise you, to scar your body and mind—he never touches you. He never seeks you out, never again meets your gaze. Your first night welcomed you to a life of isolation. You can only cling to the sticky feeling of fear that attaches itself to your new daily existence around Geto’s presence.

𓍯𓂃

Every day, you are expected to be part of his reception, dressed in fine clothing, your hair styled in ways befitting your title. Yet, despite this, you are forced to kneel, your forehead touching the ground, just like all his followers. You have reluctantly accepted this role after spending your first weeks locked away in a tiny room, with barely any light or kindness to sustain you.

During those weeks, you never once met your 'husband'. He refused to be bothered by your disobedience, unconcerned with the punishment his most trusted men inflicted upon you.

It all played perfectly into his hands, as you began to believe these men to be far worse monsters than Geto could ever be. After all, he never laid a hand on you, never tortured you, never dragged you into the dark dungeons until you began seeing things.

After months of this twisted game of escape within his temple, with only his henchmen for company, he finally deemed you broken in. No one had ever lasted this long under his torture before. He might have even said he was impressed by your willpower. But that strong-willed part of you was gone the moment Geto finally decided to free you from the darkness.

He may never forget the state he found you in: the hatred in your eyes shifting to relief upon seeing his face, your body worn down and weak from exhaustion, your fighting spirit crushed by the horrors your mind encountered in that cell.

You wanted to be saved by him.

Deprived of human contact, kindness, touch, affection, you crave to be cradled in his arms. You want nothing more than to feel a hand pat your back, to be held tightly while you finally allow yourself to cry until you pass out. But the torture continued. Geto assumed it wouldn’t take much more to get you to eat out of his hand. So, for now, he shall continue this farce. He shall refuse to touch you since you aren’t fully ready to accept his love just yet.

That much was clear since he could still catch you stealing glances towards the nearest escape route, no matter which room you were in. Until eventually, even with the doors unlocked, you no longer dared to look. You were too aware of what they would do to you if they caught you again. You couldn’t bear to be plunged back into the darkness, where the monsters you carried out of that room still haunted your sleep.

So, you learned to listen, to bend in an attempt not to break, while your mind slowly began to fade. Geto loves this version of you. How you bow to him each time he passes, how your body stiffens at the mere sound of his footsteps, how your eyes search for him. What are you looking for? Have your resources finally run dry? Do you need him now? Need him to fill you with his love, his affection, and his seed? Geto can only admit to himself the joy he feels upon comparing this new you to the feisty thing you once were. It makes his desire almost unbearable, his cock heavy with the urge to pump into you until you give out, until you bless him with the perfect children.

You should really stop clinging to your dignity and surrender yourself to him.

Instead, you isolate yourself further. You behave, yes. You don’t act out, you don’t try to escape. You are now a perfect rule follower, much like a robot, little like a wife. But what else could he do but leave you space. He swore to contain himself. He’s not some monster that would hurt another great jujutsu sorcerer. Plus, he adores you too much.

But he does start to worry. Worry for the plans that will fail if you succumb to your depression and fail to cling to him for support, for purpose.

𓍯𓂃

Imagine the surprise Suguru tries to hide upon learning about the person standing in front of his most private chambers, seeking an audience at such a late hour. A defiant shadow of the woman you once were enters his haven—your hair loose and unstyled, a soft and tired expression gracing your beautiful features, and that delicate robe you chose to wear for him. Your guard is finally gone.

After another slumber filled with dark monsters and fears, you find yourself desperately searching for comfort and found yourself in front of these doors.

Suguru moves closer, tearing through the final walls you've erected around yourself. He didn’t expect you to break down merely from his acknowledgement of your presence. Was he too hard on you? He wonders, as gentle hues of purple try to solve the riddle in front of his eyes. The kind words of “You are so beautiful,” make your shoulders sag, they add a tremble to your bottom lip—a reaction Suguru hadn’t anticipated. His sudden gentleness feeds your depraved ego. Careful not to turn into a glutton.

The smell of incense and sandalwood might just become your new favourite. The creamy sweetness blended with earthy undertones seems to be a comfort you didn’t expect once Suguru stands in front of you. The warmth of his palm, another trait you wouldn’t have granted him—you always expected him to be cold to the touch. Yet, as a hand lightly rests against your neck, you feel yourself melt.

To Suguru’s astonishment, you lean into his touch and let your eyes fall shut. This serene moment allows your mind to finally slow down thanks to the much needed human contact. For some reason, you feel safe, protected.

You are so docile now.

Your eyes meet as Suguru tilts your chin upwards, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours, his fingertips tracing the contours of your neck and collarbones. “You’re empty,” he breaks the silence with a gentle voice. “Let me change that…” The tip of his nose nudges yours, soft lips graze your skin before trailing kisses along your jawline. “I can make you forget about your past struggle and give you a new purpose…” Your hand fists the fabric of his attire as an attempt to ground yourself, his affections have you hum in sugary content. “A purpose greater than you ever anticipated.” Suguru’s free arm finds rest around your waist, to stabilise your tired form against his chest while his mouth attaches to your neck, leaving kisses in its wake.

“Give yourself to me, be mine forever,” his husky voice reaches your core, hits exactly where he wants to influence your body most as he whispers the words into your ear. Then he pulls back, to cradle your cheek while commanding you. “Look into my eyes, little dove.” He tilts his head, challenging you to focus on him, to finally speak, surrender.

He needs to taint you, to finally shatter the perfect image you’ve been trying to uphold. “Let me save you.”

You can barely offer more than your pliant body, seemingly overwhelmed by his greed for you. “Save me, please,” the whispered words threaten to burn themselves into Suguru’s memory.

His fingers run over your shoulder, down to your chest and above your stomach. You feel hot beneath his touch, needy to be filled with life and love again.

The alluring touch reaches beneath your robe, between your soft thighs, allowing him to tease you through the fabric of your panties. The tip of his finger grazes the delicate area, soft moans escaping your lips as your hips push into his touch.

The moment lures you forward, to close the distance and have your shaky lips meet his in a searing first kiss. Who would have thought you were that starved? Naughty girl. But he happily leans into your guidance, kissing you without restraint, teeth tugging at your lower lip before his tongue pushes into your mouth, leaving you breathless and needy.

As you break away, your face finds refuge in the curve of his neck, sighing your pleas for “more…” against his warm skin. “Patience, love,” Suguru breathes, eliciting goosebumps to decorate your skin and a flood of pleas to cloud your mind. One of his fingers hooks under the silky fabric, tugging at it teasingly to let the cool air hit your pulsing heat before a single fingertip begins to tease your clit, then enters your clenching little hole.

Your moan is unholy, a sound so exquisite Suguru couldn't prepare himself for it. He won’t let you hide them. A finger redirects your face to force you to look at him and allow him to drown in your glazed eyes. The irregular huffs from your lungs warm his skin, as he loses himself in your irises. You’d kiss him again if not for the firm grip on your chin.

“I’ll make you feel good every night, as often as you need me,” the once-dangerous man promises, before showing you his mercy. His hands release you to finally tug at the overflowing fabric of your robe, exposing your heavenly form to his eyes. And yet, you don’t feel exposed, don’t feel shame anymore as you watch Suguru admire you. You’ve never felt so good.

“Undress me,” Suguru’s firm voice commands, though he seems so pliant, so soft. Let your rush of confidence guide you to close the distance again, let your fingers untie his robes and slip beneath the heavy layers. His eyes close upon your touch, almost as if he’s allowing you control. Leaning in, his temple rests against yours and strands of dark hair drape over your shoulder area while the fingertips that trace along your waistline already feel like home.

As you push the fabrics off his shoulders, you can’t help but explore Suguru’s built figure. The contrast between his skin and the richness of his hair, illuminated by the moonlight, makes him look almost innocent. You swear you feel him shiver as your fingertips thread through his hair, his shaky exhale dampening your skin. “So pretty,” you murmur subconsciously, upon which his eyes open, a newfound desire now pools in them.

You don’t mind the blunt nails that dig into the plush of your ass, don’t mind being pushed back until your calves bump against his bed frame. Yet, he keeps drawing in, to fully push your figure up against him while cupping your face to kiss you again. Suguru’s hardness meets your stomach, tainting your skin with his pre-cum while seeking such teasing pressure. The thought of being inside you any moment now has turned him needy. He kisses you more erratically, lips crashing against yours until they nearly turn numb.

He guides your body to find comfortable rest on his mattress as he leans above you. There is a moment of pure adoration as your hands cradle his cheeks gently, before curious fingertips explore the flexing of muscles beneath the required force to hold himself up. His hand roams over your heaving chest, appreciating the form of your tits before trailing along your waistline and hip to take a firm hold of your inner thigh—parting your legs with ease to prod the head of his cock against your achingly ready hole.

Your eyes shoot up to him as he guides his length to run along your puffy lips, coating himself in your arousal and relishing the way your hips push against him. It’s too tempting not to push into you, especially when you roll yourself against the head of his cock, stretching your entrance around him ever so slightly and forcing a moan from Suguru’s lips. Your hands rest in the long strands of his hair and at the soft skin of his nape. Every fibre of your being lures him forward, pleading for him to make you feel complete.

He succumbs, leaning down to swallow your moans as he whispers, “Forgive me for my sins,” just a second before he sheathes himself deep inside you. You never expected to experience pleasure this intense upon your surrender; the stretch of Suguru’s cock a wicked reward that steals the last drops of sanity from your mind. Your lustful moans echo in the shared space between your bodies, and the chilly temperatures of the season make your panted breaths seem feasible.

“Finally,” you think you hear his breathless murmurs before he leans in again, lips latching onto your perky nipple while Suguru palms your right breast, gently squeezing your soft mound and rolling the nipple between his fingers. His teeth spoil—or rather, overstimulate—your left side, nibbling on the sensitive area until you whine and writhe beneath him, your hips pressing against his cock perfectly. How could he resist putting a little torture on you?

“You feel so good,” his words drip like honey into your ear. The tips of his hair and the trained muscles of his upper body brush against your figure, tickling and teasing your awareness as he sinks deeper to finally bottom out.

The addictive moan that escapes you leaves him no choice but to refuse to kiss you further; he doesn’t want you to cover up the sounds of pleasure he’s bringing forth. Instead, he redirects his mouth to nibble along your exposed skin, planting one love bite after another along your neck until he reaches your collarbone.

His world stops spinning when you moan his name—so shamelessly, so heavenly—that he could ascend right in this moment. “S-Suguru!” you plea, so smoothly, he can’t help but thrust harder into you. Your fingers drag over the duvet while he pulls his heavy cock out of your fluttering walls only to push back in. You cry in pleasure, praises to his name spilling from your lips as his hips roll against you. His hands securely grip your shaking form, holding you perfectly in place for his own selfish desires.

Your soft moans mix with his rich ones, creating the most beautiful harmony as your bodies share the deepest connection possible. Warm palms glide over your figure to take a firm hold of the back of your thighs and press them flush into your chest. His entire weight squishes you further into the mattress and allows for a reach that appears incomprehensible. The sudden intensity seems too much to bear; it makes you painfully aware of just how deep he is inside you. His thighs slap against your hips at a rapid pace, each thrust jolting your body against the mattress as his cock repeatedly hits your cervix.

By surprise, you hear him suck in a sharp breath as he witnesses the state he’s left you in: fat tears staining your cheeks as the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you unable to form coherent thoughts. You’re so perfect, perfectly submissive and ruined for him to rebuild.

Now, you feel his love, the adoration pooling in his dark eyes as he can’t seem to look away. Eager to witness every second of your pleasure. “So perfect, such a good girl for me,” he praises, his lips caressing your forehead to calm you down, while he continues thrusting into you with the same strength, speed, and desire. “Let go for me, give into pleasure,” he encourages, the clamping of your walls a telltale of what impedes.

You barely manage to nod in agreement, moans and hiccups making it impossible to form coherent thoughts while Suguru knocks the air from your lungs. You whimper against his sweaty skin, your breath tickling his neck while your nails claw into his back. “‘S too much,” is your final warning before your walls tighten perfectly around him, and the coil in your stomach finally snaps.

With all this newfound love, he can’t resist breaking his little rule. Suguru seeks out your lips, hurriedly placing his own over yours—surely not to drown yours, most likely to cover his own—as he almost immediately follows your orgasm with his own. He thrusts all the way in, coming deep inside your fluttering walls, which practically milk him dry.

His hand slides from your thigh to gently press against your stomach, accentuating where exactly his length resides and his cum lands, praying that your womb savours every drop of his seed to hopefully turn fruitful.

Your bodies are close enough for your heartbeats to thump against each other’s skin, pants and whimpers stifled by the shared kiss as you both come down from your highs. “Don’t ever dare to leave me.” The words are nothing but a whisper as his lips return to spoil your body with kisses, but the intensity behind them makes your heart stumble. The loneliness he must have repressed since his days at Jujutsu Tech have ended something you never once considered before.

But now you are here. Here to stay with him, to be his family, his weakness and strength all at once and forever. He broke you just to hold you. Now let him make it up, forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

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sadnymi · 5 months ago

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Loml p2

[Mattheo riddle × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

P.s:this takes place before the start of part one and during it , this one is from mattheo POV, can read It as a stand alone [you can read part one here | p1 | .] [part3]

Warnings:Angst,family drama, past trauma, abusing father, violent,smut,strong language.

Words:12k.

They say you inherit your father's eyes, his nose, the shape of his jaw. But what they don't say is you inherit the weight of his choices. The weight of a name that chills hearts and shatters families.

My father speaks of a world cleansed, of magic pure and untainted. He speaks of a glorious future built on the ashes of the old. But what future is built on sacrifice? On the screams of innocents echoing in the dead of night?

Another victory. Another display of power etched onto my already formidable reputation. The whispers followed me everywhere – "He's his father's son," they hissed, "Mark my words, he'll be the end of us all." It was a constant thrum in my ear, a prophecy carved in stone.

The roar of the crowd fueled the fire in my fists. Another boy, twice my size, crumpled under the onslaught, his face contorted in pain. Rage, a familiar companion, coursed through me, a dark echo of something I didn't understand. Power,they called it. Legacy. My father's legacy.

Just as I raised my hand for another blow, a flicker of movement caught my eye. A girl, with (y/e/c), stood at the edge of the crowd, her gaze fixed on me.

For a fleeting moment, the world around me shrunk, the cheers and jeers dissolving into a deafening silence. In her eyes, there wasn't fear, nor the twisted pleasure the others seemed to relish. There was... something else. A flicker of concern, a hint of understanding.

Before I could analyze it further, a primal instinct took over. I ripped my hand away from the fallen boy, the sudden movement sending a jolt of surprise through him. The crowd erupted in confused murmurs. Without a word, I stalked towards the girl, a cold terror blooming in my gut.

"Don't you dare say a word of this," I hissed, the words coming out harsher than I intended. Her eyes widened, but she didn't flinch.

"I won't," she whispered. "I understand."

To my surprise, she didn't retreat. Instead, she turned and rushed back to the boy I'd hurt, kneeling beside him. The sight of her concern for the boy, the madness in her eyes, made something inside me twist in a way it never had before.

Later that night, as the castle settled into a hushed silence, I found myself drawn to the empty courtyard. Restless, I paced beneath the star-dusted sky.

Then, I saw her. She materialized from the shadows, her robes swirling around her like a whispered secret. My breath hitched in my throat.

"Hi," she said, offering a small smile. "My name's Y/n. What's yours?"

Silence. I stared at her.

"You know my name,"

Her smile faltered for a second, then returned. "Yeah, but it's nicer to hear it from you. Anyway, I love Grindylows! Did you see one in the lake yet?"

I didn't answer. Grindylows? What did she care about a water demon?

"Maybe not," she continued, seemingly unfazed by my silence. Then, before I could stop her, she reached out and gingerly took my hand in hers. It was warm, a stark contrast to the chilling loneliness I was accustomed to.

"The other kids," she started, her voice barely a whisper. "They say things about you. That you're…different. That you'll turn out like…him." Her eyes met mine. "Don't listen to them. It's not true, I know it's not."

I pulled back, the warmth of her touch lingering on my skin like a phantom limb. It was a feeling both exhilarating and terrifying, a strange current running through me.

Her gaze held mine, unwavering. "Can we be friends?" she asked, her voice soft as a summer breeze. "Just you and me?"

I looked into her eyes, searching for the fear, the hatred, anything familiar. But all I found was a gentle hope, a yearning for connection.

And in that moment, amidst the familiar darkness, a spark ignited within me. A feeling I couldn't name, but one I craved nonetheless. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night, a beacon in the storm.

All I could do was nod, a small. A radiant smile lit up her face, as bright as the stars above. "Friends it is," she said, her voice filled with a joy that resonated deep within me.

Days passed and I started to feel like I did a big mistake.

Following me again, I see. Honestly, it's becoming quite the morning routine.

"Mattheo! Wait up!" she called as I tried to make my escape from the crowded hallway. She bounced after me, her energy almost overwhelming.

" Leave me alone," I muttered for the tenth time, turning to face her. Her wide eyes sparkled with mischief.

"But Mattheo, we're friends," she said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "And friends stick together, right?"

"Not this much," I replied, but she just laughed, a sound that was both infectious and irritating.

We spent the rest of the day together, or rather, I tried to lose her, but she always managed to pop up again. It was like she had some sixth sense for where I'd be next. By the time the sun began to set, I was finally free—or so I thought.

I walked out of the castle, seeking some peace, heading towards my usual spot by the tree near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

As I sat down, a small twig fell onto my shoulder. I glanced up, ready to brush it off, only to find a tuft of hair hanging from the branches.

No way. I got up and looked up, squinting into the branches. Sure enough, there she was, sprawled out on a thick limb like she owned the place.

"What the— Y/N, what the fuck are you doing here?" I couldn't believe my eyes.

She looked down at me, completely unbothered. "I'm reading, Matty. Do you want to come up here?" She held up a book, swinging her legs lazily.

I just shook my head in disbelief, not even bothering to respond. As I walked away, I could still hear her giggling from up in the tree.

Days like this were far too common. I had tried everything to shake her off, but she was like a particularly stubborn pixie, always popping up where I least expected—or wanted—her to be.

But then come that day when a Gryffindor boy, whose name I didn’t bother to learn, decided to mouth off about my father.

"Hey, Riddle Jr., how does it feel being the spawn of a maniac?" he jeered, loud enough for everyone in the common room to hear.

I clenched my fists, ready to shut him up myself, but before I could even move, Y/N had stepped in. She sauntered over to him, all smiles and innocence.

"Hi there," she chirped. "You must be new. I'm Y/N."

The boy sneered, "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just thought I'd introduce myself properly." She extended her hand, and as he reached out to take it, she moved faster than I thought possible. With a swift flick of her wrist, she jabbed him in the ribs, precisely where no one could see. The boy yelped, clutching his side, his face contorted in pain.

"Oops, sorry," Y/N said sweetly, not an ounce of sincerity in her voice. "You really should be more careful."

The boy's scream drew everyone's attention, and he glared at her, but he couldn't prove anything. I couldn't help but smile as I watched him limp away, defeated.

Y/N sauntered back to me, a satisfied grin on her face. "

I shook my head, unable to suppress my smile. She was crazy, no doubt about it, but she was my kind of crazy.

Years passed at Hogwarts, and Y/N was always there by my side. What once seemed like an annoying habit of following me everywhere turned into a constant presence I couldn't imagine being without. She wasn't just the crazy girl who trailed after me anymore; she became the girl I couldn't spend a day without.

Every Quidditch match, I could count on looking up and seeing her in the stands, and I know she was here for me just for me, and I found myself playing harder, if only to see that proud smile on her face.

