#* The types of silliness I’m imagining

[theladysunami]

Now that I’ve read ‘The Disabled Tyrant's Beloved Pet Fish’ I’m really itching for something similar but Binggeyuan flavored, that includes Bingge’s harem!

(A more direct adaptation already exists: ‘The Proud Immortal Demon’s Pet Fish’ by BeanFiend).

I’m thinking something along the lines of Shen Yuan transmigrating into one of the forgotten wives’ pets, a cute PIDW monster cat, ferret, or fox of some sort.

His experiences in the inner court result in him unilaterally deciding to help his poor forgotten mistress (*cough*and-ultimately-Bingge*cough*) by finding her friends, resolving all the ‘stupid’ harem drama, and raising Bing-ge’s kids properly.

Of course, trying to do most things while a small fuzzy animal is quite the challenge, and cultivating a human form isn’t easy even without the fear of being discovered and executed for infiltrating the harem as a man.

Once he does figure out the transformation part (mostly), he still has problems since the System didn’t find it necessary to provide an animal knowledge of traditional characters, writing via brush and ink, properly wearing xianxia robes, or any other type of human skill.

That and transforming doesn’t come with clothes!!!

Most of the clothes Shen Yuan can ‘borrow’ belong to wives and female servants, and he’s always in such a rush to complete whatever task he’s taken upon himself —before being stopped and arrested— that he can’t just stand around experimenting with the intricacies of xianxia robes and grooming. He ends up spending most of his time in human form running around looking like a perpetually bedraggled maid or low-ranked concubine.

Bing-ge is bemused by the glimpses and brief meetings he gets with this strange ‘woman,’ and wonders if she’s a wife he’s forgotten about or a maid he should wife up at the earliest opportunity.

That’s all I have for now. The idea of Shen Yuan accidentally endearing himself to the wives and kids, and seducing Bing-ge, all while looking like a bedraggled lunatic, is just really funny to me.

Who wouldn’t love the crazy man who somehow knows the powers and weaknesses of every beast, potion, and secret artifact in existence, but not how clothes or hairstyles work?

[ghoul--doodle]

can. I hear about bailey,,, I'm low key in love w em

YEAG I love Bailey!!!

So! Most of what I’m writing for him right now is real vague because I am ✨struggling with feeling cringe✨ about him JGSHD

But I’ll give you what I got

Originally!! He was an ace attorney fan character! He currently is and isn’t

I like having fan characters but I end up using them so much they spiral into their own thing so I’m just preemptively splitting him into his own character and Ace Attorney au

With that tho-! He’s a defence attorney :}

Bailey is a good guy! He’s very silly

He swaps out his fake eye a lot for different colours and types, he has a few gimmicky/novelty ones that usually make people do a double take when they see em

He likes to make jokes about “character customisation”

And he especially loves to fuck with people that don’t know about the eye or if they ask he’ll give a different batshit reason as to why he lost it in the first place, and then not elaborate

I don’t want to touch on how he actually lost his eye n got his scars for too long-! But I will mention that he was in an accident as a kid

He’s lived his life a lot longer with his scars than without them, and he doesn’t really remember not having them- so they don’t bother him really!

Outside of his work life Bailey is more of a quiet, stay at home kinda guy

He doesn’t go out of his way to avoid anyone or going out with them, and he will go places if he’s invited

But he’s fairly introverted! He definitely can only really recharge when he’s alone

[gotyouanyway]

anyway i miss eris

[collegeoflore]

ramza’s family always addresses gifts with silly little jokes and so this is under our tree rn which is so endlessly charming to me…. what Would they get magpie if they were getting her a joint gift…..

[clownjail]

I havent logged in this app for literal months but I’ve recently been playing Tears of Themis and I needed somewhere to rant and scream at the void without a 100 character limitations in my way sjjsjs

So I’ve been playing one of the older ToT events, A Love Poem to Skadi (a very good event btw!) and there’s just one thing that the game mentions that I can’t for the life of me get out of my head, and it’s the fact that Artem Wing somehow knows Akkadian.

Okay so walk with me here, when you go in the mansion to explore, each character has their own set of expertise and knowledge that can help you find clues, and for the most part those expertise make sense! Vyn is a doctor so he knows about doctor things, Luke is a detective so he knows detective things, Marius is an artist so he knows artist things, and Artem is a lawyer so he knows…. Akkadian?? It’s just so random and out of the blue because it’s never explained why he knows that (or at least not that I know of),, other than “I study the Code of Hammurabi so that’s why I know Akkadian” and it’s like sir why were you studying the Code of Hammurabi 😭😭

like I know the real reason for that is because of plot convenience and they needed a character that spoke another language to decipher the clues (plus unlike all the other characters they couldn’t center the clues around his job profession because mc is also a lawyer and it wouldn’t make sense for mc to rely on artem in regards to a law related clue because she’s a really good lawyer) and all the other characters quotas were already filled so they threw that skillset onto Artem (along with the fact that Artem having random hobbies that are never mentioned past the first introduction is kind of his shtick and a running gag in the game but I digress-) but that’s not nearly as fun as saying Artem is a secret history nerd, who has a vast knowledge of world history because he spent so much of his free time during his youth reading and studying about other cultures and histories, now is it?

ANYWAYS that’s all to say, artem the historian agenda pass it on!

[pynkchampagne]

[salemlunaa]

﹏𓊝∘˚ THE SUCCESS OF SHIFTING: THINK AS IF 𓇼∘˚

two things i love doing when it comes to my desires

i know, i know, you’ve heard that phrase more times than you can count. But i’m asking you, think of the person you want to be, the person you are yearning to be. Congratulations, that’s you now. I don’t care what you’re seeing with your physical eyes. However so many people ask “BUT SALEM HOW DO I ASSUME?”

well, i’m gonna give you two steps to success:

1. WRITE A SUCCESS STORY

if you succeeded you would write one right? I’m not telling that you must feel it real but you would be proud of yourself and so so happy, or even have a surreal natural type of feeling in you when you wake up in your desire state? Whatever feeling, you would write a success story, because you… succeeded? No one is telling you to go lie but go into your notes or whatever you use and write a success story.

Look back on the story every time something comes up and remind yourself that it’s already happened. I mean of course it did, you wrote a success story. Feel that feeling again and let all your worries wash away.

2. IMMERSE YOURSELF IN YOUR NEW POV

suggest you do this while inducing or tryinh to shift or even trying to flip your thoughts: Close your eyes. I want you to envision a pov of your desired self. What are they doing, or should i say, what are YOU doing? are you on a date with your s/o. Are you chilling in bed, a private jet. Are you with family, whatever it is, envision a point of view from your desired self, as if you’re looking through the eyes of your desired self. You have to really really feel it, the warm sun, the laugh of your friends, really immerse yourself

Feel the feelings of calmness, it’s already done and you’re so happy. Now I want you, from the point of your desired self to think about the worries you have now, from your old life your old story. Like an inner monologue, repeat your worry but now from the point of view of your desired self. How would you react?

If you’re looking at life from the point of your desired self, who has everything, would you be worried about getting your summer body? Would you be worried about not getting your dream life before a certain date if you’re living it?

For example Angelica wants to induce pure consciousness, in the dream life that she has scripted, she’s a teen actress.

Angelica is worried about not manifesting her dream life before March. She closes her eyes and imagines life from the pov of her desired self’s eyes. She’s in her trailer infront of the mirror getting touch ups on set. She’s repeats her worry “What if i don’t get my dream life by spring break?” Angelica, now in the state of her desired self laughs at that. “I’m literally getting my makeup done on set, what am i even yapping about?” “Lmfao why am i scared of not living the life i literally have right now?”. And all of Angelica’s worries fade away because she knows she’s shifted.

Jaime wants her dream body but fear is creeping up that she won’t be able to manifest it by summer and will go another year avoiding all the cute clothes and bikinis she wants to wear. She closes her eyes and envisions a pov of her dream self looking in the mirror with her new body. She repeats the worry, and now find it silly because “why would i be scared of not getting something i already have”, she then looks at her success story reminding herself of what’s true.

And when it comes to manifesting, shifting and inducing the void, you already have your desires, so just tell yourself you’re going to relax Procrastinating because you’re scared of failure? Why would you be scared of failing something that’s already happened, so there’s no need to procrastinate. You’re confident in your abilities because you were able to produce success, that success story of yours is proof. Why are you upset about how you “just can’t do it” when you literally have a success story under your belt. Go look at it. Why are you scared of not have something YOU ALREADY HAVE.

There’s no need to rely on the void for your dream life, since you’re already living it. By tricking your mind into thinking that you aren’t reliant on the void, reliant on that shift, since you already have what you want, will make the void way easier and more accessible and natural to you. It won’t be on a pedestal and it won’t take forever for you to finally relax and let go.

Look at your worries from the perspective of your dream self and you’ll realise how pointless worrying is.

IMMERSING IN YOUR POV + REVISITING THAT SUCCESS STORY = SUCCESS

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

@teddybeartoji @staryukis @dollsuguru @hayakawalove

stsg convenience store au!!

ignore my inconsistent coloring plz <\3

[sqgeism]

Touchstarved! Reader? I’m thinking established relationship with Dan Heng.

Imagine him sitting down, trying to type something in, then Reader just came right behind him gave him the snuggle. Head resting on shoulders, arms encasing around his waist. You could totally do other characters too!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞 | various hsr men x gender neutral reader

love mail — BACK TO MY ROOTS. if theres something you should never trust me to do, it's to have a consistent layout. thank you and goodnight. love u all ^_^ <3 let it b known i don't acc know mydei's nd anaxa's personalities like dat.. pls spare me eueueyh i honestly js wanted to write for them ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ is that a crime ?! characters in order: dan heng, mydei, anaxa

dan heng's known for kind of cooping himself up in his room, even if he's got nothing but a sad mattress on the floor and an even sadder, thin blanket— he likes it. the books keep him busy, and he's able to work with no disturbances.

well. at least, that's what he thinks, up until he hears his door creak open and someone walks in while he's reading a book. his back is turned away from the mysterious intruder, taking a sip as he's engrossed with the novel in his hands.

he's trying to make guesses of who it is before he turns around, perhaps welt needed an update on a case. or march with some silly, rather insolent question.

he gets his answer when a head suddenly leans itself against his shoulders, arms around his waist and a familiar weight is pressed behind his back. "hm?" his tone significantly softens, unable to stop the fondness that came to his lover, you. his darling, sweet lover. "you've been in here all day." feeling lonely, you had taken it upon yourself to go see dan heng after a whole day of not seeing him. he hadn't come out for any meal or conversation, far too invested in the book you got him.

"you've grown lonely then?" he laughs, but you squeeze him tighter. "not funny."

you listen to pages rustling and a book closing shut, dan heng turns to face you and you don't fight it, loosening your arms just enough for him to shift positions and you're in his arms, as you should be.

"does this suffice as an apology?" he wonders, running his hand through your hair as he presses gentle kisses atop your head. before you can answer, he slowly dips you down to his bed, keeping you distracted with kisses until you feel the mattress on your back and dan heng ontop of you.

you think he'll further his advances, but he kind of just falls limp on your chest, beginning to slip into a peaceful slumber.

oh.. how you loved this boy.

mydei had a long day. aeons forbid the guy catches a break, but he's been left to lay in bed and finally rest for a day. bless the stars, a day.

and lucky you, (after relentless begging towards welt) you also had a free day! (while caelus, dan heng, and himiko go explore another planet) what a coincidence that your schedules totally align.

your relationship with mydei was simple. he spent thousands of lifetimes waiting to meet the reincarnation of his lover (you), and he did, and now you're dating him. he doesn't care that you have to go on missions with the astral express, or that you're gone for periods of time, as long as he has you. as long as you come home, and he sees you really be there.. he's happy.

and you are. a rare moment of undisturbed time of just the two of you, which was becoming rare recently. with.. everything happening.

he feels you slip into the covers behind him, and he doesn't even wait for you to adjust before he abruptly turns around and buries himself in the crook of your neck— manouvering your body with ease as you now lay on his chest and his golden eyes look down at you.

"i've missed you greatly." he says like it's a confession, taking your hands and guiding them where they want to be, one wrapped around him and the other.. on his chest, right where his heart is. "every moment away is a dagger at my heart, and i must fight my way through a war of grief in my mind." mydei murmurs, squeezing your hand in a way that is firm, but not unkind. "i hope there is a world that is kinder for us, where i may love you in a way that doesn't make me feel guilty."

he knows you're lonely at times. that you're left to lay to rest in an empty bed, instead of with the one you call your love, and it makes him guilty. in a way that consumes him whole as if someone plunged a blade right in his fatal spot. he would never want that, at least for you. to leave you alone for eternity or for even a moment.

you let him continue his murmurs for a better life, tracing scars and markings on his body while he holds you. and although time with him is rare, in the chances that you do meet—he reminds you exactly why he's spent years yearning for you.

anaxa isn't.. the same sweet case. he doesn't know how to feel about physical touch yet, but he's trying. like now, you're seated on his left while he writes notes on his recent research, poking at his hand while he works.

he thinks it's a little silly, however he doesn't mind. the way you prod at his knuckles with your fingertips, or lock your pinky with his. sometimes you'll even do your own thing. you know he can't go all the way when it comes to romance or affection, so you're willing to meet him halfway. co-existing in his world and yours, not necessarily always needing them to merge.

todays different, though. he can notice the slight frown on your lips, and he's overheard that the world was unkind to you today. he wants to make you feel better, but he's painfully awkward about it. not sure how to approach. so he listens to what his brain tells him to.

anaxa moves his hand away from your grasp, and uses that arm to wrap around you, bringing you closer and resting your head against his shoulder. it isn't a grand gesture, in all honesty. but he's made the first move, which he never usually makes. "tell me about your troubles." you want to laugh at how he almost makes it sound like a demand, but you opt to smile at him sweetly, and you can see how his gaze softens for even a fraction of a moment.

