#block scenario

[knife-filled-plushies]

i love the Smiling Critters as a cartoon concept and if it ever developed like mlp or something like that I can absolutely see something comical like this happening djkfskf

lesson at the end would probably be something about getting a healthy amount of sleep and staying on a good schedule jfhskf

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for how hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

extra; what if darling was a prosecutor instead?

[mellowwillowy]

(gasps) he's a fae?? Part 1 MDNI

Yan! Butler who is skilled in practically everything, allowing him to serve you wherever and whenever for you.

Yan! Butler who is never even once considered to be intimidating in your eyes yet other people would always have a say about it. Why can't you notice the way he glares at all your suitors disapprovingly?

Yan! Butler who always has the last words of critiques toward your suitor, causing you to scrap them away in pursuit of a better suitor for your country's well-being.

Yan! Butler who is secretly working on his influence and status as he steals what is rightfully your scrapped suitors. Bits by bits, he has grown into a fine gentleman within the years he has served you.

Yan! Butler who has spent his entire life building everything from the day you took him into the shelter of your wings, allowing him to understand how it feels like to be home. Allowing him to unleash the avarice side of a human.

Yan! Butler who is never content with just standing next to you as a servant, no. He wants to stand on an equal ground as you do as your lover. He has to. He has spent his whole life keeping you safe from impurities, allowing you to bloom beautifully. Only he is allowed to defile you should the call come. Only he is allowed to have your lip against his and frankly speaking, his cock.

Yan! Butler who will sometimes walk out of the picture, hiding himself somewhere secluded, teeth clutching on a handkerchief you embroidered for him as he pumped his cock vigorously.

The perfume you were wearing was an anonymous present from a noble, someone you assumed to be one of the many suitors. You were unaware that the noble was the butler who had served you since you were children, the same boy you once had your eyes shaped in a heart.

The idea of you wearing a scent he crafted himself may not be as romantic as what others had in store but he knew that better than anyone. He was an orphan, true. But were you aware that the orphan was never a human?

Back in the country he once lived in, there's a courting habit that the faes pride themselves in doing so. And that was to give their beloved a perfume that was personally handcrafted in memory of the most cherished memory they had in mind.

And the scent you were wearing was the memory of you saving him, the smell of the rain that drenched him mixing with the flowers' smell from your basket, and the smell of love blooming from first sight.

His hip jerked upward as he relished in the memories. You might not realize it but seeing you wearing it so proudly rendered him helpless to the point he crumbled as nothing but an ejaculating mess. The smile that was so gentle and sweet as you coaxed him into the carriage... and the hands that were so warm when compared to his pale, cold ones.

Oh, how he would kill just to have you feel him all over while wearing his scent.

Soon he would be able to consummate with you as a spouse. Just one more year and he would present himself as a suitor who would outmatch the whole list, free of blemishes, critiques, and flaws.

Then just perhaps, the fae would be able to restore his kingdom and propose an agreement of bridging two countries through marriage.

[artyandink]

breaking profiler’s block

SUMMARY: You and Spencer have a sorta thing going. All for your genius, there are times where, y’know, you get stumped, and that was dubbed ‘profiler’s block’ by you and Spencer. Well, he knew exactly how to fix that, and this isn’t the first time he’s helped you break it.

TW: Post-prison Reid, so basically it’s an extremely hot Reid, talk of asphyxiation murder, criminal psychology, unspecified relationship, talk of masochism, BAU!reader, relatable-ass profiler’s block which is the BAU version of writer’s block, smut

STW: oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, Spencer being kind of a little shit, softdom!Spence, profiling during eating out, pussydrunk!Spencer cause yes, threat of exhibitionism, praise kink, hair pulling kink, thigh slapping, slight degradation, filthy stuff guys, you’re welcome

A/N: I don’t think this kinda trope’s been done before, so here we go

NOW PLAYING: Side to Side by Ariana Grande

Think, c’mon, think. Though that’s a pretty impossible task when Spencer Reid’s eating your pussy like he’s on death row.

“Shh, sweetheart, use that pretty head.” Spencer murmured as he sucked on your clit, two fingers pumping relentlessly in and out of you. Long-ass fingers, talented-ass tongue— you were done for.

Every lady out there was done for in the presence of this man. You too, all you out there.

You and the team were currently in Vegas — Spencer’s turf — to try and find a man who was out there strangling low-end members of society. But you couldn’t think straight — not just in the current circumstance — but in general. You’d hit something that you and Spencer called ‘profiler’s block’, and lucky you that Spencer knew how to snap you out of it.

