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sadnymi · 11 months ago

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「 ✦ cloud nine. ✦ 」

Mattheo riddle x reader [part2]

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

Warnings:fluff,smut, angst

Words: 11.2k

The whispers followed me like a shroud, a constant murmur that swirled around the edges of my existence. "The jinx girl ," they hissed, punctuated by snickers and pointed fingers. Bad luck, they believed, clung to me like a second skin, a misfortune I carried wherever I went.

Hogwarts, a place that promised magic and wonder, had become a labyrinth of avoidance. Empty seats flanked me in Potions, desks strategically moved away in Charms, and hushed conversations abruptly stopped when I entered the room. I was a pariah, a freak, the girl who supposedly brought misfortune upon anyone who dared come close.

Every dropped potion, every sprained ankle, every lost Quidditch match - all blamed on me, Y/N Y/L/N, the harbinger of bad luck. Hogwarts, once a dream, had become a prison. Even the ghosts seemed to cower at my presence.

Professor Flitwick, a whirlwind of energy and charm despite his diminutive stature, announced a project for our Charms class.

"Partnering up for a Conjuring Extravaganza!" he squeaked, his voice a high-pitched melody. "Showcase your enchanting skills with a partner of your choosing!"

The room erupted in excited chatter, students scrambling to find their partners. I, however, remained rooted to the spot, a familiar ache twisting in my gut. Who would want to pair up with the cursed child? As if sensing my despair, Professor Flitwick's bright blue eyes twinkled in my direction.

"Don't worry, Miss Y/L/N," he chirped, "there's always a perfect match for everyone!"

His words offered little comfort. The pairings continued, each giggling duo a stark reminder of my isolation. Just when I resigned myself to another solo project, a voice cut through the din.

"I'll pair with Y/L/N ."

The classroom fell silent. Heads swiveled in unison, disbelief etched on their faces. It was Mattheo Riddle, the Slytherin prince with a reputation as sharp as his intellect .

Professor Flitwick, however, beamed like a firework had gone off in his tiny fist. "Excellent choice, Mr. Riddle!"

My jaw dropped. Mattheo Riddle? Partnering with me ? the jinxing girl ? It was as unexpected as a dragon hatching a pixie. A ripple of surprised murmurs coursed through the class. Did he just volunteer? Was this a cruel joke?

stole a glance at Mattheo, half expecting a smirk or a sly wink that would shatter the illusion of kindness.

But instead, he met my gaze with a genuine, albeit hesitant, smile. It was a rare sight on his usually stoic face, a flicker of warmth that sent a jolt through me. He sauntered over, his confident stride somehow softened as he approached me.

"Fancy working together, (Y/N)?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time he'd ever addressed me directly, to talk to , and the informality sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks.

"I... I uh, sure," I stammered, still struggling to process the situation.

Professor Flitwick launched into the specifics of the project, outlining the different magical creatures we could try conjuring. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper.

"So," he began, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "what kind of magic are you most comfortable with love ?"he said, pulling up a chair next to me.

My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever used that term – "love" – with me before. It was a small word, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown across the chasm of isolation.

A hesitant smile tugged at my lips. "I, uh, I'm actually quite good with summoning charms," I confessed, surprised by my own boldness.

His smile widened. "Excellent," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm more of a transfiguration specialist. We could combine our strengths."

Combine our strengths? The thought of working alongside Mattheo, of learning from him and maybe even teaching him a thing or two myself, sent a thrill through me.

A comfortable silence settled between us as we delved into the project details. Professor Flitwick's lecture faded into background noise . Mattheo surprised me with his easygoing nature, his sharp intellect tempered with a dry wit that made me laugh, a sound that felt foreign escaping my lips.

Finally, Professor Flitwick called out the end of class. "Alright, class! Dismissed! Remember, be creative, be precise, and most importantly, have fun!"

My heart still hammered in my chest, a mixture of trepidation and a strange, exhilarating thrill. Mattheo gathered his books, and as he turned to leave, he caught my eye “ see you around Y/L/N “

The crisp autumn air sent a shiver down my spine as I settled onto the worn wooden bench in the school gardens. pulled out the book I burrowed from the library earlier , determined to bury myself in its intricacies and forget the entire debacle.

The rhythmic crunch of gravel on the path drew my attention. I glanced up, bracing myself for another encounter with Pansy and her posse, only to find Mattheo approaching. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something I couldn't quite decipher.

He stopped a few steps away, a silent question hanging in the air. Surprised, I stammered, "M-Mattheo? What are you doing here?"

A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice softer than I was accustomed to hearing from him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Was this real? "I, uh, sure," I managed, gesturing to the empty space beside me.

He sat down, our shoulders brushing slightly. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. Stealing a glance at him, I noticed his gaze fixed on the book in my lap. "Studying for the Charms exam?"

I shook my head. "Actually, this is more of a personal read. It's about obscure magical creatures."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh? Intriguing. Anything interesting?"

Hesitantly, I explained the book's exploration of Fae lore, their connection to emotions and the delicate balance they maintained with the human world.

To my surprise, Mattheo listened intently, occasionally asking insightful questions that sparked further discussion. We delved into the complexities of Fae magic, debated the ethics of human interaction with these mythical beings.

A playful glint flickered in his dark eyes, and a hint of a smile danced on his lips as he listened to my passionate explanation of Fae lore.

"Why – why are you smiling like that?" I asked hesitantly

"You just look so passionate about it," he explained, a genuine smile gracing his features.

"Actually, it’s totally my uncle fault he was the one who got me into it," I confessed, a fond smile playing on my lips. "He used to read me Fae tales before bed when I was young. Now here I am, analyzing their magical properties."

"Are you close with your uncle?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, very close," I replied, then hesitated, a shadow crossing my face.

He picked up on the shift in my mood. "Everything okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the question that had been gnawing at me since the library. "Why are you doing this, Mattheo? Is this a dare or something?"

He frowned, genuine confusion etched on his face. "Why would you say that?"

"You know," I rambled, gesturing at the empty garden around us. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes holding a hint of amusement.

My breath caught in my throat as he reached out, a playful glint in his eyes. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, sending shivers down my spine. "Me?" I whispered, barely a breath escaping my lips.

He smirked, amusement flickering across his face. "You look pretty cute to even scare a fly, love. Why should I be afraid of you?"

His words, laced with a hint of flirtation, left me speechless. His touch, light as a feather, lingered on my cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"You don't understand," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Look at the garden, no one is here because I'm here. They believe... they believe —"

He cut me off before I could finish my frantic explanation. "But I'm here, aren't I, love?" he said, his voice a husky murmur. My heart pounded like a drum solo, the world around us seeming to fade away.

"You shouldn't be," I managed, my voice small and breathless. "I don't understand why."

"I'm not playing games with you, I promise," he replied, his voice firm. I hesitantly nodded, closing my eyes as the weight of his words settled upon me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.

"Don't be," he said softly. "I understand. And you know what? I don't care what they say. And to be honest I don't even care if it was true..."

smiling , I looked up , meeting his gaze."So you're the first "

He leaned back, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "Let's just say," he began, his voice low and intriguing, "I know you weren't the reason Ronald broke his leg before the last Quidditch match."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips."And," he continued, his smile widening, "I also know that the explosion in Potions last year was entirely Harold's fault, not yours."

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet garden. The weight of the whispers seemed to lift with each peal, replaced by a lightness I hadn't felt in years

"You were just there, like everybody else," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "So why would you take the blame for that?"

He leaned forward, his face so close now that my laughter subsided, replaced by a nervous flutter in my chest. "You know what they say about what happened in first year," I began, voice barely above a whisper.

"It stays with you till your last," he finished the saying, his dark eyes holding mine. A grateful smile tugged at my lips.

"So when Charlie from down the street brought the rumors from our neighborhood to school, and then spread that story about me jinxing Seamus during his first Quidditch practice.. and let's just say Neville's unfortunate Gillyweed incident didn't help my case too so a that everybody seemed to believe it ," I explained, finally voicing the truth I hadn't thought anyone would ever be interested in hearing.

"That's not fair," Mattheo said, his voice firm.

"Yeah," I sighed, "but as my Nana always says, some children are born with tragedies in their hands." A bittersweet smile crossed my lips. "And by some children, she means me."

"She sounds like a cruel woman," he muttered.

I laughed, a touch brittle. "If you think my Nana is cruel, you should've met my mother then."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, a confession I hadn't meant to share. My cheeks burned with a sudden, hot shame. Mattheo, however, didn't seem repulsed. In fact, his expression softened further.

My voice trailed off, the weight of the past suddenly overwhelming. Sharing a secret like that felt like opening a wound I'd painstakingly hidden for years. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, the setting sun casting long shadows across the quiet garden.

"I-I think I should get going," I stammered, pushing myself out of the chair, my resolve shaky at best.

A cool hand gripped my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My breath hitched as I turned to face him , his gaze a storm of emotions swirling within its depths "Don't run away yet."

My cheeks burned even hotter, but I couldn't seem to tear my gaze away from his. "I'm not running," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't release my wrist. Instead, his grip softened, his thumb gently stroking a soothing circle against my skin. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine, a stark contrast to the cold isolation I'd grown accustomed to.

"Then can I interest you in some Butterbeer tomorrow evening?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful charm. "Three Broomsticks, perhaps? We could continue our discussion about Fae magic, or maybe you could tell me more about your Nana and your… interesting family history."

A surprised laugh escaped my lips. The idea of spending another evening with Mattheo, outside the confines of a school project, sent a thrill through me.

A smile, genuine and unrestrained, bloomed on my face. "I'd like that," I replied, my voice a whisper against the backdrop of the settling evening.

Sleep that night was a distant dream. The events in the garden replayed in my mind on an endless loop. Mattheo's hand in mine, the warmth of his touch lingering like a phantom sensation, his unexpected concern for my story – it all sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

The morning sun filtering through my dormitory window found me wide awake, staring at the ceiling with a tangled mess of hair and a giddy smile plastered on my face.

But then came the most agonizing decision of the day – what to wear? My trunk overflowed with the usual witchy robes, all shades of black and grey. None seemed appropriate for a… date? Was it a date? My cheeks burned at the thought.

Finally, I settled on a compromise. A dark green skirt that swirled around my knees, a crisp black blouse , and my trusty black boots. It wasn't extravagant, but it felt… me.

The walk to the Three Broomsticks was a mess a disaster as I was trying to figure out the right direction . As I pushed open the creaky oak door,I tried to breathe and calm my self down, My eyes scanned the room, searching for Mattheo amidst the bustling patrons.

And then I saw him, tucked away in a corner booth, a solitary figure amidst the chatter and laughter. Relief washed over me, followed by a jolt of something warmer as our eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for me to join him.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I walked towards him, a self-conscious fluttering in my stomach. Reaching the table, I slid into the booth opposite him.

his gaze lingering a beat longer than necessary on my face. "you..," he finally said, a low whistle escaping his lips. "You look..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

My cheeks flushed a rosy hue . "I look?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Radiant," he finished, his voice a husky murmur.

My breath hitched. No one had ever used that word to describe me before. "Radiant?" I repeated, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.

"Absolutely," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Though, I have to say, for a second I thought you weren’t coming “

“ oh I’m so sorry I was just trying to find the way I, uh, I've never actually been to the Three Broomsticks before," I admitted, hoping to deflect from his unexpected compliment.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Never? But it's practically a Hogwarts tradition!"

. "I guess I've been more focused on the library and…avoiding crowds."

A flicker of understanding crossed his face. "Well, consider this your official initiation," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Prepare to be overwhelmed by sticky tables, questionable singing."

The waitress returned with our drinks, placing them carefully on the table.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, momentarily shattering our peaceful bubble. A boisterous group of students, their laughter echoing through the room, flooded in. My stomach lurched as I recognized them – Charlie Spinnet , flanked by his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, her face twisted in a sneer.

Unlike the usual sneer of Pansy Parkinson, Charlie's expression was a confusing mix of anger and… was that a hint of disappointment ? He locked eyes with me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of something more complex in his gaze before it hardened back into a scowl.

Before I could decipher the meaning of it all, Pansy spotted us. Her voice, dripping with her usual malice, sliced through the warm bubble we'd created. "Look who is there," she drawled, directing a flirtatious smile towards Mattheo. "Hello there, Riddle."

Mattheo responded with his trademark icy drawl, "Parkinson. Always a pleasure."

She gave a curt nod before returning to her group. Charlie, however, didn't follow. His gaze remained fixed on me, an unsettling intensity in his eyes. I met his stare, a knot of unease forming in my gut.

"He's jealous," Mattheo said casually, leaning back in his seat. My jaw dropped.

"Jealous? Of what?" I stammered, completely bewildered.

"He likes you ," he replied with a knowing smirk.

A bewildered laugh escaped my lips. "He likes me ? Mattheo, the boy ruined my life" I interjected, my voice laced with a sharp edge. In truth, life hadn't been a cakewalk before Hogwarts either.

Just then, a loud shattering sound erupted from our table, sending shivers down my spine. My cup of butterbeer, which Charlie had probably targeted with a stray jinx spell , lay in pieces on the floor. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the pub as everyone turned to stare

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control the spike of panic rising in my chest. This was exactly what I'd feared. when I opened my eyes again, my gaze met Mattheo's.

Unlike me, he wasn't angry. Instead, a mischievous glint sparkled in his dark eyes. he was smirking.

"So, you said this is your first time at the Three Broomsticks, love?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips as he stood up. I felt a pit forming in my stomach, unsure of where this was headed.

"Yeah," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then let's make it unforgettable," he declared, his smile widening. He turned towards Charlie's table, his gaze locking onto Charlie's. Pansy, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, suddenly looked terrified.

Mattheo strolled over to their table, a confident swagger in his step. Reaching down, he casually lifted Charlie's untouched butterbeer He held it out to me with a charming smile. "Here, love," he said, not sparing Charlie a glance.

Charlie watched the exchange, his jaw clenched. "Is there anything you want to say, Spinnet?" Mattheo asked, his voice deceptively calm. Charlie just shook his head.

"Do you like toads?" Mattheo asked again a question so out of place it left us all speechless.

"S-seems like I do," Charlie stammered, his voice barely a squeak.

"Good," Mattheo said simply.

Then, in a blink, it happened. A blinding flash of light erupted from Mattheo's outstretched wand, enveloping Charlie. Before anyone could react, the speechless Charlie had vanished, replaced by a , green toad hopping comically on the table.

My scream was lost in the cacophony of shouts and gasps. Pansy let out a bloodcurdling shriek, scrambling back in her chair. Crabbe, for once, looked utterly bewildered.

Mattheo remained calm amidst the chaos, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Ignoring the stunned patrons, he reached for his pocket and placed a couple of pills on our table.

"I would take him back to the castle if I were you," he said to Pansy with a chilling smile. "Unless you prefer the company of amphibians."

Pansy was speechless, her face pale with a mixture of fear and fury. All she could manage was a strangled, "Merlin's Beard!"

Turning back to me, Mattheo offered his hand with his usual nonchalant charm. "Shall we go, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle contrast to the chaos he'd just unleashed.

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, following the familiar path towards the Black Lake. Finally, we reached the water's edge, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore providing a soothing counterpoint to the earlier frenzy. Mattheo gestured towards a large, flat rock nestled under a willow tree. "Mind joining me?" he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

I nodded, still processing the events of the evening. Charlie's transformation, Pansy's terror, it was all a bit surreal. Sitting down on the rock, I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

"So," Mattheo began, a playful lilt to his voice, "first date, and I turn your potential bully into a toad. Not exactly the charming introduction I was hoping for."

I glanced at him, surprised. "Date?" I stammered, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

His smile softened. "Well," he began, " we did ditch the project discussion for butterbeer and…, then turning someone into a toad… definitely not your typical Tuesday."

I couldn't help but laugh, My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I… I never thought…" I stammered, completely flustered.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sent shivers down my spine. "Neither did I," he confessed, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Thank you," I said, taking a deep breath, " it's the first time anyone has ever defended me like that. Not since my Uncle."

Mattheo's smile softened. "Well," he said, his voice gentle, "consider me your knight in slightly-unconventional-Slytherin-armor then."

I laughed a blush crept up my cheek

Silence descended between us, broken only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the lapping of the lake.

"You mentioned your Uncle," Mattheo said, his voice curious. "Tell me about him."

"He's a bit of a character," I began, a smile playing on my lips. "He travels the world, studying ancient magic. He's probably in some remote location right now, chasing myths and legends he’s so brave ."