"i'm alright, anaxago—"

"anaxa." he corrects you, his grip tightening for a moment. "i told you. i prefer if you'd call me that."

he listens to you chuckle for a little bit, his own head leaning against yours. "thought you didn't like that nickname."

"i don't like nicknames. but.. if it's you, i'd rather you'd have something special. something only you can call me."

[dark-l-angel]

Omg love you know what I have been thinking of? You know that trend on TikTok of filling a t-shirt with painted missed on some type of symbol ?

A while ago I saw a girl putting her paint kisses on a Batman symbol shape, and I just thought of dick grayson’s reaction.

I’m not one for cheesy things, but I just imagine doing that shirt for him (with a nightwing symbol ofc) and I just know he would be over the moon 😭

A/N : the Batboys getting gifted a shirt with a symbol kissed all over by you? Awww 💕🥰

Batfam x Reader - making them a kiss-painted shirts

You didn’t mean to start a war. Really.

It began as a silly idea, something you saw on TikTok: paint your lips, kiss a symbol onto a shirt, and gift it to someone you love.

So naturally… you made five.

Five shirts. Five symbols. Five completely different reactions.

Dick Grayson :

You saved his for last. Blue paint, the Nightwing symbol sketched lovingly across the chest. Every inch of it smudged with perfect, pouty kisses.

You don’t even get a full sentence out before he scoops you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

"You kissed the bird?"

"I kissed it a lot."

"You kissed the bird."

He’s spinning you in the kitchen, laughing like a man who just got proposed to.

"I’m never washing this shirt. I’m wearing it to bed. I'm wearing it to my funeral. Babe, you just made me a relic."

He takes a photo of it next to his abs. Posts it. Captions it: "She kissed me. On the bird. I win."

Jason Todd

You’re not sure how he’ll react, so you play it cool. His shirt is black, the bat symbol in red, your kisses in blood-red paint like lipstick stains on a crime scene.

He stares.

Long.

Silent.

Then:

"You do realize I’m gonna wreck this shirt jerking off to the idea of you doing it, right?"

You smack his arm. He grins like the menace he is and tosses it over his shoulder.

"Make me one with your real lipstick next time. And wear nothing but heels and a red lingerie while doing it."

Tim Drake

You hand him his shirt during one of his 3 a.m. caffeine binges, expecting a distracted glance.

Nope.

His tired eyes snap wide the second he registers the symbol… covered in crimson lip prints.

"Wait. Wait. You did this? With your mouth?"

He holds it like it’s a sacred text.

"This is… statistically speaking, the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. Do you have any idea what this’ll do to my oxytocin levels?".

You shrug. He immediately pulls you into his lap, shirt in one hand, your waist in the other.

"New rule. You don’t do arts and crafts for anyone but me."

Damian Wayne

You had to custom-print a tiny “R” logo for his, but it’s the only one with perfectly centered, crimson kisses all around it.

When you give it to him, he squints. Tilts his head.

"Did you damage your lips during this process?"

"No?"

"Hmm. Then I suppose I have no objection."

He immediately puts it on.

And doesn’t take it off.

For like, two days.

You catch him in the mirror, touching one of the kiss marks with the barest hint of a smirk.

"You have excellent aim, Beloved."

Bruce Wayne

Now this one? You expected confusion. Embarrassment. A gruff "thank you."

What you didn’t expect was the silence.

He stares at the bat symbol covered in red lips. Your lips.

He touches one with his gloved fingers like it's sacred.

"…You kissed every inch of it."

"Yeah."

"On purpose."

"Yeah, Bruce, that was kind of the point."

He sets the shirt down. Walks to you. Cups your face like you’re the only thing in the world not made of shadows.

"Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

Needless to say… he doesn’t wear it in public.

But he keeps it in the Batcave.

Right next to his suit.

Framed.

The conclusion my lovely lil kitten is:

no. You didn’t mean to start a war.

But now they’re all in quiet competition, seeing who gets the most kisses next time. Jason’s trying to make you paint his helmet. Tim’s trying to code a program that lets him detect how many lip marks are truly present. Dick’s commissioning a second shirt. Damian’s been spotted sketching his own designs for "future projects with your mouth" and Bruce? Bruce just added a lock to the Batcave display case.

You win, baby.

You always do.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʙᴀʙʏ

fluff, mutual pining, light angst, teasing, silly, idiots in love, friends to lovers, pet names, crush, shy matt, slightest hint of subbish matt

based off this request!

word count - 1.1k

Matt had never been one to outwardly express his feelings. Most of the time, he kept things to himself, especially when it came to his friends. But lately, there was one thing he couldn’t seem to shake. Your casual, silly use of a particular pet name. Baby.

It wasn’t intentional, he knew that. You’d been calling everyone in the group by silly, affectionate pet names for weeks now. To you, it was just a fun, harmless way of talking, but to Matt? Well, it was starting to mean something more than that.

And it wasn’t just Matt who had picked up on it, everyone else had too. You were the type to throw out affectionate terms for all your friends, but when it came to Matt, everyone knew there was something different, more intentional, careful, loving about the way you said it to him.

He’d tried to brush it off at first. After all, it was just a nickname, right? You called everyone “baby” or “sweetheart” or even “babe,” and no one thought anything of it. But there was something about the way you said it, so easily, so naturally, that made Matt’s heart do an involuntary flip every time you said it to him.

“Hey, baby, could you grab that for me?” you asked one day, tapping him lightly on the shoulder as you reached for the remote, your voice teasing and light.

Matt froze for a second, almost choking on air. His eyes flicked over to you, then down to the object you were pointing at, struggling to keep his cool. It was just a remote, but in that moment, it felt like his entire world had stopped moving.

“Uh, sure,” he muttered, trying not to show the way his chest fluttered at the nickname. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours just slightly, and his heart raced even faster. His brain kept short circuiting, imagining that the way you said “baby” to him was like a little secret only the two of you shared.

Later, you all sat in the living room, lounging on the couch as usual, when you leaned your head on his shoulder. “You’re so sweet, baby,” you whispered, and Matt swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it still sent his mind spinning every time.

It wasn’t lost on anyone else, though. Nick, watching from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with one of your other friends. You were completely unaware of the effect you were having on Matt, and Matt, well, he was just trying to keep it together.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Matt’s voice was quieter than usual, a bit more hesitant as he leaned in toward you. You glanced up at him, noticing the nervous edge to his expression.

“Sure, what’s up?” you asked, a kind smile on your lips as you expected him to say something about the movie, or the snacks, or anything else.

He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in a little closer. “Uh, just... please don’t call me ‘baby’ anymore,” he said, his voice low, but there was a little hint of something, was it discomfort? Maybe even... nerves?

You blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean? It’s just a nickname, Matt.”

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck like he was working up the courage to say something. “I know, but...” He hesitated for a moment, looking over at you before his eyes dropped to the floor. “I just... I don’t want it to sound like I’m taking it seriously. It’s... it’s just... I don’t know, it feels like you’re saying it to everyone, and I don’t want it to lose meaning.”

His words made your heart race in a different way, but you were still a little confused. “But I’m just being silly with everyone,” you said, shrugging. “I mean, I call you ‘baby’ like I call the others. No harm in it.”

Matt bit his lip, his fingers twitching slightly as he looked up at you, his gaze more intense than usual. “It… it affects me,” he mumbled quietly. “It’s just... when you say it, it kind of... I don’t know... it makes me feel things. And I want it to mean more than just a joke. I... I want it to be something just between us.”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you realised what he was trying to say. Your heart fluttered at his admission, feeling the warm flush spread across your cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, he liked you more than you thought. Or maybe, just maybe, you liked him more than you realised.

You leaned in closer to him, your voice soft as you teased, “So... you want me to call you ‘baby,’ but only when it’s just the two of us, huh?”

Matt’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks turning pink as he looked away for a second, clearly flustered. “Yeah, I mean... if you want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’d like that.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “Well, in that case...” You leaned into him more, cuddling up to him with a playful smirk. “You’re the only one I want to call ‘baby.’”

Matt’s face broke into a shy grin, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. “You got it,” he whispered, a bit more confidently now.

From across the room, Chris leaned back with a grin, nudging the others. He exchanged a knowing look with the rest of the group before they all collectively sighed.

“Fucking finally!” someone muttered, their voice full of relief and amusement.

Matt froze, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink as he realised the others had been watching the whole time. You chuckled softly, looking between Matt and your friends, your heart fluttering with the knowledge that things were finally going somewhere between you two.

Matt shot a glare at the group, but his grin couldn’t hide the happiness bubbling up inside him. “Shut up,” he muttered, but the playful edge in his voice was unmistakable.

Feeling bold, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a second before pulling away with a teasing smile. “Love you, baby,” you whispered, that familiar nickname feeling even more intimate now.

Matt’s heart skipped a beat, his entire face flushing as he turned to you, his hand resting against his cheek where you’d kissed him. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but his smile couldn’t be contained.

creds to rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws <3

a/n: im kinda loving this kinda hating it

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga

till next time !!!

[peachigummi]

finally! .☘︎ ݁˖ mattheo riddle.

summary:  just silly little roommates, that "hate" each other. one of pansy's infamous drinks help loosen things up during slytherin game night.

pairing: mattheo x fem! reader

warnings: 18+  mostly fluff?, slight intoxication by a potion similar to amortentia? but like i said...it helps loosens up some tension...not to spoil but to provide the warning, ~sigh~ smut as in hand job, oral (giving), swallowing (would be a cum dumpster easy for this guy), fingering, unprotected p in v (bro just loves the pull out method...for now 🤭 just wait until he wants to be a father...go see my arranged marriage story for that HA!), implied aftercare.

note: just the type of thing you'll imagine when you're trying to fall asleep. a delulu scenario a day keeps the doctor away.

word count: 8.9k (it builds up to the smut alright!)

(slightly not really proofread…again)

reblogs & comments are begged for tbh. dont make me beg like how mattheo will be hehehehahhah

｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+*ﾟ

You were at your bed, enjoying the quiet of the evening, until you felt the doorknob rattle before opening. You couldn’t help but take a deep breath and roll your eyes, it was at this point a natural reflex. 

Mattheo walked in, decked out in his quidditch gear. He took off his gloves, tossing them on this desk. He glanced over at you, walking over and then leaning over your shoulder to see what you were reading. 

You closed your book half way, keeping your finger in between to keep your place, you looked at him before turning to your side, “buzz off Riddle.” You opened the book again to continue reading.

Mattheo chuckled, raising an eyebrow, shaking his head. He took the book from your hand, closing it and placing it on the bedside table, “aww, is that how you say hi to your favorite roommate?~”

You scoff, and sit up to get your book from the table, “Hiii MaTthEooo” You say fakely, you looked him over, “I’m assuming you guys didn’t win? You would have been going out for drinks if you did.” You huffed.

Mattheo rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing. 

“Yea, we didn’t win. The other team cheated anyway. But you’re right, Y/N, if we won I would’ve been out for a couple shots.” He smirked, sitting down at his bed, still looking at you.

“Too bad, so sad.” you made a fake crying look, using your balled up fists to your face to mock him, “go shower you stink. Like bad!” you plug your nose, opening your book once more. You wanted to get lost in the mystery romance you had been reading, you were almost finished.

Mattheo just gathered a fresh set of clothes and headed to the shared bathroom.

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He later came out with just his sweats and was in the act of putting his shirt on, you couldn’t help but glance over at him. He was definitely toned, with nice biceps and forearms because of the sport. He noticed you looking at him, “My, my, were you just checkin’ me out?” he teased, he sat on his bed. He flexed his arms for you, winking.

“I wasn’t. It's just that you still look dirty.” It was all you could come up with, your eyes returned to the page in front of you but you couldn’t focus.

He laughed again, grinning like an idiot, he knew you weren’t staring at him because of that, he quickly went back to your bedside, snatching your book out of your hands, “dirty in what way, ~love?” He questioned jokingly, leaning forward over you with a smirk.

You groaned, grabbing one of your pillows to smack him in the face. He took a step back laughing. You reached over in your nightstand and took out some headphones, maybe if you were to play music you can tune mattheo out.

“That won’t work on me!” he loudly said other music, snatching your headphones off your head and dropping on the bedside table.

“GOD Mattheo!” You say annoyed, “don’t you have something better to do!?”

He smiled to himself, but backed up into his bed, he loved to annoy you, it was entertaining. “Nope. I'm bored and don't know what to do. That’s why I'm playing with you, Y/N.”

“Go look for Teddy, Enzo, Draco, FUCK go to one of your girlfriends’ room.” I groan into my hands.

He snickered as you said the last one raising an eyebrow and grinning widely, he knew how much you actually didn’t want him to go into another girl’s dorm room. He shook his head, sitting up straight, “Nah, pissing you off is way more fun.” He looked you up and down, “Would you be jealous if I did?”