In between classes, she would run up to me, breathless and excited, ready to spill the latest gossip she’d overheard. "Matty, you won’t believe what I just heard!" she’d say, eyes wide with intrigue. Gossiping was her guilty pleasure, and as much as I pretended to be annoyed, I secretly loved the way her eyes lit up when she talked.

One day, she caught me in the courtyard, practically bouncing on her toes. "Matty, did you hear? Serena and Thomas broke up! And she was seen with—"

"Slow down, Y/N," I laughed, ruffling her hair. "You’re going to explode if you keep all this excitement bottled up."

She giggled, playfully swatting my hand away.

As time went on, I found myself becoming more protective of her. The thought of anyone making her cry made my blood boil. I couldn’t stand seeing tears in her eyes, I watched over her like a hawk. If anyone so much as looked at her the wrong way, they’d have me to answer to. It wasn’t just about protecting her, though. I realized that I needed her. Her laughter, her stories, her unwavering belief in me—she was my anchor.

I maintained my aloof façade, the mask I knew all too well. Emotions, for me, were a foreign language, their expressions clumsy and awkward. Yet, Y/n never faltered. She saw through the cracks in my carefully constructed walls, peering into the darkness with an unsettling understanding.

As we grew up, that fire only intensified. I noticed the way boys looked at her, their gazes lingering too long, their smiles a bit too eager. It drove me mad. She had always been beautiful, but as she matured, she became even more stunning, if that was possible. It wasn’t just her appearance—it was her confidence, her grace. She drew attention effortlessly

leaving Potions class, I overheard a group of boys whispering.

"Did you see Y/N today?" one of them snickered. "Merlin, I'd give anything to get her alone. Imagine what we could do... cause look at her. Bet she'd be wild in bed"

Rage flared in my chest. I walked over, my expression deceptively calm. "Care to repeat that?" I asked, smiling in a way that I knew was anything but friendly.

The boy looked up, a smirk still on his face. "I was just saying, Y/N’s looking quite... inviting today."

"Mate, I think it's time for you to apologize," Enzo said, his tone mockingly friendly.

“For what? for saying that y/n is__,”

I didn't give him a chance to continue. With a swift, hard punch, I hit him square in the jaw. He stumbled back, clutching his face, but I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, hitting him again and again. Blood spattered, and I could feel my knuckles splitting, but I didn't care.

Theo and Enzo stood beside me, positioned themselves to ensure no one could interrupt, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd that had begun to gather.

"Say it again," I say, my smile widening as the boy's eyes filled with fear. "Say something else about her."

The boy whimpered, blood dripping from his nose. "I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it."trying to get I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. "If you ever say anything like that again, I'll do more than just hit."

Before I could continue, a voice cut through the tension. "What is going on here?" Professor Snape's tone was icy as he strode towards us, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Nothing, Professor," Theo said smoothly. "Just a little misunderstanding."

Snape's gaze shifted to me, then to the boy, who was still crumpled on the floor. "Detention, Mr. Riddle," Snape said, his voice low and dangerous. "And you two," he pointed at Theo and Enzo, "for aiding in this... commotion."

"Yes, Professor," I said, not taking my eyes off the boy as I released him.

As Snape began dispersing the crowd, Y/N ran up to me, her face full of concern. "Mattheo, your knuckles are bleeding! Why did you hit him like that? what happened"

I looked at her, my anger melting away at the sight of her worry. Gently, I put my hand on her face, pulling her close and kissing her forehead.

She sighed, her eyes searching mine. "You can't just go around hitting people, Mattheo you know?"

"Watch me." I murmured, still smiling. holding her gaze. "Tell me, what were you reading earlier? That book you were so interested in?"

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. "Um, it was about ancient runes. I'm trying to understand the inscriptions we found in the Forbidden Forest."

"Sounds fascinating," I said. "Let's go talk about it."

She looked at me, her worry not completely gone but softened by my genuine interest. "Alright," she said quietly, and we walked away

The Yule Ball was approaching, and the entire school buzzed with excitement. Dresses and suits were being fitted, and every conversation seemed to revolve around who was asking whom. But amidst the excitement, Y/N and I had our first big fight.

"Why does it matter so much, Mattheo?" she yelled, her voice trembling with frustration.

"Because I don't like the way Cormac has been looking at you," I shot back, pacing the common room. "He's a creep, and you know it."

"He's my friend," she retorted, crossing her arms. "And you're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Really? You think it's ridiculous that I don't want some perv ogling you?"

"It's not just about him, is it? You're jealous. Admit it."

"That's not —," I snapped, though a part of me knew she was right. "I just—"

"You just what?" she interrupted, her eyes flashing with anger.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. She shook her head.

"Forget it, Mattheo. I can't deal with this right now," she said, turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

The next morning, the entire school was buzzing with talk of the Grindylow attack on Cormac McLaggen. Apparently, the self-important jerk had been ambushed near the lake, and now everyone was either horrified or laughing about it. As I walked out of the castle, a smirk crept onto my face, knowing exactly who could orchestrate something like that. I headed toward the lake, confident I would find her there.

Sure enough, there she was, her form reflected in the water as she practiced with a sword. Her movements were fluid, precise. She didn’t notice me at first, too caught up in her training. But then, she caught sight of me and rolled her eyes before turning back to her practice, ignoring my presence.

"Did you hear about Cormac?" I called out, trying to get her attention.

She didn't respond, just continued swinging the sword with focused intensity.

I walked closer, unable to help myself. "They say a Grindylow got him. Attacked him out of nowhere."

Still, she acted like I wasn't there. I stepped forward and grabbed the sword by its blade, halting her mid-swing. Her eyes widened in shock and concern as she saw me gripping the sharp metal.

"Are you crazy, Mattheo?" she exclaimed, yanking the sword back.

"Only one person could manage to get a Grindylow to attack someone," I said, smirking.

She didn't deny it. Instead, she shot back, "I'm sending them after you next time."

"Yeah, yeah," I said dismissively, a grin tugging at my lips. "What did he do, anyway?"

Her expression darkened. "That cunt of an idiot thought he could just kiss me," she spat, her anger palpable.

Jealousy flared up inside me, but I pushed it down. "And he found out how wrong he was, huh?"

She shot me a look. "You're an idiot, Mattheo."

"Me? Why?" I say, as she spoke, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—her eyes, her lips. Damn those lips. They haunted my dreams, and seeing them tremble made something inside me snap.

“Maybe I should have just kissed him. It's just a kiss anyway, not that big of a deal."

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just a kiss, huh?"

She continued, almost to herself, "I was saving my first kiss for—" She stopped and looked away. "I can't keep waiting forever. I'll die without experiencing it."

I looked at her, really looked at her. and she turned to leave. I grabbed her arm and gently held her face, forcing her to look at me. "Would you send a Grindylow after me if I kissed you?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide with a mixture of defiance and curiosity.

Without waiting another second, I closed the gap between us, pressing my lips against hers. The kiss was better than everything I dreamed about, intense, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. Her lips were soft, and I felt her melt into me, her hands gripping my shirt as if to keep herself grounded.

I deepened the kiss, my hand moving to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. I could feel the heat radiating from her, matching the fire inside me. Her lips parted slightly, and I took the opportunity to explore further, tasting her, savoring every moment.

When we finally pulled apart, her eyes were wide with surprise and something else—something that mirrored what I felt inside.

"Still planning to send a Grindylow after me?" I whispered, a teasing smile on my lips.

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not if you keep kissing me like that."

Good things are supposed to happen to good people. And I always wondered how someone like me could ever deserve her. From the first day I saw her, I knew I would give everything to this girl. Over time, it became clear that my heart wasn’t mine anymore. It belonged to her.

Every time I see her, it’s like a magnet pulling me in, an irresistible force that I can't fight even if I wanted to. After the kiss, I can't seem to keep my hands off her. It's like a switch has been flipped inside me, and now, I'm constantly drawn to her, craving the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin.

Every stolen moment between classes, every hidden corner of the castle, becomes an opportunity to indulge in this newfound obsession.

Today is no different. I spot her in the library, bent over a thick book, her hair cascading over her shoulder. She doesn’t see me yet.

I approach quietly, my steps silent on the worn stone floor. When I’m close enough, I let my fingers brush over her shoulder, causing her to jump slightly and look up at me with those eyes that always seem to see right through me.

“Mattheo,” she breathes, a smile tugging at her lips.

I smirk, leaning down to capture her mouth with mine, my hand tangling in her hair. My other hand snakes around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the curve of her body against mine. She responds immediately, her hands gripping my shirt, pulling me down to deepen the kiss.

“Not here,” she murmurs against my lips, but there’s no conviction in her voice. Her body is saying otherwise, pressing against me with a need that matches my own.

“Here,” I insist, nipping at her bottom lip.

Before she can protest further, I’ve got her backed into a secluded corner of the library, hidden from prying eyes. My mouth moves from her lips to her neck, sucking gently, eliciting a soft moan from her. It’s music to my ears, fueling the fire inside me.

“Mattheo,” she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. “We’ll get caught.”

“Let them catch us,” I growl, my hands roaming over her body, feeling every curve, every dip. “Will kill whoever interupt.”

I capture her lips again, more fiercely this time, my tongue exploring her mouth. She matches my intensity, her hands now under my shirt, fingers grazing my skin. I slide my hand down to the hem of her skirt, slipping underneath to feel the soft skin of her thigh. She shivers at my touch, her breath hitching.

“Please,” she whispers.

I don’t need to be told twice. I drop to my knees, pushing her skirt up, exposing her. She’s already wet, her arousal evident. I look up at her, meeting her eyes.

There’s a moment of pure, raw connection before I lean in, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. Her legs tremble, and she grips the shelf behind her for support.

I tease her with my tongue, flicking over her clit lightly before taking it into my mouth, sucking gently.

Her moan is louder this time, her hips bucking towards me. I hold her steady, my hands on her hips, guiding her movements. I delve deeper, tasting her fully, my tongue exploring every inch of her. Her hands find their way into my hair, pulling me closer, urging me on.

“Mattheo,” she moans, her voice breathy and desperate. “Don’t stop.”

I have no intention of stopping. I increase my pace, my tongue working her clit faster, harder. Her moans become more frequent, her body trembling with the intensity of her impending orgasm. I can feel it building, her muscles tightening, her breath coming in short gasps.

She cries out, her body convulsing with pleasure, her nails digging into my scalp. I continue my ministrations, riding out her orgasm until she’s quivering and breathless.

I stand, pulling her into my arms, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on my lips. Her arms wrap around my neck, her body melting into mine.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.

As the seventh year at Hogwarts drew to a close, whispers filled the air like a thick fog: Voldemort was back. I could feel it, a gnawing certainty deep in my bones. But I couldn't face it—not yet. So I ignored it, pushing down the creeping dread as much as I could.

We were leaving the castle soon, and Y/N had confided in me that she didn't want to go back to her parents' house. The thought of her being anywhere near danger tore at me, but I knew what I had to say.

"It's safer there," I told her, my voice firm yet gentle as we stood in a secluded corridor. I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. "You have to stay with them, at least for now."

"But I want to be with you," she insisted, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

I kissed her then, softly at first, then with all the desperation I felt. "I promise you, I'm still with you. Always," I whispered against her lips. "But you need to stay there."

Reluctantly, she nodded, and I handed her a small, enchanted locket. "This is for you," I said, fastening it around her neck. "If you need me, just press it, and I'll know. I'll come to you, no matter what."

Two weeks later, Enzo and I were lounging in my room, talking about everything and nothing, when suddenly the locket lit up. Enzo's eyes widened as he pointed. "Mate, is that Y/N?"

I was off the bed in an instant, my heart pounding. "Y/N?" I said into the locket, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "Are you okay?"

"Mattheo, can you come get me?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling and broken. She sounded like she was crying.

"I'm coming. Just hold on," I said, grabbing my jacket and racing out of the room. Enzo's voice was a distant echo as I sprinted down the stairs, keys already in hand.

"Where are you?" I asked into the locket, sliding into my car. Her words were shaky, filled with fear and confusion, as she tried to explain her location.

"I... I don't know exactly. Near the park, I think," she stammered.

"I'm on my way," I reassured her, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel. The streets blurred past me as I drove, my mind solely focused on finding her.

When I finally saw her, my heart nearly stopped. She was sitting on a bench, wearing her pajamas, looking so small and fragile. I jumped out of the car and rushed to her.

"Y/N!" I called. She looked up, her face pale, and I saw the blood on her mouth and nose. Without thinking, she ran to me, and I caught her in my arms, holding her as tightly as I could.

"Mattheo," she sobbed against my chest, and the sight of her hurt made a dark, vengeful fire ignite within me. I would burn the whole world to the ground for this.

Seeing the blood, something inside me snapped. Rage boiled up, threatening to consume me. Whoever did this to her would pay dearly.

"Who did this to you?" I demanded.

She just clung to me tighter, unable to speak through her tears. I wrapped my arms around her, trying to calm the raging storm inside me.

Whoever did this was going to pay. They would beg for mercy, and I wouldn't give it, not after what they did to her.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I'm here now. You're safe. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

No one would ever touch her again, not as long as I lived.

I slipped my jacket off and draped it over her shoulders, then scooped her up in my arms, holding her close. She buried her face in my chest, still shaking, and I carried her to the car.

I glanced at Y/N. She was one of the strongest people I knew, and seeing her like this drove me mad with anger. "Let me see," I said. She flinched when I reached out to check the bleeding on her face.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she whispered, but her voice trembled.

I clenched the steering wheel, fighting to control my fury. "Thank you for coming," she began, her voice small and broken.

"Of course I came," I cut her off, my voice rough with emotion. "I will always come for you."

"Tell me who did this? Who did this to you, Y/N?" I said, my voice softer but still edged with anger.

She breathed deeply and looked out the window, her body tense. "You know why I was sure you wouldn’t be like your father, Mattheo?" she said softly. "You shouldn’t be punished for his crimes."

Her voice grew weaker, and it shattered my heart. She turned to look at me, her beautiful eyes filled with tears that I hated seeing there.

"Because I know I'm not like mine," she continued, tears spilling over her cheeks., and for the first time, she let herself cry freely.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. "He did that?"

She looked down, her fingers trembling as she clutched the jacket around her. "He's been... he's been hurting me for years, Mattheo. Tonight, he... he tried to do it again. But this time, I fought back."

My heart ached at her words, rage boiling within me.

She lifted her head, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination. "I set the house on fire. I watched it burn. I wanted to hurt him as he hurt me."

Tears spilled down her cheeks again, and I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly.

She sobbed against my chest, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. "I don't regret it, Mattheo. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he caused me."

I held her tighter. "I understand, love. I understand."

We stayed like that for a long time. No one would ever touch her again. Not as long as I lived.

After a moment, I started the car and drove her home. When we arrived, Enzo was sitting in the living room. As soon as he saw her, he stood up quickly, concern etched on his face. I shook my head, a silent command for him not to ask or say anything. He nodded and sat back down, understanding the gravity of the situation.

I led her to my room, gently closing the door behind us. "Let's get you cleaned up," I said softly. I rummaged through my drawer, pulling out a clean shirt for her.

Carefully, I helped her out of her torn clothes, my hands shaking as I saw the extent of her injuries. Blood had dried on her skin, mingling with bruises that were already forming.

"I need to shower," she whispered.

"I'll help you," I replied, guiding her to the bathroom. I turned on the water, making sure it was warm before helping her step in. She winced as the water hit her, and I gently washed the blood from her skin. My heart ached with each wince, each sign of her pain.

Once she was clean, I wrapped her in a towel and led her back to the bedroom. I helped her into my shirt. "Sit down," I said, fetching a first-aid kit. I cleaned the cuts on her face and arms, working carefully to avoid causing her more pain.

"How did you learn to do that?" she asked, her voice weak but curious as I braided her hair with careful precision.

"I watched and learned for you," I replied softly, finishing the braid and tying it off.

I helped her into bed and lay down beside her, wrapping my arms around her protectively. She clung to my shirt, her fingers gripping tightly as if afraid I would vanish. "I’m here," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’m not going anywhere."

Her breathing gradually slowed, and she drifted off to sleep, her fingers still clutching my shirt. I held her close.

As she slept, I vowed silently to be her shield, to fight for her and with her, no matter the cost.

Y/N made me promise not to do anything to her father. Her trust in me is a fragile thread, and I can’t bring myself to break it, no matter how much I despise the man.

Lately, my nightmares have become worse. They’re no longer just shadows and screams. Now, I see my father, his voice echoing through the darkness, calling my name. Every night, it gets louder, more insistent, and I wake up drenched in sweat, his voice still ringing in my ears.

There are signs, subtle but unmistakable, that darkness is creeping back into my life. I don’t want to believe it’s my father, but deep down, I can feel his presence. It’s a sensation I can’t deny any longer, no matter how much I wish it away.

When I got home, I found Y/N sitting with Enzo. I stormed past them, heading straight to my room. Y/N followed quickly.

“Mattheo, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice a mix of concern and frustration.

“Nothing,” I snapped, not turning around.

“Are you mad because I’m staying here?” she pressed, trying to meet my gaze.

“Mad? No, it’s not that,” I said harshly. “It’s everything else. Everything piling up. I can’t take it anymore.”

She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine. “You’re scaring me, Mattheo.”

Hearing her say that broke something inside me. I never wanted to make her feel this way. I turned to her, cupping her face gently. “Love, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I just... I’m drowning in this darkness.”

She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve noticed you don’t sleep well. You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you?”

I pulled her into a tight hug, not wanting to burden her with the horrors of my mind. “Yes, but I don’t want to worry you with them. It’s my battle to fight.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck, holding on as if I might slip away. “You don’t have to do this alone, Mattheo.”

The wizarding world saw me in two extremes: a legacy of power or a monster. I’ve always struggled with which one I truly am.

Y/N leaned in and kissed me softly, grounding me in the moment. We moved to the bed, and she settled on my lap, her presence a soothing balm to my tortured soul.

“Let’s leave all of this behind,” she whispered, her lips brushing my ear.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Run away with me. Just you and me, somewhere far away where no one knows us.”

The idea was tempting, but I shook my head. “We can’t. It’s not that simple.”

She looked at me with determination. “Yes, it is. We can make a new life together, away from all this darkness.”

Her conviction started to break down my resistance. “You really think we can do that?”

She nodded, her eyes filled with hope. “I know we can. We just have to take the first step.”

We left everything behind, the shadows of my past fading.The countryside stretched before us, green fields rolling out in every direction. The house stood there, quaint and peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos we’d left behind.

Y/N was beaming, her joy radiating as she looked around. "Can you believe it?" she said, her voice full of excitement. "We’re really here."

I forced a smile, trying to match her enthusiasm. "So, we’re living in the countryside now?" I teased, but the words felt hollow. I wasn’t sure this was a great idea. The nightmares and the darkness seemed far away, but they still lingered in my mind.

She noticed my hesitation and grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the house. "Come on, let me show you inside. You’re going to love it," she said, her eyes sparkling with pride.

As we walked through the house, she pointed out all the little details she adored. But I wasn’t really looking at the house; I was looking at her. She was so happy, so alive, and it was a beautiful sight.

She caught me staring and paused. "What?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I’m thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you in this house," I said, and she laughed shooking her head.

I pulled her to me, kissing her deeply, my hands roaming her body.

started to unbutton her shirt, my hands moving with a sense of urgency. "I’m going to take you right here, against the wall," I murmured, my voice thick with need. "And then on the kitchen table, and in our bed. You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow, love."

She swatted at me playfully. "Mattheo, don’t ruin anything in the house."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, my tone dripping with mischief. I lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist.