Not his first rodeo with you where that’s concerned.

Spencer used his free hand to shove your legs further apart, spreading you open with his two fingers so he could lap up everything he could from your dripping cunt, moaning when ambrosia hit his tongue. “You know the drill.” He panted, eyes rolling back briefly as you pulled on his hair— fuck, that’s good. “Strangles his victims. S’ that tell us, hm?”

You thought you said a coherent sentence, but apparently it came out jumbled, because a quick slap to your thigh by Spencer had you moaning out an answer. “He wants p-power — oh — and control— fuck.”

“Don’t stop there.” He murmured, lapping at your clit. “Or are you just so fucking drunk on my tongue? Huh? Imagine the team seeing you like this, can’t even say a sentence properly.” Now, that shouldn’t have felt as hot as it did, but you did clench around his fingers, which were reaching spots you didn’t know you had.

After a few moments of how the fuck is he this good, you managed to regain a bit of footing, your blissfully blank mind allowing for new, sweet clarity, even if it was brief. “Incompetent. O-Overcompensating. He’s killing brunettes with blue eyes, he’s got an authority figure in his life that makes him feel small.”

“Good girl— shit, such a good girl.” Spencer cooed, which had your eyes rolling back. Soft voice, low tone, his hand pressing down on your stomach to make you clench on his fingers, to feel him taking you apart by the fucking seams.

You couldn’t deny the praise kink. It was definitely there.

“Gonna fuck you so hard when you get this right.” When was a comforting thought amid his fingers curling against your g-spot deliciously— his fingers were hitting your g-spot. “You want that? Wanna get drunk on my cock, darling? Make you walk funny and have the BAU see what I do to you?”

Oh, god, you wanted that. Spencer wanted that too, wanted to feel your pussy in every way possible. The man was whipped for pussy, and with the sloppy way he was devouring yours, you’d say he got drunk on you before you had the chance to go delirious on his cock.

“Spence—” You were so close, it was embarrassing, but you couldn’t help it. But you knew the drill: no coming until you’d given a substantial profile. No coming until the profiler’s block was smashed through by his fingers working that one spot in you that had you seeing stars. “S’ close, can’t — ah, shit — don’t stop. He’s a white m-male, thirties, married possibly with kids, works a job — yes — that he’s not seen in and is a low paying job,” His tongue flattened against your clit, “h-he kills low end m-members of — mm — society because he’s a masochist. T-The p-pain of not going outside of h-his comfort zone feels like a r-release when he kills because he’s inflicting it on himself—” A third finger stretched you open, “Spence, m’ gonna—”

“Come, sweetheart.” Spencer murmured, harshly sucking on your clit to tip the dominos and make you come — hard — and sink into the mattress, your mind wiped clean, eyes rolling back and hips bucking against his mouth, hands roughly gripping your hips and holding you to his mouth so he could lap and swallow everything that you had to offer, every drop of come as he moaned sinfully against you— as if that made matters better.

White vision, satisfied pussy, that’s what Spencer Reid did to you.

And even as your vision was starting to return back to 18/20, the tip of his cock nudged against your cunt, fingers reaching to spread you open.

“Ready, darling?”

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[floral-comet-whump]

Whumpee that deceives Whumper

They rack their brain to memorize every little movement, every indicator of Whumper's mood, every pattern. At some point, they even learn to predict Whumper.

They know what Whumper likes to see. They know what they want within a few minutes, what's going to happen to them. They're powerless to stop it.

Sometimes Whumper wants them to silently cry on the floor, so they do. It would be foolish not to conserve energy while they can.

Sometimes Whumper is already in a bad mood. They probe, both because the knowledge is invaluable and because then Whumper will take it out on them.

Whumpee has a little internal guide to how to take punishments. Begin as defiant, but still shake. Look like they're trying to conceal their fear. Gradually break. It starts off as a yelp or sob or whimper followed by an immediate insult, then Whumpee goes quiet for a bit until it's “too much,” begging quietly. And then it's as if a dam has been broken, frantically pleading for mercy, for a reprieve. They look at Whumper with wide, teary eyes, and both their true self and their facade just want it to stop.

Their cries turn quiet as their energy runs out, until they can't bear to look at anything. Their flinch at Whumper's hand on their chin doesn't need to be faked. Their distress is real, and they let themselves whimper. Whumper likes displays of exhausted weakness, it makes them feel as if they've won.

They lean into the little coos and pets Whumper gives after, trying not to gag. Alarms of panic ring through their head, and they acknowledge them.