“No. The only jealousy I feel is because they have peace and quiet in their rooms right now.” you were growing quite frustrated at Mattheo.

He loved seeing you like this, he knew exactly how to press your buttons like no one else, “Uh huh, that’s all? You’re not even a little tiny bit jealous of someone else having my attention?” 

“Why would I be? I’m begging you to go give it to someone else. Make them feed you the attention you need.”

He rolled his eyes, acting offended. “Damn you’re harsh. You’re sure you’re not just hiding your attraction for me?”

You wanted to scream but instead you snatched your book and headphones from your table. You weren’t going to entertain him any longer. You left the room, making sure to slam the door as you did so. You went down and found an empty couch that faced a window. There were only a handful of people around, they were all just studying or chatting. With a sigh you slipped your headphones, looking out the window. It had been raining, and the reflection of the fireplace danced with the droplets. 

Mattheo had sat there on his bed for a second after you left, contemplating on whether he should follow you or not. He eventually decided to, knowing he’d go crazy out of boredom if he stayed in the room. He silently followed you down to the common room. 

He spotted you sitting at a couch, his eyes wandered over your figure as his thoughts traveled to various places.

He sat down on a separate couch quietly. He leaned back, crossing his legs and sort of watched you. Mattheo hated to admit it, but he found you quite pretty. He wouldn’t say that out loud though, it was much more fun to make you angry.

You tried to focus on your book, but you couldn't. You were exhausted because of Mattheo. You carefully laid down, listening to the muggle music. Paying attention to the lyrics until your eyes got heavy and you drifted off to sleep. 

Mattheo didn’t expect you to fall asleep when he didn’t see you sit up after a while. He snuck quietly behind the couch you were laying on and watched you. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder, it was Theodore.

“Whatcha-” he began but mattheo hit him to shut up.

“Don’t wake her up.”

Theodore leaned over too, noticing Y/N sleeping. He gave Mattheo a funny look, seeing how he was admiring you just a second ago when he thought no one was watching. 

“Since when do you care?” he whispered, holding back a laugh.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at Theo, “shut up. I don’t care…it just that she looks cute when she sleeps…shut up!” he hissed, a small blush forming on his cheeks as he said that aloud, hoping theo didn’t notice.

“Say whaaat?” Theo acted shocked, rolling his eyes. “Just carry her back to your guy’s dorm. I don’t trust her being out here in the common room. Too many sneaky bastards ready to play tricks.”

Theo was right, it wouldn’t be the first time someone pulled a stupid trick on a defenseless sleeping student. “Yeah yeah, just shut up. I’m doing it, just grab her things. Will you?”

Mattheo was able to lift you with ease, holding you like a damn princess. He couldn’t help thinking about you in that way, like he was rescuing you. 

Theodore just followed Mattheo has he climbed up the stairs back into your shared dorm. He laid your possessions on your desk, “night Mattheo.” He said leaving.

Mattheo nodded at him, laying you down on your bed. He took your blanket to cover you. He ran a hand through his hair, looking to the door and closing it. He brought his attention back to you. How on earth did someone look so damn adorable when sleeping?

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You began to stir a little bit, you let out a faint pained moan. Your face scrunched minutely, your hands grabbing hold of your bed sheets. Knuckles turning white. It would have been hard to miss, but Mattheo had been watching over you for a while now, so he noticed the change immediately. 

He quickly sat up from his bed, pulling his legs forward. He was immediately concerned, he stood up and walked over to your bed. He knelt down beside you, staring. You let out another whimper. 

Mattheo reached over, gently shaking your shoulder, wondering if you were having another nightmare, “hey hey, Y/N. are you okay?” He mumbled not trying to frighten you more.

You immediately woke up to his touch, you were still just as afraid, still believing you were dreaming. You sat up quickly, looking down at Mattheo, then the room. “how..I swear I fell asleep on the couch..”

“Yeah you did. I carried you back here. Theo and I both didn’t trust others to not play a truck on you while you slept.” He quickly explained.

“You..carried me?” You looked at him in disbelief. How did you not wake to that? He smirked, nodding, he took it as a compliment to his strength. “How long were you watching me, weirdo?” You tried to play along with him in an attempt to shake your fear away.

He rolled his eyes, grinning faintly at your comment, but he saw through it. Mattheo could tell you were still afraid, but he egged you on. “Long enough to see your boogers.”

You let out a small laugh, but turning to check your nose. “Shut up..just go back to sleep.” You say quietly, “but can you leave the light on…just for tonight.”

“Are you scared of the dark or something now?” He wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to make you feel bad.

“No..it's just that. I sometimes suffer from sleep paralysis. It’s usually figures of my parents. They watch me from the foot of my bed.” You shut up, “I don’t know why I'm telling you this.” You turned back to your side, facing away from Mattheo, pulling your blanket up to your chin.

“No please, tell me more…” He meant it, he was interested but also kind of creeped out. He looked between you and the foot of your bed half expecting to see your parents too. He started to feel guilt, knowing what was to come. But he thought, if you talked about it, it might make you feel better. “This isn’t the first time I've seen you have a nightmare. Why do you think you see figures of your parents..?” He questioned quietly, his voice lacking any sarcasm.

“I don't know, '' You whispered back, “I try to wake up from it, but I just can’t move. It feels like I'm being stepped on. I try to convince myself every time, that there’s no way they could have escaped Azkaban…that there’s no way they would just be there… staring at me.”

Mattheo sighed, he didn’t understand why he began to strongly feel the need to comfort you. He usually didn’t care about other people’s feelings, maybe it was guilt. That his father probably had something to do with your parents being locked away. “Do they ever do anything?”

“It’s usually just staring at me..other times they choke me out..or they just wail loudly. It’s always something about how I didn't help them enough…” you felt your voice shake, you felt like crying but you just cleared your throat. You closed your eyes to try and think about nice things, like your book.

Hearing you explain that made Mattheo’s heart ache.

“I need to see a therapist.” You let out a small pathetic laugh when mattheo stayed quiet.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, he hated hearing how frightened you sounded. He saw how you tried to laugh it off but he could tell how bad this was affecting you. He hated that this was going on behind the scenes to you…why did he hate that it was happening to you of all people. “Why don’t you?” He genuinely asked.

You shrug, you knew mattheo was still right next to you, judging by how close his voice was. With your back still to him, you lifted a corner of your blanket out to him, without a word.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow when you lifted your blanket to him, he was confused until he realized that you were silently telling him to get into your bed. His eyes widened slightly, and he didn’t move at first. He thought it over quickly, slowly and cautiously getting into your bed pulling the blanket over him as well. He was laying on his back, careful not to touch you. 

He wanted to break the tension and laugh, but you beat him to it as you flipped around to face him, “no funny business Mattheo, I mean it.” 

He smiled faintly but nodded, he watched your face, “don’t worry…I won't try anything.” He mumbled, “why don’t you scooch closer? Might make you feel better…” 

You only reached out to grab his arm to hold. It felt so warm and muscular. You could feel his breathing through the movement of the bed. Its rhythm helped put you back at ease. You closed your eyes once more.

Mattheo smiled to himself, when you grabbed hold of his arm it made his heart beat faster. He didn’t mind though, looking at you, you looked like a little koala cuddling into him. He hesitated tucking your hair back, but he did with a shaky hand. His mind was racing. He watched you drift to sleep, with the light from the lamp illuminating your face. Why was he suddenly finding himself finding you cute.. and pretty.. and endearing..and-

“Thank you mattheo.” you mumbled.

His heart skipped, he was surprised that you managed to say that before falling asleep, “you’re safe princess.” he said quietly. 

You thought your mind was still playing tricks on you, but you swore he just called you princess. You couldn’t help but smile. You didn’t have sleep paralysis for the rest of that night. And not once did you let go of his arm.

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The next morning you woke up and noticed that you were still holding onto him, you felt your face blush. You looked over at Mattheo, he was still sleeping…and he looked handsome. His expression was relaxed. He looked so different, there was no hint of his usual cocky smirk or snarky expression. It was replaced with peace. His un-cuddled arm was resting on his stomach.

It was the weekend, so neither of us needed to be up so early. He must have been tired after his match and then for having to watch me half of the night. You curiously inhaled him, his cologne wasn’t terribly strong, but it was there and it smelled good. Comforting even. You closed your eyes deciding to sleep in a little longer.

It felt like you just made that decision, when there was a knock at your door. You didn’t move until the person knocked again. You lightly shook Mattheo, in a small panic. “Mattheo..” you whispered.

He woke up, grumbled faintly in his half asleep state. He slowly and groggily opened his eyes, “whaaa..?” He slurred out, Mattheo lifted his free arm and rubbed his eyes. The knocking continued to be heard.

“Off my bed.” You say rolling over him, going to the door. You wouldn’t dare open it until Mattheo either got up or moved to his own bed.

He rolled his eyes, groaning in annoyance as you climbed over him to reach the door. He sat up and reluctantly stood from the bed, stretched his arms above his head, yawning. He walked to his bed and unceremoniously got into it, he laid on his stomach this time. Letting out a relaxed sigh, looking at the door.

You opened the door, it was Theodore, “Hii teddyy!” you say, “what can we help you with?” You rub your eye. You left the door to open wider so he could come inside if he wanted to. You moved to your desk, pulling out a hair brush. You were curious as to why there was music playing downstairs, when you glanced at the window. It was evening, that surprised you. How long did you really sleep for?!

Theo smiled at you, but his face twisted into a sly grin as he took in the scene in front of him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. He was studying how you were just now brushing your hair out, and Mattheo was still in bed. “Sorry for walking in on both of your beauty sleeps.” He joked curiously. 

“No it’s fine, it was about time we woke up…” you blushed, thinking about what Theo's conclusion was coming to, “I think I would have slept the whole day through and through. It helps when that guy isn’t talking your ear off.” You gestured to Mattheo with the brush.

“Yeah, he doesn’t tend to be quiet at all.” Theo laughed, he looked at Mattheo, he was looking at you annoyed.  Theo went to sit on your bed, “Game night is starting downstairs, thought you guys might want to join. Maybe your whole day might not have gone to waste after all.” 

“Can I shower first?” You asked, gathering an outfit. 

“Of course, we’re still setting up waiting for more people to show.”

You exchanged a look with Mattheo, wordlessly acknowledging how we slept. It was a silent swear, to not ever mention it to anyone. We shared mutual friends, but we didn’t need them bugging  or teasing us about it. He just stared back, confirming his part to keep the secret. You headed into the bathroom.

Mattheo turned to look at Theo, who had a faint smirk on his face. “Don’t.” He simply said to him

Theo dropped his smirk, “I didn’t even say anything!” He laid on your bed, spreading out laughing.

Mattheo rolled his eyes, getting up to change, muttering “You didn’t have to say anything.”

“So nothing happened?” Theo hugged your pillow, kicking his feet mimicking a girl wanting to gossip. It got Mattheo to crack and laugh.

“No. Nothing happened, Nott.”

“Okay i’ll drop it.” Theo still gave him a side eye and a wink, “you still called her cute last night. Don’t forget that I heard you slip that out.”

Mattheo froze, going over to him on your bed. He grabbed theo’s ankle and dragged him onto the floor starting a play fight.

You finally got out of the shower, dressed in some comfortable oversized jeans but with a small top. You were finishing rubbing on a scented lotion on your arms. The two boys quickly got up off the ground, brushing themselves off. Mattheo couldn't help but stare at you, seeing your casual outfit and how pretty you looked. He pushed theo out of the way, also as an attempt to hide the blush that was creeping on his face. He was the first to walk out of your dorm room. Theo followed after him, with you last to shut the door.

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Pansy was standing on a table balancing two jugs and another by her feet, she was in the middle of making an announcement.

Theodore watched her in awe, “please tell me she’s made something good this time around.” Mattheo agreed with him, he was starting to get excited and he needed a good drink to freshen up. 

“I will be pouring each of you a drink from a random jug I have concocted! Just to spice up tonight’s games. One is mixed with a teenie bit of truth serum,” There was a mumble in the small crowd, she continued with a sweet smile at the reaction, “the other is spiked with a love potion. And last but not least, a regular drink! You won't know which one i’ll give you, it’ll take a couple of minutes to kick in!” The commotion in the room started to peak as people lined up, Theodore shoved his way to the front, “me first!” 

You laughed, watching pansy pour drinks either in cups or directly in the participants mouths. When it was your turn she let you smell the jug, she smiled at you. Knowing that you were one of the best potions students there were, there wouldn’t be a chance to fool you. It was just the regular drink and you asked her to just pour you a cup so you can enjoy it slowly. 

You went to sit by Theodore, taking a sip. “Oh this is delicious…do you feel anything yet Teddy?” You looked over at where Mattheo was, he was in the front of the line having Pansy pour directly into his mouth. He gave her a wink before sitting down with us.

“I don't feel anything right now..”

“Yeah I have no clue as to what I got.” Mattheo chimed in.

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It was your turn for dare or dare (like truth or dare, but it got boring after everyone kept choosing truth, knowing the serum was helping some of them blurt out anything.)

Lorenzo had appointed himself to be the host of the game, choosing what everyone had to do. He was good at it, too good, until he dared you to go have seven minutes in heaven with Mattheo. It made the circle of people holler, knowing that you both were roommates that were just constantly annoyed with each other.

“Easy.” you said nonchalantly, just because you would be stuck in a closet together, doesn’t exactly mean you have to do anything. You both shared a dorm already and nothing happened. You stood up to head into the appointed closet. 