"Sounds fascinating," Mattheo commented, his voice laced with genuine interest. "But you're not close with anyone else in your family?"

The question hung in the air, and I hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. But something about the sincerity in his eyes, made me want to share a part of myself I rarely opened up about.

"Well, I'm not exactly their favorite," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "You see, my arrival wasn't exactly... welcomed."

Mattheo's brow furrowed in concern. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the murky waters of my past. "My mother ,she found out she was pregnant with me. At the same time, she learned about my late brother's… illness. He died tragically, just two days before I was born."

"She… she blamed me," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "She believed I somehow took his place, that I was the reason he was gone."

He squeezed my hand gently, as if offering silent comfort.

"And your father?" he asked, his voice low and controlled.

"My father," I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "He said I stole his son's place. He never showed me any affection, always seeing a shadow of my brother instead of me."

My throat tightened, and I struggled to continue.

"But then there’s nana … well, she is a healer," I began, taking a shaky breath"She believed in a strange kind of balance. She used to say, 'A soul for a soul.'" A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the chilling words. "'Sometimes,' she'd say, 'life takes one thing and gives another’. She just wished it had been my brother who lived."

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and serious. "That's a terrible thing to say to a child. None of that is your fault. You didn't ask to be born, and you certainly didn't cause your brother's illness."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. The weight of their rejection, the constant reminder that I was somehow unwanted, had always been a heavy burden to carry.

Then, with a tenderness that took my breath away, he brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. The simple gesture, so full of empathy and understanding, felt like a dam breaking inside me. The tears that I'd been holding back spilled over, flowing freely down my cheeks.

Mattheo didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He simply sat there, his hand cupping my face, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that both scared and excited me.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "They don't deserve you , Not your mother, not your father, not sure your weird grandmother . They are blind to the incredible person you are."

His words, sincere and heartfelt, washed over me like a soothing balm.

"You are strong," he continued, his voice husky with emotion. "You are brave. You are kind. You carry the weight of their cruelty, yet you remain kind. That is a strength they will never possess."

His thumb continued to brush away my tears, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

As he spoke, the space between our faces seemed to shrink. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his gaze holding mine captive. The air crackled with a tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Then, before I could even think to stop him, Mattheo leaned in closer. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his hand on my face and the anticipation building within me.

His lips met mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a fleeting touch, barely a whisper, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.," is this your first kiss? “ he murmured, his voice husky.

A slow nod confirmed his suspicion , he leaned in again, this time deepening the kiss. This kiss was different – moving with a rhythmic dance that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, a blush crept up my cheeks. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo echoing in the quiet night.The taste of his lips lingered on mine, a sweet and intoxicating sensation that left me craving more.

"So," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "Forget everything I said about first impressions being unforgettable. Maybe this is a better way to start things off."

The next weeks unfolded like a whirlwind. Mattheo became a constant presence in my life, his shadow seemingly falling across mine with an uncanny frequency. Whether it was bumping into him "accidentally" on my way to Herbology, finding him "coincidentally" seated across from me in the library buried in the same obscure text on Fae magic, or him "miraculously" appearing just as I was leaving the Great Hall, it was clear he was making a concerted effort to be around me.

His tactics, though slightly obvious, were nonetheless charming. He started leaving small gifts on my desk – a fascinating book on Veela lore, a single perfect white rose

No one had ever gone out of their way to make me feel special before. Mattheo was doing just that, chip by chip, breaking down the walls I'd built around myself.

His "accidental" helpfulness extended to academics as well. He started leaving me beautifully illustrated books on ancient magic, conveniently "forgotten" on my desk. During Potions, he'd mysteriously materialize behind me just as I was about to accidentally add Flobberworm mucus to my Amortentia potion (a near disaster that could have had…interesting consequences).

One afternoon, while struggling with a particularly complex Transfiguration spell, Mattheo walked in on my frustration. He didn't laugh or poke fun,Instead, he sat down beside me, his patience as impressive as his knowledge. He explained the spell with a clarity I hadn't experienced before, his hand brushing against mine as he pointed something out on my parchment.

By the end of the week, I'd not only mastered the spell but found myself drawn to Mattheo in a way I hadn't before.

Mattheo's efforts extended beyond "accidents." He started introducing me to his friends. Theo and blaise ,Then there was Enzo, Mattheo's half-brother. With his playful demeanor and infectious laugh, Enzo made me feel welcome within their circle. I found myself enjoying their company, their camaraderie a stark contrast to the loneliness I had grown accustomed to.

One evening, while studying in the common room, , Enzo, sauntered over , He slid into the seat next to me, ignoring Mattheo's glare.

"Hey there, love," Enzo said, his voice dripping with a flirtatiousness that made me feel uncomfortable. "Studying hard?"

Before I could respond, Mattheo spoke up. "Enzo, perhaps you haven't noticed, but Y/N is busy."

Enzo simply chuckled. "Relax, brother. Just trying to be friendly." He leaned in closer to me

Enzo whispered, "He can be quite possessive, don’t you agree?" I couldn’t help but laugh, which was Mattheo’s last straw.

"Back off, Enzo," the words laced with barely contained anger , Enzo smiled and with a shrug and a playful wink at me, he sauntered away.

The most surprising consequence, however, was the complete absence of whispers. The rumors that had plagued me since childhood seemed to vanish overnight. Not a single snide remark, not a single pointed finger. The silence was deafening, and yet, strangely comforting.

Was it fear of Mattheo, or something more? Either way, I didn't question my newfound peace.

The stolen moments with Mattheo became a cherished secret language.

One particularly rainy evening, after a long and tedious double Potions lesson, Mattheo found me huddled in the deserted library, desperately trying (and failing) to decipher a particularly cryptic passage in a dusty old tome.

"Having trouble with the love language of Goblins, love?" he drawled, his voice a welcome sound in the quiet of the library.

I looked up, startled, my cheeks flushing at the sight of him. "Mattheo, you scared me!"

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Just offering my expertise in the finer points of ancient languages," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

He pulled up a chair next to me, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. As he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he attempted to translate the passage, a spark ignited between us.

Emboldened by the privacy of the deserted library and the frustration of the Gobbledegook text, I turned to face him, my lips brushing against his ear as I pointed to a particularly confusing line.

Suddenly, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Mattheo's hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. His gaze held mine, a storm brewing in its depths.

"There's another way to learn this language," he murmured, his voice husky with suppressed longing.

Before I could respond, he closed the gap between us. The kiss was different this time. It was slow, searing, filled with a raw emotion that sent shivers down my spine. It was a kiss that spoke not just of affection, but of a growing possessiveness, a silent claim on my heart.

We pulled away breathlessly, foreheads resting together. The quiet of the library thrummed with the intensity of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

"Maybe Gobbledegook isn't so bad after all," I finally whispered, a shy smile playing on my lips.

Mattheo chuckled, a deep sound that resonated within me. "Perhaps not," he agreed, his eyes lingering on mine for a beat longer than necessary.

One blustery afternoon, while seeking refuge from a sudden downpour in a hidden alcove near the greenhouses, we found ourselves alone. The air crackled with unspoken tension as we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on the stone walls.

He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering from my face to the storm raging outside. "This weather is something else, isn't it?" he said, his voice barely a whisper above the wind.

"Unpredictable, like magic itself," I replied, my own voice barely a murmur.

Suddenly, he turned to face me, his eyes a storm brewing within them. Before I could react, he cupped my face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down my spine. The space between us evaporated as he leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek.

"You're unpredictable too, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with something raw and primal. "In the best way possible."

And then, he kissed me. It was a kiss unlike any I'd ever experienced. It was fierce and passionate, filled with a yearning that mirrored my own.

I was hunched over a particularly dense text on Herbology, wrestling with the intricacies of magical plant growth, when a shadow fell across the page.

Looking up, I met Mattheo's gaze, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. "Lost in the world of Venomous Tentacula again, love?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I swatted playfully at his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. "These Bulbadox Bulbs are more stubborn than they look," I grumbled.

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Maybe they just need the right touch," he murmured, his breath warm on my ear.

Before I could react, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the offending passage. A jolt of electricity shot through me, my heart skipping a beat. He lingered for a moment too long, his touch sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"See?" he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sometimes understanding comes from a different kind of connection."

His words were a playful jab, but the intensity of his gaze held a deeper meaning. I felt my cheeks flush, a secret smile spreading across my face.

"Maybe," I replied, unable to tear my gaze from his.

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Mattheo leaned in further. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a wave of warmth cascading through me.

It was a soft, lingering exploration. He trailed a finger down my neck, sending shivers dancing across my exposed skin. My breath hitched in my throat, and I leaned back into his touch, a helpless moan escaping my lips.

He chuckled against my skin, a low, throaty sound that sent a delicious tremor through me. "You should see the way you blush, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

My cheeks burned even hotter. This wasn't the stolen kiss under the moonlight, this was something more intimate, more raw. It was a secret shared between us, a confirmation of the growing connection that thrummed beneath the surface.

Suddenly, the library door slammed open, shattering the intimate moment. Madam Pince, the stern librarian, swept in, her beady eyes scanning the room. Mattheo and I both straightened up, a sheepish grin on his face.

"No hanky-panky in the Restricted Section, young man," Madam Pince barked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Mattheo, ever the charmer, flashed her a boyish grin. "Just helping a friend with her research, Madam Pince," he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Madam Pince narrowed her eyes at us for a moment longer before muttering something about "frivolous students" and disappearing behind a towering bookshelf.

As soon as she was gone, Mattheo let out a low whistle, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like we've been caught," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension broken. "Maybe we should stick to the Herbology section next time," I teased, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach from his touch.

He took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Maybe," he agreed, his eyes holding mine. "But who knows what secrets lurk in the Restricted Section?"

Suddenly, a voice broke through my concentration. "Y/N!"

I looked up to see Charlie Spinnet standing awkwardly in front of me, a hopeful smile plastered on his face. My stomach lurched, a flicker of unease coursing through me.

"Charlie," I stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Before I could answer, mattheo’s voice cut in, laced with a dangerous edge.

"Actually, she can't," Mattheo drawled, His eyes narrowed at Charlie, a dark glint flickering within them.

Charlie gulped, his hopeful smile faltering. "M-Mattheo," he stammered. "I just wanted to…"

"Whatever it is," Mattheo interrupted, his voice low and cold, "it can wait."

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. My heart hammered against my ribs, caught between the awkwardness of Charlie's unexpected presence and the possessiveness radiating from Mattheo.

"But—" Charlie began, but Mattheo cut him off again.

"No buts, Spinnet," Mattheo said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Now, if you'll excuse us,"

He took my hand possessively, his fingers wrapping around mine with a force that left no room for argument. Before Charlie could stammer another word, Mattheo practically dragged me away.

We walked in silence for a moment, the only sound our hurried footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. My cheeks burned with a mixture of annoyance and a strange sense of… satisfaction?

"Mattheo, that was a bit harsh," I finally said, breaking the silence.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. His gaze was intense, a storm brewing within its depths.

"He shouldn't have bothered you," he said, his voice low and possessive.

"He was just trying to talk to me," I pointed out, a hint of defiance creeping into my voice.

"And what exactly did he want to talk about?" Mattheo challenged, his jaw clenched.

"I don't know," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. "But I should have been allowed to find out, shouldn't I?"

Mattheo seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, his emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away.

"Look," he said, his voice softer now, "I just… don't like the idea of someone else getting close to you."

My heart skipped a beat. Was he… jealous?

"Why not?" I couldn't help but ask, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

He hesitated – a rare sight that sent a thrill through me.

"Because…" he stammered, searching for the right words. "Because maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit."

The words hung in the air. A smile bloomed on my face, wider than it had in weeks.

"Is that so, Riddle?" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a newfound vulnerability. Leaning in closer, he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face with his thumb.

"Maybe it is," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine.

Before we could explore that maybe any further, a loud cough echoed through the corridor. We sprang apart, startled, to see a smirking Enzo leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Oh please don’t let me stop you ," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mattheo scowled, his usual bravado returning. "Get lost, Enzo," he snapped.

Enzo, unfazed, simply chuckled. "Just making sure you're not neglecting your studies, brother dearest," he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Professor Flitwick wouldn't be happy if he caught you missing his lecture because you can’t keep your hands to yourself those days "

My cheeks burned even hotter. "We weren't… ," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo chuckled. "Whatever you say, sweetheart . But don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Though, if you're looking for a more private place next time, I know a few hidden alcoves that are perfect for… well, you get the idea."

"Thanks, Enzo," I said smiling trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible .

"Anytime," he replied, throwing a playful two-finger salute before disappearing back down the corridor.

Mattheo and I stared at each other for a long moment, the tension thick in the air.

"I think I need to go …" I began, unsure how to proceed “ see you at ummm….”

"...Great Hall," Mattheo finished my sentence, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment. Though his earlier possessiveness had surprised me, I couldn't deny a flicker of warmth at his reluctance to see me go.

"Yeah, the Great Hall," I confirmed, unable to meet his gaze for too long. The lingering confession, the stolen moment almost-kiss, hung heavy between us.

As I sank deeper into the worn armchair, a group of giggling Gryffindor girls approached, their chatter drawing my attention.

"Y/N!" Lavender Brown announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Did you hear? There's supposed to be a total lunar eclipse tonight!"

My heart skipped a beat. A lunar eclipse? A shiver of excitement ran down my spine. For the first time in years, I hadn't even been aware of such an event. But more importantly, they were inviting me.

Parvati Patil chimed in, her dark eyes sparkling. "We're all planning to gather near the lake to watch. It's supposed to be incredible! Are you coming?"

"I…" I stammered, unsure how to respond.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Padma, Parvati's twin, nudged me playfully. "It'll be fun! We can all gossip and make wishes under the moonlight."

A lump formed in my throat. It was a simple question, but it felt monumental. An invitation to not just witness a celestial phenomenon, but to be included, to be a part of something.

For a moment, I simply stared at them, my mind struggling to process the shift. Was this real? Did they genuinely want me to join them?

"I don't know," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. "Maybe…"

"Don't worry, Y/N," Lavender reassured me, sensing my hesitation. "It's up to you. But if you do decide to come, we'd love to have you."

With a warm smile, they turned to leave, their excited chatter fading as they descended the stairs. I watched them go, a wave of indecisiveness washing over me.

The rest of day went by quickly as I was still thinking about the invitation then mattheo I looked around searching for him

I spotted him by the courtyard, leaning against a stone pillar, his usual air of nonchalance masking a hint of concern. As I approached, he pushed himself off the pillar and met my gaze.

"Hey," he said, his voice laced with a question as his eyes scanned my face.

"Hi, Mattheo," I replied hesitantly.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eye with a gentle touch .

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "There's a lunar eclipse tonight, did you know?"

He blinked, surprised by the abrupt change of subject. "A lunar eclipse?" he echoed.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Apparently, it's supposed to be the biggest one in years. Everyone's going down by the Black Lake to watch it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Everyone, huh?" he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Well," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush, "not everyone. But some people. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil invited me, and…"

I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Did I dare ask him to join me?

"And?" Mattheo prompted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"And," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes, "I was wondering… would you maybe want to come with me?"

The playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "With you?" he echoed.

I looked back up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you want to, of course."

He held my gaze for a long moment, the silence stretching between us. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, warm and genuine.

"I'd like that very much, love ," he said, his voice a low rumble.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink, I made my way towards the Black Lake. The crisp autumn air buzzed with excited chatter as students from all houses gathered, blankets and snacks in tow, eager to witness the celestial spectacle.

A warm hand brushed against mine, sending a jolt through my system. Turning, I met Mattheo's gaze, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. He wore a casual smirk, but the way his hand lingered on mine spoke volumes.

he breathed, taking in the scene before him. "Didn't expect the whole school to be here."

I chuckled. "Apparently, lunar eclipses are kind of a big deal."

We weaved through the crowd, Lavender and Parvati waving to us over Theo , Enzo even Blaise was there too that was really unexpected . We settled in, surrounded by the cheerful chatter and laughter.

As the moon began to cast its silvery glow, a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned their eyes skyward, captivated by the gradual darkening of Earth's natural satellite. Mattheo, however, seemed more interested in me than the moon. His hand brushed mine again, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

Leaning closer, he whispered in my ear, his voice husky and warm. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his face. "It is," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine. Just as I thought he was about to kiss me, his voice dipped even lower.