She loved our new house, always pointing out little things she adored about it. One evening, she insisted on making dinner, spaghetti specifically. The kitchen became a warzone of diced vegetables and spilled sauce. Laughing, I pulled her close, lifting her onto the counter.

"Let me handle it, love," I said, kissing her lightly. "You look adorable up there."

She pouted but relented, watching me as I took over the cooking.

She introduced me to muggle movies and insisted I listen to her favorite music. Though it was different from what I was used to, I found myself enjoying it all because it made her happy.

Today, we were lying in a big field, her head resting on my legs. She looked up at the sky and said, "I love the color green."

"Why’s that?" I asked, running my fingers through her hair.

"It reminds me of nature, of life and growth," she said softly. "And because it reminds me of you."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. She turned her head to look at me, a fleeting fear crossing her features. "This feels like a dream," she whispered.

I stroked her cheek. "It’s real, love. I’m here with you."

She sighed, sitting up and looking into my eyes. "I'm afraid, Mattheo. I don't ever want you to leave."

I cupped her face in my hands, my voice firm. "I won’t leave you. I promise."

She smiled and held my face in her hands, her eyes shining with determination. "I promise I will never leave you either. Until my last breath, I will love you, and I will always choose you."

The thought of her last breath made anger flare inside me. "That won't happen," I said stubbornly.

She laughed softly. "It will happen one day, Mattheo."

"No, it won’t," I insisted.

She shook her head gently, her eyes full of understanding. "We can't stop death, Mattheo. And it’s not always a bad thing. I would die happily knowing I have been loved by you in this life, and I will search for you in every life after."

She hugged me then, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.

As the days passed, the feeling grew stronger. I could hear his whispers in the wind, feel his presence lurking in the shadows.

My father was out there, and I could no longer deny it. The darkness he brought with him tainted the very air I breathed.

Y/N came running to me, her arms wrapping around me from behind. "Mattheo, you won't believe what I heard today," she started, her voice full of excitement. "Mrs. Johnson from next door said that Mr. Thompson’s cat was found in the bakery! Can you imagine a cat in the bakery?"

I put my hands over hers, trying to focus on her words, but the whispers were getting worse, growing louder. I could barely hear her over the din in my mind. I kissed her hand softly. "Love, I have to go out for a bit. I won’t be long."

She turned me around, concern etched on her face. "Now? It’s too late, Mattheo. What’s so important?"

"It’s something I need to take care of," I said firmly. "You should sleep. Don’t wait up for me."

Before she could respond, I pulled away, leaving her standing there with a confused and worried expression.

I hated doing this to her, making her feel sad and abandoned. But I couldn't ignore the feeling any longer. I knew it too well, and I couldn't risk whatever was coming happening with her here.

I grew up in a house filled with shadows and whispers, a place where love was a foreign concept. My mother was a mad woman, her mind often lost in a haze. Sometimes she would forget about me entirely, her thoughts barricading her from reality. I learned early on not to rely on her for comfort or stability.

My father, known to the world as Voldemort, was a figure cloaked in darkness. They said he was incapable of love, that he thrived on fear and power. But he treated me better than my mother did—at least, that's what I told myself. I liked to believe that in his own twisted way, he cared for me, had plans for me that were too grand for me to understand at a young age.

There was an old man, Crest, who took care of me. Loyal to the Dark Lord, Crest was my guardian and protector. He was the one constant in my chaotic life, showing me a kind of rough love that I clung to desperately. Crest raised me, teaching me about the world as best as he could within the constraints of my father’s will.

The first lesson I learned however was my father doing.

I remember the day vividly. I was young, perhaps seven or eight. My father and I were in one of the dark, cold rooms of our mansion. He was lecturing me, as he often did, about power and control.

"Mattheo," he began, his voice a cold, steady hiss. "Do you understand what love is?"

I looked up at him, my small frame trembling slightly. "It's when you care about someone, right?"

He laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Love is a weakness, a flaw in human nature. It makes you vulnerable."

Just then, Crest entered the room. My eyes lit up and I ran to him, seeking the comfort his presence always provided. "Crest!"

The old man smiled at me, his eyes filled with a kind of sad affection.

My father’s gaze turned icy. "Do you respect Crest, Mattheo?"

I nodded vigorously. "I love him."

Voldemort’s expression hardened. "Love is dangerous, Mattheo. It can be used against you. Watch."

He pulled out a wand, and my eyes widened with a mix of fear and fascination. I had always wanted to use one, to feel its power.

"Take it," he ordered, handing me the wand.

I grasped it with trembling hands, looking up at him uncertainly.

"Kill him," he commanded, his voice icy and implacable.

My heart froze. "No, Father, please..."

Crest's eyes widened with fear, but he remained still, resigned to his fate.

"Do it, Mattheo," Voldemort insisted. "Show me you are strong."

I couldn’t move. I couldn't do it. My hands shook violently.

In a swift, merciless motion, my father pointed his own wand at Crest and uttered the curse. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light filled the room, and Crest's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. I screamed and ran to his side, clutching his hand.

The first lesson I learned was to never show my emotions, never reveal my weaknesses. My father knew everyone’s vulnerabilities, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use them against us.

I remember that day, I remember it too well.

As I walked further from our home, the sense of impending doom grew stronger. The shadows seemed darker, the air colder. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the whispers of darkness growing louder in my mind. Suddenly, Death Eaters began to materialize around me, their presence suffocating and malevolent.

Then he appeared, emerging from the darkness like a specter. Voldemort. My father. His smile was cruel, his eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of pride. "Son," he greeted, his voice a cold, slithering whisper.

I stood my ground, glaring at him, refusing to move. "Aren’t you happy to see your father?" he asked, his tone mocking.

I felt a surge of anger and pain. "Why would I be happy?”

His smile widened, more sinister than before. "Did you not try to find me? Did you not wish for my return?"

"I didn’t want you to return," I spat, the words filled with a defiance that surprised even me.

Suddenly, a sharp blow struck me. I looked up to see Bellatrix, my mother, her eyes wild with madness. "You dare speak to your father that way?" she shrieked.

I smiled, blood trickling from my mouth. "What do you care, Mother? You were too busy losing your mind to notice anything else."

Her face contorted with rage, and she raised her hand to strike me again. But before she could, she screamed, her body convulsing. I looked up to see Voldemort holding his wand, a cruel smile on his lips.

"No one lays a hand on my heir," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "Bellatrix, you will remember your place. My son is not to be harmed."

His words were powerful, echoing in the dark night. I closed my eyes, trying to block out her screams, the sound tearing at my soul. "Father, stop," I finally managed, my voice hoarse.

Voldemort looked at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. "And what are you doing out here, my boy, in the countryside? Running away, perhaps?"

I knew he already knew the truth, but I couldn’t let him see it. "I needed some air. I was restless."

"Restless," he repeated, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Or were you trying to escape your responsibilities, your destiny?"

I stood up slowly, trying to gather my strength. "Believe what you want. It doesn’t change anything."

He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "You think you can hide from me? You think you can live a normal life, away from the darkness that binds us? You are my son, my heir. And you will learn to embrace your destiny, whether you like it or not."

I met his eyes, my own filled with defiance. "I think I can try. I don’t want to be like you."

His laughter was cold, echoing through the night. "You are my son. You cannot escape what you are."

I clenched my fists, the anger and helplessness threatening to overwhelm me. "I can. And I will."

Voldemort’s expression hardened, the amusement gone. "Do not test me, Mattheo. You are my heir. You have a destiny to fulfill."

My father’s presence loomed over me, the tension in the air grew palpable. He studied me with those cold, penetrating eyes, and I knew he was far from done with his probing questions.

tell me about this girl you've been spending so much time with."

I tensed, but kept my expression neutral. "She's no one important."

His eyes narrowed, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "No one important? Then why do I sense such... attachment?"

"It's nothing, Father," I lied smoothly. "Just a distraction. Something physical. Nothing more."

His laughter was sharp and mocking. "Oh, Mattheo,do you love her?"

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest. "No. I don't love her."

Inside, I felt a pang of guilt and sadness. I loved her more than anything, but I couldn't let him see that.

But I had to lie, had to make him believe it was nothing more than a physical connection. She deserved better than to be dragged into this darkness.

"Just physical?" he mused, his tone laced with derision. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify your weakness?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice steady. "It's only physical."

He stepped closer, his gaze piercing through me. "You think you can fool me?"

"It's just a game, Father. A way to pass the time," I insisted, the lie burning on my tongue.

Voldemort's smile widened, cruel and knowing. "You cannot escape your fate, Mattheo. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise."

I held his gaze, my defiance burning bright despite the fear gnawing at me. "I don’t intend to escape. I’m simply enjoying my life."

His laughter echoed in the dark night, cold and merciless. "Enjoying your life? How quaint. You think you can hide your true feelings from me?"

"I have no true feelings for her," I lied again, the words tasting bitter.

"Well then," he said, his eyes glinting with malice, "if she truly means nothing, it would be of no consequence if she were to... disappear." He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "In fact, I think it might be a good test of your loyalty."

I fought to keep my face expressionless, to hide the terror clawing at my insides, to act unbothered. "Do as you wish," I replied, my voice steady.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort called, turning to my mother, who was watching with wild eyes. "Go and find this girl. Make sure her end is... memorable."

My mother eyes gleamed with a sick excitement. "Yes, my Lord."

I forced myself to remain still, to show no reaction, even as my heart pounded in my chest.

"Make it painful," Voldemort added, his eyes focusing on me. "I want her to suffer, to know the price of being a distraction."

I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I kept my face impassive. It was only when Bellatrix turned to leave that the words burst from my lips.

"Don't," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Voldemort turned back to me, his expression one of cold amusement. "What was that?"

His hand gripping my chin tightly. "You are a fool, Mattheo. You have created a weakness for yourself, and now that weakness must be eradicated."

"Father," I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me, "you will not lay a hand on her."

He laughed softly, the sound devoid of any warmth. "You think you can order me, boy? This girl must die to teach you a lesson. A lesson to remind you of your responsibilities, of your true nature."

His grip tightened painfully. "You will not put a hand on her," I repeated, my voice firm, my gaze locked with his.

His eyes burned with cold fury, and his lips curled into a sinister smile. "Very well, Mattheo," he said, his voice dripping with malevolent amusement. "Follow me."

I followed him through the darkened corridors of the manor, my heart pounding with each step. My mind raced, trying to anticipate his next move, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to witness.

We entered a dimly lit room, and there, suspended in mid-air, was Charity Burbage, a former professor at Hogwarts. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her pleas for mercy echoed through the room.

"Charity," Voldemort greeted with false courtesy. "I believe you know my son, Mattheo."

Charity's eyes flicked to me, filled with desperation. "Mattheo, please," she pleaded. "Help me."

I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to help her, but I knew the cost of defying Voldemort. He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "This is a lesson for you, this is what happens to those who betray us."

Charity's eyes locked onto mine. "Mattheo," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face, her cries grew louder, more frantic. "Mattheo, please! You can stop this!"

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, but I knew better than to show any sign of weakness.

I felt a surge of helpless rage, my blood boiling with the need to act, to do something, but I remained rooted to the spot. Voldemort raised his wand, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Avada Kedavra," he said softly, almost reverently.

A flash of green light filled the room, and Charity's pleas were silenced forever. Her lifeless body crumpled to the floor, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Voldemort turned to me, his expression a mask of twisted satisfaction.

"This," he said, gesturing to Charity's body, "is what happens when you allow yourself to be weak. Do you understand, Mattheo?"

I swallowed hard, fighting back the bile that rose in my throat. "Yes, Father," I forced out, my voice hoarse.

He stepped closer, his eyes boring into mine. "You must learn to sever your attachments, to purge yourself of any weakness. Only then will you be truly strong."

"You must prove your loyalty. Now, about this girl of yours. I want you to kill her."

Before I could respond, one of the Death Eaters, snickered and said, "Bet she's a pretty little thing. Will she allow a Death Eater in her bed, or just the heir?"

Rage boiled within me, and before I knew it, I had my wand out. "Crucio!"

His screamed in agony, writhing on the floor. Voldemort watched with a smirk, clearly amused. "Such passion, Mattheo. But your actions only prove that she must die."

Voldemort's gaze hardened, and he turned to another Death Eater. "Bring our guest."

The doors swung open, and I saw Y/N's father being dragged in, his eyes wild with terror.

"Kill him, Mattheo," Voldemort ordered, his eyes glinting with malicious glee.

I had promised Y/N I wouldn’t harm her father, but now, faced with this command, I was torn. "Kill him, Mattheo," Voldemort repeated. "Or the girl dies."

Y/N's father fell to his knees, his voice trembling. "Kill her! Kill her instead, please! I will serve you, my lord. I will be loyal!”

Voldemort approached me, his eyes glittering with a cruel satisfaction. "You see, Mattheo, even the most desperate will turn on those they love to save themselves, even his own father doesn’t think she’s worth saving."

"You can kill her please, you can—"

His pleas were cut short as I cast the killing curse, my wand steady, my resolve unshaken. I felt no regret, no sorrow.

Voldemort’s cruel smile returned. "Well done, my boy. Now, let’s see where your true loyalties lie."

He stepped closer, his voice dripping with venom. "Choose, Mattheo. Your precious girl, or your little brother."

My heart twisted in my chest. "What?"

He laughed, the sound cold and hollow. "I’m merely testing you. But make no mistake. Once the girl dies, you will be free, Mattheo. Free from these weaknesses."

I stood there, my mind reeling, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. "You must choose," he continued, his voice relentless. "Do you want to protect her, or do you want to protect yourself and your family, your friends?"

I clenched my fists, meeting Voldemort's cold gaze with defiance.

"Think carefully, my boy. Love is a chain that binds you. Cut it, and you will be stronger. Cut it, and you will be free."

“I would leave her, end things with her, but you just had to leave her out of it”' I said, my voice quivering with suppressed emotion. The words spilled out with a strength I didn't know I had, my heart shattering as I spoke.His expression remained impassive.

"promise me, father, Promise me that you'll leave her out of this. She's innocent, she has nothing to do with any of this. And I swear to end things with her, take my duties and responsibilities, you just have to give me your word, that’s the first time I ask anything from you and would be the last"

His eyes gleamed with triumph. "Very well, Mattheo. Go, end things with her, and return to me. No one shell hurt her, you have my word. But remember, any mistake, and not just the girl dies. You will have to choose someone else to die as punishment for your disobedience. Understand?"

I swallowed my rage, forced myself to nod. "Yes, I understand."

As I left the room, I saw Enzo, my little brother, standing in the hallway. "What are you doing here?" I demanded angrily.

"It’s his duty," Voldemort answered for him, placing a hand on Enzo's shoulder.

I felt a surge of protectiveness and fury, but I hid it. "I will return soon," I said, my voice steady.

Voldemort's eyes bore into mine. "See that you do, Mattheo. See that you do."

I walked away, my mind a storm of emotions, knowing that my every step was being watched, and every decision weighed with life and death.

It was well past midnight when I finally opened the front door. My heart pounded as I walked in, the weight of what I had to do pressing down on me. The moment I saw her, my resolve wavered. Before I could think, my lips crashed onto hers in a desperate, hungry kiss.

“Mattheo,” she whispered against my mouth, but I silenced her with another kiss, more demanding this time. My hands roamed her body, pulling her closer, needing to reassure myself that she was real, that she was here.

"Mattheo, what's going on?" she tried to ask, but I silenced her again, my fingers gripping her hips tightly.

"Just let me have this," I said softly, my voice cracking. The pain in my heart was unbearable.

I bent her over, yanking down her pants, and thrust into her hard and fast. The intensity of my movements was driven by the need to drown out the agony inside me. I couldn't let her see my pain, couldn't let her know how much it was tearing me apart.

“Did something happen, baby?” she managed to gasp out between thrusts, her hands gripping the sheets.

I didn’t answer, just increased my pace, trying to lose myself in the physicality of the moment. The roughness of my touch, the ferocity of my rhythm—it was all I could offer to mask my torment.

“Mattheo, I’m gonna—”

Her scream echoed through the room as she came, her body trembling. I followed moments later, my release silent but powerful, my grip on her tightening as I shuddered.

I pulled out and turned her around, lifting her onto the bed with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with my earlier roughness. Her eyes were filled with concern and confusion.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” she replied, her heartache evident.

I moved within her slowly, each thrust a silent promise. I wanted to cling to her, to hold her forever, but I knew I had to let go. We reached our climax together, and the wave of pleasure was bittersweet.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly when we were done, her head resting on my chest. I didn’t answer, just held her tighter, my arms a protective cocoon around her. I wished I could tell her the truth, but I couldn’t risk it. I had to protect her.

The next morning, I woke up early and slipped out of bed. I stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, trying to steel myself for what I had to do. When she came up behind me, wrapping her arms around me and pressing a kiss to my cheek, it took everything in me not to break down.

"Mattheo," she started, her voice tentative, "please talk to me. What's going on?"

Silence was my only response. I couldn’t risk breaking down, couldn’t risk her seeing the pain I was in.

"Mattheo, please don't shut me out."

I took another slow drag, exhaling the smoke with a sigh, but said nothing. The wall between us was thicker than ever, and it was killing me.

"Do you not trust me?" she asked, her voice cracking. "You said you love me, and I believe you. But if you don't let me in, how can we face whatever is bothering you?"

I flicked the cigarette butt over the railing, watching it fall before finally turning to face her. Her eyes were filled with tears, and it broke my heart.

His grip on my hand was firm as he led us back into the room. I sank onto the couch, my heart aching with the weight of what I had to do. She moved to sit beside me, her voice soft and pleading. "Hey, baby, please, what is bothering you?"

I remained a statue, my body rigid, my gaze fixed on the floor. I couldn't bear to look at her.

"We are not going anywhere," I said flatly, cutting her off. The coldness in my voice was a defense mechanism, a way to protect her.

Panic clawed at her throat. "Okay, we can stay home," she stammered, desperately searching for anything to break the suffocating silence.

I stood up abruptly, startling her. I hated doing this, hated the pain I was causing her, but I couldn't risk her life. "Don't you get it?" I spat, my voice laced with bitterness. "This was never supposed to be serious. It was fun, a distraction, but nothing more."

Her breath hitched. "Distraction?"

"But... but I..." she stammered, the words catching in her throat.

"You what, Y/N?" I scoffed, the sound harsh. "Did you think being with me was some grand fairytale? You know who I am, Y/N. There's a legacy to uphold, a family to consider. Did you think you, with your… your ordinary life, could ever fit into that?"

"But… we built a beautiful life together. We talked about our future," she said, her voice choked with tears.

"Future? Y/N, you left your life for me. Your family, your friends, everything. Did you really think I'd just abandon everything I have, my legacy, for… for you?"

"I… I never asked you to abandon anything," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"But you did," I countered. "You disrupted the plan. You made me question everything."

"But I love you," she whispered, the words fragile and broken. "I gave up everything for you."

"Love? Don't be ridiculous. You were just young and naive, Y/N. You thought escaping your family drama meant finding some happily ever after. This isn't some storybook.”

Her pain was palpable, and it tore me apart. "Did you ever love me, Mattheo? Or was it just another lie?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

I met her gaze, forced my eyes to look at her. "No," I said, the word sharp and like a knife to my heart. "I liked you, Y/N. I enjoyed the… distraction. But this? This isn't love."

Her tears fell uncontrollably as she sank onto the couch. I wanted to wipe them away, to hold her and tell her the truth, but I couldn't. I had to protect her, even if it meant breaking her heart.

"I'll leave," I said. "You can stay here."

I grabbed my phone and keys, my movements mechanical. I walked towards the door, the sound of it slamming shut echoing in the room. As the final echo died down, I felt a piece of my heart shatter.