Mattheo shot Lorenzo a glare, he would have to get him back later. He slowly got up to follow you, he opened the door to the closet, “ladies first.”

You both got into the closet, it was a lot smaller than you expected. “Merlin… Mattheo..can you move a little bit more?” You thought that by having your back to him, it would be the best option but it wasn’t. Your ass was just pressed deeply into his lap, you could have swore you felt a twitch. 

He let out a huff, he wasn’t doing much better given how much larger his frame was compared to yours. Mattheo closed his eyes as he felt you grinding on him, trying to not let out any sounds, “Just…fucking..” He managed to flip you around so that you were straddling one of his legs. He breathed out, thinking it would provide him some relief but it only felt worse not having you pressed against him, “better?” He grumbled.

“Yeah better…” You couldn’t meet his eyes, “We can just stay like this…no one has to know we didn’t do anything… win win..” You whisper, laying your head on his chest. 

Mattheo tried to concentrate on what you were saying, but it was hard when you were straddling half of him. He was sure you could hear how fast his heart was beating. He cursed his body for giving this reaction. He swallowed, clearing his throat slightly, trying to remain composed, but still sounding a bit bit breathless. “Yeah that's a good idea.”

Your arms were already growing tired of having them pressed to the sides of the closet, so you decided to rest them on his chest. You gauged his reaction, “sorry, is this okay? I feel like i'm losing circulation.” You let out a small laugh.

You noticed how he hitched his breath, he tried to relax his muscles under your touch. He shrugged slightly at your question, “it’s fine. No big deal.” 

There was a thud on the door, and then someone must have gotten slapped, “shut up.” They giggled, someone must be pressing their ear to the door to try and listen to us.

Mattheo started to really feel annoyed, knowing someone was trying to eavesdrop on what was happening in the closet. He desperately wished he would make some room between you and him, but he know it wouldn’t solve his current problem he was facing.

“So uh..do you know what drink you ended up getting…it’s been a couple of minutes so the effects should be starting to show.”  You tippy toed to whisper in his ear, so the outside wouldn’t be able to hear.

He let out an exasperated gasp, feeling your warm breath against his neck. He wanted to press your body closer against his but he fought the thought, “Yeah..yeah i think i know what one i got.” His voice was slightly strained. He was trying with all his might to remain calm with you being so damn close to him.

You looked expectantly at him to finish his thought. He looked down at you as you looked up. His eyes slightly turned darker, “I got the love one.” he muttered, feeling himself lose his battle.

Your eyes widened, you knew the feeling of a love potion, or at least the ones Pansy made. It didn’t make you fall in love with anyone directly, but it just made you lust. It was like a burning sensation, the need to be touched. There would be no relief until…your needs were met in a..very specific way… to say the least. 

Mattheo could practically see the realization come over your face at his words. There was another thump against the door, followed with more giggles. He clenched his fists. 

“Is it hurting?” You pull back from him, knowing the contact you were making with him would be driving him crazy. “Maybe you can ask one of your many girls to help you..”

His body involuntarily protested at the distance you tried to make. He gave you a peeved look, not having a desire to ask any of them for this sort of help. He scoffed, his eyes burning into yours, “No. I don't want any of them.”

“Yadda yadda.. They come to you. You don’t go to them.” You waved him off, “It’s going to be a long night for you if you don’t do something…I can leave the dorm tonight to yourself. To leave…you to it? I could probably sleep over at pansy’s” You were the one now yapping out of nervousness.

Mattheo’s patience was starting to wear down as he was slowly being replaced by an overwhelming need to be touched by you, and only you. There was a ringing in his head. He shook his head in response, his voice slightly harsh as he spoke, “No. You shouldn’t have leave your own damn dorm.”

Your eyes snapped back to his when he gave you attitude…but also you kind of liked it in this context. You saw it as an opportunity to annoy him as payback for all the times he bothered you, “you don't want to touch yourself at least?” You whispered carefully into his ear so the person outside wouldn't hear, “I don’t exactly want to hear your grunts if I'm in the same room.” You laughed.

“I’m not fucking doing that.”

“Big bad tough Mattheo Riddle at it again huh? If you want to thug it out, then so be it.” I laughed again until he buckled his knee up my legs and into my core, rubbing against it. You yelped as you snapped to look at him, and he had the most smug look on his face.

There was a loud knocking on the door, “Times up.” It was Lorenzo, he opened the door quickly. You nearly jumped right out of there, rushing back to your seat next to Theo. “Man you guys are boring!! I was expecting some heat in there.”

Mattheo let out a sharp exhale when you got off of him, already missing the feeling. He pushed Enzo to the side, “Dickhead.” He tried to cool his body back down and act as normal as possible. He kept staring at you.

Enzo just shot his friend a look at how he was acting, he thought he was doing him a favor. He just shook his head and went back to the circle, motioning who was next to do and telling that person their dare.

You kept feeling mattheo glance at you, and it made you blush. You thought about how his knee was rubbing against you, and how good it had felt. When you thought about that, you needed to call it a night. “I had fun guys…i’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to head to bed. Night.” They said goodnight to you, continuing on with the game.

Once back in your dorm, you journaled for a bit. You couldn’t help but think again to Mattheo, you looked over at his bed and wondered if Mattheo would give up and give into sleeping over at a girl’s dorm.

Mattheo stayed downstairs for a while longer, trying to force himself to not feel what he did. After an hour, or so he couldn’t take it anymore and begrudgingly ford himself to get up from the couch and head upstairs to your shared dorm. He pushed opened the door to the room, looking towards your bed first thing to see if you were awake.

You looked up from your book. You had to admit you were impressed by his endurance, “Hey..”

His eyes widened faintly as he saw that you had still been awake, “hey y/n…” He replied keeping his eyes on you and he moved to his bed.

“How’s the potion’s effects?” You looked at the time, “It should be wearing down…is it?”

He plopped down onto the bed, holding his pillow close. Only to realize it was your pillow, the one you threw at his face yesterday. You hadn’t noticed it, thank Salazar. He was so desperate for you that he would just take this. “No. It hasn't.” He felt like it only got more powerful as it went on. He inhaled into your pillow, trying not to groan. It smelled just like your lotion, sweet and strong.

“Can you lock the door…” You motion.

His eyes shot up from the pillow excitedly, Mattheo didn’t bother to even get up to lock it her just quickly grabbed his wand from the nightstand and casted a locking charm to the handle. “Why’d you ask me to lock it?” He tried to calm himself down, looking over at you.

You shrug, “I don't want any drunk person to find refuge in here?” It was a good lie.

Mattheo wasn’t stupid, he knew that wasn’t the reasoning behind your request. But the fact that you didn’t want to admit it, intrigued him to the max. He played along with you.

“Fair enough.” He went back to hugging your pillow underneath him.

“Goodnight Mattheo.” You closed your book, setting it down and turning off the light. 

Mattheo tried to hide his disappointment, maybe he was reading into you wrong because he was just so damn horny, “night.” he watched the curved your body had in the darkness. Silently wishing so badly that you would ask him to join you in your bed again.

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You actually tried to sleep, but you kept hearing Mattheo shift uncomfortably in his bed. It as starting to annoy you, you hated that you were starting to feel bad about how this potion was torturing him. The effects shouldn’t have lasted this long. You thought about how he did help you out when you had sleep paralysis. “Mattheo…” you whispered.

Mattheo shivered as he heard you whisper his name, he bit back a gasp. He fought with himself for a moment, his body already starting to crave you again even if it was just for a chat. “Y-Yeah?” He said back quietly, staring at your direction through the darkness of the room.

“Just ask me to help you already.”

He felt a rush of both shock and relief at your words. The words got caught in his throat, “Can..you help me?”

“Only because you helped me last night. So this way, are we even okay?” I huffed sitting up, tossing my blanket to the side, “don’t be so damn afraid to ask for some help.”

“I’m sorry…” It was all he could manage, he was so turned on by how you were taking initiative for him. He was a mess. And you both could clearly tell, “Please…just…please touch me please..” He buzzed with excitement at the thought of you touching him again.

You couldn’t help but be taken back by surprise, you never heard him beg. It wasn’t like him, but you enjoyed the sound of it. You went into his bed this time. But you started to get nervous yourself as you pressed your body against his. He instantly got closer to you, forcing you to get rid of your nerves. 

“Y/N…please..” Mattheo nearly cried out. You started to softly touch where you knew he needed it the most. He let out a small groan escape his lips. You looked at his face that was barely lit up by the moonlight, your own heart was racing. You never would have imagined yourself doing this to him. 

Mattheo’s cock kept twitching in your hand, his eyes were shut tightly. He was feeling his body immediately melt to your touch. Your touch felt better than anything to his over-sensitized body. He felt himself getting lost in it. “Oh..” He whispered under his breath. His body moving against your hand, a small thrust that told you to give him more.

“Wouldn’t it be kind of funny if I were to just stop?” You teased him, laughing lightly. You still kept going at the motion despite your words.

He let out a estranged and slightly annoyed laugh, “Don’t you fucking dare.” He silently hated the fact that you were going to choose to tease him now out of all times. 

“Don’t stop please.” He nearly cried out when he felt you let go of him, his eyes opened to look at yours to see what you were doing.

“I want you to watch me..” You whispered. You pulled his blanket down to the foot of the bed. He couldn’t help but smile at you, his irritation easing as he realized what you were doing to do. You moved to sit in between his legs. You slid down his pants to his thighs, his dick springing out to slap his belly button. You couldn't help but stare, he smirked at your look. He held it up for you to take in your hands. He let out a sigh, using his pillow to prop himself up to watch you. Your hands only made him look and feel bigger, giving him an ego boost. “Mattheo, I didn't know you were packing like this.” He let out a shaky laugh, bucking his hips. 

You moved one of your hands to rub his tip, that simple motion already earned you a whimper. There was no need to spit on it, his precum was already all over himself. You gently started to stroke him, slowly. Enjoying how you were making him feel. You wanted to admire his cock, but you also wanted to see Mattheo’s expressions.

“Ah, shit. That feels good, darling.” 

You began to twist your hand over his tip, bringing his precum down more. His dick was glistening just by himself. You began to notice how you were salivating, you wanted to taste him, you were curious as to how much you would be able to fit in his mouth. You saw it as a fun challenge, it had been such a long time since you had dick yourself. It only turned you on more knowing it was your own roommate, Mattheo. 

“C’mere.” Mattheo beaconed, leaning over to grab the back of your neck. Pulling you in so he could kiss you. He was so needy he wanted more of you. He was starting to imagine how pretty your lips would look around his cock. He bit at your lip and you cried out. It had hurt and you knew it drew blood, but neither of you cared to check up on it, you still kept kissing each other. You continued to play with him and he was moaning into your mouth.

“Keep going. Keep going.” He held your face, “fuck youre so pretty. I’m going to mark you up good.” He pushed your face to the side, attacking your jawline. Licking at it before going down your neck. He sucked on it harshly, making sure to leave deep purple marks that would take weeks to fade. You didn’t dare stop him. It felt too good.

“Mattheo..” You breathed out. Your breaths were really starting to get shallow, you felt your panties getting wet. 

Mattheo lifted up your cropped shirt, so that your breasts were exposed to him, “not wearing a bra? Perfect.” He growled caressing your breasts, licking at your nipple. He tugged on one with his teeth while he squeezed the other. You were beginning to get too focused on his actions, and he felt you stop stroking him. He pinched your nipple, “keep stroking. I didn’t tell you to stop.” How was he being so needy yet dominating at the same time. You continued playing with him, twisting your arm. He grabbed your jaw, “say you’re sorry.” 

“I’m sorry mattheo…” You let out. 

“Sorry for what?” he kissed you briefly, pulling back for you to answer him.

“Sorry for getting distracted.”

“Good girl, now suck it.” He looked pleased with your words, he gently pushed you down. You did not protest the choice one bit. You laid on your stomach in between his legs once more. You pumped him a couple more times before pulling it into your mouth. 

It took everything in Mattheo’s will power to not buck his hips into your mouth, he wanted to fuck that pretty mouth of yours. But he refrained, he wanted to see how you would please him.

You immediately tasted his precum, it was still continuously leaking from his tip. It was intoxicating, it tasted amazing. It made you smile, you looked up at him from underneath your lashes. He was staring intently on you, biting his own lip at your sight, “stick your ass up for me, princess.” You did as you were told, “so beautiful.”

You took his dick out of your mouth, and he whined at the action. But you ignored it, you went to kiss his shaft, licking the veins that were there. You went further down to take both his balls in your mouth, still using one hand to twist his dick. This sent him into a frenzy of curses.

“Shit - ah - fuck. Goddammit. Y/N…shit fuck who ever taught you to do this.” He threw his head back laughing, but also there was irritation in his voice “no forreal im going to - ah - kick whoevers ass taught you this.”

You just rolled your eyes, continuing with your actions. You went back to suck on his dick, you tried your best to deep throat his whole dick but it was impossible. You had to stroke whatever wouldn't fit in your mouth. You kept gagging, spit running down your chin. “I love that sound.” he breathed out, his fingers finding their way to the back of your hair, he tried pushing himself further into you. You kicked your feet, needing to breathe. He pulled out for a quick second seeing your reaction, he looked sorry for a split second, but he quickly regained himself and shoved his dick back in your mouth. 