"come with me. "

The surprise on my face must have been evident. "Where?" I stammered.

he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

We walked for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle in the bushes. The air grew thicker the deeper we ventured, and a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of my excitement. Just as I was about to voice my concerns, Mattheo came to a stop in front of a section of gnarled oak trees, their branches intertwined in an almost unnatural way.

"Here?" I asked, eyeing the dense foliage with suspicion.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy. "Here," he confirmed, stepping forward and pushing aside a thick curtain woven from the very leaves themselves.

To my astonishment, a hidden passage unfolded behind the makeshift doorway. A narrow path, barely wide enough for two people, stretched into the darkness, illuminated faintly by glowing mushrooms that dotted the damp stone walls.

My initial apprehension warred with the budding trust I felt for Mattheo. Taking a deep breath, I gripped his hand tighter. "What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Just trust me," he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle.

We walked in silence, the air growing colder and the earthy scent more pronounced. The path eventually led to a sturdy wooden door hidden within the rocky wall. Mattheo pushed it open, revealing a sight that took my breath away.

It was a small, circular room, but its crowning glory was a large, arched window that took up most of one wall. Through it, the eclipse was on full display, the shadowed moon hanging in the inky black sky. But unlike the darkness of the forest, here, the view was clear and breathtaking

I breathed, my surprise echoing in the stillness of the night.

Mattheo chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. "Told you it was worth it."

"This is…" I stammered, searching for the right words. "Amazing."

Mattheo smiled, his hand moving to brush a stray curl from my face. “We found this place a while back," he explained. "It's kind of a secret."

He pulled me towards the window, his arm wrapping around my waist, stood behind me , gazing up at the celestial phenomenon unfolding above us. The darkness, once menacing, now seemed like a vast, inky canvas upon which the eclipse played out.

"It's even more breathtaking from here, isn't it?" Mattheo whispered, his voice warm against my ear. , his words laced with something more than just the wonder of the eclipse.

I could only nod, my throat suddenly dry. The beauty of the celestial spectacle was undeniable, but it paled in comparison to the feelings Mattheo was stirring within me.

A warmth bloomed in my chest, a response that surprised even me. Mattheo's presence, so close and unexpected in this hidden haven, sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

As if sensing my shift, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Then, his lips brushed against my ear again. This time, the words were different. Softer, more intimate. "You're even more breathtaking," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my neck.

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze reflected in the moonlight filtering through the window. The eclipse, forgotten for a moment, seemed to cast an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Before I could form a coherent thought, his lips met mine. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft exploration that sent a wave of warmth through me. Instinctively, I reached up, my fingers finding purchase on his arm.

A contented sigh escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, his hand finding mine and intertwining our fingers. The touch sent a jolt through me, a current of electricity that ignited a fire within.

When he finally pulled away, a breathless gasp escaped my lips. My cheeks burned, my heart hammered a wild rhythm against my ribs. A shy smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

His gaze never left mine.He leaned down again, his lips trailing a path of fire down my neck. He paused at a sensitive spot just below my ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

Unable to hold back a moan, I arched my neck into his touch, a silent plea for more. His hand reached down, skimming the curve of my hip before settling lightly on my lower back as I felt the wall behind us

He was going to stop I know that he was going to hold back again "Wait," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. Looking into his eyes, I saw a storm of emotions – frustration, amusement. It was a look that made my heart skip a beat, a look that made me feel a dangerous mix of power and surrender.

"I want to " I stammered, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling within me.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice husky with suppressed desire.

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out, "I want this, Mattheo. I mean…I've never done this before, but I trust you. And I want it."

"Let's take things slow, alright?" He whispered softly in my ear and i nodded, his lips finding their way back to my neck, tracing over the mark he had just left behind.

"Mattheo," I moaned when he nipped at the same spot again, his teeth sharp and his lips unyielding.

"God my name sounds like heaven from your lips" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"Have you ever touched yourself, love?" His question caught me off guard, my breath catching in my throat as I shook my head. I had wanted to try but never mustered the courage.

"It's okay, my love," he reassured, his hands sliding under my top, caressing my skin with a tender touch that sent shivers down my spine.Then he gently pushed me up, settling me on the nearest table. "I'll take care of you."

Pressing more kisses to my neck, his hands moved to my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifted my skirt slightly. "Is this alright?" he asked, his breath hot against my neck.I smiled at him and nodded again

“I’m going to touch you now, Just tell me when you want to stop, and I promise I’ll end it,” said with determination, his fingers brushing my cheek i nodded leaned forward to kiss him instead of just responding.

He did as he told , his fingers sliding into my pants proceeded slowly, finding my most sensitive spot, eliciting pleasurable sensations that made me arch my back and cling to him.

slowly rubbing circles around it. He used light pressure, but it felt amazing. His gaze intently watched my response, figuring out what i like.

He picked up the pace and pressure, sending pleasurable shocks through my body. my back arched as the ache between my legs increased.

“God you’re so wet for me." he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Does it feel good?"

“ Yes , it feels so good.” I moaned softly, my voice barely audible as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Can I?" he asked, seeking my consent.

"Yes, please," I begged, my desperation evident in my voice.

"It might feel strange at first, but I promise it will get better quickly," he reassured, and I nodded in agreement. With my consent, his finger slid between my folds, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. My hands found their way to his shoulders as I rested my head against them.

"Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of pleasure. I obeyed, inhaling deeply as a symphony of moans escaped my mouth, each one a testament to the pleasure coursing through my body.

"Mattheo," I moaned, his name a mantra on my lips.

"Yes, love. Talk to me," he encouraged, his movements slowing to allow me to catch my breath.

"There's something..." I tried to say, but pleasure engulfed me, leaving me speechless.

His lips found mine, his kisses distracting me from my thoughts as I succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure he offered.

"Just let go for me," he whispered against my lips, his breath igniting a fire within me that sent me spiraling into bliss.

His thumb applied pressure to my clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through my body. I gripped his shoulder tightly as he carefully added another finger, causing me to close my eyes in ecstasy.

"Don't close your eyes, love. Look at me," he urged, his voice filled with desire and a hint of command. I obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers found that specific spot inside me, unleashing a sensation I had never experienced before. It was so intense that I couldn't contain my scream of pleasure, feeling like I was soaring among the clouds.

He continued to target that spot, his gaze fixed on me as if he could read my every reaction. With a satisfied smile, he spoke soft words in my ear , reveling in my response.

His touch remained gentle yet firm, guiding me through the waves of pleasure until I reached the pinnacle, my body trembling in his embrace as I experienced a euphoric release unlike anything before.

"It's alright, I'm here," he murmured, his words a soothing balm as I surrendered to the pleasure that consumed me.

As I floated back to reality, I found myself in his arms, his gaze filled with tenderness and adoration. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, passionate kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions.

"Maybe you mean more to me than I care to admit too , riddle," I repeated his earlier words. But what I truly wanted to express was that, ,I think I'm in love with you, Mattheo Riddle.’

From that night onward, everything shifted, and my life transformed into a fairy tale. The intensity of my feelings for him grew so profound that a day without seeing Mattheo felt like an eternity, leaving me yearning for his presence. He cherished me as if I were the most precious gem in his life, and to say that I loved him would be an understatement; my emotions ran deeper than mere words could express.

Despite our unspoken declarations of love, we refrained from exploring further sexual intimacy after that intense encounter. However, the desire and longing between us only grew stronger, leaving me yearning for more moments of intimacy with him. Each kiss, touch, and gaze across the room spoke volumes of the love we shared, even if the three words were never verbalized.

The end-of-year party hosted by Slytherin was a legendary affair, whispered about in hushed tones by those who had attended in previous years. Despite hearing countless tales about the extravagant festivities, I had never been tempted to go, for me, it had always been an off-limits fantasy , one I didn't dare to try and make true.

As the "jinx girl", stepping foot into such a renowned event felt like a risky move. The thought of facing judgment, scrutiny, and potentially being ostracized by my peers held me back from even considering attending.

However, in those few months everything changed. I found myself shedding my inhibitions and fears, stepping out of my comfort zone and embracing new experiences. The bonds I formed with other Slytherins grew stronger, and I even made friends outside of Mattheo's circle, feeling more at ease and confident in social settings.

The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was as legendary as the end-of-year party itself. This year, however, a shared misfortune had united the two houses in a grudging camaraderie. Professor Flitwick, bless his innocent heart, had stumbled upon Blaise Zabini and a very surprised Gryffindor tangled together in a rather compromising position in a dusty basement corridor. Let's just say, both houses lost a significant number of points, paving the way for Ravenclaw to snatch the coveted House Cup in a landslide victory.

So, as the day of the party approached, a thrill of anticipation danced in my stomach.

"Mattheo," I said, catching his attention as I approached him and his friends. He gently guided me to sit next to him, holding my hands with a tender touch

“ yes love ? “

"Are we… are we going to the party tonight?" I asked, trying to gauge his reaction.

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face. "The party?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You… you want to go?"

I felt a flicker of self-consciousness, but I held his gaze. "Yeah," I admitted.

“Honestly, Y/N," he said, "it's a bit… childish."

"Childish?" I repeated, surprised. "But everyone says it's a lot of fun!"

Enzo, chimed in with a shrug. "He has a point. It's mostly just first years causing mayhem."

There it was , that hesitation. Mattheo rarely said no to anything I asked.

He studied me for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. He glanced at Enzo, exchanging a silent communication that left me puzzled.I don’t really understand I know they used to go every year .

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. Then, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Alright then love ," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If you want to, then we'll go."

The Slytherin common room was a whirlwind of emerald and silver. Green streamers snaked across the ceiling, enchanted banners proclaimed Slytherin victory in various forgotten contests, and a cacophony of music and laughter filled the air. My heart pounded with excitement, a delightful mix of anticipation and nerves.

The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with laughter and music. Everyone seemed genuinely happy to have me there, chatting and mingling as if I had been a regular attendee for years.

However, what struck me as odd was how Mattheo and Enzo never left my side. It was as if they were guarding me, anticipating something that I wasn't aware of. Despite their usual easygoing demeanor, there was a sense of alertness in their actions that left me curious and slightly uneasy.

As the night progressed, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, not in a malicious way, but more like a protective gaze. Mattheo and Enzo's constant presence by my side felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

I tried to brush off my unease and enjoy the party, engaging in conversations and joining in on the festivities. However, the nagging feeling that something was amiss lingered in the back of my mind.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when Mattheo and Enzo exchanged a meaningful glance, that I realized there was more to their protective behavior than met the eye.

Chaos erupted in the common room as Charlie Spinnet, stormed towards Mattheo. "Get her out of here now ," he growled, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Or I'll do it myself."

Before Mattheo could respond, the room fell silent. A Slytherin seventh-year, Adrian Pucey, stood on a nearby table, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hold on there, Spinnet ," he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension. "This year, we're doing something a little different… a play!"

A cheer erupted from the Slytherins, many of them eager for a change from the usual prank wars. Mattheo , however, remained unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes at Adrian, suspicion etched on his face.

As the play began, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between my name and the name of the girl portrayed in the story. It didn't take long for me to realize that the play was about a jinxing girl, and it described in vivid detail everything I had confided in Mattheo about my family and my troubled past at the lake that night.

Panic clawed at my throat. I stole a glance at Mattheo, but his face was a mask. He reached out a hand towards me, but I flinched back instinctively .

The room fell silent, every eye glued to me and the unfolding drama.

Onstage, the actress portraying me continued, her voice dripping with drama. "…driven by ambition, she stole her brother's place, but a terrible curse followed. Wherever she goes, misfortune befalls those around her. She's the jinx girl, a harbinger of bad luck!"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like flames, spreading fear and suspicion. I felt them scorching my skin, their judgment a suffocating weight on my chest.

Suddenly, a new scene unfolded on stage. A group of actors, portraying Hogwarts students, stood center stage. "Here's the dare," boomed one, a mock sense of bravery in his voice. "The boy who approaches the jinx girl and brings her to the party… wins!"

Suddenly, a commotion arose from the back of the room. Enzo and Theodore Nott , their faces grim, pushed their way through the crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Stop this!" Enzo said, his voice laced with fury. "This is out of line, Pucey!"

The actors scrambled off the stage, bewildered and slightly scared. The common room dissolved into chaos. Accusatory whispers turned into heated arguments. Pity and fear flickered in averted gazes. I even overheard someone mutter, "Did she really kill her brother?"

The roar of the party faded behind me as I sprinted down the Slytherin common room's hidden corridor, tears stinging my eyes despite my desperate efforts to hold them back. Mattheo's voice calling after me, pleading, only fueled my desperate need to escape.

"Y/N, please!" he shouted, but I ignored him, my feet pounding a relentless rhythm against the cold stone floor.

"Y/N!" he called again, his voice closer this time. Panic surged through me, lending me fresh bursts of energy.

Just as I reached the portrait leading out to the dungeons, a strong hand clamped onto my arm. I spun around, ready to lash out, but it was him – Mattheo, his face etched with a desperate worry I'd never seen before.

He tried to reach for my hand, but I recoiled violently. "Don't you dare touch me!" I screamed, my voice raw with hurt and betrayal.

He flinched, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. "Y/N, love, just hear me out," he pleaded.

"Love?" I spat the word back at him, incredulous. "Don't call me that." The weight of everything that had just happened crashed down on me. The staged play, the public humiliation, the sickening realization that it had all been a dare.

"It's not what it seems like," he stammered, trying to explain. "I—"

"You what?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "It was all a lie, wasn't it? "

"No, no, I swear," he said urgently. "Everything that happened between us was real. My feelings for you…" His voice trailed off, his eyes pleading for me to understand.

But the damage was done. The carefully constructed trust – it had all crumbled to dust in the face of this cruel betrayal.

"Don't," I choked out, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "Don't lie to me anymore."

A sob escaped my lips, and despite the anger burning within me, a part of me ached for the connection I thought we shared.

"Just give me a chance to explain," he pleaded, but I shook my head, unable to bear the sight of him anymore.

The truth, however distorted, was clear. "Wouldn't you deny it was a dare?" I challenged him, a flicker of defiance sparking in my tear-filled eyes.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine pain cross Mattheo's usually guarded features.

"No," he finally admitted, and I felt a wave of numbness wash over me.

As I turned to walk away, he continued, "It was at first, but I swear that from that night at the Broomsticks, everything was real. I even forgot about that stupid dare. Everything that happened between us was real, you know that."

I scoffed, wiping angrily at my tears. "I don't know anything anymore," I said.

"Foolish me. That's why you didn't want Charlie to talk to me that day, wasn't it? Because he was going to expose you?"

""No, Y/N, I just didn't want you to get hurt __“

"You what?" I cut him off again, my voice trembling with fury. "How generous of you," I said sarcastically. "But look, you win now, Riddle. Won't you go celebrate? It was their dare,"

"I don't care about anyone else but you," he said fiercely.

I stared at him, incredulous. "Then why does it feel like you care about everything else more than me right now?"

He took a hesitant step forward, but I didn't back away this time. I met his gaze head-on, my heart a tangled mess of emotions.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice filled with desperation.

"You already have," I said, the words like shards of glass in my mouth. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain I was experiencing.

"I ___ i love you," he confessed, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Love. The very word felt like a mockery.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging within me. "And I hate you, Mattheo Riddle," I said, each word laced with the bitter taste of betrayal.

With that final declaration, I turned away, leaving him standing alone in the darkened corridor, the portrait swinging shut behind me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

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

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wheatbreadfuckyeah · 2 months ago

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DEBATE [VIKTOR X READER]

You’re seated on a stool near Viktor’s workbench, a half-eaten sandwich in hand as he adjusts a delicate mechanism in front of him. The lab is alive with its usual hum, but your conversation has been anything but routine— debating the intricacies of progress and the pitfalls of society.

“I’m simply saying,” Viktor begins, his voice steady but laced with that characteristic sharpness, “that innovation is wasted on those who refuse to adapt. Society clings to the familiar, even as it decays beneath them. Change should not ask permission; it should demand compliance.”

You raise a brow, chewing thoughtfully before replying. “That’s a rather cold way to look at it. You’re forgetting that society isn’t a monolith. People adapt at different rates, and forcing progress without consideration only breeds resistance.”

Viktor turns slightly, his smirk subtle but present. “Resistance is inevitable regardless. The fear of the unknown has held humanity back for centuries. At some point, you must abandon hand-holding and move forward. Progress waits for no one.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the workbench as you counter, “But progress without empathy is hollow, Viktor. What good is innovation if it leaves people behind? Isn’t the goal to elevate society as a whole, not just those who can keep up?”