I hated myself for doing this, for hurting her. But I couldn't risk her life. I couldn't let her become another pawn in my father's game. And so, I walked away, leaving a part of my soul behind with her.

Days passed in a blur of darkness and duty. Each moment without Y/N felt like a knife twisting deeper into my soul. I couldn’t risk going back to her, couldn’t show any sign of weakness. I had to prove to my father that it was over, that she no longer held any power over me. But the truth was, life without her was a torment I could barely endure.

My father spoke often of power and darkness, of the strength that came from severing emotional ties. His lessons were cruel, I tried to focus on the tasks at hand, to immerse myself in the dark teachings of my father, but every thought inevitably led back to her. Y/N. The name echoed in my mind like a forbidden incantation, a ghost haunting my every waking moment.

my father called us together. Enzo stood beside me, his face a mask of grim determination. Voldemort’s voice was low, commanding. "Enzo, you will lead this mission. I need you to retrieve a very special item from the Ministry."

Enzo’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

I felt a surge of protectiveness. "Father, let me do it."

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. "Are you questioning my orders, Mattheo?"

Before I could respond, Enzo placed a hand on my arm. "Don’t, Mattheo."

Another Death Eater sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Listen to your bastard brother, heir."

The words ignited a fire within me. I turned to face him, my wand already in hand. "Say that again."

He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "Why? Enzo is a bastard from a whore. Bellatrix is nothing but a—"

"Then by your logic," I interrupted, my voice cold and dangerous, "I’m a bastard too. So call me that. Go on."

The room went silent. The Death Eater’s smirk faltered, but he pressed on. "You’re—"

"Crucio!" I shouted, and the man collapsed, writhing in agony. I held the spell, watching as he screamed, my rage boiling over.

Theodore, Draco, and Blaise watched, their expressions a mix of shock and approval. Enzo whispered urgently, "Mattheo, stop."

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I intensified the curse, the man’s screams echoing off the walls. Another Death Eater stepped forward, trying to intervene, but I cast another Cruciatus Curse, sending him to the floor beside the first.

"You see that, Father?" I said, my voice shaking with fury. "I’m really your son after all."

Voldemort’s lips curled into a proud smile.

I left the room, my heart pounding, my mind a storm of conflicting emotions. I found myself in my room, my hand on the wall, pressing so hard that it started to bleed. I slid down to the ground, the pain a welcome distraction from the torment in my soul.

Darkness was consuming me, gnawing away at what little light I had left. I was becoming the very thing I despised, a creature of the shadows, a pawn of my father. Each day, I felt myself slipping further into the abyss, the line between right and wrong blurring until it was almost indistinguishable.

I found Luna Lovegood in one of the cold, damp cells of the dungeons. Her ethereal calmness was a stark contrast to the despair around her. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice harsher than I intended.

"They took me because I know too much," she said simply, her wide eyes unafraid, I shook my head to her to shut up.

She was here because he believed her father’s magazine might contain hidden messages or useful information for the Order of the Phoenix.

"She doesn't know anything, Father. I assure you," I said, turning to Voldemort.

He refused to free her. "At least don’t treat her like a hostage," I pleaded. With a reluctant nod from him, I took Luna to a more comfortable room.

"Thank you," she said softly, sitting down on the bed.

As I turned to leave, she spoke again. "They say she hasn’t left home for days."

I froze. "What?"

"The one you're thinking about," Luna continued, her voice gentle. "A magical creature only I can see told me. They say Y/N hasn’t left the house. She still thinks you’re coming back. She feels miserable, she is in so much pain."

I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the rage boiling inside me. "So are you, Mattheo," Luna added quietly.

I left the room, the anger and guilt eating at me. The thought of Y/N in pain, waiting for me, tore at my soul. I wanted to let the whole world burn for what it was doing to her. I wanted to go to her, to tell her I had lied, that I had never loved anything as I loved her. But I couldn’t.

As I stalked through the dark hallway my father appeared. His cold eyes assessed me, and I steeled myself against his scrutiny.

"Feeling conflicted, my boy?" Voldemort asked, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

I met his gaze, trying to appear strong. "I know my duty," I said flatly.

He leaned in, his voice a sinister whisper. "Good. It would be unfortunate if you decided to go back to old distractions. There are consequences, you know, for losing focus."

His words were a veiled threat, a reminder of what he could do to Y/N if I faltered. I nodded, the cold dread settling in my stomach. "I understand, Father."

"Remember, Mattheo," he said, straightening up. "Power and loyalty are what matter. Attachments are weaknesses."

I watched him walk away, my heart heavy with the weight of my choices. The darkness was consuming me, and I didn’t know how much longer I could resist it.

The day passes in a haze of anger and I leaned against the cold stone wall, watching the chaos unfold. The room was thick with tension and suspicion as Death Eaters hurled accusations at each other.

Whispers of a shadow, an elusive killer who moved unseen, had spread fear among them. They couldn't figure out who he was or where he came from. He was a ghost, a phantom that slipped through their fingers, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

"This is your fault, Dolohov!" Mother snarled, her wild eyes blazing with fury. "If you had secured the perimeter, this wouldn't be happening!"

"Don't be absurd, Bellatrix," Dolohov shot back, his wand raised defensively. "Your incompetence is what's allowing this to happen. If you had been more vigilant—"

"Silence!"

Father’s voice cut through the din like a knife, freezing everyone in their tracks. The Dark Lord's eyes swept the room, his face a mask of cold rage. The tension was palpable as he raised his wand and pointed it at one of his most trusted lieutenants, Thorne.

Thorne, a tall, gaunt man with a face as sharp as his intellect, met Voldemort's gaze with a mix of shock and terror. "My Lord, I—"

"Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light illuminated the chamber for a split second, and then Thorne crumpled to the ground, lifeless. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I watched one of Voldemort's most trusted men die so easily, so unceremoniously. The room was silent, the only sound the crackling of the torches on the walls.

My father’s gaze shifted, meeting mine. I held his stare, my expression carefully neutral, unbothered by the carnage.

"Mattheo," he said, his voice a low hiss. "What is your opinion on this shadow? Who is he?"

I shrugged, feigning indifference. "You should focus on who he isn't, Father."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

I let my eyes drift over the room, taking in the faces of the remaining Death Eaters.

"I think the traitor is someone who knows us well, someone who can anticipate our moves. It might be wise to look closer to home," I said, my voice laced with subtle insinuation. "Perhaps even among those we trust the most."

A murmur of unease spread through the room as they cast suspicious glances at each other.

My father studied me, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. He knew I was toying with him, but he couldn't quite place the blame.

"If that's all, Father, I have matters to attend to," I said, pushing off the wall. I gave a small bow, excusing myself. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me."

As I walked away, the weight of my secret plan settled on my shoulders. It was I who was killing the Death Eaters, removing them one by one. To keep her safe, I needed to weaken my father, and to do that, I had to dismantle his support system. Only a fool would face Voldemort head-on, and I am no fool.

As I left the room, the shadows seemed to close in around me, but I welcomed them. They were my allies, my cover. And soon, they would be the downfall of the Dark Lord himself.

Days passed but I couldn't escape it. Her voice, her pain, it haunted me. The bed was cold and empty without her warmth, and I felt her absence like a physical wound. Every second without her was torture, but I had to stay away. I had to protect her from the darkness I had become entangled in. But knowing she was suffering because of me was unbearable.

Someone knocked hard on my door, breaking through my thoughts. I opened it to find Luna, her usually serene demeanor shattered. She was trembling, speaking in disjointed sentences that barely made sense. I took her gently by the shoulders, trying to calm her down.

"Luna, breathe. What's wrong?" I asked urgently, my voice betraying my own turmoil.

"she’s killing myself slowly," she blurted out, her eyes wide with desperation. "You need to stop it. It's already too late."

Without another word, I stormed out of the room, fury boiling inside me. I reached my father's chamber and nearly tore the door off its hinges as I entered. "You gave your word you wouldn’t do anything to her!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the stone walls.

Voldemort turned to me, his expression calm, almost amused. "It must be over by now," he said with a cold smile. "You'll thank me."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, my heart racing.

"I freed you," he said simply, his words cutting through me like a blade.

Realization hit me like a blow to the chest. I turned and ran, my mind racing as fast as my feet. I had to get to her.

As I tore through the hallways of the manor, the walls blurred around me. My mind was singularly focused on Y/N. I reached the main hall, and in a fit of rage and desperation.

I raised my wand."Incendio!" Flames erupted around me, spreading quickly through the manor. The heat was intense, the fire consuming everything in its path. I didn't care. Let it burn. Let it all burn.

I burst out of the castle, the cold night air hitting my face as I Apparated as close as I could to our house. My heart pounded in my chest as I sprinted the rest of the way, every step bringing me closer to her.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I finally reached the house, my hands shaking as I opened the door. "Y/N!" I called out, my voice desperate. "Y/N, where are you?"

The house was eerily silent, the weight of her absence suffocating. A scream come from our room and I run to it, she fell, the floor rushing up to meet her. But just before unconsciousness claimed her, I caught her, gripping her body, arresting her fall.

“Y/N!” I shouted, my voice urgent and laced with panic. Her vision was blurry, and she blinked, disoriented and delirious.

“What have you done, love?” I asked, my voice ragged with worry. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. The

“It hurts so much,” she managed to gasp, tears mixing with the blood trickling down her nose.

“I know, baby, I know,” I murmured. “Just tell me, please, what have you done?”

“I just wanted it to stop,” she rasped, pointing weakly at her heart, its every beat a thrumming ache. “It hurt so much.” Her gaze drifted beyond my shoulder.

“He… he’s back?” Her voice was a rasp, barely audible, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth.

“Shh, love, don’t try to talk,” I soothed, my grip tightening protectively around her. “What have you done to her?” I turned to my father.

“Just showed her a way to numb the pain,”

she reached for my hand, “Don’t be afraid, love,” I murmured into her hair.

“It wasn’t the deal!” I said, “I told you I would leave her, I would leave everything, but you just had to leave her out of it!”

“I’m helping you, child,” my father said, his voice devoid of emotion. “You pushed her away, but you love her. That cannot happen. You need to get rid of your weakness.”

“Shut up!” I said, my eyes blazing. “Shut the fuck up. You leave her out of this!” She choked on a fresh wave of blood. A terrible realization dawned on me – she was dying.

“You’re not dying,” I whispered fiercely, "You’re not dying, baby. I won’t allow it.”

“It’s okay,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

“It’s not!”

“Can you say it like you used to? Can you tell me that you love me?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I want to hear you say it one last time.”.

“No, because you are not dying,” I insisted, turning my blazing gaze back to my father. “Save her, do something and save her or I swear, I won’t just leave you. I will make sure to ruin you, ruin everything you built, kill you for good this time.”

“Mattheo,” she whispered, her voice weak but determined. I looked down at her.

“You’re not dying,” I repeated.

“Look at me, love,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “Keep your eyes on me. Keep those beautiful eyes on me, baby.”

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

I cupped her face, my thumb brushing away her tear. “You’re the love of my life, and I love you more than life itself,” I declared, my voice thick with emotion.

A weak smile touched her lips. Before She closed her eyes.

"Y/N?" I called softly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

262 notes · View notes

bbina · 4 months ago

Text

"i don't understand why you feel scared meeting my parents, babe. i'm one hundred percent sure they'll love you as much as i do" chenle calls out from your bedroom as you go over your outfit for the 127th time today

today was the day you were gonna meet his parents for the first time. chenle decided that you two have been dating for a decent amount of time that it was time to introduce you to his folks

there was nothing wrong with meeting your significant other's parents. in fact, it's even a privilege to meet the people who've raised your partner with care and love

but what chenle doesn't understand is that you're afraid of meeting his parents. so scared that you might actually ditch on them on the last minute in attempt to hide away from the fact that you, out of all people is dating their beloved son

you've heard it for quite sometime now. that chinese parents tend to usually look after people who are in some impressive bloodline that could lead to business expansions. knowing that chenle's parents were very much involved in the business scene, maybe chenle has been set up with other wealthy chinese bloodlines that could eventually carry their legacies for further generations

this has always been your insecurity with your relationship with chenle. hell, you even knew what you were getting into when chenle first courted you

although chenle has been great at easing out your anxieties and fears about this stereotypical reality, still, the thought of his parents disliking you upon the first meet still lingers at the back of your mind

you must've been deep in thought that you barely noticed chenle's presence behind you. you were brought back to reality when you felt chenle's arms wrap around your body, his chin resting on your shoulder

"i promise you, they'll love you. just trust me" chenle says, leaving kisses form your shoulders up to your jaw

your shoulders drop, looking at chenle through the mirror

"i'm just scared that they won't like me" you whispered, looking at yourself in the mirror, "terrified even. what if they judge me for my background? what if they did a background check on me- on my family? what if your mom will ask me to meet her at the back of the alley and she'll be like 'stay away from my son'? what if–"

chenle cuts you off by grabbing your cheeks, smashing your lips together

"breathe, babe, breathe" chenle soothes, rubbing circles on your cheeks with his thumb. you stare up at him tearily. your mind going haywire at the thoughts going on your head. your insecurities being with someone like him going overtime

"didn't we already talk about this last time? i told you not to think like that. my parents aren't like that. i swear on my life they will like you. if i like you for who you are then i'm sure they will too" chenle reassures, leaning his forehead against yours as he meets your eyes

you bite your lip, still unable to shake the feeling away. you know chenle means well and he sticks to his word

"just trust me on this, bǎobèi. trust me" chenle kisses your forehead, hoping that it will ease your nerves more. you suck in a deep breath before slowly nodding your head yes

"... okay"

chenle pulls away, looking at you with a big smile on his face.

"that's the spirit, baby. i can't wait to tell my mom all about you when we get there. she'll be happy to hear that i'm in good hands" chenle babbles, smiling to himself at the thought of you and his mom being close

and just like it was on cue his phone vibrates inside his pocket. chenle whips it out and reads the notification

"it's my dad. he said they're on the way to the restaurant"

—

the car ride to the restaurant was filled with a nervous silence. you fidget with the hem of your dress, stealing glances at chenle occasionally. he reaches his hand out for yours, squeezing your hand gently when he felt your nervous glances. his silent way of calming your nerves as he drives you two to the restaurant.

you and chenle were now at the parking lot of the restaurant you two were meeting his parents in

"ready?" chenle asks, looking over at your side of the car

you take a look at yourself through the sun visor one last time before sucking in a deep breath

"ready as i'll ever be.." you murmured. if you walk through those doors your life might change for the better or for the worse. you are silently praying that it will be the latter

chenle smiles, reaching over to tuck some hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. "i sound like a broken record right now but trust me when i say that they will absolutely fucking love you"

you placed your hands above his, giving them a small squeeze. "i hope they will, lele"

chenle grins before removing his hand from your face. he clasps them together, "okay let's go. they might be inside already"

it was now or never.

—

you and chenle walk inside the restaurant where his parents were waiting in, hand in hand

his parents chose a restaurant that had exclusive rooms reserved for VIP customers. that itself was already a slap on the face on the difference of their social status compared to yours. the plush carpets, the glittering chandeliers, everything just screams wealth and privilege

chenle must've read your mind because he suddenly blurts out that his parents and the owner of the restaurant go way back that's why they get special treatment such as using the said exclusive rooms

"my dad loves this place and is actually friends with the owner. so i'm not surprised they chose to use the VIP room to meet you. they must be so excited to meet the love of my life" chenle gushes, guiding you through the endless backrooms of the restaurant

chenle then stops at a door. it must be the room where his parents were waiting in. this is it. you are finally getting to meet mr. and mrs. zhong

he knocks and wait for his parents to acknowledge it. not a second later the red door opens and there you first make eye contact with his dad, mr. zhong

"dad!" chenle beams, greeting his father with a hug. you straighten your posture as you wait for chenle to introduce you to his father first.

chenle's dad laughs before patting his beloved son on his back

"dad, meet my girlfriend, y/n. y/n, this is my dad" chenle puts an arm behind the small of your back, pulling you slightly to let you meet his father.

you smile as you bow politely in front of mr. zhong

"hello mr. zhong. it's so nice to finally meet you" you greet politely. hoping you were showing your best smile in front of the older man. you felt a surge of nerves meeting mr. zhong's eyes for the first time. but his firm handshake felt more reassuring than intimidating.

before mr. zhong can reply, his mom suddenly stands up and goes up to you. mrs. zhong's excitement catches you off guard. her warm hug and excited chatter dispels your fears and anxiety on meeting them today

"is this my future daughter in law i've been hearing about? i've been wanting to meet you, sweet child!" chenle's mother gushes, waving her hands around to show her excitement

you freeze in shock with the sudden unexpected turn of events. this was definitely not how you imagined it to be. you were expecting hard glares, cold shoulders and not this

"ma! you're scaring her!" chenle nags, shooing his mother off who only swats his hand away

"oh shush, lele! you talk about her all the time of course i'm excited to meet the lady who makes my son the happiest!" mrs. zhong retorts. she then takes a good look at you before gushing again

"she's prettier in person, lele! why didn't you introduce her to us sooner!" she squeals in delight.

you try your best to bite back a smile. you honestly didn't expect this at all. you then make eye contact with chenle who's looking at you with the biggest smirk on his face you've ever seen. almost like he was telepathically telling you 'i told you so'

"i should say the same about you, mrs. zhong. it's so nice to finally meet you. chenle has told me a lot of things about you" you bow again to show formalities

"well i hope they were good things! likewise, dear. you sit down first. are you hungry yet? we can order already if you are. don't be shy! lele! are you treating her right?!"

questions are thrown all over the place you honestly don't know what to answer first. all you're getting is that you're in one hell of a ride today

food is served by the time you and his mom are in a deep conversation. you never thought you'd connect to another woman who wasn't your mom. mrs. zhong’s genuine interest in your life and happiness was touching

"as i was saying dear before we got interrupted, is chenle treating you well?" mrs. zhong prods, side eyeing her son who's ears were now perked up at the mention of his name. her eyes twinkling with curiosity and a hint of motherly concern

you take a good look at chenle before looking back at his mom. he kinda resembles his mom, you thought to yourself. shaking the thought away, you give his mom a smile

"he's the best. you raised him well, mrs. zhong" you smile

mrs. zhong beams and chenle’s father nodded approvingly. chenle reaches for your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

as dinner progressed, the conversation flowed effortlessly. you found yourself laughing and sharing stories with chenle’s parents, the initial fear melting away.

by the time dinner has ended, mrs. zhong was already planning another get-together.

"you should come by our house sometime and have some tea! do you like tea? what tea do you like? i can order some right away so you'd come over. lele! bring her over sometime! how does tomorrow sound? are you free?"

"tea sounds delightful, mrs. zhong! and tomorrow is fine with me. not sure with chenle though.." you trail off, nudging chenle with your elbow.

"dunno. don't want to drive all the way ther– ow! what was that for!" chenle cries out when his mom pinches his arm. "i was just playing! we'll see you tomorrow ma!" chenle hisses, rubbing the spot his mom just pinched him

you, along with mr. and mrs. zhong laugh. the evening turned out better than you could have ever imagined. before you were gonna go on your separate ways, mrs. zhong pulls you aside.