You noticed how his breathing began to get labored, and his buckling was out of rhythm. You closed your eyes to concentrate, holding onto his thighs. When you felt his hot seed fill your mouth. There was so much of it, “shit Y/N..i’m sos s so srorry.” he moaned out you couldn't tell if he was being sincere or not, “I didn’t mean to cum just yet. I-I didn’t mean to just cum in your mouth without warning.” 

You pulled back, with your hand under your chin, catching anything you weren’t able to swallow, “Matty it’s okay really. No big deal.” You slurped up the rest of the cum that was on your hand. Mattheo widened his eyes at your action. He slowly sat up, he let out a shaky exhale. His mind was still clouded with arousal.

You got off of him, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth. He felt kind of guilty, having a bit of post nut clarity. He started to blush.

“Are you feeling better?” you came back out with a wet wipe, handing it over to him. 

“Y-yeah. I feel a lot…better now..” He rubbed the back of his neck, cleaning himself and pulling his pants back up, “thank you..it means a lot…”

“I’m glad.” You crawled back into your own bed, trying to catch your breath. You were a bit shaken from the events. You couldn’t help your own blush. You thought back to how big he was.. and how he tasted..how he sounded… how he was kissing you. You rubbed at where the hickies would start to form. You pulled the blanket higher, you needed some relief…and you knew you could do it quietly.

Mattheo watched you, his breathing slowly returning back to normal as he spoke up, “Hey…can I ask you something?”

“Yeah what’s up?” You turn to him, your heart speeding up again.

He paused for a moment, silently gathering his confidence as he swallowed the growing lump in his throat, he took a shaky breath before speaking again. A hint of hesitation in his voice, “...Can you..come back to my bed?”

“I-I thought you were feeling better?” You blushed thinking he wanted more.

He let out a slightly frustrated sigh, “Ah yeah um.. I am feeling better… but I don’t want you to think I only wanted this because of that stupid drink.”

“Okay..sure..” you got out of your bed once more, and made your way over to his. 

Mattheo felt an instant wave of relief wash over his body as you returned back to him. He lifted the blanket back up to cover the both of you. You were both laying on your backs, staring at the ceiling. It was quiet apart from both your breathing. His mind was clouded with all kinds of thoughts.

“Can I ask you a question now?” You broke the silence, you only turned your head to him.

His eyes instantly flicked over to yours as you spoke, “Go ahead.”

“Did you expect me to help you?” I paused to clarify, “I mean…I know you don’t like doing to girls, they go to you blah blah…but why didn’t you want to ask me for help?”

“I..I didn’t want to come off as desperate, I guess? It’s usually the girls who are begging me for things…not the other way around.” He laughed.

“I guess I don’t apply to being those girls?”

He felt a pang of something in his chest at those words, he let out a sigh, “It’s not like that…you’re different.” 

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, “I guess. Yeah, I'm your roommate of seven years.”

“Yes, I'm fully aware of that fact. But that’s not what I meant.” He hated how this was taking a turn.

“What do you mean then, Riddle.” You scoff and turn your back to him, really? after what you just did with him. “I got the impression that I was never more than just your annoying roommate..until recently.”

His stomach was starting to tie up in knots, “I…I’ve always always thought of you as more than an annoying roommate…You just wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He felt nervous, he pulled you closer to him so he could spoon you. He tightened his grip on your waist so you wouldn’t be able to leave at what he was about to confess, “..promise you won’t get mad at me when I tell you?”

“Matty…just spit it out. We don’t have much time left in the year.”you blushed, thinking how things could have been completely different. 

“Truth is. I’ve been kind of in love with you ever since third year.” It came out in a whisper, but his mouth was right next to your ear. It made you shiver. “I didn’t want to make it any more than what it was because -”

“- because if things didn’t go well… that’s still four years being stuck with each other?”

“Yes and no..I didn’t make a move on it because I thought you hated me for what my father did to your parents…. And I was scared of rejection for that.”

You own mind was going to a million different places at once. 

Mattheo started to get nervous at your silence, “did you ever have feelings for me..?” He said this, tracing circles around your skin.

“Yes.” You paused, “It’s hard not to be in love with you.” He hadn’t said anything back to that, “So what do we do with this information now?” 

In reality Mattheo was just dumbfounded that he wasted so much time and effort on other people, when you had actually reciprocated his feelings. He felt his heart swell, “well first and most importantly, I want you as mine.” He paused his voice taking a softer side, he reached down in between your pants to play with the edge of your panties, “...not just mine for the night. I want you to myself…no more other partners for either of us.”

You held your breath at his action and words, “easy. Next?”

He let out a small hum thinking. Mattheo moved his hand further down, and you opened your legs a bit. He smiled into your neck at this action, he felt how wet you were. He felt bad for keeping you waiting, going through a rollercoaster of emotions. “Secondly…I want to kiss you again, properly this time… and I mean without having to come up with an excuse to do it.”

“You never really needed an excuse…you just had to do it.” You smiled turning your head to him, your breathing picking up pace as you felt his fingers start to explore your pussy. 

“Is that so?” He questioned with a teasing smirk, his lips now only inches away from yours.

“Must I always be the first to make the move?” You asked but also you just crashed your lips to his, maybe a little too eager…but you were being patient for a little too long for your own liking.

Mattheo let out a soft gasp of surprise, he instantly returned the kiss. He started to rub your clit from behind with a new found purpose. You slipped off your pants so you could open your legs wider for him, your own desperation growing.

“You’re so wet for me…you got this way just by pleasing me?”  

“Yes Mattheo.” it was all you can manage to say, you were embarrassed by how fast you were going to cum yourself. The tension build up probably helped with that. With the arm that was under you, he moved it so that one was playing with your clit. The other switched so he could finger you from behind. He at first only slipped one finger inside, “it’s so warm in here.” He wiggled it teasing you. You were starting to shake, moaning his name out. You felt his cock twitch behind you again, you couldn’t believe he was already able to get hard again after cuming just less than half an hour ago.

Mattheo went to kiss your shoulders again, you were starting to get overwhelmed with all the sensations you were feeling. There was too much to focus on, Mattheo felt your pussy clench around his single digit, it only encouraged him knowing you were feeling amazing. He pulled out his finger, “open up, taste yourself sweetheart.” You sucked on his finger, and he dipped the same finger back into your core, pulling it out. Making you whine but this time he stuck it into his own mouth. It made you blush, “mmm” Without a proper warning you Mattheo felt a slip in two fingers this time. He curled them feeling your gummy walls. He was relentless with his pace, making you unravel in minutes. You gripped his wrist for him to stop with his movements, silently begging for mercy.

Your pussy was pulsating around his fingers repeatedly, this got him excited, “that’s going to feel amazing on my cock.” As you recovered from your high, he pulled his pants off once more. He pulled you so that you were straddling his lap, hovering over his dick. “You think you can take it, Y/N?”

You nodded, “I’m gonna take it, Matty.” You swatted his hand away from it, he let go letting it lay flat on his stomach. He loved how determined you were being. You rubbed your pussy over it, he sucked in his breath at the feeling. You were using your own cum as lube. You were picking up your pace when Mattheo’s hands gripped at your hips, digging harshly, “enough. let me inside you already.” Once again you were hovering over his lap, he held you up by your ass for assistance. You let just his tip slip inside and he groaned, “please please please, c’mon give me that pretty little pussy.” With that you sat straight on it. Not letting yourself adjust, this caused both you and mattheo to moan. You kind of regretted it, it hurt.

He laughed, his dick twitching side of you, “baby why would you do that?”

“I don't know…” You bit his shoulder, shaking your head, you moved your hips up to redo that. But Mattheo pushed you back down, you cried out in pain, “Mattheo!”

He winced as you bit him again, “what! You came down on me like that, so now I'm going to force you to take it. My dick is not going to take another second of not being buried inside you. I promise to go slow.” He kissed your forehead, you trusted him. He didn’t move you for another couple of seconds, but he did play with your clit again in the meantime. That did help you relax and he started to move slowly, especially with your guidance as to what was too much for you. With teamwork, you were both able to turn your pain into pleasure. Mattheo shook his head, “don’t do that again, princess. You were much too eager. But I love that.”

He started to move faster, fucking your sopping wet core. You leaned back, propping yourself with your hands on his thighs. He loved seeing your pussy take him in, “i’m going to rearrange your insides.” You slapped your hand over your mouth. “No no no, i want to hear you.” he reached over to pull you onto him. He grabbed both your hands, holding them behind your back as he bucked into you. You moaned directly into his ear, making him go faster. You were reaching your second high and he knew it. He pushed you up, stopping. “Matty -- why !?” 

“Ride me. Work for your orgasm.” He put his hands behind his head, watching you intently as you worked yourself up again, using his dick to feel good. He loved watching you, you looked so beautiful to him, watching your tits bounce. How you closed your eyes in pleasure, how you bit your lip. He loved looking at the marks he was leaving on you. Others would notice and see he has claimed you. 

“Mattheo..Matt-..Mattheo i'm going to come around you.” He huffed, he knew you weren’t lying he could feel you clench around his dick this time instead of his fingers. He helped you reach your high as he noticed you started to lose your pace. He put one hand behind your lower back, the other pushing on your lower belly, making you feel extra full. “Oh my goood” this made you roll your eyes. 

“Good girl, come for me. I'm so proud of you.” you fell on top of him, shaking. This shaking made him reach his own high, “shit Y/N. on your knees now. Fuck i-” 

Despite how fucked out you were, you were to able to move to the ground, you stuck your tongue out for him, he stood up and stroked his cock on your tongue. He gripped on your hair, releasing his hot cum. There was still so much of it, some landed directly in your mouth and the rest on your face. “Ah fuck that was amazing, darling.” You swallowed once you thought he was totally empty. He held out a hand for you to take, you took it to stand up but your legs were shaking too much. Mattheo laughed lightly at the sight. So he picked you up and brought you to the bathroom. He began running the shower, “May I have this shower with my girlfriend?” You could only smile and nod, your brain was still trying to catch up.

It was safe to say you both only ended up sharing one bed for the rest of the year. The other remained untouched.

[2knightt]

HII!! could you write the gang with a reader that has an rbf and seems really intimidating/unapproachable but is a sweetheart? they arent very talkative and seem very cold but their love language is acts of service/gift giving & sorta quality time?? <33

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ pretty as a vine, sweet as a grape. ⋄ 𓍯

…REQUESTED: you never judge a book by it’s cover. especially when it comes to y/n!

tags/warnings: people being judgy asf/spreading rumours, gang defending reader with their soul, reader is a softie i fear, reader is kinda shy, probably stupid:3c, steve threatening a manLMFAO

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ READER IS SO ME CODED HELLO also if two-bits part sounds stupid it ‘s because i’m high rn and even if can admit it’s a little iffy

—

dallas winston

thought of you as someone to be threatened by at first ngl

he heard of this scary, mean mugged, tuff looking girl and went ‘mh. an enemy🐺😒’

he went up to you one day, acting all tuff and shit just for you to look him up and down and nervously wave

look, he may not be the smartest cookie but he can see someone shy a mile away. and when he seen you wave, he felt like such an ass LMFAO

did he show it? no. obviously.

this is dallas. he’s an asshole.

“little miss tough girl, huh?”

“…pardon?”

that teasing from him DID continue until you walked away because dallas is the type to never back down, even when he’s wrong

expect for the next time you met him!!!!

he was actually asking you your name, where you’re from, etc, etc!!!

turning a new leaf dare i say…

and everything after that was history! cutest scary looking couple ever!

HE THINKS IT’S SOOO FUNNY THAT PEOPLE ARE SCARED OF YOU LMFAOOO

he plays into it sm if someone brings it up bro

“y/n? like..scary y/n?”

“yeah, like scary y/n. and i’ll get ‘er on ya if you keep talkin’ ‘bout her.”

“oh!😰”

he thinks it’s so silly to see you look really pissed off when he isn’t around just to greet you and see your whole demeanour change!!

dallas thinks it’s so cute😭 it’s like one of his favourite things about you!

“😠😒”

“hey, baby.”

“oh! hi, dal!<3”

LMFAO IMAGINE SOMEONE SEEING YOU, A MEAN LOOKING GIRL, SHOPPING FOR MENS LEATHER JACKETS

yuppp spoil that dickhead!😫 he lovelovelovesss getting gifts, ESPECIALLY from u!!!

if you’re clingy, i feel like he wouldn’t mind it. he teases THE FUCK out of u tho!😊

“big tough girl wants to hold hands, eh?”

“…yea😞.”

“awh, look at ya. come ‘ere.”

johnny cade

you might think he’d be scared and intimidated, right? but NO! he’s literally bff’s with ponyboy, he knows damn well what rbf is!

you two are sooo cute together

little kicked, scared puppy with his feral doberman!!!

tells people to stfu whenever they try and spread rumours that you’re scary, mean, and rude.

“you’re dating y/n? don’t you know she-“

“i don’t care, shut up. ‘s not like you know her😒.”

sometimes refuses your gifts.

johnny’s not used to them :( but all u gotta do is say please and flutter your lashes and u got em!!!!

“i can’t take it.”

“please?😞”

“…okay😣.”

and he DOES NOT regret it! he might fight you at first, but he cherishes those gifts with his life<3!

loveloveloveLOVESSS having u around constantly!! since your love language is quality time, you two are always hanging out together.

and, with your scary looks, you often keep the socs away from him!

hip-hip, hooray‼️‼️

the gang was like…worried for johnny at first.