His fingers pause briefly over his work, and he looks up at you, his gaze sharp but curious. “Empathy has its place, but it can not dictate the pace of advancement. Compromise too much, and you risk stagnation.”

You smirk, sensing an opening. “Ah, but compromise is what makes progress sustainable. A society forced to change too quickly risks collapse. You don’t build a bridge by leaping across a chasm– you lay down the planks one by one. It’s slower, yes, but far less likely to send everyone tumbling into the void.”

He leans back slightly, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. “An interesting analogy,” he admits, though his tone is tinged with reluctant acknowledgement. “Perhaps you have a point. But the void is inevitable for some, regardless.”

“True,” you say, standing up brushing the crumbs off your hands and grabbing the wrapping parchment off the desk. “But maybe fewer people fall if you take the time to build that bridge properly.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, smirking at him as you make your way to the door. “Good talk, Viktor. I’ll let you chew on that while I go back to class.”

He doesn't watch as you leave, yet his lips quirk into the faintest shadow of a smile.

#is this formatting okay?#oneshot #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #arcane #viktor x reader

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saltymarshmall0w · 3 months ago

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Another Dp x DC prompt inspired by a Danny Phantom episode.

Identity Crisis- The episode where Danny flies through one of his parent's inventions (A dream catcher, but let's all replace that little detail with a net or a strainer) and separates into Phantom and Fenton. Fenton is glad to give up being a hero and be lazy with his friends while Phantom turns into the embodiment of a heroic archetype.

----

There was an empty, gaping chasm in him nestled somewhere between his spotty memory and the apathy that constantly settled over his brain like a weighted blanket.

He could see it in the way it felt like something was missing when he looked in the mirror.

In the way Danny enjoyed things but couldn’t list what exactly he liked.

His parents knew it too. His dad didn’t look him in the eye anymore, and his mom always made a disappointed “tsk” noise when they tested his blood to “check if his levels were going down yet” then questioned if he was using the decontamination soap. He did, even if it made his hands burn and left Danny feeling lethargic after every shower.

They moved to Gotham of all places overnight, before Danny could so much as say goodbye to his friends.

(He knew it was weird. He didn’t even remember packing his stuff—but he didn’t have to do the work so, whatever)

They locked him in the house all day as if he would go out on the streets and fight crime while they weren’t looking or something. They were being controlling freaks!

(He should probably run away. It was obvious, even to him, that he was being abused… but that sounded like a lot of effort and not all that fun, so he’d rather just stay in his comfy bed and watch tiktok. He could ignore the sounds coming from the basement until he was 18.)

Uncle Vlad would occasionally stop by to say thinly veiled threats and act all weird– once or twice asking about “Phantom” or a “core” whatever that meant. It was easier to just let Vlad send him to a rich-people school and drag him to a couple galas. At least he was actually getting out of the house.

Whatever was going on with Danny was probably something he should be concerned about. He should go to a doctor, or the police, or his obviously-a-vigilante classmate for help rather than attempting to create half-thought out inventions to solve a problem he couldn’t even describe that he inevitably would forget about in favor of watching tiktok.

According to google, the headaches, the tiredness, the dry skin, the disorientation- it all pointed toward dehydration. So, he was just overreacted anyway and should probably just drink more water.

Whatever, Doomed came out with a mobile version for phones so, he’s way more interested in that anyway.

Basically, Human!Danny does not remember anything to do with Phantom and he’s missing a lot of his key components.

lots of procrastinating, lots of apathy and emotions are extremely dull.

He doesn’t realize how much he misses his friends or his obsessions unless they’re directly in front of him.

I think it would be a fun writing exercise, questioning how Danny would act without Phantom based on the events in Identity Crisis.

-Emotional incompetence. (He’s awful at identifying how he feels about things)

-Shameless Dopamine-seeking behavior.

-Doing things without thinking of the consequences.

-A completely gray moral compass

Meanwhile, with Phantom—There are different levels of messed up we could take this.

After Jack and Maddie separated Phantom from Fenton, they tried their best to get their son (who, thankfully, doesn’t remember being possessed for nearly a year) to decontaminate fully by moving to Gotham, while keeping their subject in the lab so they could keep running tests on it.

Unfortunately, the ectoplasm levels in Danny’s blood aren’t going down, despite weekly tests.

Last night, Danny had a nightmare where his parents cut him open.

It was only a nightmare, of course. His parents were inventors. They specialized in making every-day objects into the shape of his dad’s face; they didn’t work in biology.

Still, the phantom pain of his mom snapping his ribcage open was too realistic, and he still didn’t have an explanation for the surgical scars he kept finding on his body.

Jack and Maddie separated Phantom and Fenton and decided it was time they gave up ghost hunting for the safety of their son. So, they sold the ghost to the GIW and used the funds to move to Gotham, the city with the least amount of ambient ectoplasm in hopes to fully decontaminate their son.

Phantom is in the hands of the GIW until Fenton comes across him (probably due to Bat-related shenanigans) and instantly goes “Oh, shit. That’s my soul. I kinda need that back.”

-I’d be kinda funny if at this point the bats all know Danny as an extremely relaxed civilian who’s smart and figured out all their identities, yes, but also has zero interest in vigilantism.

-They’re going to get the “soul” thing Danny was freaking out about back Asap but they need to do a bit of reconnaissance first and–

- Oh—

-Danny’s mission-impossible-ing his way into the highly secure government base.

-and he’s, like, GOOD at it. WTF

Phantom, separated from his human half, turns into Little Baby Man. And just tries his darndest as a tiny little cat-possum-snake thing to find his human half… and protect everyone he sees… and collect shiny things. Okay! It’s not his fault he keeps getting distracted!

Until!! He found his human!! Well, it wasn’t actually his human, but Phantom could tell his human had been around this human. Besides, he sure did like this human. And the human said he was cute. Which actually made him explode with happiness!!

(The Waynes adopt little Baby Man, thinking he’s just a really weird alien cat)

So, now for the DC part of this I’m gonna throw some ideas out there for some interactions and you can decide if you like ‘em or not. I basically just really liked the idea of Danny finding out his classmate’s/friend’s secret identity and just… being completely apathetic to it.

I really flip flopped on his Designated Gotham Bf being either Tim or Damian, bc i think both would have a really interesting dynamic with a really apathetic yet insanely smart Danny, especially if you throw in Damian adopting LBM Phantom.

You, (yes, You! The reader!) can take this as whatever Wayne child you chose and I’ll just refer to them as Robin from now on.

Each of these separated bits are just a different new way I thought an identity reveal would happen, none of them are connected.

*Danny, standing way too close to an active rouge attack, watching Robin and Batman fighting*: You know… that guy throwing around the stylized R’s around looks kinda like that cute guy from physics.

Goon, currently trying to take Danny hostage: Yeah, whatever kid.

Robin: Hey, so, I know the school is under attack right now, but I really need something from my locker so–

Danny *The new kid who so far has only slept in class*: Dude, I know you’re Robin. It’s, like, really obvious. Just go, I’ll cover for you.

(while Fenton would not be inclined to help in a rouge attack, he still has the overconfidence of a super-powered being and some of the instincts that were ingrained into him after hundreds of fights)

Robin: Hey, Kid-I-don’t-know! This is an active gunfight! You should run!

Danny: Don’t worry Robin, there are no civilians around! I have time to wait around so when you’re done kicking ass we can get back to our group project. *thumbs up*

Robin: B, this is my friend, Danny. Please be nice to him.

Danny: Hey Batman. Rad.

Bruce: Hrm

Robin: *spluttering* Pfft- Bruce- Bruce isn’t Batman! Haha! What makes you think that?

Danny:

Danny: Wait– We’re friends?

Robin *very angsty moment*: Danny, I’m sorry. I only befriended you because I thought your parents were shady and wanted to investigate. The truth is… I’m Robin.

Danny *This is a total shock to him. He had no idea. He should probably react appropriately*: If I had a nickel for every time I dated a vigilante’s civilian identity I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

Robin: Are you seriously quoting Phineas and Ferb right now??

Robin: Wait– which vigilante have you dated before?

Robin: Danny? You can’t just leave me hanging, Danny.

Robin: Was it superboy? Because- Danny! I’m way cooler than superboy

—

Alternatively, consider the shift in dynamics when Danny is back “complete” and can finally feel regular emotions again.

Like shame, for example.

Robin: Hey :)

Danny: *Remembers anything he did as LBM and calmly moves to the floor so he can curl up and die of embarrassment*

Robin: ??? Are you okay?

Robin *bats his pretty eyes*: So? You and Phantom are finally back together again. How do you feel?

Danny *hasn’t noticed his Paulina-level attraction or Sam-level crush on Robin before*: Bisexual.

Misc:

Phantom: *growling at a mirror and repeatedly trying to attack it*

Robin: Yeah, we don’t really know what it is, but it’s cute.

Robin: This is weird, He doesn’t usually warm up to people so quickly. Usually he’s really protective.

Danny *completely calmly*: Oh, yeah. That's probably because it’s my soul.

Bruce: Listen, I know you like my son-

Danny: Woah, hold on. Yeah, Robin is pretty great. Dopamine goes brrr around him, but I don’t have a crush on him or anything.

Bruce: *gestures to Robin on the other side of the room, where Phantom is repeatedly giving Robin butterfly kisses and nuzzling into him*

Danny: ooh.

Anyway! if you're at all inspired by this and write something the only requirement is that you have to tell me so I can read it too :) otherwise, go crazy!

#The longer you read this post the more it falls apart #I spent really long trying to put this idea on a page correctly and I still have so many ideas I didn't even put in #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #danny phantom #batfam #danny fenton #lbm danny #little baby man #dp x dc au

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elryuse · 14 days ago

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Pt. 5 First Kiss

BABEL'S CHAINS MASTERLIST : HERE

Y/n's Pov

A New Day

The next morning, the air felt heavier than usual as I dragged myself out of bed. I checked my phone almost instinctively, hoping—praying—that Karina, Winter, Giselle, or Ningning had sent me something. An explanation, an apology—anything to acknowledge what had happened last night.

But my notifications were empty. No calls, no texts. Just silence.

I stared at the blank screen for a while before setting it down with a sigh. I couldn’t force them to care, I told myself. Maybe they were too busy dealing with the fallout of the rumors. Maybe they were just protecting themselves. Either way, I had to move on.

When I arrived at college, the bustling energy of Babel felt different, almost suffocating. People whispered as I walked past, some even pointing. I didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were saying.

"That’s him. The guy from the post."

"Why would Karina even talk to someone like that?"

"Pathetic."

I kept my head down and pushed through the crowd until I reached the classroom. Karina was already there, sitting at her usual spot near the front. I hesitated, debating whether to wave or greet her. But she didn’t even glance my way.

She just stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the professor as he set up his materials. The distance between us felt like a chasm.

I took my seat across the room, trying not to look at her, but it was impossible. She was still as beautiful as ever—her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her sharp features glowing under the soft light. But no. I had to keep my distance. It was for her own good.

The class felt like it dragged on forever, the professor’s voice blending into background noise. When it finally ended, I slipped out before anyone could stop me.

The cafeteria was my next destination. Usually, I’d sit with Karina or one of the others, but today, I found a quiet corner by myself. I picked at my food, the loneliness settling in like an old, unwelcome friend.

I was mid-bite when I felt hands cover my eyes.

“Guess who?”

The voice was teasing, playful, and all too familiar.

“Yuna,” I said, my tone flat as I gently removed her hands.

“Bingo!” she grinned, pulling up a chair and sitting next to me. Her friends—Yeji, Lia, Ryujin, and Chaeryeong—followed suit, crowding around the table.

“What are you doing here all alone?” Yuna asked, leaning in closer with that mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I’m eating,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“No,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I mean, where are your friends? Karina, Winter, and the rest of the Aespa crew?”

My grip on my fork tightened. “They’re... busy.”

Yuna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Busy, huh? Or are they just ignoring you after last night’s mess?”

The words stung, but I didn’t let it show. “It’s not like that,” I said, though even I didn’t believe it.

Ryujin smirked, resting her chin on her hand as she watched me. “You’re an interesting guy, Y/n. Getting tangled up with Aespa? Bold move.”

“I didn’t get tangled up with anyone,” I muttered, focusing on my food.

Yuna laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Relax. We’re just messing with you.” She nudged me playfully, her smile softening. “But seriously, if they’re treating you like this, maybe you should hang out with us instead. We’re much more fun, don’t you think?”

I glanced around the table. Yeji offered me a kind smile, Lia looked curious but kind, while Chaeryeong seemed shy but genuine. Ryujin, on the other hand, looked like she was plotting something, her smirk never fading.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, not wanting to commit to anything.

Yuna leaned back, satisfied with my answer. “Good. Because I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.”

For the first time that day, I felt a flicker of warmth. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed. But as I watched Yuna’s confident smile, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more complicated.

Karaoke?

After finishing my meal, I sat there for a moment, staring at the empty plate in front of me. Normally, this would be the time I’d head to Aespa’s apartment. Maybe I’d cook them something comforting, hear their laughter echo through the space, and for a brief moment, feel like I belonged somewhere.

But not today.

I sighed, standing up and heading toward the exit when a familiar voice stopped me.

“You wanna hang out?” Yuna’s voice was lively, cutting through the dull haze in my head. I turned to see her walking toward me, her trademark grin plastered on her face. Behind her, Ryujin, Yeji, and the rest of her group trailed along, their expressions a mix of curiosity and mischief.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied hesitantly, scratching the back of my neck. “Your group is just as popular as Aespa. I don’t want to ruin your image.”

Yuna tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a softer smile. “And you think we care about that?” she said, her voice gentler this time. Her warm gaze locked onto mine, almost disarming in its sincerity.

Ryujin, standing a few steps behind, let out a loud chuckle. “Do you think we give a damn about what those internet vampires say about us? Please.” She crossed her arms, smirking. “They’re gonna talk no matter what. Might as well have fun while they do it.”

“Exactly,” Yuna chimed in, taking a step closer. “Look, I know things are messy for you right now, but you don’t have to go through it alone. Come with us. We’ll hit up a karaoke place, sing our hearts out, and forget all the bullshit for a while.”

I hesitated, glancing at the group. Yeji gave me a reassuring nod, while Lia and Chaeryeong smiled encouragingly. Even Ryujin, in her usual teasing way, seemed genuine in her offer.

“I don’t know…” I trailed off, unsure if this was really the best move.

Yuna reached out and lightly tugged at my sleeve. “Come on, Y/n. You need this. We all do.” Her voice was soft but firm, her expression leaving no room for argument.

Before I could overthink it, I found myself nodding. “Alright. But just for a little while.”

Yuna’s face lit up, her excitement contagious. “Yes! Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

Ryujin clapped me on the back as we started walking out of the cafeteria. “You’re gonna have a blast. And if not, well, at least you’ll hear Yuna butcher a few songs.”

“Hey!” Yuna protested, laughing as she swatted at Ryujin.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a flicker of light cutting through the darkness. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The ride to the karaoke place with Itzy was surprisingly lively. The girls joked, laughed, and bickered like they didn’t have a care in the world. For a moment, I felt a strange sense of comfort, like I wasn’t just some outsider navigating this unfamiliar world.

When we arrived, Yuna grabbed my arm, leading me inside with that radiant, unyielding energy she always seemed to carry. Her grip was firm yet gentle, a warmth I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

“Let’s take the room in the back!” Yeji suggested, her voice decisive.

“Of course,” Ryujin said, smirking. “Far away from prying eyes.”

The staff guided us down a dimly lit hallway to a private room at the end. As the door closed behind us, it felt like we’d stepped into another world—a small sanctuary, away from all the chaos and gossip.

The room was cozy, with colorful lights flashing in sync with the music playing in the background. The girls immediately sprang into action, flipping through the song list and arguing over what to sing first.

“Ballads are boring!” Ryujin protested as Chaeryeong hovered over the screen.

“But they’re emotional!” Chaeryeong retorted, her pout earning a laugh from Lia.

While the girls debated, Yuna handed me a small bottle of Soju, her warm smile making my heart skip a beat. “Here,” she said softly, holding it out. “I figured you could use a little something to relax.”

I hesitated for a moment before taking it, my fingers brushing against hers briefly. “Thanks, Yuna.”

She sat beside me, her presence radiating a strange combination of excitement and calm. “No problem. But don’t think you’re off the hook. You’re definitely singing today.”

I laughed nervously, twisting the cap off the bottle. “We’ll see about that.”

The girls finally settled on their first song—an upbeat pop track that Yeji and Ryujin dominated with their energy. The microphone passed around, each girl taking turns belting out lyrics while the others cheered and danced along.