"you know," she starts, "chenle has always been our pride, and now i see why he chose you. welcome to the family"

tears of relief fill your eyes as you thanked her. "thank you mrs. zhong. i'm so happy and relieved to hear that" you wipe a stray tear that escaped from your eye

"oh please, sweetheart, call me lily. calling me mrs. zhong makes me feel old!" she jokes, softly stroking your hair.

and before you know it, both mr. and mrs. zhong go on their separate ways. you and chenle stand outside the restaurant as you both watch their car slowly disappear from sight.

now here you two were, outside under the soft glow of the streetlights, walking back to his car to go back home.

chenle kisses the side of your head, "what did i tell you? told you they'll love you" he smugly says, feeling nothing but pride and joy that you are now welcome to his family

you poke his side causing him to yelp. "oh shut up!" you blush

chenle’s smug smile says it all. he knew this would happen. he wouldn't be with you in the first place if he knew his parents wouldn't like his partner from the get go

in that moment, you realized that you didn't just meet his parents, you were now becoming a part of a family that already cherished you as one of their own

so much for conquering the great wall

#teehee i miss my man #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct scenarios #chenle imagines #chenle x reader #chenle scenarios #zhong chenle imagines #zhong chenle x reader #zhong chenle scenarios

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 4 months ago

Text

Delicate part.4

Gwayne Hightower x Reader

Description: Gwayne and Y/N have a heart to heart which prompts him to realise he has fallen in love with her. The only problem is the lady's distate for the whole institution of marriage.

Writer's note: Thank you so much for all the lovely comments on part 3. You are all so sweet! The next part will be up soon!

Warnings: female reader, touch averse and asexual reader.

Once Y/N was well enough to rejoin her friends, the three found that they were even more inseparable than they had been before, having felt her absence keenly. Gwayne, in particular, had missed her bright smile and the sweet sound of her laughter at his antics. It was only by his sister’s entreaties that he should not impose upon Y/N that prevented him from going to check on her each day that he was without her company. He could not resist from leaving a bouquet of gardenias and a book or sweet with her maid to deliver to Y/N each day, however, even if he had to do it somewhat clandestinely, to avoid the observant eye of his sister. The longer he spent without Y/N’s company, the clearer it became to him how sorely he missed her and how dear she had become to him, even over so short a time as two weeks. When he thought of her, which was almost always now, a dazed expression would come over his features, which would have Alicent prodding him in the shoulder to get him to repeat what she had just said. He had never before been able to be so entirely himself with another person, aside from his sister, always concealing the insecurities he felt about his worthiness as his father’s heir and a knight beneath an outward display of confidence and charm. A conversation he had with Y/N when Alicent was performing her own duties at Court left him in no doubt that he was falling in love with the lady.

Sitting opposite Y/N on the grass beneath the weirwood tree, Gwayne watched in fascination as Y/N tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear before turning the page of the book she was reading. He was content simply to sit opposite her in silence, as she read, comforted by the mere proximity to her. Looking up suddenly from the page, Gwayne found himself intaking a sharp breath at the gentle smile she directed towards him, before a mischievous glint found its way into her eye.

“Don’t you have any duties to be seeing to, Ser, beyond staring at me and making a nuisance of yourself”, she laughed, as she reached forward to push him lightly on the chest.

Laughing at her gentle rebuke, even as his heart stopped a beat at the feel of her palm near his heart, he shrugged, “I can think of no better way to spend my time than in the company of you, my dear Lady.” He returned her smile with what he hoped was a charming one.

His expression darkened slightly, however, when he realised he would have to leave her company shortly to rejoin his father.

Seeing Gwayne’s expression fall, Y/N could not hide her concern, correctly guessing that the change in his mood had something to do with the tense relationship he had with his father. Whilst Gwayne was always pleasant with everyone they encountered around the keep, and positively exuberant around herself and Alicent, she knew that such a front concealed very real insecurities. Alicent had told her of how Gwayne had been forced to remain in Oldtown alone to preside over their father’s ancestral seat, even as she left for King’s Landing. Denied a mother’s love through her death, and his father’s love by his own father’s lack of care for him, he had sought to fashion for himself a confident persona as a knight. Gwayne’s outward confidence concealed his loneliness and deep-seated fears that he was not equipped to be heir to the Hightower legacy. She had begun to notice when chinks in his emotional armour would appear, usually when he would be forced to leave Alicent and her company to carry out his duties with his father. Gwayne’s attentiveness to Alicent and her own feelings and concerns, always eager to listen to anything they had to say and attuned to their moods, further warmed her heart to him, especially considering his attempts to hide his own insecurities. She was eager to convey to him that he did not have to remain alone in his thoughts, that he could lean on her as she increasingly found herself doing with him, as he would listen to her talk of her own strained family life.

Reaching her hand across the space between them to place her hand over his on the grass, Y/N held Gwayne’s gaze as his eyes snapped first to her hand on his and then up to her eyes.

“You are a worthy knight and successor to the Hightower name, regardless of what your Lord father believes. Both Alicent and I think so.’ She hesitated before a look of determination set into her eyes, and she continued, "you need not conceal it from me when you are feeling low. I know that you fear burdening us with your own struggles, but I can see that you are just hiding." Taking a deep breath, she pressed his hand. “You are not a burden to me. I would have you seek the same counsel and support from me as I do you. Are we not friends?”

Gwayne floundered, momentarily dumbstruck by her words and her concern for him. He had thought that he had successfully concealed any such feelings from her, seeking always to prevent his own feelings from causing either his sister or his lady, as he had begun to think of her, if only in his own heart, discomfort. Her final question had him further stalling on his response. It was true that she was his dearest friend but she was also so much more than that to him, her image etched onto his very heart. Surprised at how well she already saw him, she could not yet guess that she formed part of a further internal struggle within himself, as he sought not to impose his love on her. Knowing, as he did, that she had expressed her distaste for married life, he sought to conceal his true feelings for her and to be content to merely be in her presence. He would continue to love her quietly, and without disturbing her own peace, even if the thought of her ever marrying someone else or of having to part from her to return to Oldtown caused him pain.

“Thank you, my Lady, for your sweet words and concern. You little know how much they mean to me.” He responded, gazing back into her eyes with a level of adoration he could not fully conceal.

“You are, indeed, the dearest of friends,” he added, turning his hand to enclose hers within his and press it, as he placed emphasis on the word ‘dearest’.

As a gentle breeze moved through the foliage overhead, a golden glow cast itself over the grass, whilst Y/N and Gwayne continued to sit together in contented silence, hand in hand.

Y/N reached her hand further as she struggled for the third time to reach the highest shelf to retrieve the history book she sought from the library, even as she leant far away from the ladder she clung to. Losing her balance, she let out a frightened shriek as she fell a shorter distance than she had been expecting, landing in someone’s outstretched arms. Opening her eyes, which she had closed in her panic, she was met with the charming smirk of Gwayne Hightower, a light in his eyes, the source of which she could not place, considering the circumstances.

“Nice of you to drop in, once again, my Lady. Perhaps I should escort you everywhere, lest you need someone to catch you at a moment’s notice.”

Swatting his arm, she laughed.

“You already follow me about far more than you should, you rogue. Now put me down.”

Gwayne laughed at her wit before reluctantly returning her to the ground, having momentarily rejoiced to be holding her in his arms.

A look of disbelief crossed his eyes, however, as he watched her make a movement as if to begin ascending the offending ladder, once again.

Moving his arm across to block her access to the ladder and to hold her in place by her elbows, he spoke to her in shock.

“What can you mean by attempting to injure yourself again when I have just gallantly saved you from your first attempt. Please remain on safely on the ground whilst I retrieve your book for you. If you could kindly point out the one you would like.”

Rolling her eyes at him affectionately, but nonetheless moving aside so that he could ascend the ladder instead, she pointed to the book she had been trying to retrieve.

Gwayne deftly ascended the ladder, reaching across easily to retrieve the book she had not been able to grasp before hopping back down smoothly.

“A book for the lady.”

Turning to place the book in her hand, he smiled at her with an affection he hoped was not to obvious, as she smiled at the book first and then at him.

“Thank you, Gwayne.”

His smile only grew as she met his with her own pretty smile and he was buoyed up at the thought that he should be someone she looked to for support or aid.

“Not a problem, my Lady. My longer arms are at your service.” He added, with a dramatic, sweeping bow which had her laughing and him rejoicing at the sound of it.

Ruminating fondly over the incident, later on that evening, Gwayne was struck by the difference in Y/N’s response to being in his arms this time, compared to when he had similarly caught her during their first meeting. Her quick rebuttal the first time was replaced by good humour and, he dared to hope, affection for him. At the very least, she did not seem to have been made uncomfortable by it. Whilst he understood that she continued to have an aversion to physical contact in general, his heart warmed to think that she should be comfortable with him, as she was with Alicent. He was honoured by her trust in him and tentatively began to hope that her trust and affection for him might grow into something more like his own feelings for her. That he could hope, one day, to offer himself to her as a husband. He would be happy to spend the rest of his days in her sweet company and that of his sister’s, living together in Oldtown, and would never impress upon her any other expectation. He struggled to think of a way to convey to her the depth of his love for her whole person, that it was an almost spiritual devotion to her that went beyond speech or touch. That their marriage could be an entirely emotional one, based on the love he held for her, and that he would never expect her to do anything more than merely consent to spend her days with him. Perhaps he could convince her that marriage did not need to be the cold transaction she believed it to be, or that it would have to involve physical contact which she found frightening. He would never solicit anything of the kind. The mere touch of her hand or the sound of her voice was all that he would ever need, if she would only consent to be his wife.

@liafiction @madamewhitesnake @rebeccawinters @ateliefloresdaprimavera @beebeechaos @darknessinside11 @read-just-cant @ganymede-princess @a-dorkier-book-keeper @leptitlu @ambrosia-v-black @labellapeaky @deltamoon666 @just-some-random-blogger

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower imagine #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower oneshot #alicent hightower

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indulgentdaydream · 11 months ago

Note

I may request something for our Jason boy, what about a nurse!reader where he saves her and she just goes 'so, do you're the guy who makes my job a living hell'?

If you can't do it, it's fine luv 🩷

of course I can do it!

Meet Cutes

Jason Todd X fem!nurse!Reader || Fluff Word Count: 1,035

Sorry this took a couple days, university is being rough :(

Warnings: blood, death, injuries, medical tool use (needle and sutures, etc.), drug mention, broken glass, stitches

You worked for a small Gotham 24-hour walk-in clinic. You always tried not to think too much about who was coming in and out. Some patients would stumble in, covered in blood and bruises, yet not have a scratch on them. Where did the blood come from? You never asked. You would treat whoever was assigned to you and then be on your merry way.

The clinic was closer to Crime Alley than anyone would have liked, but it settled for good service. Especially once the Red Hood started patrolling. Your very first day at the clinic had you stitching up five bullet wounds on the same patient. Your first patient of the day, at that, who had stumbled in at five in the morning. He was mumbling the whole time, swearing and cussing out Red Hood's entire legacy.

Over the months you had now worked there, bullet wounds were your most common injury. Followed by any kind of broken bone. Most of them babbled about the Red Hood, saying how he gotten them. You never asked any further, hoping to never poke your neck out to far in order to gain any attention.

You stood in the back, cleaning up one of the clinic rooms after having sent another probable criminal on their way with stitches and bandages. A crash rang out from the front, making you swivel your head.

You ran out to the lobby before freezing in your tracks. A robber stood at the prescription counter, gun in hand, pointed at the pharmacist. The shattered glass of the divider lay out on the floor around them, the pharmacist assistant cowering in fear as the robber yelled at her for certain drugs.

There weren't any patients in the waiting area. There were none left in the back. No other employee had been hurt. Only badly scared.

The robber hadn't see you yet. You were close to the reception desk. You inched sideways, trying not to make a sound or any sudden movement. There was a panic button under the desk that you could press, easily alerting the authorities. It was a clinic. They would prioritize you over all other petty Gotham crimes.

It was sad, but true.

The poor pharmacist assistant, Cindy, was slowly sorting out the drugs the robber was asking for, placing them in the bag he had thrown at her. She was trying to drag things out. That much you could tell.

You were behind the desk now, reaching for the button ever so slowly.

The automatic sliding front doors of the clinic opened. The robber changed his aim. Staring down the figure in the doorway.

Red Hood aimed his own gun, his shiny red helmet reflecting the florescent lights overhead.

Both of the shots rang out at the same time. Cindy screamed, dropping the bag of pills onto the floor.

Red Hood's shot landed true. Right between the eyes. The robber's had gone astray, but still managed to shoot through the out side of the Red Hood's leather sleeve, making him flinch back as a result.

You were frozen, hand hanging over the panic button. Did you press it? Or did you let the vigilante do his work?

You were still deciding as Red Hood walked over to Cindy, making sure she was alright. Two other nurses and another pharamacist ran out to help her. You watched as Red Hood stepped back, letting them take over.

He turned around, placing his gun back in his holster as he started to walk back out. He moved his hand to his arm, clamping his hand over it.

He walked past the reception desk.

"Wait," You said.

He paused and turned to look at you.

You nodded to his arm, "Let me stitch you up."

Surprisingly enough, he followed you into the back. He sat down on the cot you told him to. Took off his jacket when you said.

You found it awkward, standing in silence with the Red Hood. You decided to speak up as you started the first stitch, "So... you're the guy who makes my job a living hell?"

He turned his head to look at you, those white eyes of the helmet boring into you. You wished you could see some sort of facial expression of his.

When he spoke, his voice was modulated, "Did I not just save your clinic from a robbery? How is that a living hell?" There was a tone of sarcasm to it.

You smiled a little, "We get a lot of criminals coming in here post-fights. I've gotten pretty good at sewing up gunshot wounds that were your doing." You glance up at the helmet's eyes, "No offence."

"You fix up those assholes?"

"I fix up those human beings," You retaliate, finishing the last stitch. You step away, "I don't know them or their pasts. To me, they're innocent people that just need some healing."

You can see the confusion in his body language, his head turning down to ponder at how quickly you had stitched him up. He stayed quiet.

You turned away from him, gathering some bandages to wrap his arm up, "Though... I will say how most of them will rant to me about how much they hate you. More often than not admitting their own faults as they do."

Something like a chuckle filters through the modulator, "You know what? I hear the same stuff."

You can't help but laugh back. You bandage him up before nodding, "You're all set."

He nods in thanks, slipping his jacket back on. He extends his gloved hand for a shake, "What's your name?"

You give it to him, a little surprised at his firm yet gentle grip, "You may want to leave out the back door. I pressed our panic button before bringing you back here."

Red Hood nods in understanding, before walking out.

This would not be the last you saw of him. Because now he had a personal nurse.

The day after every visit of his, a bill comes in from Wayne Enterprises. You look at your colleague, "This guy is straight up stealing money from the rich to pay for his medical bills."

"As he should."

"Agreed."

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tinytalkingtina · 26 days ago

Text

Writing a Happier Ending

Written for the November @steddiemicrofic prompt, using the word "guard" and 532 words

Rating G | Ao3 link

Tags: Fairy tale, cursed Prince Steve, falling in love, first kisses, "as you wish" continuing to be peak romance

Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the lovely divider!

Once upon a time, a king and queen ruled over a kingdom bordered by a great lake. Though skilled in matters of diplomacy, and outwardly kind to those of their own station, the couple had never been blessed with a child.

The lack of an heir was a never-ending source of embarrassment for the king and queen. Their resentment towards each other grew and grew, until one day the pair sought out an audience with the powerful Fairy of the Forest.

When they begged her for a miracle, the fairy asked them why they wanted to have a child:

“You have a prosperous kingdom, why would you ask for more?”

The King and Queen replied that they wished to have an heir, so that their legacy might continue, and so someone might speak of their virtues long after they were gone.

The fairy thought for a moment.

“Very well,” she said. “I can grant you what you desire. But it comes at a price. Your child shall never truly be loved by another, unless they can see and accept him as he is.”

The monarchs readily agreed.

Prince Stephen was born soon after, a squalling star-marked beauty.

As the years passed and the prince grew, his parents held onto lofty expectations for their son. But no matter how hard he tried, the prince could never quite meet them. Eventually, the king and queen turned their attentions elsewhere.

One day, the prince made a rare appearance in town. Eddie tried not to gawk, as hard as it was.

Jeff saw him staring and rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows Prince Stephen is nothing but a pleasure seeker who’s bedded half the court. Better to stay clear of him.”

Surrounded by fawning courtiers, at first glance Stephen seemed just as vapid as Jeff proclaimed him to be. But the longer Eddie looked, the more he saw how people flocked to him only with selfish demands, and how guarded Stephen kept himself.

It was curiosity that drove Eddie to steal into the palace gardens that night, unable to rest until he found out what lay beneath the mask. Deep within the hedge maze, he found Stephen all alone, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at a book by candlelight.

Eddie's foot hit a stick on the path.

At the noise, Stephen drew his sword, but sighed when he found Eddie, frozen in fear.

“Hello. I suppose you also want something from me like all the others.”

Eddie stared at the tired and sad face before him.

“I don't want anything from you, your majesty.” Eddie replied. “But do you wish for something?”

Stephen shrugged. “Perhaps you can help me read this book. The letters dance around when I try.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Eddie said with a smile.

He returned the next evening, and many times after that.

Every night, the prince would ask Eddie what he wanted from him. And each night, Eddie would ask instead what Stephen desired for. Seasons passed, until one day he asked for something new:

“I wish for a kiss from someone who loves me.” Given permission, Eddie drew Stephen close.

“As you wish, my heart.”

And then the two of them ran away to start new lives elsewhere. Stephen learned how to do his own laundry and they lived happily ever after, the end.