THEY DIDN’T KNOW U WERE COOL THO😭😭💔💔💔

they were all like, “??seriously, johnny?? you pick the meanest girl?? ever???” and johnny was QUICK to defend. “y’all ain’t even meet her, and you’re already sayin’ she’s bad for me?”

when they did though, they were like ‘ohhhh….she really isn’t rude…..oh….’

HE’S SO PROUD TO DATE U THO LMFAOOO

and to know the real you?? treats it like an HONOUR

ponyboy curtis

was intimidated by you.

forgot he was also like you and accidentally glares at people who walk past him LMFAOOOO

You two are like two peas in a pod istg!!

“you look mean from far away,”

“???so do you, pony??”

“…no??”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘NO’?”

mean looking couple who are truly just a bunch of nerds deep down to their soul<3

the gang was a little protective of ponyboy until they realized ur just like him LMFAO

They get having an rbf<3

pony loves spending time with you!

gift him a book and he’ll love you forever!!! (maybe even read it to you when you two are finally alone to help you fall asleep🤍)

he’s such a cutie…..

stays close to you in public because he thinks you’re scarier looking than anyone he’s ever met😊😊.

“cm’ere,”

“why?🤨”

“BECAUSE🙄!”

SCARY DOG Y/N IS REAL.

glares at anyone who goes around telling people that you’re mean and rude.

if looks could kill, they’d be dead already!!!

ponyboy does not fuck around with u i fear.

Sodapop Curtis

LMFAOOO GREEK GOD OF A MAN WITH HIS PISSED OFF GF WHO IS NERVOUSLY HOLDING HIS HAND !!!

he was NOT afraid of you!! in fact, he thought the rumours of you being an asshole were all fake

“you talkin’ about y/n?”

“yes, bro! they’re so rude-“

“how do you know?”

“well, i don’t-“

“so, shut up?😒”

cuz like??? did they not bother to understand you???

soda literally made it his mission to prove that you weren’t a dick!!😭😭

and GODDAMN HE WAS SO RIGHT

you’re such a sweetheart to soda! he lovesss telling people about how cute you are around him since it’s his own way to squash the rumours.

“my y/n is so sweet, you wouldn’t get it.”

“isn’t she the same girl who beat the soc to a pulp?”

“she can barely kill a fly.”

you don’t need to do much to scare off the girls that flirt with him at the DX, just a nice little glare every now and then and they’re already gone!

(soda doesn’t have to know that you play into the rumours sometimes. it’s our little secret.)

steve randle

HATES EVERYONE WHO TALKS ABOUT YOU

he’s petty AS FUCK LMFAOOO

they can’t handle the randle😜💯

“ew, y/n-“

“MAN, GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY FACE WITH THAT WHAT DO YOUUU KNOW ABOUT Y/N🗣️‼️”

that was an over exaggeration but you get the point.

gets very defensive when people try and ‘warn’ him about you lmfao

gift him a tool box and he’ll use it until it’s literally falling apart at the bolts<3

no seriously. it could be holding on by one screw and he’ll still use it. he doesn’t gaf. steve will use anything u give him.

he accepts ur rbf cause he thinks it’s SO FUNNY?? like he’ll see you far away with your friends looking all angry before one of them says a really funny joke and just watches your expression change so quickly

one of his fav things ever<3!

two-bit mathews

he makes so much jokes about it LMFAOOO

“jesus, y/n! you sure yer glare ain’t the thing that killed the dinosaurs?”

—

“swear i see the devil in yours eyes sometimes. it looks soooo good on you, though🤭🤭”

HE THINKS ITS SO ATTRACTIVE

and he lovesss your sweetheart side sm it’s like he gets best of both worlds

RAHH GIFT TWO-BIT MICKEY PLUSHIE OR ELSE

He’d totally have it on his bed 24/7. his sister has tried to steal it before to scare him btw.

skmetimes just to spend time together with him—you just go walking around town with him while he has an arm around your shoulder the whole time<3

[p0orbaby]

A Tide of Tender Mercies

summary: oh, no, i think i’m in love with you

warning: SMUT 18+, oral, fingering (alexia receiving), some angst, reader being stubborn af

a/n: thank you to @muffinpink02 for helping navigate the sexy part ! also i’ve deffo repeated some bits but i cannot for the life of me be bothered to sort it out

word count: 7k

part 1

-

The chalet is…well, perfect. It’s the kind of perfect that only comes from meticulous planning, obsessive list-making, and a kind of restrained indulgence that most people would never understand. Set high above a tiny Swiss village known for its fondue and twenty-something millionaires, it sits against a backdrop of mountains sharp enough to slice the clouds. The exterior is severe, almost aggressively minimalistic: crisp white stucco, blackened wood shutters, and glass doors that could double as showroom installations. The effect is daunting, beautiful, and—if you’re being honest—a bit over-the-top. You chose it, naturally, because it’s the type of place where “just a fling” can occur without a single hint of domesticity.

Inside, everything is pristine, hand-selected, curated to within an inch of its life. You were adamant that the linens be Egyptian cotton, but not the gaudy kind; they’re 800-thread count, light enough to seem insubstantial but woven to feel solid, unyielding. They’re arranged in clinical folds on the bed, starched and pressed in a way that suggests they’re almost afraid to be touched. You’ll mess them up later, but for now, they’re an artwork of restraint.

And then there are the wines, selected with the sort of care that would make a sommelier weep. It’s silly, of course—Alexia doesn’t normally drink during the season, so she will hardly glance at the labels, but you’ve assembled an array that hints at depth nonetheless. An entire wall of Swiss Chasselas, a few rare vintages from Bordeaux, and an stupidly expensive pinot noir that tastes like dirt but cost enough to suggest you know what you’re doing. The idea is that if she gives in to something sophisticated, she’ll find it here. If she doesn’t, you’ll find her something else. Something that says you’ve thought of everything. Which, of course, you have.

The whole thing has a sort of perverse charm, really, how every detail has been obsessively pre-arranged to ensure that she knows you’re not in this for anything serious. And yet, here you are, flying her across Europe to the kind of setting people book for anniversaries and life-altering proposals.

There’s a sort of humour in it, if you’re willing to look. You even laugh to yourself, laying out the spa towels in the bathroom—too thick, too plush, a little too “I love you”—knowing full well she won’t notice them. She’ll think of them as “towels,” and if she does notice, it’ll be because she needs a new one. But that’s fine. It’s all part of the performance, all part of the thing you’ve constructed around this chalet, around her arrival, around the notion that this is—what? Casual? Fun? Whatever word fits it neatly enough to deny what you’re feeling.

And then there are the candles. Oh, God, the candles. You tried to keep them simple, restrained, the kind of scents that evoke a distant memory rather than a specific moment. Sandalwood, bergamot, a flicker of pine; nothing too floral, nothing that says “romance,” but hints of something just familiar enough to feel safe. You even toyed with the idea of an unscented option, just in case the pine felt too… suggestive. It’s ridiculous, but you’ve learned to lean into it, to control it, to package it neatly. If it’s planned, then it’s deliberate, and if it’s deliberate, then it’s just for fun.

“Why all this?” you imagine her saying, eyebrows raised, maybe laughing as she notices the excessive stock of Swiss chocolates in the cabinet. You have them lined up in neat rows, the artisan kind—no corner-shop Toblerone here—and each one is individually wrapped in foil that gleams in the dim kitchen light. You picture her rolling her eyes at the small mountain of truffle boxes, asking if you’ve stocked up for a wedding. And you, of course, would shrug it off, offering some deadpan line about Swiss tourism. Or a joke about Swiss efficiency. Or something suitably bland that keeps the tone right where you want it—on the edge of humour, a step away from real. You’ve prepared for every reaction, really. Which is pointless, because she hasn’t even arrived yet.

It’s the first time she’s been here. The place is new, purchased after a very well-timed therapy session that conveniently rebranded “self-indulgence” as “self-care.” The therapist’s exact words were “If you want to be your best self, find the spaces that let you breathe.” And you took that literally, flying up here for private viewings until this place caught your eye. Well, maybe not your eye. But it was one of those rare places that looked exactly like the pictures, maybe better, and it had the kind of aesthetic that screams “I need nothing from you” while begging for a sense of purpose. You bought it almost instantly.

And now, after weeks of fine-tuning, she’ll be here soon. You catch yourself arranging the books on the side table, pausing over which titles to leave out—a mix of philosophy and modern fiction that says “I read but don’t take it too seriously.” You laugh to yourself at the pretension of it, yet you leave the carefully selected titles exactly as they are.

It’s silly, really, because the goal here is detachment, the freedom to keep things light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that as you straighten the pillows on the sofa for the second time, catching your own eye in the polished mirror that hangs in the foyer.

“You’re being weird,” you say out loud, imagining her walking in, that quick smile flashing, eyebrows raised in a way that says, “Is this all for me?” You picture her laughing, maybe rolling those pretty green eyes of hers. But you have an answer for that too, prepared in advance, a casual shrug.

“Just a little atmosphere,” you’ll say, as if it’s nothing.

You check your watch. Thirty-two minutes until Alexia arrives. Thirty-two minutes to double-check that every single minutely considered, utterly detached detail says, I couldn’t care less—or, more precisely, I care in exactly the right amount of less. Because she needs to know that this is nothing. That this trip to an over-the-top chalet overlooking a town mostly inhabited by 19-year-olds in cashmere is simply an exercise in relaxation, togetherness, a concept you’re fairly sure you’re allergic to.

She doesn’t know it yet, but you bought the place partly to show her. Partly to remind her, subtly, that she could disappear tomorrow and you’d still have this. Because that’s the problem with Alexia, isn’t it? She’s not really yours. She’s something you can enjoy, display even, but never own. The complete opposite of the real estate you’ve added to your collection. You stand there, glass in hand, the Lagavulin you’ve graciously poured yourself warming your fingers through the crystal, staring out at the Alps with the vague thought that an obscene number of people have had their ashes scattered here, somewhere along this ridgeline. It’s an unsettling idea you rather enjoy.

She texts, something about a delay on the tarmac, and you stare at the message for a beat too long, analysing the exact wording like you’re looking for hidden subtext. As if there could be subtext in the word “delayed.”

A casual fling, you remind yourself, should never be complicated by subtext.

To pass the time, you scan the kitchen once again. The coffee is fresh-ground, of course, from a bag that cost as much as an entire year’s supply from anywhere normal. It’s pre-portioned in tiny glass canisters your assistant found online that look like vintage apothecary jars. The labels are printed in Helvetica Neue because you once read that it’s a ‘subtly superior’ font. Ridiculous. But also, it’s perfect. There’s also a miniature mountain of imported Spanish oranges on the counter, carefully arranged in a hammered copper bowl you don’t remember buying. You could make mimosas, you think, if you didn’t know she’ll insist on starting with a protein shake instead.

You put a bottle of Alpine mineral water in the fridge just for her, chilled to the exact 4.4°C she prefers. Yes, it’s an oddly specific temperature preference. No, she didn’t tell you directly. You overheard her mention it once, offhand, to someone else. Which is exactly why you’re bound to a polite indifference if she asks why it’s there. It’s simply what the fridge was set to. Nothing personal.

Just the thought of her walking in has you adjusting your posture as if she’s already watching. Alexia doesn’t miss a single detail. Once, she commented on the way you have a tendency to pull your sleeves over your hands. You haven’t done it since. Now, you check that every piece of clothing you’ve chosen is deliberately, carelessly oversized—but only to the point that still reads as flattering.

Then, at last, you hear the crunch of tyres on gravel. You scurry to watch from the window as she steps out of the car you sent, and she’s immediately caught in that glacial alpine light, her features so stark and defined that it’s almost cinematic. There’s a sharp thrill—one you won’t admit to yourself—in seeing her here, framed against this scene like she’s the final piece in some high-budget film. The coat she’s wearing is slightly too large, lending her a relaxed, indifferent air, as if she’d picked up the first thing she saw on her way out the door. Effortless, in that way that would feel studied on anyone else.

You stand back from the window just before she glances up, retreating into the comfort of shadows. Timing is everything. You’ve thought this through, down to each calculated second. It’s critical, after all, that she finds you not watching, but instead lingering at a perfect remove, preferably with a slight air of distraction. You’re aiming for a kind of aloofness, as if her arrival is the least interesting event of the day.

She’s about to ring the bell when you move, deliberately slow, to the door, letting it swing open just as she raises her hand. There’s a brief, barely perceptible pause as her eyes meet yours, a spark of something unspoken passing between you both before she raises an eyebrow, a look that hovers between amusement and challenge.

“Missed me?” she asks, dryly, though there’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing. She’s close now, close enough that you can catch the faintest whiff of her perfume, something dark and woody and just the right side of familiar.

You tilt your head, giving her a slow once-over, and shrug. “Not especially,” you say, voice low, careful to keep the tone perfectly flat. But you let your gaze linger just a second too long on her collarbone, barely visible where her coat has slipped slightly, enough to make her catch it, her mouth curling up at the edge. It’s a deliberate game, one you’ve both played a hundred times, each move rehearsed, practised to the point of art.

She’s barely through the door when you feel it—that unmistakable tension, thickening the air between you. It’s almost tangible, a static hum just beneath the surface of polite conversation, something that pulls at you like gravity. The moment feels precarious, balanced on the edge of something you’re not quite willing to name, because if you wait too long, the feeling will settle into something more familiar. Something too close to comfort, which is the last thing you want.