Yuna leaned closer, nudging my shoulder. “This is fun, right? Way better than moping around by yourself.”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, it is.”

As the night went on, the carefree atmosphere began to chip away at the weight I’d been carrying. Yuna kept glancing at me, her gaze filled with something unspoken—a mix of curiosity, warmth, and something deeper. Every time our eyes met, I felt a strange sense of hope flickering to life within me.

Maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed.

My First Kiss

The karaoke room was a chaotic mess of laughter, music, and drunken antics. Yuna was the undeniable star of the madness, stumbling around, mumbling half-formed words, and breaking into random bursts of dancing. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red, and her energy was limitless.

"Let's gooooo!" Yuna yelled, twirling in circles as if she were on a stage.

Ryujin chuckled from her seat, phone in hand, recording every embarrassing moment with an amused grin. "She's going to regret this tomorrow," she said, glancing at you.

You smiled awkwardly, taking another sip of water to keep yourself grounded amidst the chaos. "Yeah. she's really going all out."

"She's cute, isn't she?" Ryujin's tone was teasing, her eyes narrowing playfully as she leaned back in her seat.

"Yeah, I guess," you replied, feeling your cheeks warm slightly.

Ryujin tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Say, Y/n. Do you have a crush on someone?"

The question caught you completely off guard. "Uh. I. I don't really know."

Ryujin raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "What do you mean you don't know? It's just a simple question, Y/n. Who's the lucky girl?"

It wasn't simple at all. The tangled mess of emotions swirling inside you made it hard to answer. Karina's coldness still weighed heavily on your heart, but Yuna's warmth and energy offered a strange comfort. Then there was Ryujin, sitting there with her piercing gaze, pulling you further into this unpredictable storm.

"I. " You trailed off, searching for the right words.

Before you could finish, Ryujin suddenly shifted her position, sliding onto your lap without a shred of hesitation. Her arms snaked around your neck as she stared at you with a smirk that was equal parts bold and daring.

"Ryujin, what are you doing?" Your voice wavered, completely thrown by her actions.

"Just shut up," she whispered, her voice low and tempting. "You'll like it."

Her lips pressed against yours without warning. The kiss was electric, filled with an undeniable hunger that left you breathless. You froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity, but your body betrayed you. Slowly, almost instinctively, your hands reached up, one finding its way to her hair. Your fingers tangled in the soft strands as you deepened the kiss, caught in the moment.

Ryujin smiled against your lips, clearly enjoying your reaction as she pulled you closer. Her confidence was intoxicating, her touch demanding yet oddly comforting.

Meanwhile, Yuna was still singing her heart out, completely oblivious to what was happening just a few feet away. The room pulsed with music and flashing lights, creating a surreal atmosphere that made the moment feel like something out of a dream-or a dangerous fantasy.

When Ryujin finally pulled back, her lips still dangerously close to yours, she smirked. "See? Told you you'd like it."

You didn't know what to say. Your heart was racing, and your mind was a chaotic mess. This was nothing like you'd ever experienced before, and you weren't sure what it meant or where it would lead.

The kiss with Ryujin still lingered, your lips tingling and your mind spinning in disbelief. As your heartbeat thundered in your ears, Ryujin pulled back slightly, her cheeks warming, though her smirk remained intact. Her confidence was unshaken, but you could see a faint blush creeping up her face, betraying her usual cool demeanor.

Before you could even process what had just happened, a stumbling, drunken Yuna broke through the moment, her flushed face leaning close to yours. “Heeeyyy, why did you kiss him, Ryujin?” Yuna slurred, her words slightly drawn out as she pointed an accusatory finger at her friend. “He’s mine…”

Ryujin burst into laughter, clearly amused by Yuna’s antics. “Oh, is he now?” she teased, crossing her arms as she watched the scene unfold with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Yuna ignored her completely, stumbling closer to you. She placed her hands on your shoulders for balance, her expression shifting to something softer. Her gaze, though slightly unfocused from the alcohol, held a strange warmth that made your chest tighten.

Without warning, Yuna leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was a stark contrast to Ryujin��s. Where Ryujin’s kiss had been fiery and demanding, Yuna’s was soft, tender, and filled with an unexpected passion. Her lips moved slowly, almost lovingly, as if she wanted to savor the moment.

Your eyes widened in shock, but the gentleness of the kiss made it hard to pull away. Yuna’s hands clung to your shoulders as if grounding herself, her warmth seeping into you and leaving you breathless.

In the background, Ryujin’s laughter erupted again. “Wow, Yuna, I didn’t know you had it in you!” she exclaimed, grabbing her phone and aiming it at the two of you. “This is gold! I’m definitely saving this for later.”

The sound of her voice snapped you out of your daze. You pulled back slightly, your cheeks burning as you glanced between the two girls. The room felt surreal, the flashing lights of the karaoke machine adding to the disorienting chaos.

Yuna pouted as you broke the kiss, her lips still inches from yours. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you like it?” she asked, her voice laced with a mix of drunken innocence and playful teasing.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, and the weight of the situation was starting to sink in. Lia, Yeji, and Chaeryeong were still dead asleep on the couches, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding.

Meanwhile, Ryujin was cackling in the corner, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered reaction. She leaned back in her chair, phone in hand, as she continued to record. “This is way better than karaoke,” she said with a grin. “You two are priceless.”

Yuna glared at her. “Stop recording, Ryujin! This is a private moment!” she huffed, though her cheeks were as red as yours.

“Private?” Ryujin teased, raising an eyebrow. “You’re making out with him in the middle of the room. What part of this is private?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to regain some semblance of composure. This was definitely not how you had envisioned the night going.

“Can we… maybe calm down a little?” you said, your voice shaky but firm. “This is getting way out of hand.”

Yuna pouted again but reluctantly stepped back, her balance wavering slightly. Ryujin, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed.

“Fine, fine,” Ryujin said, finally putting her phone down. “But seriously, Y/n, you’re not going to forget tonight anytime soon.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you looked at Yuna, who was still swaying slightly, and Ryujin, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, you realized that this was only the beginning of the chaos they would bring into your life.

Stuck With Them

As the karaoke session wrapped up, it became clear that someone needed to ensure the drunken girls made it home safely. Ryujin, who was the only one relatively sober, took charge of organizing the chaos. You found yourself carrying Yuna, who was barely able to stand on her own, her weight pressing heavily against your side as she clung to your arm.

“Thanks for helping,” Ryujin said with a smirk as she adjusted Lia, who was slumped against her shoulder. “I’d do it all myself, but, well… you’re here, and I’m not one to waste an opportunity.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle nervously, though the weight of the situation was far from light. “Yeah, no problem,” you muttered, trying to steady Yuna as she mumbled incoherent words against your shoulder.

By the time you arrived at their apartment, you were exhausted. The girls’ luxurious place was a stark contrast to the wild chaos you’d just endured—a pristine and stylish space that screamed wealth and comfort.

Ryujin guided you inside, setting the sleeping Lia and Chaeryeong onto the couch. Yeji, who had managed to remain semi-conscious, staggered into her room on her own. That left Yuna, who still refused to let go of your arm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Ryujin said, giving you a grateful smile as she handed you a glass of water. “Seriously, thanks for putting up with all this.”

“No problem,” you replied, setting the now half-asleep Yuna down on one of the armchairs.

Ryujin watched you for a moment before slipping a small piece of paper into your hand. “Here,” she said with a sly grin. “My number. Call me sometime, okay?”

You blinked, staring at the paper in surprise. “Uh… sure,” you said hesitantly, unsure of what to make of her casual flirtation.

Before you could think too much about it, Yuna stirred and grabbed your arm again, pulling you closer. “Don’t go…” she mumbled, her voice soft and pleading. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so drunk.

Ryujin sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “Looks like you’re stuck here for the night,” she said, shaking her head with an amused expression. “Once Yuna clings to someone, there’s no escape.”

You hesitated, glancing down at Yuna, who was now nuzzling against your arm like a sleepy kitten. Her flushed cheeks and soft breaths made her look almost innocent, despite the wild energy she’d displayed earlier.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you asked Ryujin, feeling a mix of awkwardness and concern.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Ryujin replied with a shrug. “We’ve got a guest room you can crash in. Besides, if you leave now, she’s just gonna freak out in the morning when she realizes you’re gone. Trust me, it’s easier this way.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. “Alright,” you said, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest as Yuna’s grip on your arm tightened.

Ryujin smirked and patted your shoulder. “Good luck,” she said before disappearing into one of the bedrooms, leaving you alone with Yuna.

You gently pried Yuna’s hands off your arm and managed to carry her to the guest room. As you laid her down on the bed, she opened her eyes slightly, gazing up at you with a sleepy smile.

“Stay…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You froze, unsure of how to respond. Her words were simple, but they carried a weight that made your heart ache. After a moment, you pulled the blanket over her and stepped back.

“I’ll be right outside,” you said softly, hoping she’d fall asleep quickly.

As you closed the door behind you, you let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was definitely not how you’d expected the night to go, and yet, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel… drawn to the chaotic warmth that Yuna and her friends brought into your life.

You were lying on the guest room bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened over the past few days. The warmth of the blanket was comforting, but your mind refused to quiet down. The tension with Karina, the unexpected moments with Yuna and Ryujin—it all felt surreal, like you were caught in the middle of someone else’s drama.

Just as you began to drift off, the soft creak of the door snapped you back to reality. Turning your head, you saw Yuna standing there in her bed pajamas. Her hair was slightly messy, and her cheeks still carried a faint pink hue from earlier.

“Yuna? What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting up.

She hesitated for a moment, clutching the edge of the doorframe like a shy child. Then, in a soft, almost timid voice, she said, “I… I can’t sleep.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say. “Oh… do you need some water or something? Maybe a pillow from here?”

Yuna shook her head, stepping further into the room. “No, it’s not that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can we… can we cuddle?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your face heat up. “Cuddle?” you repeated, hoping you’d misheard her.

She nodded, looking at you with those big, doe-like eyes that made it impossible to refuse. “I just… feel lonely, and it’s hard to sleep,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, this felt dangerously intimate—especially given the events of the night. But on the other hand, Yuna looked genuinely distressed, and you didn’t have the heart to turn her away.

After a moment, you sighed and nodded. “Alright,” you said, scooting over to make room on the bed.

Yuna’s face lit up with a small, grateful smile as she climbed onto the bed and slipped under the blanket. She snuggled close to you, her head resting on your chest and her arm draping over your torso. Her warmth was comforting, and her presence, though unexpected, had a strangely calming effect.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your shirt.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “No problem,” you said, your voice barely steady.

For a while, the two of you lay there in silence. Yuna’s breathing eventually slowed, and you realized she had fallen asleep. You stared at the ceiling, feeling a mix of confusion and contentment.

As the night stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had come to this point. Everything in your life seemed to be spiraling out of control, yet in this moment, with Yuna curled up against you, it felt oddly peaceful.

But deep down, you knew this peace wouldn’t last.

Breakfast Sounds Good?

The soft sunlight filtered through the large apartment windows, casting a gentle glow across the living room. You blinked groggily as you stirred awake, only to realize that you weren’t alone.

Yuna was still curled up against your side, her arm loosely draped over your chest. But that wasn’t the only surprise. On the other side of the bed, Ryujin was lying comfortably, her head resting on your shoulder, and at the foot of the bed, Yeji was sprawled out with a peaceful expression, clutching a pillow tightly.

You froze, taking in the scene. The three of them looked so at ease, their breathing soft and rhythmic. Not wanting to disturb their peaceful slumber, you carefully slipped out from under the blanket, tucking it gently around them.

The apartment was quiet as you padded into the kitchen, glancing around for something to do. Spotting the refrigerator, you decided to check for ingredients and whip up something simple. If there was one thing that could start the day off right, it was a warm meal—especially considering how much soju everyone had downed last night.

As you rummaged through the fridge, the sound of a door creaking open caught your attention. Lia stepped out of her room, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. She looked at you with sleepy eyes before a small smile spread across her face.

“How was last night?” she asked, her tone teasing. “I didn’t really get to check what was up.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It was… rough,” you replied, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Lia giggled as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “I figured as much. Those three can be a handful when they’re drunk.”

“No kidding,” you said, gesturing toward the fridge. “I’m thinking of making some kimchi stew. Something hearty to help everyone sober up.”

“That sounds lovely,” Lia said, her smile widening. “Let me help you. It’ll be quicker that way.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Thanks, Lia.”

The two of you began gathering ingredients—kimchi, tofu, green onions, and some leftover pork. Lia worked efficiently, chopping vegetables with practiced ease, while you prepped the broth.

“So,” Lia began, her voice light but curious, “you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with us lately. Is it always this eventful?”

You smirked as you stirred the pot. “Eventful is definitely one way to put it,” you said. “But honestly, it’s been… nice. Chaotic, but nice.”

Lia laughed softly. “That’s a good way to describe us. Chaotic but nice. I’m glad you don’t find it too overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming might be an understatement,” you admitted, grinning. “But I think I’m getting used to it.”

As the stew simmered, the smell began to fill the apartment, luring one of the sleepyheads from the bedroom. Yeji stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and sniffing the air.

“That smells amazing,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep. “Are you seriously cooking for us again, Y/n? You’re spoiling us.”

“You’ve got to keep your energy up after last night,” you said with a grin. “Besides, I like cooking.”

Yeji smiled warmly, grabbing a glass of water. “Well, we’re lucky to have you around.”

The three of you worked together to set the table, and as the aroma of the kimchi stew wafted through the apartment, the others began to wake up one by one. Ryujin stumbled out first, her hair a mess, followed by Yuna, who looked surprisingly energetic despite the events of the night before.

When everyone was seated at the table, you ladled out bowls of the steaming stew. The girls dug in eagerly, their groans of delight filling the room.

“This is amazing,” Yuna said, her eyes lighting up as she took another bite.

“You’re a lifesaver, Y/n,” Ryujin added, giving you a playful wink.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them enjoy the meal. Despite the chaos, moments like this made it all worth it.

The lively clinking of utensils and the warm chatter at the table paused abruptly when you asked, “Where’s Chaeryeong?”

The sudden silence was deafening. All the girls exchanged quick glances before Ryujin let out a sharp curse. “Fuck,” she muttered, slapping her forehead.

“She’s still in her room, isn’t she?” you asked, already pushing back your chair.

Ryujin sighed. “Probably. That girl could sleep through a hurricane.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll wake her up,” you said, standing up.

The room softened with warmth as the girls offered you grateful smiles. Yuna, in particular, beamed at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You’re too good to us,” she said, her voice dripping with appreciation.

You waved her off with a small laugh and headed toward Chaeryeong’s door. It was slightly ajar, and you knocked gently before pushing it open.

The room was dim, with soft sunlight filtering through the curtains. Chaeryeong was curled up on her bed, her hair cascading over her pillow in soft waves. She looked peaceful, her face serene in her slumber.

You approached her quietly, not wanting to startle her. “Chaeryeong,” you said softly, crouching down beside her bed. “Breakfast is ready.”

She stirred slightly, letting out a faint groan. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she blinked a few times before her lips curved into a sleepy smile.

“Y/n?” she murmured, her voice groggy but sweet.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you said, smiling back. “Come on, Chae. Breakfast is ready, and the others are waiting for you.”

She buried her face into her pillow for a moment before peeking back at you. “You made breakfast again, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” you replied. “It’s kimchi stew this time. You don’t want to miss it, do you?”

She let out a soft chuckle, her voice still heavy with sleep. “You’re too good to us,” she said, echoing Yuna’s earlier words.

“Come on,” you said, reaching out to gently pat her shoulder. “If you don’t get up now, there won’t be any left.”

With a groan, Chaeryeong finally sat up, stretching her arms above her head. “Alright, alright. I’m up,” she said, giving you a small, appreciative smile.

You stood up and extended a hand to her, which she took with a bit of hesitation. As you helped her out of bed, she looked at you with a warmth that was hard to ignore.

“Thanks, Y/n,” she said softly, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“Anytime,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

Together, you walked back to the dining area, where the others greeted her with teasing comments about oversleeping. Chaeryeong rolled her eyes but smiled as she took her seat.

As you watched the girls enjoy their meal, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment. Moments like these made all the chaos seem worth it.

Somewhere Else

Karina sat cross-legged on the plush couch in their apartment, staring blankly at her phone. The sound of Winter flipping through a magazine was the only thing breaking the silence. Giselle leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee, while Ningning sat on the floor, fiddling with a bracelet absentmindedly.