Misc. notes: -Eddie ran an apothecary in town

-It was implied, but the idea with Steve seeking meaningless sex from those around him was it at least let him pretend someone cared for him, poor thing

#steddie #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficnovember #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tinawrites #getting the fairy tale-esque style down was fun

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mikewheeleranti · 1 year ago

Text

hogwarts legacy characters as tropes

includes: sebastian sallow, ominis gaunt, garreth weasley, amit thakkar

a/n: to the sebastian sallow stans, i'm gonna SPARE you. in this, anne is fine and he doesn't get into the dark arts.

sebastian sallow:

found family/friends to lovers

when you came to hogwarts, you came lonely. when you looked around after getting sorted into your house, everyone was sitting with somebody they knew, chatting away. planning to walk out, you're stopped short when a girl with short brown hair leaves her table to comes up to you. "hi, i'm anne! i couldn't help but notice you didn't have somewhere to sit, come by me and my brother, if you want to."

oh pls after that it was history, anne wasn't letting you go

ever since that dinner with anne and her twin, sebastian, in first year you were done for. sebastian's freckles and the way he blushed lightly in embarrassment when his sister would tease him for something made you swoon. ominis and anne taunted you about this endlessly, making you hide your face every time without fail.

anne definitely set you two up

anne told you many times that he did, in fact, like you back but it was hard to believe. he treated you like a normal friend, and those times you caught him staring at you he was just zoning out. so, pushing your feelings aside, you got ready to go to hogsmeade with anne, ominis, and sebastian. it took you and sebastian 15 minutes at honeydukes to realize the other 2 weren't coming. at the end of the day, you had confessed after you spilled butterbeer on his white shirt. "shit, im sorry! merlin, this is embarrassing. spilling a drink on the guy you like.." yea if u think you've seen him red you hadn't until that day.

you alr know those friendsgivings HIT

thanksgiving at hogwarts always made you a bit homesick, that feeling didn't come in 7th year with your "family." coming back to the slytherin common room after dinner, you stayed up all night talking with sebastian, who coincidentally got plastered with anne that night. " 'm gonna marry you one day" as he rested his head on your chest and dozed off, leaving your heart racing.

ominis gaunt:

forbidden romance

ominis' family would not approve of you, that is something he knew for a fact. his family was cold, distant, and in his eyes, evil. when he was younger, he would fantasize about escaping with his aunt, noctua gaunt, and moving somewhere far way. that wasn't possible anymore, but he still had you. you were his safe space, his place of hiding, and you meant everything to him. which is exactly why he had to hide you from anyone who could report your relationship to his family. many people warned you about being so close with a gaunt, but you both knew better.

many late nights sneaking around the castle and secret touches

you and ominis were once again sneaking around the castle, desperately trying to avoid peeves. his wand was leading both of you in the direction of the undercroft, linked arm in arm. when you two had gotten to the spot you made years ago, you would spend hours basking in each others presence. in the late hours of the night, ominis would make up for his lack of vision through sight and memorize everything about you. gentle touches along your face, kisses along your cheeks, forehead, eyelids, even. this man wants nothing more than to absolutely worship you, he thinks of you as his saving grace.

expect fear of his family

to put it lightly, ominis is terrified at the idea of his family ever finding you. he will do anything in his power to protect you. when the new fifth year tells him they need his help with sebastian, you are not coming, and that's final. he doesn't know what dangers may lie there. going back to the undercroft, he promises you many things, promises he will hold to his heart forever. "i will always protect you, my love" with a kiss as light as a feather below your ear. "you are so perfect" with your foreheads leaned against each other, and his hand rubbing your back.

garreth weasley:

good girl x bad boy (even if you aren't a girl)

you were never one to break rules in any way, always trying to keep up with your academics. you weren't at the top of your class, but you were up there and you had good relationships with your professors. which is why it was a little surprising that garreth weasley, the schools infamous "troublemaker" was talking to you right now. it was almost more surprising he knew your name. "y/n, help me out. please." "weasley, i am not stealing a dumb feather for you, please go back to making your wiggenweld potion."

lowkey cringed having to write troublemaker

also a bit of enemies to lovers

you were already annoyed enough that day, and the last thing you needed was weasley dragging you into his antics. though, fate was not on your side when you were walking out of the library and got dragged into a row of bookcases. "what the hell? let go of-" you were quickly cut off when garreth wrapped his hand around your mouth and kept you against a bookcase until you heard an angry professor sharp storm past. now whispering, you ask "what the hell is wrong with you?" just for him to cup the side of your face and kiss your cheek before smirking and walking away. "thank you, darling!"

it's definitely unexpected when you start dating, but not unwelcome.

his rebellious nature started to grow on you, not that you would do some of the stuff that he does around the castle. truth be told, he does find it adorable when you come up to him and proudly told him you skipped one class period. your professors and classmates alike are definitely shocked when they see you two laughing quietly together in the back of the class, but you convince him to study more and the improvement in his grades does not go unnoticed by your professors.

loves embarrassing you in public

he would never push your limits too far, but he loves teasing you in public whenever he can. he was always convinced he wouldn't be into pda, but then he met you. how could he resist from it if you were going to squirm away like that? if you told him you were uncomfortable with this he wouldn't, of course. but if you let him he would have the time of his life very obviously pulling you into an empty room when you were on your way to class.

amit thakkar:

academic rivals

amit frustrated you. you were at the top of your class for a while now, until he got out of second place and replaced you. this grabbed your attention on him, constantly glaring at him in class and in the hallways, which made you fall behind more. what was even more infuriating is that he didn't do anything more than give you a small smile in class. in fact, he admired you and your wit, and your dedication to staying at the number one spot drew him into you.

since he's the sweet man he is, he'd probably lead to your friendship

after you finally got your spot back, you didn't stop studying. there was no way anyone was going to take your spot again. astronomy was almost over, and the rest of the class was given to spend freely while professor shah handed back the most recent test. "good job, y/n." smirking, you looked at the red 98 on the parchment, turning over to amit to ask what he got. "95, what about you?" your smile could have lit the sky in replacement to the stars, he thinks. "98, maybe i should tutor you sometime." when you walk out of the room, he puts the parchment in his bag, glancing at the bold "100" on it.

people were definitely confused when you went from glaring at him to holding his hand

you were joking when you said you would tutor him, but he held your word to it. it was the week before exams and he actually had to help you grasp the fact that aries is not just a straight line. you could've gotten this long ago, but you noticed yourself becoming entranced with him. how was he so patient with you, and so kind? when you finally got the idea, you went into the exam ready. when you got one point higher than him on the exam, he congratulated you with a tight hug, and when you separated, you weren't very separated. leaning in, before your lips connected you said one last thing to him before summer. "don't think i'll go easy on you next year, you better write to me."

#hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #amit thakkar #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #garreth weasley x reader #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy imagine

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rosesareredrosa · 3 months ago

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You're Not Your Father

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo doesn't believe he makes y/n feel safe because he's Voldys son and y/n makes him see that Mattheo is not like Voldy

w/c: 1289

Mattheo Riddle stood in the dimly lit corridor, leaning against the cold stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes, usually so intense, softened as they met mine. I approached cautiously, my footsteps echoing in the quiet until I was close enough to see the faint worry etched on his face.

"I make you feel... safe?" Mattheo repeated, his voice gruff and filled with disbelief. He balked at the idea, furrowing his brow. "You're sure? Me?"

I smiled, a small, gentle curve of my lips. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him, but I held back for now. "You seem all gruff and angry, Mattheo, but you do honestly care about me. At least it feels like you do."

His jaw tightened, and he looked down at the ground, a heavy silence settling between us. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to reconcile what I was saying with the image he had of himself. How could he not see what I saw? To him, he was nothing more than the son of the Dark Lord, destined to carry on his father’s legacy. Darkness had always been his identity, his fate.

"You don't understand," he muttered, frustration and desperation lacing his voice. "I’m not the kind of person who makes anyone feel safe. I'm not... good."

My heart ached hearing him say that. I knew he believed it, but I couldn’t let him think that way. I took a step closer, refusing to let him retreat into the shadows. "I know who you are, Mattheo. I know who your father is. But you’re not him."

His reaction was immediate—he recoiled slightly, his eyes narrowing as if my words had struck him. "I'm his son," he snapped back, anger flaring. "I have his blood, his darkness. People fear me because of him—because they think I’ll become him."

His voice was filled with a raw anger that made my chest tighten. But beneath that anger, I could hear the fear, the doubt. He was so used to being seen as a threat, as someone to be feared, that he couldn’t comprehend the idea of being anything else.

"But you’re not him," I insisted, my voice firm but gentle. I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest as I reached out to him. My fingers brushed against his, and I could feel the tension in his body. "You’re not defined by him, no matter what anyone says. You get to choose who you are."

Mattheo shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, but his voice wavered, the conviction in his words faltering. "I can’t be anything but this. It’s in my blood."

I could see the war raging inside him—the fear that he was doomed to follow in his father’s footsteps, that darkness was his destiny. But I refused to let him believe that. I took another step closer, my hand gently intertwining with his. He didn’t pull away, and that gave me hope.

"You’re not your father, Mattheo," I whispered, my voice filled with all the emotion I’d been holding back. "You’re your own person. You have a choice. And I see you—the real you."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his dark eyes searching mine as if trying to find some hint of deception. But there was none. I meant every word. I saw past the cold exterior, past the reputation he carried like a shield. I saw the boy who cared, who was capable of so much more than he gave himself credit for.

Slowly, he exhaled, the tension in his body starting to ease. "Maybe," he started, his voice barely above a whisper, "maybe you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I could be that person."

I smiled, a small tear slipping down my cheek as I closed the distance between us. I reached up, gently cupping his cheek in my hand. He leaned into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if he was allowing himself to believe it too.

"You don’t have to be anyone else," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "Just be you. That’s enough for me."

For the first time, I saw something in Mattheo's eyes that I hadn’t seen before—hope. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And as we stood there, in the shadows of the castle, I knew that maybe, just maybe, I could be the light he needed to guide him out of the darkness he had lived in for so long.

He opened his eyes again, and for a moment, we just stood there, locked in a silent exchange that spoke louder than any words ever could. I could feel the heat of his skin against my palm, the subtle tremor of his breath as he struggled to hold onto the fragile hope I’d offered him. It was as if he was standing on the edge of a precipice, torn between stepping back into the safety of the darkness he knew so well and daring to reach for the light I held out to him.

"You don’t understand what it’s like," he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Every day, I feel like I’m fighting against something inside me, something that’s always trying to pull me under. It’s like there’s this darkness in my blood, in my very soul, and no matter how hard I try, it’s always there, waiting to take over."

I tightened my grip on his hand, my heart breaking for him. "You’re stronger than you think, Mattheo," I said softly. "You’ve been fighting that darkness your whole life, and you’re still here. That takes strength. You’re not alone in this fight anymore. I’m here with you."

His eyes widened slightly, as if the idea of having someone by his side, someone who truly cared about him, was something completely foreign. "Why?" he asked, his voice barely more than a breath. "Why would you want to help me? I’m... dangerous. I’m the son of Voldemort, Y/N. I’m not someone you should be around."

I shook my head, feeling a fierce determination rise within me. "You’re not your father," I repeated, my voice steady. "You’re Mattheo. And I see you. I see the person you are, not the person you’re afraid you might become. You have a good heart, no matter how much you try to hide it. And I’m not going to walk away just because it’s hard. I’m not afraid of you, Mattheo."

The silence stretched between us again, thick with unspoken emotions. I could see the turmoil in his eyes, the way he struggled to accept what I was saying. But I also noticed something else—something that made my heart swell with hope. For the first time, he looked like he wanted to believe me, like he was daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be something more than his father’s legacy.

Tentatively, he lifted his other hand to cover mine, holding it against his cheek as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality. "I don’t know how to be anything else," he admitted, his voice trembling. "But I want to try... for you."

I smiled, my heart swelling with a mixture of relief and love. "That’s all I ask," I whispered, my thumb brushing gently against his skin. "Just try. I’ll be here every step of the way."

And at that moment, as we stood together in the shadows, I realised that we were both finding something we hadn’t known we were looking for—a sense of safety and belonging in each other.

#slytherin x reader #slytherin boys #angst with a happy ending #fluff #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo fluff #mattheo angst #harry potter

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tenderleavesbob · 5 months ago

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Flora kept staring at him.

Warriors tried not to flinch under the weight of her gaze. He stared at the book in his hands but he couldn't focus on the words. Even after all the centuries, the blood of the Goddess Hylia remained strong, and it was hard not to cringe when one of Hylia's children stared so intently at you.

Flora was a Zelda. Flora was safe, but no matter how many times Warriors told himself that, he couldn't stop his skin from crawling. Flora wasn't like her. Flora was nothing like her.

They had a job to do, but with Flora staring so intently at him, the book's words seemed to dance nonsensically in front of Warriors's eyes. With Wild's era being the farthest along the timeline, to the best of their knowledge, and with the castle's library being safe, it seemed like a good place to explore and find out information about their mysterious enemy.

So why was Flora staring at Warriors? Had he done something? Grabbed the wrong book? What had he done?

"Captain Link, sir," Flora called politely. Always so politely. So different from his Zelda. "I was meaning to ask you... Your scarf. If you don't mind me asking, I notice you're the only one with a color like that. Was it yours or...?"

So awkward, too. Very different from his Zelda. She liked to stick to the point and occasionally threw in her sword's point for extra emphasis.

Warriors closed his book. He wasn't going to make any progress with it. "It was given to me as part of the uniform. My Zelda knew that the hero would awaken soon and wanted to give her own special touch to the uniform."

The scarf had proven to be a lifeline during the war. Something soft and warm to cling to when the nights went on and on, cold and dark and endless. Something to wrap around his boys, something he could use to staunch the bleeding, something he could use to wipe away silent tears. It was the greatest gift that Zelda had ever given him.

Flora hummed and tapped her lower lip. Wild paused halfway up the bookshelf he was climbing, only to continue when Flora smiled and waved at him.

"It's just..." Flora blushed and lowered her eyes back to her book. "I heard all of you talking the last time you were here. When you were wondering about everyone's place in the timeline... I couldn't help but notice that your scarf matches the Champion's tunic. Do you think, perhaps... Perhaps your era is the one before ours?"

Warriors and Wild paused. Warriors studied Wild, now almost to the top of the bookshelf, and his blue tunic. Warriors fingered his scarf.

"I don't know," Warriors said quietly. He thought of the destruction in this era, how the seeds were planted thousands of years ago.

Then he thought about his fears regarding his legacy. The whispers in his own time of his beauty and how it worth sparking a war over.

No one in this time seemed to know of that. They thought of the blue of his scarf and thought hope and clad their champions in it.

Warriors tightened his grip on his scarf. "But I would like that."

#lu warriors #tl scribbles #lu Flora

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cillivnz · 2 years ago

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MISS A SPOT, HIT THE SPOT [lord dimitrescu]

pairing. LORD DIMITRESCU x MAID!READER (dub!con turned consensual)

initial, DIMITRESCU SONS x READER (very dubious consent)

word count. 3072

warnings. AFAB!reader, cursing, misogynistic themes, animal cruelty (using gator-skin on furniture; don’t call PETA on me, i’m sorry), groping, a little bit of exhibitionism, dub!con, fingering, reader is pinned against the wall, reader’s family has been serving the Dimitrescus, large age-gap, oral sex (both receiving), throat-fucking, tongue-fucking, clit play, pyromania, dacryphilia, extreme degradation, belittling, spitting, penetrative sex (p! in v!), squirting, multiple & forced orgasms, extreme breast/nipple play, reader’s just being used by the family, reader is called maid as well as a pet name in Romanian, unprotected sex, creampie.

listening to. ‘Enslaved’ by Diva Destruction

notes. Y/L — Your Last Name, Y/F/N — Your Father’s Name, căprița mea mică — my little doe

A regular day in an abysmal castle.

Your ancestry were sworn servants of the Dimitrescu royals, and ensuing your father’s demise after leading a devoted life to the Lord, it was your turn.

You managed to avoid his acknowledge, as well as his sons’; something you thanked your stars for. You were still at a tender age; early twenties yet unexposed to the worldly works, courtesy of your conservative father. You loved the old man, despite him giving you constant reminders that your birth doomed him— how you should’ve been a son to continue his legacy, not a fragile, worthless woman. But those words only came out of his mouth like venom when he was made to overwork or worse— punished.

And like any other day you were dusting the halls. Except it wasn’t every other day you felt your skirt lift up fervently by two strong hands who also pinned you against the wall. An heir. Another, holding you down, while one tugged at your blouse. Alas, the Dimitrescu boys had found you.

“Well, well, the silhouette comes to life.” The one pining you spoke. He had a raspy voice with some baritone to it. “Sire, please leave me be—” you beseeched, but before you could even beg, you choked on your own words as your thong was pushed to the side. “She wants to leave, yet you roam about our land dressed like a whore.” This erupted demonic laughter from all three. “You thought we ought not to catch on?” The one below spoke, his face so close to your cunt, you felt heat radiate off of him with every syllable he dragged. “Your scent lingers— hauntingly— how we’ve chased after your ghost.” “But you were always too fast, little doe.”

“Always teasing us — where were you hiding this beauty? Hm?” One teased, his stone cold lips grazing your bare shoulder. “Moreover where had you been hiding this ass of yours?”

You jolted when a harsh slap landed on your ass, your not-so-subtle moan eliciting evil laughter from the men harassing you.

The one gripping your ass began to spread it, you writhed like a worm in their vice-like embrace, begging and praying for the abuse to be over; in a way it was.

The minute you felt something stroke your folds, prodding at your entrance, a demonic thunder struck. “What do you have here, boys?” They froze, as did you. This is the most cooperation you four have shown, as if unsaid, yet understood that if you hold your breath and close your eyes, the Lord can’t hurt you.

But slowly, as if puppies caught creating chaos by their master, did the boys move away from you. Bright yellow eyes ablaze in the monotonous dark of his castle. His eyes darted from your glassy eyes staring at him, the fear in them, to your rosy cheeks, blood-red lips, and straight to your skirt; your ass was out since a Dimitrescu brother hiked it up, the same heir, on realising what his father’s hungry eyes were doting upon, made a feeble attempt to fix your skirt, but before his fingers, barely tainted with your slick wetness, could touch the fabric of your skirt, let alone fix it, his father ordered. “Don’t you dare lay hands on her, more than you have already.” The Lord spoke with utmost calmness, and that’s what terrified the four of you, you especially, the most.

Reluctantly but obediently they stepped away from you. You were still clinging to the wall, frozen in place. “Come on over,” You saw his gloved hand motion towards him, “My chambers need cleaning.” An ominously mischievous tone and provocative smirk tugged at his lips.

The walk to the Lord’s chambers was awkward and fearful. He had insisted you walked in front of him, and you could feel eyes ripping through your flesh, your predator ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

You were making feeble steps towards his chambers, almost there, when he interrupted you, “Halt,” he said, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, but you dare not look back at him. “Clean my study firstly.” He ordered, and waited by the door for you to turn around.

Once you turned, you were met by calculating amber eyes that peered down at you from a head held high. He stood by the doorframe, and on seeing you make weak, yet progressive steps towards him, his thunderous strides entered the chamber. He was seated on a leather chair by the time you entered, as if he’d been there the entire time. ‘Gator skin,’ you heard a rumour the one time you cleaned the Lord’s study before. ‘He tore it apart with his bare hands, and had it skinned into a chair as a trophy.’ You hadn’t believed the chamberlain until you’d seen it yourself.

On the left of it was an ablaze fireplace, and in front, was a library; not colossal, yet extreme in number. Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display.

“Do you fancy reading?” You almost jumped when his ravenous voice broke the eerie silence you were just growing accustomed to. “Yes, my Lord.” You seemed to pique his interest when he hummed after a short pause, surprised within yourself at the sudden confidence. It was clear, you preferred the father’s company to his sons’. Perhaps, you felt safe knowing he is the leash on his sons— the fear of your fears.

“Well, if your cleaning is satisfactory, perhaps… I’ll let you take some.” the Lord proposed, but somehow you knew this reward wasn’t for cleaning but something else he wanted to deem satisfactory.

You dare not utter another word and got to cleaning.

Dusting away, between books, underneath books; wiping away at the large mirror by the shelves. “What do they call you?” He asked with authority.

“Y/N Y/L, my Lord,” you hesitantly revealed. “Y/L!” He exclaimed, “You’re Y/F/N Y/L’s daughter,” he concluded in a wicked tone. With each wipe, he grew closer and closer and the horrid smile on his face grew wider and more sinister, forcing you to look back at him at a neck-snapping speed, only to catch him, still seated, gazing at you innocently.

“Mop the floors,” he requested, before adding “Maid.” As if asking your revelation of your identity fell on deaf ears that never demanded it. Without muttering, you dampen the mop and began cleaning.

This was just cruel.

You thought your saviour actually required your services, yet the man had you in the same position as his sons, except voluntarily, for you had to bend on all fours and stretch not to miss a spot, after all you were cleaning your master’s land, at his request. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ you sighed, only daring to think of it.

You heard fervent movement behind you, and the next thing you feel is your thong being pulled down till your ankles. It happened all too fast, you barely registered anything until his large hands spread you open to him. “They were right about you,” He spoke, intrigued, “Such exemplary beauty, căprița mea mică. Utterly pristine.”

Noticing your haltered movements, he quirked a brow. “Did I permit you to stop?” You choked a gasp, feeling his left hand trace your curves, making its way to squeeze your throat, while his right hand fiddled with your glistening folds. “No sir,” you breathed a sigh at the pleasure he was making you feel. “Fucking continue then.” He ordered and you did.

Maybe not a regular day in an abysmal castle. Your 9’6 Lord and Master, the fearsome and notorious, the head of the dreaded Dimitrescu family, Lord Dimitrescu himself, kneeling behind you while you wipe his floors, fingers stroking your lips, not yet penetrating, just— “Oh!” You moaned when a long, thick, wet something slithered about your pussy. Prodding at the places his very fingers grazed, now wiggling inside you.

You began panting, about to look back and begin your pleads when a strong hand grabbed your skull and forced it in place.

You were terrified; just a bit more coaxing and he could crack open your skull. You were less than half his size and half his age. What was more frightening to you was that it was just the tip of his tongue inside you. Your eyes rolled back and damn-near saw your brain as he began pushing more of it in.