She doesn’t seem to notice it, of course, her mind likely on dinner plans or the slow crawl of the evening. You, however, are already teetering at the edge of patience, every nerve just slightly too aware of her. She walks in, drops her bag by the door with a casual grace that feels almost too natural, like she’s done this a hundred times, like she could do this forever if you asked her to. And you wonder if you’d even want that—something so predictably domestic, the quiet comfort of a routine. No. You want her in ways that defy that kind of simplicity, in a way that doesn’t ask permission.

You watch her from the corner of your eye as she takes in the room. Her eyes linger on the minimal, curated details you agonised over: the leather-bound books you never plan to read, the art on the walls meant to suggest a taste for something more sophisticated than it is. She’s oblivious, seemingly caught up in the novelty of the place, and that’s exactly what you intended. She can’t know how meticulously you set the scene, how every pillow and chair is positioned with an almost obsessive precision. All she has to do is be here. You’ll take care of the rest.

There’s a slow, unhurried quality to her movements, an ease that’s infuriating because it’s so at odds with the pulse of urgency rising in you. She wanders over to the fireplace, running her hand along the mantel with a soft, idle curiosity. Her fingers trace over the edge of a photograph you don’t remember putting there, something abstract and distant, chosen for the way it says absolutely nothing about you. It’s maddening, really, the way she lingers in the space, claiming it without meaning to, as if her very presence could overwrite the hours you spent constructing it.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” she says, her voice light, unaware of the way it cuts through the silence with a sharpness that’s almost physical. There’s a half-smile on her face, something unreadable that you can’t quite shake off.

You shrug, adopting an air of disinterest you’ve perfected over the years. “Thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery”

She raises an eyebrow, still oblivious, her focus now on the bust of Venus of Arles by the window. For a second, you want to laugh at the madness of it, how she’s here, right in front of you, while you’re clawing at the edges of your own restraint.

But she’s still gazing around, her fingers brushing the edge of a table as if she has all the time in the world. As if she doesn’t know what you’re holding back. You take a slow breath, exhale, feel the tension coil tighter inside, and think that if you let this linger for even another second, you’ll start to resent the calmness of it, the quiet rhythm that feels too much like waiting. Like settling into something you’re not prepared to face.

“Wine?” You ask in a futile attempt to keep things just this side of civilised. The offer hangs in the air, a thin layer of normalcy that feels like it could snap at any moment, but she only nods, glancing over with a slight smile, one corner of her mouth lifting in that way that’s halfway between polite interest and something more.

“Sure,” she says, her voice smooth, without a hint of awareness. “You pick”

You turn to the wine rack with an exaggerated casualness, scanning bottles you chose with this exact moment in mind. You could explain the notes of every vintage, how each one was picked not because it pairs with any particular food—because let’s face it, dinner’s not exactly on your mind—but because it suggests a kind of sophistication, a subtlety. You choose a bottle of red, something full-bodied and just slightly bitter, almost as if in silent commentary on the situation. You pour, slowly, setting the glass down in front of her with a kind of precision that’s both reverent and clinical. She reaches for it, her fingers grazing the stem, the gesture infuriatingly graceful.

The first sip seems to surprise her. “Good choice,” she murmurs, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the glass.

The silence stretches on just a moment too long, the air thick with something that isn’t quite tension, more like a coiled spring just waiting for one of you to press down. You feel it building as she shifts, glancing around the room, and suddenly, you realise she’s working up to something. There’s a certain deliberateness in the way she moves, a careful consideration in her stare, and you know—know—she didn’t come all this way just to admire the decor.

“Look,” she starts, her voice softer than usual, carrying a weight that tells you she’s not talking about the view. “I’ve been thinking—”

But you can’t—won’t—let her finish. Not when you know exactly what she’s about to say. You cut her off, leaning forward, your tone light, easy, deliberately dismissive. “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to talk, Alexia”

She freezes, mid-sentence, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, a blend of surprise and—annoyance, maybe? But she masks it quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line. “I thought you’d appreciate me being… honest,” she says slowly, as though testing the waters, watching you carefully.

“Honest? That’s what we’re calling it?” You let a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth, a practiced expression, something designed to be just detached enough to hold everything at arm’s length. “Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we?”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your deflection, but there’s still a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Better than what? Talking?”

Talking. The word hangs in the air, innocent, innocuous, yet loaded in a way that feels heavier than it has any right to. You shift, taking another sip of wine, letting the liquid burn down, hoping it’ll smother the way her eyes feel like they're peeling away all your practiced layers. It’s one thing to enjoy someone’s company, but the feeling creeping in now is something else, something you’re not used to. It feels inconvenient. Like an itch you can’t reach.

You try to fire back, something witty, something cool, but the words catch in your throat, your mind scraping empty. It’s frustrating, the way she’s caught you off guard, how she’s unraveled your carefully crafted reserve without even trying. You reach for your glass again, swirling the wine, stalling for time, anything to avoid that knowing look in her eyes.

But then it dawns on you, like a spark catching flame—there’s still one thing left to do to regain control. Something you can do that would put you back in charge, bring this uncomfortable vulnerability back into something physical, where you excel. You set your glass down, slowly, purposefully, letting the silence stretch taut between you both.

She watches you with that smirk, that trace of challenge, as if daring you to break this moment of stillness.

“Come here,” you say, low and steady, injecting just enough command to leave no room for debate.

“No”

She says it so simply, so carelessly, that for a moment you’re almost convinced you misheard her. It’s infuriating, really, that one little word has the power to throw you so entirely. Your pulse stumbles, and you feel the ground slipping from under you, just enough to catch you off guard.

“Alexia.” You give her a look that’s intended to be definitive, final, but it lands with all the power of a weak threat. Her smirk widens into a full, infuriating smile, the one that says she’s entirely aware of the effect she’s having on you.

“Just hear me out,” she says, with a kind of softness that’s more unnerving than you’d like. “You’re doing that thing. The thing where you turn everything into—” She pauses, gesturing vaguely with her hand, searching for the right word, “—into some kind of performance”

It’s an odd, unnerving feeling, this loss of footing. Normally, you’d have a witty reply ready, something cutting or clever, but instead, you feel like she’s stripped you bare, left you standing there with nothing but honesty, and you hate it.

“So now you’re the expert?” you reply, finally finding your voice, though it sounds sharper than you meant. “Since when do you—”

“Since I started actually falling for you,” she says, cutting you off, her voice low but clear. It’s not even particularly dramatic, the way she says it, and somehow that’s worse. Like she’s not trying to turn it into anything, not expecting any kind of reaction—just stating it as a fact.

You feel a flush rise to your face, and you mask it with another sip of wine, a hasty attempt to cover up the sudden jolt in your chest. She waits, just watches you with that maddening calm, as if giving you all the time in the world to come up with some kind of response.

The air between you feels thick, heavy with something unsaid and unfamiliar. You feel the urge to laugh, to make light of it, anything to disperse this feeling building between you, something dangerously close to vulnerability.

“You don’t have to make this into… whatever this is,” you say, gesturing between you. “Let’s not get sentimental”

“I’m not,” she says, crossing her arms, looking impossibly patient. “I told you I’m just trying to be honest. I thought that was allowed”

“Honest,” you repeat, as though the word itself is foreign. And maybe it is. Honesty has never been the thing you reach for. Honesty is for people who can afford to look foolish, who don’t mind slipping, stumbling a little. Honesty is… unnecessary. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s got you so rattled now.

You set your glass down, more forcefully than intended, and close the distance between you with a deliberate slowness, a silence that says everything you aren’t willing to say out loud. She watches you, unmoving, waiting, that infuriating patience of hers still intact.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “If youre falling for me, fucking show me”

Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of amusement mixed with something warmer, something that makes you feel like you’re the one being dissected here. It’s maddening, really, how effortlessly she manages to get under your skin, slip past all those careful layers. And yet you’re already reaching for her, pulling her closer, desperate to change the pace, to turn this moment into something you can control.

There’s a split second where neither of you move, holding the charged silence like it might be the only thread of control left. And then it snaps. You reach for her, not gently, fingers curling around her wrist with enough force that she has no choice but to be pulled in. Her smirk flickers, only slightly, and there’s something about the momentary surprise in her eyes that makes your grip tighten further, anchoring yourself as much as her. It’s a flash of vulnerability that vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of bravado, one you’re keen to shatter.

You pull her toward you, and the air shifts, that faint hint of uncertainty cracking into something far messier. Your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair with a kind of reckless precision, not even aware of how tightly you’re holding on. You don’t waste time; you’re not even sure there’s time to waste. And as soon as you lean in, catching her mouth with a kiss that’s anything but tentative, you feel her resistance melt, her lips parting under yours with a roughness that’s almost defiant.

She meets you with equal force, as if each clash of mouths, each bruising press of skin, is a way to gain back her own control, and you revel in it, the give-and-take that feels as calculated as it is chaotic. Your hand slips to her jaw, holding her there, your thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth with a kind of ferocity that toes the line between possessive and desperate. You know it’s not going to be gentle; there’s a part of you that doesn’t want it to be.

You’re moving backwards, feeling the edge of the marble island press into your spine, but it doesn’t matter. She’s everywhere, her hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, blunt nails scraping against your skin as if she’s staking a claim, as if she’s finally caught on to the pace you’ve been trying to set and decided to match it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her words slip out like a slow, deliberate knife cutting through the air between you. The tone, sharp, unfamiliar, though has been the soundtrack to your late-night thoughts. It’s almost as if she knows, like she’s caught you in the act of something that’s always been just below the surface. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes darting between your face and the space between you two, as if trying to read the faintest tremor in your expression. It’s always a game with her, always a step too far.

Yes.

“No,” you manage, your voice betraying you—cracked, thin, like a lie too rehearsed. The words come out wrong, but they come out anyway, forced through a tightening chest.

The moment stretches, each second fracturing, bending and folding into itself. It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a shadow—everything slips just out of reach, and the harder you try to grasp it, the more it seems to twist away, leaving nothing but the sensation of your own breath hitching in your throat. You fucking hate this. You hate the way her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to remind you of your place, of the expectations that have always followed you both like a silent, mocking echo.

No, you don’t hate her.

Fuck. You love her.

The thought is an ugly, dissonant thing, a weight that doesn’t settle easily, like a slow-moving tide pulling you under. The water’s cold. You can’t feel the bottom. You don’t know which way is up, and the only thing you do know is that, somewhere along the line, you’ve let yourself drown.

Your pulse is almost deafening in your ears, hammering in time with your desperate need for air. There’s something about the way she stands before you—still and deliberate, eyes trained on yours—that makes the room feel smaller, closer. You think you can hear her thoughts. Feel them. It’s maddening, how much she seems to know you, how she’s always known the way you bend. How much she’s learned to manipulate that bend, until you almost forget what it’s like to be anything but this: a response.

You swallow. The taste of her is lingering on your lips, sweet and bitter all at once, like a bad memory. How many times has this happened? You don’t know anymore. The last time feels as far away as the first time—when she leaned in, the weight of her body an invisible promise. But tonight, there’s something different. It’s in the way she watches you, cold, calculating, her fingers still gripping the edges of your shirt, the only real connection between you two in the moment.

She inhales slowly, the rhythm deliberate, like she’s listening to a song you can’t hear. The silence is suffocating.

“You’re lying,” she says, low and accusing, with just enough venom to make you flinch. There’s a tiny smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, something fleeting, something knowing. You want to reach out, to take her in your hands and pull her close, but the distance between you both feels like a universe. The space feels like a reflection of everything that’s wrong with you: the empty conversations, the meaningless gestures, the ache that’s always there, just beneath the skin. It’s maddening, this tension.

And yet…

You want her. Fuck, you need her. You don’t know if it’s because you love her or because she knows how to make you feel more alive than anything else. She’s become your addiction, your fire, the only thing you can’t quit.

Another shift in the air. Another breath from her, shallow and calculated. It’s not a question anymore, not a challenge—it’s an affirmation. She knows, and you know, too.

You close your eyes for a moment, just long enough to lose yourself in the fleeting memory of something that almost felt like peace. The sound of her voice, the taste of her, the way she touched you. It’s all a blur, a disjointed collection of moments tied together by one inescapable truth: you’ll never be able to walk away.

Not this time.

When your eyes open again, she’s still standing there, eyes not leaving yours, studying you. Everything feels slowed down, almost too slow. Like time is bending around her, twisting the seconds into something thick, sticky. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but it holds you in place, an anchor, a force. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the dull tap of your own pulse in your ears.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You don’t need to.

Her fingers slide along your chest, trailing down in that same slow, infuriating pace, until they settle on the edge of your shirt again, the same place they started. She doesn’t look away, her lips curving upward in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It’s like she’s trying to decide whether you want to hurt her or fuck her. And the problem is, you’re not sure you can tell the difference anymore.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms like that might keep you steady, like that might stop you from doing the one thing you swore you wouldn’t.

Loving something. Someone. Loving Alexia.

“What are you so afraid of?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost gentle, and it’s the softness of it that makes you unravel completely.

You don’t think—you can’t. One second you’re standing there trying to convince yourself you still have your palms wrapped around this situation, and the next they’re on her, pulling her in with a force that’s almost cruel. Your mouth finds hers, hard and unrelenting, and she gasps into the kiss, her fingers clutching at your shirt, wrinkling the silk, as if you might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.