The once lively energy that used to fill their home felt hollow. The absence of him—you—was palpable, and no one could deny it.

Winter sighed and broke the silence. “It feels...off, doesn’t it? Like something’s missing.”

“Someone’s missing,” Giselle corrected, setting her mug down with a thud. “Let’s be honest, it’s not the same without him.”

Karina’s heart clenched at the words. She hated admitting it, but Giselle was right. Ever since they agreed to keep their distance from you, everything felt muted, incomplete.

“It’s for the best,” Ningning said, her voice low but firm. She looked up from her bracelet and met their gazes one by one. “We talked about this. It’s not safe to drag him into all this mess. Look at what happened on social media. We’re trying to protect him.”

Karina felt a pang of guilt. Protecting you had been the justification for their decision, but now, she wondered if they’d made the right call. She glanced at the framed photo sitting on the coffee table—a candid shot of the five of you laughing together after one of your impromptu cooking sessions. The memory felt like a lifetime ago.

“He was always so patient with us,” Karina murmured, tracing the edge of the frame with her fingers. “No matter how chaotic things got, he just...made it better.”

Winter nodded, setting down her magazine. “I miss the way he used to make us laugh. And the food, of course.” She tried to joke, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Ningning crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch. “You think I don’t miss him too? But what’s the alternative? We drag him through this circus and make things worse for him? He deserves better than that.”

Karina clenched her fists. Ningning’s words made sense, but they didn’t ease the ache in her chest. She missed your awkward smiles, your quiet but comforting presence, the way you seemed to genuinely care about each of them.

“I don’t even think he’s mad,” Giselle said, her tone softer now. “That’s the worst part. He probably understands why we’re doing this, and he’s just...dealing with it.”

The room fell silent again, each of them lost in their thoughts.

Winter broke the stillness, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think we’ll ever fix this? Like, really fix it?”

Karina didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare at the photo, hoping that someday, somehow, they’d find a way to bring you back into their lives. Because without you, the warmth and light that once filled their world seemed like a distant memory.

Her Bigger Picture

Wonyoung stared at her phone screen, her thumb hovering over the message box. Her heart beat faster as she sent the text, the words feeling heavier than they ever had before.

Does the plan work?

She waited, her gaze fixed on the screen, her fingers tapping nervously against the table. It wasn’t like her to be this anxious, but something about the situation—about what she was about to do—made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether she should jump.

Her phone buzzed, and her breath caught in her throat as she quickly read the response:

"Works like a charm."

Wonyoung felt a mix of relief and unease wash over her. She had known DragonAnonym would handle it. They had been a reliable ally, someone who understood what it meant to have the things you wanted, no matter the cost. But still, the reality of what was happening, of what she was allowing herself to be part of, sent a ripple of doubt through her.

Is this really what I want? she wondered. But then she thought of you—of the way you had treated her, of the way you had looked at her. The way you had made her feel when you had cooked for her and smiled at her, so kind, so gentle. Wonyoung had wanted that warmth, that attention. She wanted to feel special.

She gripped her phone tighter and sent another text:

Send me proof.

A few moments later, another message appeared. Wonyoung’s eyes widened as she saw the photo. It was you—sleeping, calm and unaware. You looked peaceful, innocent even. It was almost surreal. She knew the plan had worked. DragonAnonym had delivered.

Proof enough, DragonAnonym replied with a playful wink emoji.

Wonyoung couldn’t stop herself from smiling, a dangerous, almost predatory grin. This was her chance, her moment to make you hers, no matter what. She had already seen how easily you could be manipulated. You weren’t like Karina or the others. You were different.

She typed back quickly:

Thanks, DragonAnonym. You’ve done well. Now let’s make sure the rest goes according to plan.

After sending the message, Wonyoung leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. She had wanted to take it slow at first, but now, the thrill of it all excited her more than she cared to admit. If she played her cards right, you would be hers—completely and utterly hers.

But there was one thing that lingered in her mind. The guilt. It gnawed at her, especially when she thought about you. Would you hate her once you found out? Would you despise her for what she had done?

But those thoughts quickly faded. In the end, you would understand. She was only doing this for the two of you, for the future that could be hers with you. After all, she didn’t want to be alone anymore. And if that meant playing a game, bending the truth, then so be it.

With a deep breath, Wonyoung began to make her next move, her fingers quickly texting DragonAnonym again.

Let’s meet. We’ll need to set up the next step.

As the message sent, Wonyoung’s heart beat a little faster. She couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. She was finally taking control.

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secriden · 16 days ago

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Something that really struck me about Style this episode is how real his fear was.

And I don't just mean his fear of the inevitable conclusion of the path Fadel's hurt and anger has set them on; although this, too, was so very real and honest and tore me to pieces in ways I can still barely process.

But it's interesting how Style talks about being afraid of dying generally and specifically how harm could come to them from an external source. How the way his fear is orientated puts Fadel on the inside ("a murderer is gonna come after us"), on Style's side and someone Style wants to keep safe.

And when Fadel makes the kind of snide joke about letting the hypothetical cannibals kill and cook Style, Style's solution still involves staying by Fadel's side. At no point does he ever stop referring to Fadel and him as a single unit, even after Fadel very explicitly frames Style as the only victim.

I'm bringing this up because I think as a fandom (myself included!!) we may have mistaken Styles unshaken confidence for a lack of fear. We saw Style stare down the barrel of Fadel's gun with an unimpressed look of disdain or the way he casually discusses Fadel killing him at the end of their journey, and we (understandably) think this is evidence of his fearlessness, of his boldness and sense of wild optimism that admittedly fits his character quite well -- but it isn't.

I think Style is very afraid, actually. He has many fears and chief among them at this point is that he does not want to die. He does not want to leave his life or is dad or his friend or his cars or his boyfriend who still thinks he doesn’t love him!

And those tears?? Those tears were real because lying next to Fadel with a metal handcuff digging into his wrist was a painful reminder of their broken trust; the terrible chasm hidden in the scant inches between them, all as the result of Style's past choices and the pressures on all our main characters.

And I think part of it was also Style finally coming down from the adrenalin rush of: (a) Kant and Bison going missing, (b) being chloroformed and kidnapped and stripped naked and tied up, (c) being threatened at gunpoint whilst still reeling from the knowledge that Fadel knows and perhaps has known since the first warning signs of his sudden affection, and (d) not being shot and then being told to drive for hours on a seemingly impossible quest with no real destination.

But I also think this was the core of why Style is so sad. Because even if Fadel forgives him, there's a very real possibility that Style's actions and choices could lead him to dying if not at Fadel's hands then maybe because Style is now at risk of getting caught in the crossfire too. Because Style may well find himself standing between a bullet and Fadel one day, and that choice has repercussions beyond Style himself.

But his fear and his sorrow makes Style's choices on this journey all the more poignant and beautiful. Because Style commits to his love at the end of the day. He is unapologetically honest with Fadel and gives him not just the weight of what it means for Style to choose him, but the right for Fadel to keep his anger in spite of it. At no point does Style demand Fadel's forgiveness or trust or the relinquishing of the distance Fadel keeps between them.

Because Style's heart is his to offer, but equally it is Fadel's to take. And I think to fail to recognise the reality of Style's fear is to undervalue the weight of what it means when Style says "You own my life" -- when this took everything Style had in him to give.

#the heart killers #the heart killers the series #fadelstyle #style sattawat #thk meta #fadelstyle meta #style sattawat met #hui talks thk #thk ep 8 #i'm trying to write another post and all these tangent thoughts keep HAPPENING TO ME T_T

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fayes-fics · 10 months ago

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Vignette

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An artist meet-cute in the park.

Warnings: none... this is the fluffiest of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors Note: Anon request fill (see HERE) about Benedict and an artist having a meet-cute in the park. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this, Nonny, and sorry it has taken so many months! <3

A wooden toy hoop whooshing inches from your knee interrupts your quiet refuge amid the flower gardens of Regents Park, breaking your intense concentration on your drawing and almost dropping your charcoal.

Seconds later, a pretty young girl of maybe eleven years old comes running after the errant object, her plaited hair bouncing, her blush pink dress swishing around her knees as she calls out an apology to you and retrieves the hoop from the nearby bush.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her face a picture of impish inquisition as she wanders back to your bench.

“I am drawing,” you smile benevolently; something about her mischievous spirit reminds you of your nieces.

“What are you drawing?” her grin somehow infectious.

“You see those roses there?” you point with your charcoal to a nearby white alba maxima rose bush, stems almost bowing under the weight of the heavily ruffled peach-tipped petals. “Those are in peak bloom, and I am attempting to capture them, their ephemeral beauty...”

“Are you any good?”

You chuckle at her youthful bluntness, but just as you are tilting your work towards her, you are interrupted by a man rounding into this same quiet corner.

“Hyacinth! Please refrain from injuring and bother…” his refined voice begins to chastise but suddenly grinds to a halt mid-sentence as soon as he catches sight of you.

But he is not the only one who has lost the power of speech.

Something vaults hard in your stomach like you are plunging down an invisible chasm. He is handsome in a way you have never seen before in your twenty years on this earth: tall, with a strong jaw and a dandyish colourful outfit that fits him very well.

There are a few moments where all you do is stare at each other, lips parted, before he appears to shake himself a fraction and bows his head in polite greeting.

“Where are my manners? I would like to apologise for my little sister almost causing you injury, Miss. The fault is entirely mine; I should not have let her play quite so spiritedly in a public park. I-I hope you are not injured?”

“N-Not at all; the hoop merely brushed my skirt. I am more than fine,” you assure hurriedly. “Mr….?”

“Bridgerton,” he offers, nodding to you in a more formal greeting.

You would know that name anywhere—one of the most esteemed families of the Ton. You instantly know he is not the Viscount, having seen him at society events, so you surmise this must be one of his younger brothers. Before you can offer your name, however, he speaks again.

“You draw?”

“Oh.. yes, yes… I-I do,” you stumble, a little taken aback by his question, even as you feel his sister’s gaze volleying between the two of you with a bemused expression.

“I draw too,” he explains, placing a hand over his sternum, the sunlight catching upon a signet ring on his little finger.

“Oh…” you seem inordinately pleased to share such a hobby with this virtual stranger.

“I also know well that charcoal fingers are an occupational hazard..” he adds cordially as he catches you attempting to wipe the dark smears upon your hands with a rag. “May I see your work? If it is not too impudent of me to ask,” he adds modestly.

“I-I am not very good…” you fret, looking down at the partial image you see on your sketch pad. “Tis merely a pastime I use to escape…”

“Believe me, Miss…?”

“Y/l/n.”

“Believe me, Miss y/l/n, it is very much the case for me too - being that I am one of eight. Including such trouble-makers as this one,” he rolls his eyes affectionately as he signals to Hyacinth, who seems to be rapidly losing interest, distractedly spinning the hoop she holds. “Escaping is almost a full-time hobby for me…”

You cannot help but giggle at his droll humour, and he seems delighted, his face lighting up as you hide a mild blush behind the back of your hand.

“May I?” his ask is so soft you cannot do anything but acquiesce.

“‘Tis just a small vignette…” you excuse meekly as you hand over your sketchpad, suddenly so nervous to hear his opinion. You have never shared your drawings with anyone before, but something about his affable demeanour makes you bold enough to do so.

He is quiet for some time. It feels like an age, even though it is likely only a matter of seconds, but still long enough that butterflies start to roil in your stomach.

“I did say it is just a hobby…” you titter nervously, looking away.

“It is beautiful…” he exhales quietly, tone filled with admiration as your eyes ping back to him.

Your heart flutters as he extols the virtues of your work, effusively admiring your use of shading to capture shadows and the lines you have used to denote the multitudinous layers of petals, his gracious hand gesturing over the picture as he speaks.

“You flatter me entirely too much, Mr Bridgerton…” you demure, even as you feel yourself blooming under his praise, just like the flower you have painstakingly attempted to capture. A warmth in your chest that seems to radiate out to glow all over.

“I assure you I do not,” he smiles, handing you back your sketch pad.

“Benedict,” Hyacinth whines, stamping her little boot on the grass, “you said we would play…”

“I do not wish to interrupt your family time,” you placate, pleased you have learned his first name.

“Hyacinth, I am sure Eloise said something about sandwiches; you want lunch, do you not?” Benedict responds, raising a pointed brow.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Run along then,” he pulls an exasperated face at her that again has you giggling, making a shooing gesture with his hands.

She sighs but departs with a dramatic flounce.

“Sadly, I must also depart; a family picnic indeed awaits. But if I may be so bold, I would very much like for us to meet again. If you would be amendable? With a chaperone, of course,” he adds hurriedly, keen to be gentlemanly. “I think perhaps we would have much to speak of… around art. And perhaps we could… draw together? Here?”

His proposal, so sweet and straightforward, has you rendered speechless again, heart leaping at the very thought.

“I…I would like that very much,” your honest confession out of your mouth before you can swallow it.

“As would I,” his response instant, his face beaming. “Would you be here, perchance, Thursday afternoon around this same time?”

“I would…” The hitch of excitement in your own voice unmistakable.

“Excellent!” his hazy blue eyes seem to dance in the sunlight as he respectfully tilts his head again. “I am so looking forward to it, Miss y/l/n…” are his parting words before he takes his leave.

“As am I, Mr Bridgerton…” you murmur belatedly, the words shared only with the fragrant roses surrounding you, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Your stare lingers where he stood long after he has left, an excited buzz over your skin at the thought you have met a kindred, artistic spirit. And one so very handsome, too.

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nausicaaandhermouth · 4 months ago

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The Revolutionist

masterlist

pre-canon!silco x gn!reader [2.5k] [AO3]

cw: implied/referenced suicidal ideation, implied/referenced depression

summary: at a particularly melancholy night that drives you to the heights, you meet a stranger in the shadows who coaxes you from the edge.

tags: pre-canon, sexual(?) tension, depression, suicidal ideation, undercity, smoking

a/n girl iono what this is, but here's to my first one shot (clinks glass) idk why i'm nervous (btw requests & taglist are open if you're interested)

From this dizzying height, the Undercity unfurls below. A tapestry of ethereal greens and golds, luminescence piercing through the murky haze—stark silhouettes of buildings jut upwards, defiant sentinels of black and grey amidst the swirling miasma. Its signature sickly green fog blankets the metropolis; coils around structures and seeps into every crevice, a suffocating embrace.

Your feet graze over the edge, toes curling over where solid ground gives way to a yawning abyss. The boundary between life and oblivion is razor-thin here. One small shift, imbalance, and gravity would claim you.

The wind whispers seductive promises of flight, tugging at your clothes, daring you to test the limits—it’s a heady mix of terror and exhilaration.

The precipice beckons, a siren call you’ve never heeded this far before. Each step tracked each loss that then etched into your very bones. First, it was your father, consumed by the blight. Almost expected. It was a degradation the Undercity-born was familiar with. Then, your sister, life snuffed out by an enforcer’s merciless fist. The brutes. Now, your mother, long adrift in her own ocean of grief. You’d become little more than ghosts haunting the same halls, the world’s greed carving an insurmountable chasm between you.

Logic screams that your presence here is madness. The need for comfort, for solace only another soul can provide, wars against reality. You long to bridge the gap, find someone’s warmth, spit out the bitter poison fed by the relentless suffering.

If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after—the world will take again. This grim lottery where Death deals the cards. Will it be the fist of an enforcer or the invisible killers that saturate every breath?

Are you really contemplating this?

“Bit dangerous, don’t you think?” a voice, velvet and silk, cuts blade-like through your contemplation.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. A jolt of surprise sends you teetering forward. Heart pounding, you stumble back from the edge.

Whirling around, you fix the intruder with a glare. His dark silhouette materialised a few feet away like some spectral apparition, leaning against the roof with an infuriating nonchalance. A cigar dangled between his fingers, wisp of smoke curling around his face.

His eyes, half-moons of disinterest, survey you with the casual indifference of someone observing an insect. It makes a look that makes your spine straighten, your earlier melancholy rapidly morphing into irritation.

“Sort of the point,” you spit back, words tasting of bitterness and bravado. You slide a step away, creating further distance between you and him. The roof suddenly feels too small. Who is he? What does he want? And more importantly, how dare he interrupt your affair with oblivion?

He responds with a half-shrug, somehow making it an eloquent gesture of his impassivity. Drawing a deep breath from his cigar, he exhales a cloud of smoke that hangs in the air like a tangible manifestation of your growing annoyance.