Still, obediently, you wiped.

This pleased the Lord as he wrapped an arm over your waist to your legs and brought his thumb to your clit. The circular motions of figure-eights on your clit were frantic, causing an excruciating jolt of pleasure to run down your lower half, his anomaly of a tongue amplifying the feel.

You bit you lip, nearly drawing blood as the knot in your core grew unbearable. Feeling you clench around his tongue, Lord Dimitrescu replaced the oral attack with two of his fingers, stretching you so bittersweetly. The assault on your cunt was aching. He’d graze your g-spot oh-so-softly, slowly driving you to the edge yet deliberately prolonging the high tide. “You are making a mess, căprița mea mică,” he sighed, eyeing the slick dripping down your thighs, drenching you in all, and the wooden floor beneath you. “Allow me to help.” It was more imperative than offering, so it was but natural you grimaced in pain when he pulled out his fingers, moments before you were coming undone, only to spread your aching hole and spit into it.

You moaned; shamelessly, you let out a filthy, degraded moan, and the sound travelled straight to the Lord’s cock. “There, there,” he rubbed his spit on your folds, your swollen clit bathed in it, “All better — nice and clean.” He chuckled, causing goosebumps to arise on your spine and your breath to get caught in your throat when he shoved not two but three fingers smoothly into your weeping cunt.

You clenched at the sudden attack, bewildered at how easily you were being made to cum for your master yet again. He rose from his position to whisper in your ear, “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” At that moment, he had you unravelling with a curl on his fingers inside you.

You screaming a string of curses, the Lord greatly amused by your sailor’s tongue.

He stood up, without a word or move. “Clean the mess you made.” He gestured down at your juices that he flowed out of your cunt. “And while you’re down there…” He unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock that sprang free, a demonic thing, it was; certainly, not pleasurable to accommodate inside, unless…

“Don’t be afraid, maid.” His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring.

“It can’t hurt you, unless I want it to.” His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you. You wavered off the uneasiness, still eager to please your master. Grabbing his colossal cock, you began to work out the large vein on the underside of it. He hissed when you applied pressure, using both your hands in an attempt to hold it; in vain it went. You licked the tip, before slowly taking it in your mouth.

“That’s it. Show me you’re an all-rounder, maid; not just for wiping floors, show me that’s not all you can do bent over.” He chuckled, something so sinister about how his own vulgarity was so amusing to him. However, you weren’t opposed to it. After all, orders were orders; that’s one thing your father did teach you, if ordered directly, orders are orders, even if they’re fatal.

You gagged on less-than half the length, but your quick save by jacking off the inches unabsorbed by your mouth was much appreciated by the man above you. His large palm resting atop your head, slowly caressing your messed up hair into place. The gesture nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

“You take it like it was made for you.” He cooed. You couldn’t help but put your guard down, making it unknowingly advantageous to the Lord who grabbed the same head he was caressing, as support to fuck your throat. He only chuckled at the stream of years flowing through your glassy eyes. Your flushed face tainted with tears was now red with lack of oxygen. His cock was slamming past your uvula; the bell tolls, as if he were morally obligated to.

“So young, yet you suck cock like you’ve been a whore all your life.” He chuckled to himself, before thrusting in deeply, and cumming inside your mouth. You swallowed his ichor without being told, when you stuck out your tongue to show him, he groaned, face contorted in some form of arousal, as he lifted your frame to his, kissing you with neediness. His lips were surprisingly tender, beard teasing your face while his tongue, one that swept your insides clean, forced entry into your mouth, which you hesitantly permitted.

“Dust by the fireplace, better get to it.” He said, pulling away from you. You grabbed the supplies and moved towards the said place. You hadn’t noticed when the flames became blazing, a conflagration, either way, you dipped the mop in the bucket beside you, and began wiping.

You couldn’t get much done, however, for from underneath your skirt, you felt something big prod your entrance. Rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, Lord Dimitrescu positioned himself behind you, before shoving the whole of it in. You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure. “My…-my Lord!” You moaned, trying to form an actual sentence, “This is highly inap…-inappropriate!” You managed to muster. “Really now?” He questioned, you don’t know if it was a scoff or a laugh following his amused tone. “Who,” he paused, pushing you forward. You were now a stone’s throw away from the fire, every thrust into you pulled you back, which, despite the burn of the stretch, made you grateful for you were pulled back from the fireplace. “Do you think,” he continued, thrusting into you harder each time; the heat of the fire threatening to melt you whole, grazing your face, delicately. “You are.” He finished, slamming into you so hard, you began to cum, but before you could unravel before him, he pulled out, causing your pussy to spasm around the eerie nothingness of the room.

You were reduced to a whining mess, no words coming out of your abused mouth. “What’s the matter, maid? You want to cum?” he questioned, gripping your curvy hips. “Even when you’ve missed a spot?” One of his arms snaked on your waist, the other roamed about your spine, laying you down, before pulling your head up by your hair.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he groaned, cock pressing against your slit, it’s new home, yet not in. He grabbed the bucket of freshwater besides you, pouring it all on the floor. “Let’s get that spot, shall we?” He said, before doing something so degrading, you felt disgusted in your own skin for enjoying.

Your hot body was used to wipe the floors of Lord Dimitrescu’s study. Ripping your blouse into shreds, he groped your breasts that had sprang free, before positioning your chest on the wet floor, and swaying you left to right.

This man, your ancestry’s master, was balls deep inside your abused pussy, fucking away the life in you, while using your tits as a mop. You moaned as your burning skin made contact with the icy puddle. “That’s how you wipe, căprița mea mică, so much better.” He grunted, the pace, the size, the girth, the sheer brutality of his sex was like a punch to the gut, nonetheless your poor cunt made feeble attempts to get accustomed to the ongoing torture. Your cunt clenched around his cock while your breasts swayed from side to side, the carpet had soupçons of water, courtesy of the fervency with which you “wiped”, which it soaked up instantly.

“My Lord, I’m going to- oh!” You yelped when he pulled out, shoving his fingers inside you and curling them. You hadn’t anticipated this, body reacting on sheer adrenaline junk that’s been coaxed out of you since the incident with this man’s sons in the halls of his castle.

Then, as fate would have it, mocking your misery, you squirted all over the floor. The juices gushing out your cunt, drowning the man that coaxed them out. He giggled, like a fucking teenager, while you fought for consciousness. Sure, you’d had sex before, he was a chef in this very place who mysteriously disappeared, but a man Lord Dimitrescu’s size? You had never held your head high around the family, avoiding their gaze like a thief, and now he’s fucking you like a stinging reminder of why you should’ve stayed in the shadows— remained a silhouette.

You were sore from the previous two orgasms, yet the man made it look easy to coax your third. The hostility your cunt displaying, clenching around the wanted, yet unmanageable penetration, was enough to unravel Lord Dimitrescu, you following with pornographic screams.

His grip on your hip and scalp was tormenting, but it soon loosened when he pumped into you one last time, pussy milked dry, filled with his overflowing load. He exhaled sharply, pulling up your panties, tapping your ass lightly. “You have been amazing — definitely considering promoting you.” He seemed very proud of his joke. Leaning down to catch your ear where you’d nearly passed out on the ground, he whispered in your ear. “Now, clean up.”

He left a moment after, stopping at the doorway to catch a glimpse of your sexy, worn out body. “My room’s next.” He said, leaving you alone with a shit load of mess to clean.

Your mess.

main masterlist. more from “resident evil: village”.

#lord dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu genderbent #lady dimitrescu #genderbent #lord dimitrescu smut #lord dimitrescu x reader #lord dimitrescu x reader smut #size difference #resident evil #resident evil village #dimitrescu #monster smut #vampire smut #lord dimitrescu sons #dimitrescu family #resident evil dimitrescu #maid dress #slutty maid

1K notes · View notes

tremendum · 7 months ago

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Me and the Devil; ii

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader previous next series masterlist

word count: 7.1k

summary: Paul knows that whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more. So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight. It will start with the box to his right.

warnings: allusions to smut, knife kink if you squint very hard, still the same familial trauma, descriptions of blood/violence, Paul and reader are beefing, fear, Paul has one (1) almost-panic attack, still switching POVs, no betas because i am lazyyyyy

notes: thank u all AGAIN for the support and feedback, its what keeps me motivated :) i am planning on posting the next update later today over on AO3, so i figured i'd post another chapter on here too! lmk what y'all think, tysm for the support! love to u all xx

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In the revered customs of House Bourbon, the path to marriage is paved with cherished rituals and symbolic gestures, each sacred to the planet Sabberon's culture. Though the house may have dwindled in stature over the past three centuries, its customs and rituals remain a testament to the enduring legacy of a once-great lineage.

Unlike the grandiose affairs of some of the larger noble houses, betrothal within House Bourbon is a deeply intimate and sacred process, guided by the rhythms of nature. Rooted in their own ancient spiritual religion, which has endured through centuries of change and upheaval, marriage is viewed as not merely a union between two individuals, but a harmonious life in the embrace of the natural world.

This section reviews the process of Courtship and Betrothal for the House of Bourbon, including:

Betrothal Gifts

Heirloom Exchange

Harvest Festival Offering

Ceremony: Handfasting Ritual and Vows

Marriage Consummation.

- "Chapter 68: Customs of Marriage," The Noble Lineage: Exploring the Customs and Cultures of the Houses Major of Landsraad. Atreides Library.

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The video drones on as Paul stares absently, his eyes heavy. There's a skip suddenly, jolting his head on his jaw as he blinks down at the textbook. The words are blurry until he shakes his head, resuming reading along as the documentary plays; a faint twitch in his left eye has not left since he started reading the chapter.

"marriage consummations are a deeply personal and intimate affair..." the voice, factual, settles unease within Paul's stomach. Averting his eyes from the screen, he scans the page in front of him, trying to fight the resentment that bubbles in his chest.

Among the more unique of traditions of House Bourbon, the consummation of marriage takes place outdoors, through a path walked by many ancestors. Upon a pristine white sheet, under the House's Sacred Pine Tree, this ritual symbolizes not only producing legally recognized descendants, but also the sacred union of the betrothed with nature and their ancestral lineage.

Paul's eyes read the passage unblinkingly as his cheeks burn; his throat dries quickly.

A clear of his throat, he looks to Thufir Hawat, who watches the video documentary with an irritatingly calm expression. What kind of archaic ritual culture did this house have? He can hardly imagine you practicing these traditions on Giedi Prime; This thought makes his mouth sour and a wave of realization washes over Paul, leaving him with a sense of profound unease.

As his eyes flick back to the textbook in front of him, the words blurring and dancing before his vision, he bristles. They mock him with their implications; slowly he feels the weight of expectation bearing down on him, pressure threatening to suffocate him.

He was trained from a young age for this, but it is all happening much too quick. The blood slams through Paul's veins suddenly in pounding bursts; the noises are too loud, the walls too close. Anger washes over him, his jaw clenching tight.

"Perhaps I should be studying Harkonnen tactics instead of this." he mutters, crossing his arms defiantly. "She's likely much more accustomed to that, anyways." It's childish, sure - he can barely breathe, however, and his tunic is stuck to his chest. His breathing is hard.

"Paul, you mustn't-"

His rage takes hold, though. "-No! Nobody will listen. She was one of them for almost half a decade. She was accused of espionage, her family was proved of it - who's to say this isn't one big Harkonnen plot?"

The man lets him get out his anger - Mentat training can take a lot out of one, anyways; Paul can't bring himself to school his emotions today. Why is his father not more concerned with the girl's presence?

"Thufir." Paul snaps suddenly, standing abruptly, his heart thundering in his chest.

The Mentat looks to him - Paul sighs. "I will read about this later, I swear to it. But I'd prefer to train right now, if it's all the same to you."

There is a clear hesitation, but Paul's cold stare earns him a conceding sigh.

"Very well. Your father suggests you gift her soon, but..." He finishes, clearly noticing the overwhelmed look on Paul's face. "Sit down, my Lord. Let us begin today with cause and effect-"

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The sun hides behind sullen clouds when it hits midday, casting long shadows of light among the windows.

When you woke early in the morning, your handmaidens told you that the Duke wished to meet with you later in the afternoon, and that you're invited to join the family for supper this evening. Besides this, your day is free.

So you lie in bed most of the morning, staring warily at the dark corner of your bedroom, half-expecting the ghost to emerge from the shadow again; clenching your jaw, expecting him to come out, to crawl over your frame, to trap your jaw in his sinister grip.

He doesn't, though, and eventually you call in the maids for a spot of tea.

You feel like anything is better than meeting with the Duke - In your reluctance you'd been struck with a feeling of restlessness, anxiety curling warm as a small cat in your stomach.

Sitting up straight from where the maids had been styling your hair, you'd cleared your throat; "I'd like to go explore." you'd stated, fingers aching for the comfort of metal.

They'd shared looks of surprise - you pretended not to notice. You haven't left your room much in the days since arriving on Caladan, besides attending meals and the one time Paul had escorted you around the premises - truthfully, you still feel like you're in a dream.

You'd sat patiently as they insisted you bathe, eating a full meal before the sun had hit the middle of the sky. The maids finally dress you in casual clothes and quietly, with the need to do something with your hands, you decide to find the armory.

Pulling yourself together, you leave your chambers quietly, hoping to avoid contact with anyone who may be around at this hour. You can't help the smile on your lips when you take a deep breath - It's more fresh in this castle.

Perhaps your lungs are so used to heavily recycled air within your confines back on Giedi Prime, or you're trying to find something to prove that what you've endured hasn't been for nothing; That this life will be, in some way, better than that one ever could have been.

You slink through the halls, on alert each time you pass a guard or worker, hoping you run in to no familiar faces. You've chosen to deny an escort through the castle; you prefer to be alone to your thoughts, anyways.

A shiver runs down your back as you take in the patterned wooden beams that place intricate shadows over your frame; high, vaulted ceilings, old stone that feels wet to the touch. This place is truly beautiful in an ancient, grand way.

In another world, you would have felt such joy to call this your home.

Today's clothing is more forgiving; your trousers are loose but more reinforced at the hips and waist, allowing you to move much quicker and quietly through the halls. The only noise you emit is from your cloaked veil. Momentarily, you debate just ripping the veil off, burning it in one of the several hearths in the vicinity.

A small rage burns within you, simmering and igniting more each day you go on like this - resentment for the customs that you barely know, for your house that no longer exists. You wish to see the planet without green-tinted vision.

But the image of your sister's grave all those years ago; the sight of your family falling in the sand pit of the Harkonnen arena... you swallow thickly.

The walls seem much more empty as you go further into the castle's bowels, dragging your palm along the cool stone. As you round a corner, you're stopped in your tracks upon an ornate doorway, its intricate carvings catching your eye.

There is an engraving of a man and a bull deep in the wood of the door and your fingers trace over the lines of the man's shoulders before you gently push against it.

It gives easily.

Inside is a dimly lit study; The room is filled with shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes and artifacts, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. The breath you take is blown back out with particles of dust in the sunlight - several pieces of select furniture are covered with sheets, as if the room is no longer commissioned.

You bite the sense that you're somewhere you're not supposed to be. You know there is no true danger - if you were to wander somewhere you didn't belong on Giedi Prime, you'd have been punished. You doubt, however, that the guards here would dare touch you unless you gave them a reason to.

You walk along the treasure trove of secrets, hidden away from prying eyes; a large hawk spreading its wings carved in the window in front of you.

It's large, proud; green and black with gold embellishments. The Atreides colors.

There's a book that your forefinger traces - a deep blue color, the spine is old and well-read. A few of the pages are even dog-eared, the dust deliberately swept off its pages as if it was read recently. Caladan: A Comprehensive Ecological Study of Biodiversity.

You nearly pull it out to study its contents, momentarily forgetting the task of finding the armory in your piqued interest; Yet you can explore further, you hear footsteps approaching from behind.

Hair stands up on your neck.

They're light, sneaking- intentionally quiet. You whirl around quick, snarling as your hand instinctively goes to your hip. You come up empty, a flash of disappointment washing over you as a reminder of your absent beloved nameday knife.

You turn just in time to see Paul Atreides standing in the doorway, his expression shockingly guarded as he takes in the sight of you standing amidst the shelves. You flounder, having expected it to be one of your handmaidens coming to redirect you, or perhaps a member of the Duke's guard.

Paul stares at you, too - clearly, he was not expecting to see you either. His eyes turn suspicious, flickering to the desk beside you, towered with old texts on the Atreides family and war strategy.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice cold and accusatory. His cheeks are red, eyes narrow - he’s harsh in the dim lighting, when you'd thought he'd look soft. You don't need to see the crazed look in his eyes to see he's flustered about something. Irritated.

"This is my father's old study. It's not meant for prying eyes," Paul's voice slices through the air, sharp and accusatory.

Your heart lurches at the implication, a rush of heat prickling your skin as you stiffen. "I was looking for a place to train," you shoot back, your tone laced with defiance. You refuse to cower under his suspicion, no matter how thinly veiled. "I didn’t intend to intrude on your father's privacy. You may give him my apologies when you see fit."

The air seems to crackle in the distance between you, thick and palpable as Paul's piercing gaze meets yours, distrust laced through his gaze even as he maintains his chivalrous facade. The way his eyes narrow sends a surge of indignation coursing through you, your pride flaring in response.

"Forgive me if I’ve offended you," Paul's words are clipped, his tone tinged with an edge that sets your jaw tight. "Considering certain connections you may have, it's important to be cautious in matters of trust. But if you're lost, then allow me to escort you."

You bristle at the narrowly disguised accusation, your temper heating your cheeks. "Forgive me for assuming you’d know better than to judge me based on the actions of others," you retort, your voice sharp with wound. "Please don't exert yourself, my Lord, I'm sure I can find the armory without a chaperone."

With a sharp pivot, you brush past him in the doorway, your steps quick and purposeful. Each footfall echoes in the corridor, a staccato rhythm that you cannot bring yourself to care about hiding. Anger pulses through your veins, simmering your resentment. You refuse to be belittled or underestimated, not by him or anyone else.

Paul told you just yesterday that you will one day be Lady Atreides; if he is so afraid of your so-believed connections with House Harkonnen, why has he not insisted you be cast away?

You've observed Paul and his father together, and it's clear he is valued not just because he is the son of the Duke but because he is smart, cunning. Your face darkens at a thought as you tear past corners, finally rounding into a familiar area.

Your own lineage is gone. A house as old as the planet it ruled, burnt to the ground - the other Houses Major complacent and willing to see it happen - and they plan to use you for themselves.

You barely see anything but red.

If they think you can be manipulated to their advantage, they are sorely mistaken. you may be betrothed to Paul Atreides, but you will never be a part of their house; your blood is the ancient blood of the Pine, of the Sword.

You'll have to be a wife to the future Duke - sire an heir, live in the castle, command the planet. But you will not go down easy.

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The armory is not as empty as you'd wished.

In fact, it is one person too many; you're mistaken sorely when you storm in, chest heaving and cheeks hot with anger, to find one person standing in the middle of the floor. You are vibrating with hurt, anger boiling over - the only thing that will placate you might be swinging a knife.

"Duncan." You greet him icily, your voice devoid of warmth. He faces you, blinking back his surprise. He uses your first name like a secret as he greets you; a flip of your stomach. You'd almost forgotten that name.

"Is everything alright?" He asks. A foolish question, really. You want to scream - Why did you wait so long to get me? Where were you? Where were my parents?

But you already know the answer. They were doing nothing. You grit your teeth, instead striding purposefully towards him.

"You're the Swordmaster of the Duke." You remark coolly, masking your anger - You know this, of course; He's been Duke Leto's Swordmaster since before you were bore into the world.