She tastes like spearmint gum and coffee. You imagine her shivering as she steps off the plane, teeth chattering in the wind, and too polite to mention it. But your driver notices, you pay him to notice, so before her luggage is out of the cargo, a café con leche is being pressed into her gloved hands.

It’s not a kiss. Not really. It’s a collision, hard and unrelenting, her mouth crashing into yours with a force that feels like defiance, like she’s daring you to stop pretending. To stop holding yourself together so tightly you’re liable to snap.

Your hands are already on her, pulling her close, so close it feels claustrophobic, but you can’t stop. You can’t make yourself pull away because then you’d have to look at her, really look at her, and confront the unbearable softness in her eyes. You’d have to hear her voice again, saying the one thing you’ve been trying to ignore since she first murmured it like a needle under your skin:

“What are you so afraid of?”

What you’re afraid of is this. Her. The way she’s stripped you bare with no effort at all, no grand gestures or declarations. She’s unravelling you with the weight of her presence, with the simple fact of her being, and you hate it almost as much as you crave it.

Your teeth scrape against her lower lip, harder than you mean to, and she gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. Her nails dig into your shoulders, gripping onto you while you take your rightful place at the helm of this godforsaken dance.

And she’s letting you. Letting you press her against the edge of the table, her legs bumping into the thick, varnished oak. The table was handmade by some artisan you don’t remember the name of, its surface polished to a high gloss that reflects the warm light overhead. You’d spent weeks agonising over the purchase, debating wood grains and finishes with a level of scrutiny that felt absurd even at the time. It’s the kind of thing people like you do when they’re too scared to focus on what matters.

But now it’s just a table. A thing in the way, a thing that’s caught between you and her.

Her jeans catch on the wood as you push her back, and the sound is sharp, cutting through the fog in your head. You hesitate for half a second, your hands hovering at her hips, fingers brushing the cool metal of her belt buckle.

“You’re thinking too much,” she says, her voice low and breathless. It’s not a reproach—it’s almost amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in your head, and it’s ridiculous to her that you’re trying to wrestle this into something it’s not.

“I’m not thinking at all,” you say, and it’s true. Or it’s a lie. You don’t know anymore, and you don’t care.

The belt comes undone with a soft clink, the leather sliding through the loops of her jeans in one smooth motion. You let it fall to the floor, the sound of it hitting the tile lost beneath the ragged breaths you’re both taking. Your hands are shaking slightly as you undo the button on her jeans, the metal cold against your fingertips.

She doesn’t help you. Doesn’t lift her hips, doesn’t make it easier. She just watches you, her gaze steady and unwavering, like she’s daring you to keep going.

And you do.

You yank the denim down her thighs, your movements jerky, almost frantic, and it’s not until the fabric crumples on the floor that you realise your hands are still trembling. She notices too, her lips twitching into that infuriating half-smile, the one that makes your stomach twist into knots.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with something sharper, something that cuts right through you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels like a blow to the chest.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and the words make something inside you snap.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her thighs in one swift, unceremonious motion. The damp lace clings for a moment before it slides free, pooling at her knees before hitting the floor. You don’t stop to think. There’s no room for hesitation here, no space for the doubt that’s been clawing at you since this started.

Her scent hits you first, heady and intoxicating, and for a moment you freeze, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it. But then she moves—just slightly, her hips tilting forward in an unspoken plea—and it’s all the permission you need.

You press your mouth to her, your tongue sliding through her folds with a slow, deliberate pressure that pulls a broken sound from her throat. Her taste is sharp, almost sweet, and it floods your senses in a way that makes you dizzy. Her thighs close around your head instinctively, caging you in, and you let out a low, involuntary groan against her skin.

“Fuck—” Her voice is high and breathy, her fingers digging into your scalp now, hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

You don’t. You press deeper, your tongue finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her centre and circling it with a precision you didn’t know you had. She jerks against you, her body arching off the table, and you use the opportunity to slide your hands up her thighs, holding her steady.

The table creaks beneath her, the sound of the wood groaning under her weight mixing with the wet, obscene noises of your mouth against her. It’s filthy and raw, every sense overwhelmed, and you’re not sure if you’re doing this to prove a point or because you can’t bear to stop. Maybe it’s both.

Her head tilts back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat, and you want to mark it, to leave evidence of this all over her skin, but you can’t pull away. Not when she’s gasping your name, her voice breaking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You slide a finger into her, slow at first, just enough to make her hips stutter against your mouth. She’s tight, impossibly so, and you feel her clench around you as you add a second finger, curling them just right. Her moan is loud, sharp, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you.

“God, you—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t seem capable of forming words anymore, and it sends a twisted sense of satisfaction through you. You focus on her clit again, your tongue moving in quick, precise circles as your fingers work her open, the slick heat of her making it almost too easy.

Her legs tremble around you, and you can feel her getting closer, her breathing turning shallow and erratic. You don’t let up, don’t give her a second to recover, pressing her higher and higher until she breaks with a cry that sounds like your name.

Her whole body shudders, her thighs clamping tight around your head as she rides out her orgasm, and you keep going, drawing it out as long as you can until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders.

“Enough,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, and you finally pull back, your lips and chin wet with her.

You look up at her, and she’s a mess—her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving with every ragged breath. Her eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and for a moment neither of you says anything.

Then, slowly, she reaches for you, her hands shaking as she grabs at your jumper and pulls you up to meet her. Her kiss is rough and desperate, her teeth catching on your lower lip, and you realise she’s not done.

Her hands don’t go for your own clothes like you’d expected. Instead, they move to your thighs, her grip firm and commanding, and before you can comprehend what’s happening, she’s lifting you. The sudden change knocks the air out of your lungs, and you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist, locking you against her. The motion is seamless, like she’s done this before—or like she’s always known she could.

You try to tell yourself you hate how easy it feels, but you don’t. You can’t.

Your hands find her shoulders, her jaw, her hair—anything to ground yourself, but nothing works. You’re still dizzy, still untethered, even as her lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing controlled. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip, her tongue pushes into your mouth like she’s trying to devour you, and you let her because for once you don’t want to think about what comes next.

She’s walking, you realise belatedly, the steady rhythm of her steps making your body rock against hers. It’s disorienting, the way she carries you so easily, like your weight is nothing, like you’re the fragile thing here.

You kiss her harder to prove you’re not, nipping at her lip until she growls low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through you and pulls a small, involuntary moan from your lips. Her hands tighten on you, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, and it sends a sharp thrill up your spine.

The hallway blurs around you, the world narrowing until it’s just her—her mouth on yours, her hands gripping you like she’ll never let go, her body impossibly solid against yours.

When she finally kicks the door open and lays you down on the bed, it feels like surrender. Not hers. Yours.

You don’t realise how tightly you’ve been clinging to her until she pulls back, your fingers still knotted in the collar of her shirt. The fabric wrinkles between your hands, and for a moment you just stare at each other, the room charged with something you don’t have the words to name.

Her eyes are dark, searching, but there’s no smugness, no trace of victory there. Instead, there’s something softer, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and steady, and it undoes you more than anything else she’s done tonight.

It’s too much. The weight of her words, the way she says them like a promise, like she means it. Your chest tightens, and you shake your head, your fingers releasing her collar to press against her shoulders, keeping her at a distance.

But she doesn’t let you push her away completely. Her hands slide up your sides, gentle now, her touch a sharp contrast to the bruising grip she had on you moments ago. She’s watching you, waiting, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

You hate her for it. You hate her because she’s right.

“I can’t…” Your voice cracks, barely audible, and you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t have to,” she says simply, and the honesty in her tone is unbearable.

You want to argue, to fight, to push her away, but your body doesn’t move. You just lay there, your chest heaving, your hands trembling against her. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

Because this isn’t about sex anymore.

It’s about her, and the way she looks at you like you’re something worth holding onto. It’s about the way your body feels like it’s breaking apart under the weight of it, like you’re finally being seen for what you are—what you’ve always been.

A liar. A coward. Someone too afraid to let go, too afraid to feel, too afraid to love.

Her lips brush yours again, soft this time, barely there, and you let out a shaky breath. It’s not enough to drown in. Not yet. But it’s close.

“Let me in,” she whispers, and it’s not a command. It’s an offering.

You close your eyes, and for the first time, you don’t resist.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Sir, I wanted to reply to you following your yesterday’s answer (my “special spoilers” ask), as it seems that many people misunderstood me. My point was absolutely NOT to get actual S3 spoilers (that would be the last thing I would do on Tumblr, I mean this), neither to ask for stopping your absurd special answers. I love them. Like many other people here. I was just diving into the #special spoilers’ section on a Sunday’s afternoon, and had a lot of fun reading them, imagining connecting the dots, and then saluting this silliness in my ask. That was just me being silly – “second-degree” as we would say in French – but I hope my intentions were not taken literally, “first-degree”, or wrongly. I’m sorry if my message sounded rude, because it was clearly not my intention.

All good. My reply was less for you than the people who show up in the notes convinced either that:

Special Spoilers are me giving plot away.

Special Spoilers are a coded version of information that will become vital in Season 3.

Special Spoilers is anything other than me amusing myself instead of typing Wait and See....

Do not worry.

I'll keep doing Special Spoilers until the wind changes...

[nickeverdeen]

Hey, could I get an imagine with Ekko x introverted!GN!reader who looks scary, serious and cold at first glance, but is actually just socially awkward and very geeky and silly once you get to know them? Like, they're very creative and love coming up with stories, as well as infodumping about random stuff they're into at the moment, like criminology or extinct animals.

Thanks!

Unmasking the Introvert | Ekko x gn!reader

Pairings: Ekko x gn!reader (romantic)

Type of fic: I’m not sure

Warnings: None

Summary: Ekko is slowly getting to know your true side

—————

Ekko had always been intrigued by you. From the first time he’d caught a glimpse of you in Zaun, he’d pegged you as the silent type, intense with that don’t-mess-with-me aura. You were usually found in the corner of any room you entered, often watching others with a gaze that could cut through glass. Most people didn’t get close enough to try talking to you, content with spreading rumors instead: some said you had a secret criminal past; others thought you might have alchemical powers that could hypnotize anyone with a glance.

But Ekko didn’t buy it. He knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. So, he decided to talk to you himself, casually striking up a conversation at the Hideout one day after he’d noticed you tinkering with something in the corner.

“Hey, whatcha working on?” Ekko leaned over your shoulder, watching as your hands deftly tightened screws and adjusted wires.

Caught off guard, you jerked slightly, glancing up at him with wide eyes. But you quickly masked it, pulling up that familiar guarded expression, making Ekko smirk a bit. He wasn’t easily intimidated.

“Just… something I’m building,” you replied coolly, your voice steady but your eyes shifting nervously. “Helps me think.”

Intrigued, Ekko leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Mind if I watch?”

You didn’t answer immediately, but after a brief pause, you nodded. As he watched, you slowly began explaining each piece of machinery, your voice growing a bit stronger and more assured with each word. After a while, he noticed the hardened look in your eyes beginning to soften. By the time you’d finished the explanation, your whole demeanor had relaxed just a bit.

A few days later, Ekko bumped into you again, and you couldn’t help but launch into an animated explanation about something random you’d been reading about—extinct animals. Before you knew it, you were on a full-blown tangent about the Moa bird, a giant flightless bird from New Zealand that had been hunted to extinction centuries ago.

“They were enormous, like ten feet tall, with these long necks! And did you know their legs were so powerful that one kick could shatter bones?” Your eyes lit up as you spoke, hands gesturing wildly. “It’s kinda sad… but also fascinating how ecosystems just change when one creature disappears.”

Ekko just grinned, genuinely enjoying the infodump. He’d never expected that someone as intense-looking as you could be so endearing in such a nerdy way. “That’s cool, I didn’t know that. What got you into extinct animals?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I just… like learning about things. And sharing them, even though I know most people think it’s boring.”

“Boring? Nah, I think it’s cool. You got any other fun facts up your sleeve?”

You blinked in surprise, before diving into your latest fascination—criminology. He listened as you passionately detailed the science behind forensic psychology, your eyes lighting up as you explained how criminals are profiled. At one point, you started mimicking a detective’s voice, spinning a little story about a fictional thief in Zaun who’d slipped through the Enforcers’ hands multiple times.

Ekko laughed, “You’d make a great storyteller. Ever thought of putting all these ideas into a book or something?”

The suggestion took you aback. “I don’t know… I just think people wouldn’t really get it.”

“Bet they would,” Ekko said with a reassuring smile. “And hey, even if they don’t, I’m all ears.”

Over time, your quiet bond grew stronger. Ekko made a habit of stopping by to hear your latest “random obsession,” and you found yourself looking forward to sharing with him, little by little letting go of the intimidating front you put up for the world.

One night, he found you on a rooftop, writing notes in a worn-out notebook by the light of the moon. You looked up as he approached, giving him a slight nod in greeting, but he could see the glint of excitement in your eyes.

“What’s on your mind tonight?” he asked, settling down beside you.

You paused for a second, before leaning in and saying, “Alright, so imagine this: a heist, set in Piltover, but the thieves are all masked vigilantes from Zaun… and they have this backstory, see, where they all have these ridiculous alter-egos…”

And as you spun your tale, Ekko watched you with a smile, feeling lucky to be the one who got to see you like this: genuine, animated, and maybe a little silly.