Your mind races and falters. Is he really just going to stand there? Not that you want to be stopped, but his nonchalance was… unsettling? A highly irregular response to finding someone conversing with non-existence. Though, the idea was not novel—a common fate for many under dwellers.

You turn back to face the sprawling cityscape, trying to ignore the insidious tendrils of smoke that start coiling around your senses. The question burns in your mind: What is he doing here? This moment was supposed to be yours alone. You hadn’t anticipated a witness for your last moments.

Unable to resist, you shoot him another glare, only to find him utterly disinterested in your turmoil. He’s busy scraping something off the underside of his boot, as if the grime of the city is more worthy of his attention than your life-or-death deliberation.

Frustration boils over, and your words escape you before you can stop them. “Are you just going to stand there?” the question cuts through the silence and he looks up, meeting you gaze with those half-drooped eyes.

His face remains a mask of calm, thoroughly unaffected by your hostility. It’s a further irritant how much your obvious displeasure slides off him.

“You want me to catch you, or something?” he drawls, tone a perfect blend of sarcasm and boredom that makes your blood even hotter.

His words hang between, a challenge and a dismissal all at once.

“What are you doing here?” you strike back, impatience sharpening your words.

He takes another languid drag from his cigar, smoke veiling his face. “What—can I not be?” his voice carries a hint of amusement as he pushes off from the wall. Each step towards you is a study in fluid grace, soft and languid. “Like you, I can appreciate Zaun’s skyline. Seems we just have a point of preference,”

He halts a few feet away, gaze drawn to the cityscape below. The proximity allows you to truly observe him for the first time, the details etching themselves into your memory with startling clarity.

His eyes, a stormy blue, almost grey when drenched behind mist. They’re set in a face that could have been chiselled from marble—all sharp angles and clean lines, giving him an almost shark-like profile. Long, dark hair is gathered into a careless bun at the nape of his neck, rebellious strands escaping to frame his face, softening the harsh edges ever so slightly.

A spark of gallows humour flickers to life within you, at last a defiant flame against the dark. “Ah,” you nod, wariness still evident in the tension of your shoulders while a sardonic smile curls your lips. “Planning a dive, too, are you?”

A huff escapes him—a sound that might charitably be called laughter, but falls short of genuine mirth.

Suddenly, the name snaps you back to reality. Zaun. The word carries with it its reputation and weight. So few people use the name that it stands more so for people that had “rebel” ideas rather than what it was created for. Your eyes narrow. “You’re one of those… revolutionists, huh?”

He turns to you, face still angled downward, but his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that momentarily catches your air. You fumble for composure, scraping together the dregs of your wit.

“Nation of Zaun, children, brothers, sisters,” you intone, bobbing your head in mock-solemn gesture as you attempt to recall the group’s motto. The words taste foreign on your tongue, like reciting a prayer to a god you’ve never believed in.

His brow shifts slightly. “Is that mockery?” the question hangs, but not accusatory, rather tinged with a gentle curiosity that catches you off guard.

You shrug. “Sure is an idea,” you mutter, words running away before you can fully process them. You’ve never given it much thought before, too entrenched in the sorrow that’s dogged your family’s steps like perpetually wet shoes, leaving its trail of misery.

This time, he turns to face you fully, his complete attention zeroing in on you. It halts you momentarily, but you push through, averting your gaze as you continue.

“Idealistic. Hard-headed,” you pause, then look up to meet his eyes, your own gaze hardening. “Unrealistic,”

His head tilts slightly, reminiscent of a predator assessing its prey. “You don’t agree with us?”

You exhale sharply, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh. The revolutionary ideals tumble around you head like a well-worn shopping list. Independence, rid of topside’s clutches, own leadership, own government. “No, I do,” you admit, surprising yourself. Your brows furrow, grappling with the contradiction between your words and your earlier mockery. “Just ballsy, I suppose. It’s never been done, uncharted waters and all that,”

He nods, absorbing your perspective with a thoughtfulness that makes something in you quiver as if in surrender. You find yourself studying his eyes, that stormy blue-grey gaze that seems to hold secrets of their own. They flicker with an inner light as he searches for his response, and you're struck by the intensity of his conviction.

“Then how are we ever to find new land?” he says finally, his voice low and resolute. The simple statement carries an undercurrent of determination that sends a shiver down your back.

“We seem to be surviving fine,” you say, your words dripping with trying humour, a brittle shield.

His response isn't the sad attempt at laughter. Instead, his brow quirks upward, a subtle gesture that feels like a probe into your very secrets. “Then what drove you here?”

You're caught off-balance. How did he read you so easily, peeling back your layers in mere moments? Your gaze darts away, then back to his piercing eyes, discomfort radiating from every pore. “That’s hardly your concern,” you attempt a smile, but it's a weak thing.

“But I can bet it’s one of the following,” he drawls, taking a long, deliberate drag from his cigar. The smoke curls around him like a living thing as he continues. “Lung blight from working in factories, lung blight from working in the mines, or a stray enforcer who got a little too… harsh,” the smoke drifts and drowns you both, swarming your heads in a little bubble.

You inhale, feeling the intoxicating tendrils crawl up into your head, a silent song of temporary escape. Your eyes fix on his cigar, mesmerised. Does it fuel his poetic responses and that maddeningly indifferent stare? You wonder, your hands rising of their own accord, reaching to pluck the cigar from his grasp.

You rest it between your lips, inhaling deeply. The acrid smoke fills your lungs, a familiar burn that grounds you in this surreal moment. With practised ease, you exhale, your tongue crafting perfect smoke rings that float lazily between you. They dissipate against his face, a ghostly caress that lingers.

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smile as his eyes bore into yours. Is he entertained? Infuriated? His face remains an impassive mask, giving nothing away.

“Been trying to learn that,” he says, gaze flickering between the cigar in your hand and your eyes. There's a hint of something else in his voice.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance. You hope your demeanour mirrors his earlier bored facade. “It’s all the tongue,”

His eyebrow arches slightly. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “And here I thought it was about control,”

You take another drag, letting the smoke curl around your lips before speaking. “Control is part of it,” you concede, voice low. “But flexibility is key,”

He reaches for the cigar, fingers brushing yours as he takes it. “Show me,” he challenges, eyes never leaving yours.

You lean in, forcing your gaze to fixate on the smoke and its origin. Nothing else. “It’s all about the right pressure,” you pause, your breath a ghost drifting from you, as if absorbed by him. “Too much, and it falls apart. Too little, nothing happens at all,”

He inhales deeply, eyes latched onto yours, then attempts a ring. It’s clumsy, dissolving almost instantly. “Pitiful,” he huffs, frustration and amusement colouring him.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Close,”

As if instinctively, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be kind,”

Is that a dare? Your brows twitch in brief process. You take the cigar back. “Relax your lips, circular,” your eyes fall to his mouth, mimicking yours subconsciously. “Bend your tongue down. Tip on the bottom of your mouth,”

“Mhm,” he hums.

You demonstrate, creating a perfect ring that quivers over his shoulder.

“I see,” he mutters, watching, mesmerised. Whether by the ring or your mouth, you don’t want to know.

Nodding, a slow smile spreads your lips. “Delicate,” you raise the cigar his way.

He takes it with his lips, hooking his fingers around and taking a long drag.

You find yourself captivated by his attempts at smoke rings. As he inhales, his eyes close, a moment of quiet concentration. They flutter open to witness his handiwork—thin, frail rings that dissipate quickly in the air. The corner of his mouth twitches, a hint of a smile breaking through his stoic facade.

He tries again a few times, clearly taken by this newfound skill. His presence has shifted, no longer infuriating but almost... playful.

Emboldened, you gather your courage and circle back to his earlier question. "All of the above," you say, your words herding his attention back to you. Your voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of pain you couldn't quite strap back. “My dad worked in the mines, and my sister... she got in with the wrong crowd. Crossed some enforcers on the wrong day.”

His eyes soften, a wordless apology that's more than enough. You've never been one for overly expressed sympathies anyway.

“And mom's been showing…” your voice trails off as your mind drifts to your mother's face, the image of her becoming more gaunt with each passing month etched painfully in your memory. It's a familiar process, one you've seen play out in countless Undercity families. Someone's mother or father always showing signs of the blight. Now it's your turn to watch it unfold in your own home. “Declining,” you finish, the word heavy on your tongue.

The light atmosphere dissipates, replaced by a shared understanding of the Undercity's—no, Zaun's harsh realities. You stand there, smoke curling between you.

“It’s never easy, is it?” he says softly, words simple but sincere. He takes another drag of the cigar then offers it back to you. "But we endure," the tone seems to challenge your earlier actions—asking, are you still thinking about it?

You accept the cigar, fingers brushing his. With a long drag, you let the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. "Guess it's just what we Zaunites do, right?" you take a step away from the edge, nearing his side.

An amused smile finally tugs at his lips.

He was a stranger mere moments ago, and yet here you are, mixing tastes and sharing ideologies. Names seem almost irrelevant. Still, you offer yours, falling from your lips like a confession.

He repeats it, sounding entirely new as his voice wore each letter in that silk tone, escaping his mouth alongside whispers of smoke.

“Silco,” he gives back, the name igniting a spark of recognition that raises your brows as you return his cigar.

The name echoes in your mind, often whispered in the same breath as 'Vander'—the two faces of the revolution. The muscle and the voice of a movement that promised to reshape Zaun's future.

“Mm,” you murmur, your eyes tracing the contours of his face with newfound interest, drinking him in. Each line, each shadow takes on new significance as you piece together the man behind the name. “Not just a revolutionist. The revolutionist,”

A short laugh escapes him, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. He brings the cigar to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a burning in his gaze that pins you in place, making you acutely aware of every breath.

He takes a deep drag, the ember glowing bright in the dim light of Zaun's eternal twilight. As he exhales, your attention is drawn inexorably to his mouth.

A more practised smoke ring emerges, expanding and drifting between you. It's a marked improvement from his earlier attempts, a physical manifestation of how quickly he learns, adapts. You find yourself wondering what other skills he might possess.

#arcane #arcane silco #arcane fanfic #silco fanfic #silco x gn!reader #pre-canon silco #pre-canon silco x gn!reader #young silco #nausicaas fics

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sabreensthings · 2 months ago

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Lucanis x Rook

summary: the almost kiss scene with extra flavor and spite.

A hand pressed to the wall, cool stone against a steady palm, grounded in the moment as he carefully envelops her left side. Not as a way to trap, to engulf her in his presence. No. A way to keep her attention. To gauge her interest. Her right side remains open to give her a choice, a way out should she at any point decide to back away from this uncharted, dangerous territory. A development that has left the man aching, wanting, yearning.

"This isn't a good idea." Lucanis warns.

Rook smiles, a challenging glint in her eyes to match the wariness behind his. She doesn't shy away, and this makes Lucanis's heart thrum. "Sometimes, a bad idea is better."

Lucanis let's out a breath, the corner of his lip curling into a careful grin. He knew her to be reckless, to leap into situations without a second thought, but this was a much bigger chasm than she must realize, bigger than she can cross. He allows himself the luxury of studying her features, dark eyes gazing across warm skin, long lashes, honey eyes. Lucanis drinks in every second of attention she gives him, greedy and hungry for more.

A pause passes, he can almost taste the sweet intrigue of lavender cream. Last chance.

"You like to walk a little too close to the edge." An observation, a final warning.

Rook brings her hand up to his chest, lightly tapping the chain of his shirt that catches the light of the dimly lit lantern. Lucanis almost expects her to hook her dexterous finger through the loop and tug him forward, but she keeps her digit in place, almost teasingly. "So do you." She indicates, lightly trailing her finger down and off him, her touch leaving him starving and ravenous.

Lucanis's voice lowers, almost a whisper, a promise of more. "At least I know I'm doing it." And he cannot keep himself from leaning forward any longer. He watches Rook match his movements, her eyes fluttering shut, head tilting forward as an invitation for him to do the same. He obliges the silent request, eyelids lowering, a craving he must sate. A deep breath.

Tea leaves and caramel.

He catches a flash of purple in the corner of his vision.

Soft. Sweet.

"I-" Lucanis turns his head away quickly with an expression of guilt, the thrum of his heart faltering, nausea in the pit of his stomach. The chasm opens up and swallows him whole. Reminded and aware of his demons. He has to pull himself away from the situation, has to find the air in his lungs. A pressure lingers in the back of his head, curious at his string of emotions. Rook silently watches as Lucanis flattens his hand against his waistcoat. Professional and closed off. "I need to clear my head. Excuse me." He leaves the room, unable to face her disheartened gaze any longer, the pressure continuing to prod at him until a loud voice bounces across his skull. He reaches the balcony.

You stopped. Refused her wants.

It's more of an inquiry than a statement. Lucanis ignores it, which elicits an irritated sound from Spite.

Refused your own wants.

Lucanis sighs, head throbbing with each word. "Not now, Spite. I do not wish to discuss this." It is almost a plea. An urgency to drop the subject as to not linger any further. Spite hisses, unsatisfied. The demon is not going to back down, and Lucanis shuts his tired eyes, wishing he had some coffee to alleviate the fatigue, to brace himself for a tantrum.

Our wants!

Lucanis opens his eyes, tentative. Unsure for a moment if he wants to pry further into the demons thoughts. He takes a sharp intake of breath, hands wrapping themselves on the railing of the balcony, tense. He briefly contemplates ignoring Spite again, although decides that he isn't entirely in the mood to listen to the demon scream in his head for a prolonged amount of time. Lucanis gives in for once and entertains Spite. If only to ensure avoiding an outburst.

"Our?" He questions, although he already knows the answer.

Yes. Rook. Is. Our. Fixation.

"No." Lucanis is firm, which makes Spite hiss again in frustration. "I can't. We can't. You know that, Spite."

Hm. Spite takes a deep breath, then makes a sound that can only be equated as disgust. It is quiet for several moments. Contemplative. Disapproving. Lucanis nearly thinks Spite has gone back to the shadows before the voice returns all too soon. Sharp. Sour. Unsettling and raw. You're afraid.

Before Lucanis can answer, Spite continues.

Fragility. Feelings. They will ruin you. The demon emerges from the crevices of the Fade and peers into Lucanis's face. Smiles knowingly. Amused, almost. Ruin her too. Get too close. And you will allow it.

Lucanis says nothing.

Spite laughs.

#lucanis dellamorte #rookanis #lucanis x rook #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #spite #dragon age rook #rook

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cosmerelists · 5 months ago

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Bridge 4 Discuss Terrible Pickup Lines

As (sort of) requested by @dewypeach and @imtheseventh

So back when @cam-ulu29 asked for a Kaladin flirting list, I ran a poll about whether it should be a sincere, sweet list or a list full of terrible, out-of-character pickup lines. The former won by a MILE, but some people were interested in the latter. Dewypeach & imtheseventh in particular suggested doing something with Bridge 4 either suggesting terrible pickup lines or having Kaladin try them out. So here's something like that!

Skar: Worst pickup lines you can come up with. Go.

Lopen: I suggested one for Kaladin, but it wasn't terrible--it was really good. He acted like it was terrible, though--does that count?

Kaladin: It WAS terrible.

Kaladin: And...weird.

Kaladin: I'm not going to flirt with Dalinar. He is my boss. And married. And old.

Lopen: So what I said, right, was that Kal should look Dalinar right in the eye, all serious-like, and say, "My relationship with my father is terrible. Will you be my new Daddy?"

Moash: [spits out drink]

Skar: No!

Lopen: Listen, it would work! I can read a man, and I KNOW that would work on Dalinar!

Kaladin: I DON'T WANT TO FLIRT WITH DALINAR, MY MARRIED ELDERLY BOSS

Lopen: Okay, okay! If you prefer to flirt with Navani, you just gotta roll up with something like, "So I heard you like long, thick towers. It just so happens that I..."

Kaladin: NO

Moash: See, the thing is, Kal, you're attractive enough that you could probably get away with a really bad pickup line.

Moash: I bet you could tell someone that you want to "Plunge straight into their their Honor Chasm" and I bet it would work.

Kaladin: That would absolutely not work.

Moash: You say that, and yet...

Rock: Moash has point, though! We are all well-known now, yes? All good-looking (except maybe for Lopen, who is unfortunately very short). I think men like us get away with some pretty bad lines, yeah?

Letyen: "You did a bridge run straight into my heart."

Moash: "I wanna explore YOUR chasms."

Kaladin: (What's you and the chasms, man?)

Lyn: "Let's...bridge this distance between us."

Teft: "I'm from Bridge 4. Do you want to get a drink?"

Skar: "Let me show you how good I am with my spear."