"That's right." He affirms, wary of your movements as you stride towards the weapons rack.

"I find myself missing my knife - If I remember correctly, you took it from me on Giedi Prime." You walk slowly towards the center of the sparring mat where he stands, in front of the rack of shortswords. "I would like it back."

To your surprise, Duncan nods. "Of course." he replies, "Would you like to spar for it?"

He reads you like a book.

"No honor without a fight.” you acquiesce; Fighting a man is much better than fighting a dummy, anyways - more to hit, more pain to inflict. Without waiting for a response, you snatch a blade from the rack; He tosses you a shield that you activate swiftly, assuming an offensive stance as he settles his own.

For a moment, neither of you does anything; your blood pulses through you, eager to take out your anger, eager to show him who you've become.

To show that you're the beast everyone expects you to be.

You lunge at him and quickly are reminded of the skill of the man in front of you. You haven't sparred with anyone in over a week; In the commotion of your family's abdication, the arenas had been filled to the brim with your house's soldiers the whole week leading up to your exit from Giedi Prime. Even Feyd had been too occupied to fight you; Though, perhaps feeling sentimental, he’d let you pull your blade on him that last evening when you’d been on him, breath heavy against each other.

It takes only minutes before your muscles are aching, screaming; The frustration of the morning and the despair within your stomach spurs you forward, keeping your feet under your body.

Soon, your panting and the clang of steel on steel fills the room, punctuated only by both you and Duncan's measured breathing.

It’s been a long time since you trained with Duncan Idaho. You used to move together like water, even when you were just fifteen; he'd taught you how to fight like a Ginaz - your bloodline - and though his visits were sparse, he'd see you for your planet’s harvest festivals, always with a blade in your grip and your brother's hand in the other.

You were graceful when you were young and still learning. But now you're quick, snarling like a rabid dog, lashing out with teeth and nail.

It feels nothing like it used to be.

"Have something to say, Idaho?" you ask, letting out a quick gasp as he gets near to taking you down, ducking at the last second as he charges your right side. He’d been sending you looks of interest at your newfound techniques for several minutes.

He lets out a breath as you slide past him, slamming your elbow hard into his side; A dirty move, but all is fair in war, right?

"You fight different, Little Bourbon," He's at least breaking a sweat; you're drenched, muscles fatigued as you fight his blade, straining with the adrenaline of a fight. He said the same thing days ago.

You're out of breath; "You already told me that." Your voice is faint as you wipe sweat from your brow, parring an attack to your left side. "It's the veil." You grit your teeth.

To be fair, it could be the veil - it's restrictive, catching on corners, pinning beneath your arm or tangling as you fight hand-to-hand. You can't see well wearing it.

His brow lifts, "I think it's probably the four years with those beasts."

Your blood runs cold; expression souring, your hackles rise.

"What do you know of those beasts?" You snap, heart pounding as you think of the man who'd once been your intended - who'd called you his pet but paraded you like a wife. Spoiled you, ruined you. Tortured you, nurtured you - What was that old saying, about biting the hand that fed you?

But suddenly Feyd-Rautha is in front of you, wielding both curved blades with that sinister black smile. You stumble back for a second, staring at his intimidating, lithe frame as he laughs a mirthless, dangerous chuckle down at you.

Don’t worry, my pet. I will find you again.

Heart in pain, you lash out, grunting as you swipe at his face; It's Duncan, though, and you can't hide the gasp as you blink away the vision. Your heart thuds heavy between your ribs.

He jolts back, tutting. "I didn't mean to imply that it is a weakness, my lady." He blocks a blow and you struggle for a moment against his sheer strength; with a twinge of anger, you can tell he's going easy on you.

He continues on. "-Far from it. you seem to forget that I've fought them, but that is besides the point-" He's momentarily distracted when he disarms you, and you use the opportunity to flip sideways, jumping gracefully over the water station to retrieve your blade. His face betrays a look of appreciation at your acrobatics, smirking as the pitcher of water shakes slightly.

Concealing a grin, you creep back around, launching into an attack that he parries quickly, dropping you on to your side. You grunt, kicking with your legs to twist, trying to force his body off of yours - a momentary weakness, and you're done.

He stares down at you, raising his brows. "I'm just saying, maybe there's aspects of your training that could benefit from a more balanced approach." He finishes his sentence just as he bests you, your blade flipping against your own ribs as he forces your arm tight against yourself. you hiss and twist; to no avail.

He's won.

Still fighting the adrenaline from your vision of Feyd, you snarl. "What are you implying? I'm too rabid an animal for you people to tame? Is House Atreides scared of Little Bourbon?" You snap, eyes alight with heat. "Or, are they just afraid I've become Little Harkonnen?" you snap.

He does not take your bait. Instead, he rolls off of you, standing up and offering you a hand. With a sharp glance, you take it, letting him pull your full weight off the ground as if you're nearly weightless.

"What I am saying is that I am here every day. Come train whenever you please."

You sigh, side cramping as you move from his grip to pour yourself a glass of water. You pour a shaky one for Duncan, too, trying to fight the creeping sensation that he's talking to a stranger. He grasps the water gently, watching you from the corner of his eye.

The hesitation makes your jaw clench in anticipation; You busy yourself by examining the various blades that lie before you, knowing what's to come.

Finally, he says your name softly. "We haven't gotten to discuss any of this..." he is clearly trying to put together words, but you cannot bear to hear them - you drag your finger along a curved blade, eyes squinting shut.

"I'm sorry. I…" he starts gently, trailing off as if he can't bear to say it out loud, reaching out to touch your arm but thinking twice. His fingers hesitate just before your bicep.

Just as much; You fight not to recoil from his touch, swallowing hard as you step away slightly, tossing the knife back on the rack. "I'm fine," you reply curtly, voice steelier than ever. "Nothing to do about it now."

Duncan sighs, but does not call your bluff. You almost appreciate him for it.

"Now where did you put my knife?"

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You're struck with an observation when you sit in the conference hall across from the Duke later that afternoon: They do not sit like a council, looking down at you - instead, the table is rounded with only one seat missing, next to Halleck. You suspect Paul's is the body absent from the chair; he’s training with Duncan, then. You must have just missed him on your way back.

Cautiously, your fingers toy with your newly reclaimed blade, its shine restored with the etchings across the hilt. You're significantly tired after your sparring, but Duncan’s words have settled a thin blanket of unease over you that pulls taught when your eyes land on the Lady Jessica. Her eyes stare unblinking at you, and though there is a soft smile upon her lips, you have to fight to resist a snarl.

The Duke is serious as he regards you, hands clasping as you make yourself comfortable; he holds up a hand to stop the guards who unsheathe their blades when you set your own blade down in front of you for all to see.

A threat, or perhaps a sign of respect. You're unsure.

"Lady Bourbon, thank you for meeting with us." His voice is a deep caramel, not unlike his son's - years of diplomatic training. "We know how hard this can be. The weight of your sudden responsibility does not go unappreciated."

You nod curtly, gaze fixed on the table before you; You've never been known for your patience. "How may I be of service, my Lord?"

At your deflection, he nods slightly, "I was told you spent the afternoon training with Duncan Idaho." He speaks plainly and you are, if nothing else, appreciative of that; His eyes glance over the short sword that lays in front of you, to the signature black leather that wraps around the hilt. Once, it had served as a claim - but now, you're unsure.

"Yes, my Lord." You say, voice serious and strong.

The Duke’s brows are low over his eyes; an expression you can imagine on his son's face quite easily. You're unsurprised Paul has become such a well-respected figure in the castle even with the workers and servants who tend to you every morning - even this morning Hestia told you of his rigorous training but also of his intelligence, diplomacy, and honor. While you had clenched your jaw at her words, you now suppose in a diplomatic sense, he will assume his father's role quite perfectly one day.

"We'd like to reiterate that you are free to pursue your interests, to educate yourself, and to engage in hobbies that bring you joy. We hope for you to consider this your home, and know that we are here to support you in any way we can." Lady Jessica says, her voice quiet but intense; much like her son.

This is… not what you’d anticipated. You sit, rigid as a board, eyes wide. You're unsurprised that your unease on this planet is clear - you barely sleep, you never eat around them, you barely speak, choosing to keep to yourself.

"We would like to know of your interests so we may set you up with any materials you may need. I'd like to introduce to you Dr. Yueh, as well as Thufir Hawat, who have volunteered to help tutor you should you wish. Duncan Idaho also wishes to help you train if you see fit. I understand you knew him when you were young." The Duke offers, sitting straight in his seat.

Much to your chagrin, your eyes burn with unshed tears as you slowly process the words. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you're being offered a taste of freedom.

It sends you into fight or flight; your heartbeat pounds against your ribs, your hands clenching hard. You feel cornered, but take a breath. There is no hostility here.

I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

Clearing your throat, you lift your head slightly. "Your...generosity overwhelms me. I was educated for a while in politics and local economics, and I've always been fascinated by botany and ecology- I..." your mouth is incredibly dry, voice void of emotion. You bite your lip, one tear slowly tracking over your cheek; You really must be exhausted.

"Thank you." You don't know what else to say.

There is a small gleam of recognition that passes Duke Leto's eyes at your words, his smile intrigued. "Those are noble pursuits. You have similar interests to my own son - I believe you two will have much to discuss."

Your mouth bitters at the suggestion and you try not to squirm in your seat; For a moment, you'd slipped away - into a world where you are their daughter, a world where you aren't tainted by the last several years, by the crimes of your House- where you haven’t been turned into a monster that hisses at a glimpse of the sun.

But of course, as you'd expected, there is no good will for free: The next words set your back rigid.

"Though we are hesitant to put you into another painful situation, it is hard to deny just how helpful you could be to us, my Lady." Gurney Halleck speaks from besides the Duke.

Your eyes snake to him, your back prickling. You resist the urge to run, or to throw your blade at his head.

"-and we hope, when you are ready, you might give us some insight into your previous arrangements." He says, surprisingly delicately.

You can't help but bristle at the sentiment; the offer of cooperation feels more like coercion. You don't by law owe the Atreides anything besides wedding their son, but the implications of the arrangement suggest a lifetime of servitude towards them - and you despise owing people anything.

Perhaps, if not just the Harkonnens, they prefer you for your relationship with your bastard mother's sister, the lady of House Ginaz? This thought has several times crossed your mind, but you're sure they'd be displeased to hear of how strained such relationship became when the Harkonnens started filtering your messages.

Barely any of her letters made it to you for the last several years in your time at Giedi Prime, and you're almost certain none of yours made it out at all. You haven't heard from her in some time.

You wait a moment, collecting your thoughts and willing yourself to only reveal what you need them to know. Self-preservation builds itself around you like rock-solid armor. "During my time with the Harkonnens, I became privy to certain..." you purse your lips, looking for the right word, "lateral moves."

Gurney Halleck's eyes fly to you, as do Lady Jessica's.

"-However, my interactions were primarily with Feyd-Rautha; The Baron held little interest in me until my family was caught, and Glossu Rabban suspected me of being a spy long before he'd ever met me." As you speak, Lady Jessica's keen eyes observe you closely, her lips pressed into a thin line. You pretend not to notice as her hand flicks down by her side, the Duke and War Master's eyes flickering down to observe her hidden words.

You set your jaw, ignoring their silent communication, "I do not know much about their deals on Arrakis, but I have gathered enough about their industries on Giedi Prime." You say, eyeing them all. Recalling Paul’s earlier mistrust, you add, "I have no reason to lie."

It's quiet at the table as the Duke sits in thought, Gurney turning to whisper lowly to the man. He nods, and after a moment, looks back at you. "I'd wonder if you might attend a meeting with my Strategy Council next week." The Duke proposes, shocking you. Stiffly, you nod. "There is a Space Trade Route Referendum coming soon, as I'm sure you know, and we would benefit from your insight."

You truly have to fight the flush that grows on your cheeks, reminding yourself of where you are, who you are. These are still the people who think you are some rabid dog that they may muzzle. A pawn to play.

"I'd be pleased, my Lord." It comes short of genuine in tone, your apprehension showing.

He nods, glancing down before looking back up. "If I may..." He addresses you with your first name, a jolt to your system. "We value everyone in this castle. Plans have changed quickly, and it is more than understandable if you have felt unwelcome or alienated here on Caladan, though we do not wish it."

You let a short breath, biting back a bitter quip about their son and his willingness to chew you out for exploring the walls of what was supposed to be your castle.

But perhaps your anger and fear have been projected onto the Duke and Lady Jessica, which, in fairness, is not theirs to receive; No matter if their son is mistrusting, they have shown nothing but respect for you in this transition. You hesitate, biting your lip.

"I apologize if I have come off as ungrateful." Your voice is much softer than anticipated, your throat floundering in embarrassment. You can only thank your lucky stars that the Atreides boy is not here to snicker at your misery - though as the sharp eyes of everyone at the table turn to you, the self-deprecating feeling turns towards disdain for him; anger, for daring to disrespect his future wife.

"It was never my intention." You take a breath, choosing your words carefully. "I am not unused to being treated like a spy, even in the house I am supposed to become a part of."

Your voice is strong as your chin holds high, staring straight at the Duke although he cannot see your gaze. "Perhaps, if I were less interrogated by select members of the House Atreides, I might feel more at ease." You speak honestly; if nothing else comes of this, perhaps Paul will get his ear chewed out by his father or mother - and that, you feel, is justice.

You don't care that you are a stranger to everyone at this table and they have known him for his whole life; you will not be pushed around.

Folding your hands, you continue, "I'd like to pass along my personal apologies for entering your old study this morning when I was lost." you say, "Lord Paul informed me that it is off-limits to my kind."

The looks on their faces show their varying degrees of surprise; the Duke, however, glances sidelong at the empty seat at the table before clenching his jaw, eyes something akin to irate. The two make eye contact before Halleck sighs gently, hand falling over his forehead.

You can tell the Duke is about to speak but you don't wish to listen to any excuse he could find for his brat of a son- unfortunately for you, it is not acceptable to interrupt a Duke. So you sit, foot bouncing on the floor, as he purses his lips.

"This arrangement was certainly a shock to him as well as to you. But that does not permit disrespectful behavior." This, indeed, comes as surprise to you, having expected them to support the na-Duke's every whim.

"-As for my former study, it is now used as an archive room. I apologize if there was any confusion regarding its accessibility - I will speak with my son about the importance of clarity and respect in our household rules." His words held a note of sternness; a silent admonishment directed towards his absent heir. "You are allowed wherever you wish."

Once again, you're flooded with emotion; Perhaps they do want you to come into your own here. Perhaps the Duke's son has his own opinions about you and your history, but that does not mean his parents feel the same.

You feel a sudden spark of rebellion - could you find some kind of purpose with House Atreides, despite their ulterior motives? After all, your house was once a strong ally of theirs. The thought flickers tantalizingly before you, only to be swiftly extinguished by the reality of your situation.

No, you remind yourself bitterly. You are tainted with blood - not Atreides, not Bourbon - but Harkonnen. Paul will always see you as a beast, wife or not.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Supper is called later than Paul expects.

His stomach growls by the time you come into the hall; though he and his parents have been at the table for some time.

There is a box in his hand, one that will sit next to him until the end of dinner. It glares at him tauntingly; he avoids its stare.

You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse.

How foolish he’d been this morning - flustered, angry at the arrangement - what awful coincidence he'd run into you snooping around the old study. He knows better than to treat you that way, even if he does not trust you.

Paul ignores the twist in his stomach as his father glances at him; The air is tense with their previous conversation - his parents are upset with him. But Paul knows he must amend his actions; It does not matter his apprehension. You will be his wife, and he your husband. He rolls his neck, feeling it pop as he waits.

Paul knows that whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more.

So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight. It will start with the box to his right.

You enter through the doors, your pace slow as you look around. Despite himself, Paul's cheeks heat up; You're wearing a simple dark dress, your figure snug with flowing sleeves - but the veil you wear this evening is significantly less thick than any you’ve warn yet.

You're still concealed behind the fabric that falls over your head, but your eyes are large behind it, meeting his for what feels like the first time.

With a chill, he realizes he can see your stare, the fullness of your lips, the upturn of your cheeks, the way you take in a quick breath; He's struck with your beauty and forces himself to nod and greet you.

There's that look to you - contained, schooled to be polite - but he knows better. You nod back tersely as your eyes glow against the dark green mesh and beads that fall over the crown of your head, and he's suddenly struck with the strange desire to see more of you.

Instead, he forces himself to look down at the table.

Dinner is less uncomfortable than he'd feared; you seem much more relaxed than he's ever seen you, though your voice is still quite calculated - even his mother is relaxed, asking about the wintering sport you'd mentioned learning in your youth.

His heart hammers in his chest when the dishes begin to be cleared, knowing it is his time to present the first of several of your House's courting steps. He'd poured over them before going to train this afternoon; Perhaps this won't be the most traditional example of your culture's marriage customs, but most of your people are gone.

There's no use in fighting it, and he can only try his best to make you feel more comfortable.

His parents excuse themselves, but with a jump of panic, he calls for you to stay, just for a moment. Paul waits silently as his parents wish you a good evening, sending him a stern look that sets his teeth on edge. When they are gone, you remain seated as if frozen, your eyes wary. Perhaps you expect him to berate you again.

Gifting heirlooms is a sacred tradition, passed down through generations, where the betrothed proudly wear the sigil of their new house as a symbol of unity and commitment.

Paul's heart races nervously as he stands, straightening his dark tunic before approaching you, the small velvet box clutched tightly in his hand. With each step closer, your eyes sharpen with suspicion. You shift your hand through the skirt of your dress, as if searching for something- a weapon, maybe - but you have no chance to wield it as he rounds on you.

He offers you the box with a slight tremor in his hand, small enough that you likely don't notice; Flipping it open, he tries to swallow his reluctance. This is his duty. You stare down at it, your demeanor guarded and unreadable.

Plush lips partially hidden behind a sheet of green part -for a moment, Paul wonders why you seem completely shell-shocked; he brushes aside the thought, attributing it to the formality of the gesture after his childish behavior earlier in the day.

"My Lady," he begins, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness, "I hope you will accept this pendant as a token of my-" He clears his throat awkwardly, "Of our betrothal." He's incredibly thankful to be so well-versed on diplomacy; "I apologize for how I acted this morning. It was childish." His voice comes out strong, if not slightly quiet.

You stare at the necklace, eyes taking in the green and gold sigil of Atreides; a hawk, small but ornamental. It was his great-great-grandmother's from her wedding day, cherished for many years. After his lesson this morning, he’d searched for something that seemed fit to uphold your family's tradition - the color would suit you well, too.

He waits for your response, hoping against hope that you'll see the gesture for what it truly is: An attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you; Suggested by his parents, yes, but chosen and executed by himself.

Your eyes harden, as if a decision has been made in your sharp mind. He tries not to sway on his feet when you move your hands towards the box.

"Thank you." Your voice is much too cold. Your eyes hold none of the shine he'd seen previously, and it is with a pain in his stomach that he recognizes your sharp glance sideways. Your eyes are lethal, he decides - just as lethal as the rest of you is.

You would not be as civil if it were just you and him, he is sure of it; His parents may be gone, but there are servants who watch on out the corner of their eyes as they clear dishes.

He can't help but feel slightly dishonest, perhaps he should have waited until the two of you were truly alone.

Your own hands shake as you reach under your veil, clasping the necklace around your neck slowly. He watches with a dry mouth, knowing better than to think your shaking is anything but resentment on your part.

"It is a gorgeous collar." You utter.

Turning to stare up into his eyes, Paul's heart thuds.

"I shall wear it like a dog."

The choice of words unsettles him completely, but you are out of the door before his lips find anything to say.

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