Sigzil: "You prefilled the forms in my heart."

[They all look at him]

Sigzil: What? In Azir, that's a very effective line.

Moash: Is that true, though, or are you making up Azir stories to trick us stupid Alethi?

Sigzil: [sips drink enigmatically]

Kaladin: Fine, fine, okay!

Kaladin: If I wanted to "pick someone up" with my Bridge 4 cred, I guess I'd try something like...

Kaladin: ...

Kaladin: Uh... How about: "My days in the bridge crews were horrible and dark. I barely survived. I lost a lot of friends. Good friends. It haunts me still. But now that I'm out, I've decided to live. And that means doing things that make me WANT to live."

Kaladin: "Like going out with you!"

Kaladin: [Looks at them expectantly]

Moash: Oh, Kal...

Lopen: Even your pretty face can't save that one, gon...

Skar: The thick tower line is looking better and better...

Kaladin: WELL YOU GUYS ARE THE ONES WHO BROUGHT IT UP

#cosmere #cosmerelists #bridge 4 #stormlight archive #Kaladin #Moash #Teft #Skar #Leyten #Lopen #Rock #Sigzil #Lyn

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hauntingofhouses · 1 year ago

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yall i just KEEP doing back to mizu and taigen's wrestling scene in master eiji's forge and like i know that taigen literally got a boner from it BUT THE THING IS out of all the scenes these two have together, this scene actually has the least sexual tension ?!? cuz like the boner aside, this scene is actually very soft and emotions-driven rather than pure passion or lust.

arguably, a more passionate and sexually-charged scene would be their previous brawl in the snow with the chopsticks, which is tense and angry and also the scene that mizu thinks about when madame kaji talks about being honest with one's innermost desires.

but THIS scene in the forge? warm colours. their laughter and their smiles that both equally genuine. the WAY taigen looks at mizu in that scene, staring first at her lips, her smile, then looking into her eyes. and you can see by the framing of the scene and the look on his face that he is, for the first time, seeing her eyes as something beautiful rather than off-putting or frightening.

like before this point he's already come to not only respect mizu as a person and an equal but also admires her as an incredible swordsman and as someone who is kind and honourable* for having saved his life at the expense of her revenge quest. so as of the time of them tussling in the forge, taigen has already put aside his prejudices about mizu's blue eyes and no longer finds them as any cause for disgust. but in this scene he's not just indifferent about her eyes, but attracted too it.

and i'd also like to argue that his boner is not from the physical exertion or the act of wrestling itself, but from the intimacy of a playful spar, enjoying each other's easy company after having established a deep trust with each other (taigen endured torture for mizu and helped defend her from archers in the chasm while mizu saved his life from fowler's castle)

and all this while in the safety of mizu's childhood home while both of them are still recovering from near-death, amplifying their vulnerability with each other.

like when was the last time mizu cracked a genuine smile, let alone a laugh that's more than a little wry chuckle?? and for this to happen at such a low point in her life also speaks to the comfort this little friendly spar gives her.

because like, this is after she failed her mission to kill fowler. meanwhile her sword--the embodiment of her soul--is broken, and ringo who is her closest confidant is now angry at her and barely even looks at her. it just further lends to the inherent tenderness and intimacy in this scene. and i just. AHHHH i love them your honour....

* ALSO as a side note about taigen believing mizu to be honourable: he later realises that this assumption turns out to be quite false when she reveals that she'd not only allowed akemi to be taken away against her will but also has said nothing about fowler's impending attack on edo. also i find it very interesting that out of the two revelations, taigen is less angered by mizu letting akemi being married off (he sighs angrily and marches off saying he has to go to edo to find akemi), but much more angered by mizu's refusal to save the shogun and the shogunate as a whole. this is more proof that taigen's central principles are firmly rooted in the bushido and the concept of honour that comes with that. it's why he lashes out at mizu. because he'd believed mizu to be honourable and righteous, but was proven wrong. that's not to say that taigen is in the right for calling mizu a demon, not by any means. but i just find it a very interesting part of his character and it relates to his relationship and perception of mizu

also while rewatching the episode i found this very funny they just lyin there in the cart like this 🧍🏽‍♂️🧍🏽‍♂️

#blue eye samurai #mizu x taigen #taimizu #taizu #taigen blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai meta #sorry yall but i prefer taimizu as the ship name so i'll probably just be using that from now on 🫡#also like.. the way im still recovering from covid while i have 2 deadlines back to back tomorrow and the day after #but im too busy hyperfixating on this show!!!!#if only i could channel all this energy into my actual literary studies papers that'd be great #but at the moment i be caring more about these fuckers than whatever william blake's got going on #jk i do still love william blake's poetry but my stupid ships take up way more space in my brain ykwim 🤒#anyway...#shut up haydar #meta dissertations.pdf #fandom.rtf

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nombitenary · 6 months ago

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Spelunking.

Super short (2.5K) self indulgent story of a borrower!you getting caught by Christopher and swallowed up <3 Maybe bring better equipment next time you try borrowing from a maneater...

G/t, ambiguous ending, rope play in the throat, and mentions of fatal <3 enjoy!

You can’t believe you got caught.

The man who lives in the apartment you’ve been borrowing from is home so rarely that you suppose you’ve gotten careless. After all, he’s never around to hear your heavy footsteps on the counters or the scrabbling of clumsy hands against drawers. His two cats are easy enough to maneuver around as well, seeing as one of them is trained well enough to not go on the counter, and to scream at the other one whenever it gets the bright idea of chasing you along the countertop.

You’d been testing your new rope, tying it to all manner of things in the kitchen and letting yourself be slowly lowered off the edges of drawers, tables, counters… and hadn’t been bothering to keep your laughter at your successes quiet, nor the thuds of your tiny boots as you’d climbed up the edges of his walls and cabinets.

Everything had been going so well that you’d somehow missed the sound of the bedroom door opening and the light in the hallway, and by the time you realized that something was amiss… was only due to clawed fingers wrapping around your waist and a soft coo of: “Oh, what do we have here?”

And now, here you are, dangling between his fingers from the rope you’d thought had been such a clever tool to get around the maze of his apartment. You can’t bring yourself to speak as you stare up at him meekly, the light reflecting off his glasses making his eyes seem cold and far away- near impossible to read.

He hasn’t spoken since his initial greeting, if you can even call it that. All he’s done is stare at you with that coldness in his eyes, almost as if he’s calculating something- blinking every now and again, though it does nothing to set your mind at ease. If anything, it makes you feel worse, and when he opens his lips and finally speaks to you properly-

“Well. You should fit. This should be interesting.”

-it does nothing to calm your nerves.

Before you can ask him what he means, the air is forced out of your lungs by him tugging on your little rope, effortlessly and haphazardly lifting you into the air above his face and leaving you to stare down at him in terrified disbelief. You’ve never met this human before, but from what you’ve gathered, there’s nothing too horrible about him.

With your lower lip trembling, you look down into his deep brown eyes, searching for any trace of a joke or flickers of sympathy.

What you receive in return is a toothy smirk. One that plays out almost in slow motion, leaving you helpless to watch as his lips curl away from his teeth, showing the gleaming, drool-slicked and sharp points lining his gums. Your heart starts racing at the sight of them, and again, you try to find your words- but you’re once again interrupted by something terrifying.

Those teeth were bad enough on their own, but as you stare down at Christopher’s freckled face… they begin to part.

A warm blast of air rises from the chasm opening beneath you and you find yourself unable to look away as the huge muscle of his tongue shifts- easily the size of a small mattress and just as cushioned- moving from one side of the pink and dripping cavern to the other. The surface of it flexes in waves, and you follow the muscle back toward the darkest pit in the back of his jaws- marked by a swinging uvula and a streamlined tunnel designed to cram anything it can fit inside down.

His throat flexes, and his whole mouth shifts at once- a mess of moving pieces and parts and flesh and teeth rearranging to allow him a soft swallow- and when it opens again, strings of drool connect the bottom of his jaws to the top like the bars of a prison cell.

Unable to speak, your own mouth opens and closes as you watch his throat shift with his every breath, the idle motions of his tongue twitching and swaying as more and more saliva floods the cavern.

You’re transfixed, though the spell breaks when his grip on your rope abruptly falters- sending you falling a few inches closer to the gaping maw with a scream.

A laugh rolls over you in response, and you gasp, clutching the rope in your fingers despite the knot keeping you secure. You’re spinning now, watching the gullet beneath you pulse as you rotate, unable to keep yourself from noticing that it seems to be pulsing in anticipation, the tongue stretching out from between those lips as if to echo the sentiment.

He’s going to eat you.

No. No, he won’t.

Surely he won’t.

Despite not being human, you think for a moment that you’ll be able to appeal to his sympathy, though when you manage to tear your gaze away from his maw to try looking into his eyes--

The rope slides easily through his fingers, and with a rush of air, you plummet- your scream being cut off and muffled by his tongue greeting you. It all but wraps around your sides, and you feel it constrict, pinning your arms to your torso as its owner tips his head back and allows you to fall backward into the cage of his mouth.

You scream as the tongue folds over you greedily, drinking in your flavour and slathering you in thick saliva. The surface won’t stop moving beneath your hands- cushy and soft and speckled with taste buds that leave a faint bumpy texture pressing against your palms and fingers- though when he abruptly licks you again, you’re flipped onto your side, helpless to do anything but let his tongue squish tightly against your back. The muscle is hot and explorative, wasting no time in dragging its tip along your flailing limbs.

Everything around you is hot and slick, but the more you fight against it, the more of his saliva seeps through your clothes, soaking your skin and causing you to slip around easily in the chasm of his mouth. A zigzag of light filtering between his teeth is the only way for you to see the warm pink of his tongue as it continues to effortlessly bat you and part of your flimsy rope around.

It’s… so easy for him.

So easy to treat you as nothing more than a sweet treat. You find yourself pushed against his fangs more than once, and each time, you suck in a sharp breath and wait for him to chew you to pieces- all the while trying to peer out past his lips for one more glance at the world you’re leaving behind.

You don’t get one.

All your squirms earn you is more buffeting from the tongue, more hums of delight from the throat that you know is yawning wide behind you, but you don’t allow yourself to look at it, trying instead to drag yourself forward in the dripping mouth of the beast. You’re close. Your fingers reach the very edge of his gums and you strain to pull yourself up from his gullet even as you feel your legs brush the very edge of his throat.

A throat that twitches eagerly, the muscles there relaxing with a soft slrrrk of noise- and you yelp as you find yourself falling deeper into the squishy tube.

“NO-”

The tongue that had been idly sloshing you around arches, filling his mouth and squeezing the air from your lungs in a strangled cry- though you don’t have time to be worried about that as you realize what the predator’s doing.

Swallowing. He’s swallowing. The gullet behind you lurches, a tiny hlrk and a bob of the muscles behind you causing you to throw your arms forward as gravity changes- but you’re too covered in saliva to get a grip on anything. Instead, you’re forced to feel his uvula drag across the back of your shoulders as he hums- the noise loud enough to make your chest feel like it’s buzzing.

You’re squashed under his uvula entirely with another firm swallow, leaving you scrambling against the plush back of his tongue as you try to reach the swinging tab of flesh. Your fingers are tangled tightly in your rope, clutching it in utter desperation. It’s still holding fast. Still tied to something.

You try to remember if you saw it caught between his molars or canines as you try to hoist yourself further up his gullet- barely able to even paw the backmost part of his tongue in your attempts to reach freedom. It’s still somewhat taut, taut enough that there’s hope…

…as light falls over you, you look up from the depths of his throat, for one fleeting moment allowing yourself to think that he’s about to cough you up. It must be a mistake. He seems like a kind enough man, and you shift your position slightly to see better, wiping a string of drool out of your face as a shadow falls over his jaws.

His hand.

And in his fingers…

No…

In his fingers, he’s lazily clutching the end of your rope. He holds it there with a soft chuckle, one that makes the throat around you ripple, before you watch his mouth start to relax as it closes for what you realize in terror is the final time.

“Wait- wait wait wait-!"

When he swallows, the walls of his throat clutch tight around you, rippling with a soft ulp that folds around you and tries to squeeze you down along with it. Your whole body jerks in place, being squashed tighter into the living tunnel before the rope pulls taut and forces you back up- which causes the muscles around you to quiver and the predator they belong to to hum.

It’s absolutely deafening this close to his voicebox.

You gasp as the slimy walls finally ease up, trembling at the sensation of something pressing at you from outside of your new prison. At first, you almost think you’re imagining it, but when the throat around you twitches in response to a firmer press, you realize those are fingers pressing against you from the outside.

You can’t help but imagine yourself as a lump in Christopher’s throat.

As you struggle harder, forcing your elbows out against the taunting squishes, in you mind’s eye, you see the small flutter of your movements settled just above his collarbone- the way you stretch the freckled skin and wriggle just beneath it- and as you tug on the rope in a desperate attempt to shimmy back up the way you came-

GLURK.

-the throat constricts tighter, and this time you can’t keep yourself from giving a yelp as you’re sucked further into Christopher’s esophagus- settled just beside his thudding heart. The walls of his gullet have grown tighter, as has the knot of the rope around your waist thanks to said walls hungrily rippling around you in an attempt to squeeze you deeper inside. Again, you struggle to haul yourself further up the rope that’s keeping you suspended in his chest. Your saliva slicked hands fumble to get a grip, and you curse yourself for not having tied too many knots in it before trying to use it out borrowing. In the pitch darkness of his throat, you can’t see much aside a very faint red- the light from outside only penetrating deep enough for you to see the faint outlines of the esophagus squeezing around you.

Your rope is still being held snugly by the gullet’s walls, the red lifeline almost vanishing into the pulsing darkness, but you squint through the saliva running down your face just long enough to realize how far down you’ve been squeezed. Seeming miles of throat stretch above you, and a flicker of light from the top of the tunnel causes your heart to sink. On either side of you, you hear a rush of air filling your devourer’s lungs, and everything tightens as they fill with oxygen, preparing for another-

Gulp.

-for him, it must be nothing. Just soft and lazy bobs of his adam’s apple that allow your rope to fall deeper into the folds of his throat. You can almost imagine how faint the sound of him swallowing must be outside of the sweltering confines you’re in now- but you can’t quite cling to the illusion long enough to mute the disgusting squelch and ULLLLK that draw you deep enough to feel a distinct change in heat.

Heat from below you.

Heat coupled by the sound of an organic growl, and your heart grows cold despite the warmth of the predator surrounding you as you realize how close to the belly of the beast you’ve gotten.

You scramble against the soft walls, tugging on your slack rope more and more as the sound of gurgling grows louder beneath you. You can’t end up in his stomach. You won’t. You’re a borrower, you’re not-

Glmpk.

He swallows once more.

Firmly.

Firmly enough that you manage to look above you in terror, watching the tunnel of his throat constrict in a wave that rushes toward you in the dark, too fast for you to do anything but take a breath in before you’re squished firmly into the upper stomach sphincter.

Then through it.

Your tiny form lands in his stomach with a wet plop.

The walls around you shudder with a gurgle of greeting, and above you, you hear a long and contented sigh breeze up from the throat you fought for your life not to get squeezed down- unable to keep yourself from envying the air for being able to get past his lips.

You’re not as lucky as the air. The stomach containing you groans in emphasis, the organ steadily starting to rock this way and that, the walls rippling inwards eagerly in what you realize are the beginnings of digestion. Your hands find the rope and you pull on it sharply, earning the sound of a muffled glp from above and the sensation of more and more of it pulling into his belly, coiling around you on the fleshy floor, gulp after gulp ushering it down, down…

The piece of yarn bobs momentarily at the back of Christopher’s throat, and it brushes the folds of flesh there as its pulled down his gullet. It isn’t fully soaked through with his saliva, not yet, and as he sits with his jaws open, he gulps, feeling it stick dryly in his throat- though he persists in his task anyway.

With a few more short swallows, there’s no trace left of you at all. No rope dangles from between his lips. No shape wriggles in his throat, and as he trails a hand down to his comfortably full stomach… he grins at the realization that you fit so perfectly inside that you’ve completely vanished from the outside world. Not even a lump against his middle surfaces to show anyone where you’ve vanished to, and he purrs in delight, trailing his fingers over his middle and hiccuping suddenly when you squirm.

“Oh, don’t worry.”

His voice rumbles around you, echoing over the sounds of digestion. One of the fleshy walls folds inward with a prod against you and you feel the tip of one of his claws massaging you into the lining.

“I think I’m going to let my guts take their time with you… best get comfy in there.”

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