It would be easier to lose themselves in the comfort after the torture. It would be so much easier to become a shell of a person. They already act like one. Why can't they give up?

The emotional exhaustion after they've been left alone. The dark quiet. Their steadying breath. The scent of both blood and anticeptic. The locked door. The pain.

They can escape once Whumper deems them broken enough to let out unsupervised. It's just a matter of time, just a matter of maintaining this act. A matter of trust from a sadistic torturer that keeps Whumpee in a basement for no reason other than their own pleasure.

They have to keep going.

[nhoirr]

It was the year of spring when you got the most lamest confession you've ever heard.

all from a man you'd never expect—nobody ever did expect that GOJO SATORU had the time and capacity to fall in love.

what a surprise, because he was too.

"go out with me," he states more than questioning.

like a giddy normal teenager that was not the most handsome man in the world—the, gojo satoru asked you out.

infront of everyone; without shame, oh but full of smugness that makes you want to reject him just to see his pride fall.

but perhaps the from shocking event did the thought not come to you that day, not when the pressure was all time high.

"This.." you start and the crowd quivers in their boots, boys and girls alike already demanding their victory from the bet, "this is what you greet me with after ignoring me for weeks, satoru?" the said man stiffens with his posture, and as if the bouquet of flowers he held felt the shift of the atmosphere—it dramatically wilted.

"oh, c'mon that was just—" he knew reasoning was futile when he gulps the words down his throat again, catching the way you glare.

and you spin your heel around. guessing with how he hangs his head low, you think he's discouraged enough to let it go and take the rejection.

but the man you knew was always so annoying, so stubborn.

you hear a call of your name but you don't snap your head like your-all-time-secret-is-out kind of surprise, but it's because the dumbest man spoke the dumbest words you've ever heard.

"I, the heir of the gojo clan, am insanely inlove with you!"

the crowd goes eerily silent, like time was frozen but not in a romantic way. It was embarrassingly awkward that you could hear the sound of a pin drop.

"what?" you spat out in disbelief, not comprehending his words and he takes it as another sign to repeat himself to you.

"I lik—" you stop him from talking by slapping a hand to his mouth, glowing eyes shimmering with the brightest smile known to man, "yes yes, don't repeat yourself!" you exclaim almost immediately.

your breath hitches in your throat the moment you feel his hand grasp your wrist, the one that covered his mouth and he points a finger to speak, muffled by your hand, "dso yu asekpt?" you could faintly make out the words he said—do you accept?

it syncs with the voice echoing at the back of your head ever since he confessed.

and yet, the answer always remained the same.

so you drop your hand from his mouth, catching the way his eyes follow your every move—perhaps enough to notice the hesitation, and he worries for the words you'll speak with such an expression.

quickly he starts before you speak, "Its fi—"

"I like you," he gets cut off, jaw slacked and unmoving in shock.

he blinks once or twice, but the crowd reacts before he can, waking him enough to respond back.

with a lopsided grin and dusted cheeks, he speaks again too—he thinks could be lost to the noise of the crowd, but with how close you were, he thinks you'll be able to hear even a whisper.

"I like you too."

©nhoirr — DO NOT COPY NOR PLAGIARIZE MY WORKS!

thanks for tuning in for another episodic brain riot of mine that goes no where!

want more? check out navigation for latest posts. <33 (shameless self-plug because.)

[orikiys]

Protective prompts:

“Get behind me.”

“Hold my hand, okay? It’s gonna be over soon.”

“Close your eyes for me love.”

“When I say run, I need you to do as I say without looking back and don’t wait for me.”

“It’s all going to okay, they would never hurt you again.”

“I swear to you, that as long as I’m alive I won’t let a single soul ever harm you.”

“Listen to me.  . . take deep breaths, yes follow my breathing just like that. There’s no need to panic, I’m right here now, aren’t I? You’re safe.”

“When you love something, you protect it with your entire life at stake, and right now, my guts tell me to do the same.”

“I’ll be back very soon, but don’t come out. Stay there hidden until I come back and try not to make a noise, hmm?” *forehead kisses being a must here*

“I’m so so sorry! I wish I would’ve never left you alone! If I knew this would happen, I would never leave you alone.”

[sadnymi]

Loml p2

[Mattheo riddle × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

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

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

Words:12k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. I stared at her.

"You know my name,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy sneered, "What do you want?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She giggled, playfully swatting my hand away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what? for saying that y/n is__,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who did this to you?" I demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need to shower," she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” I snapped, not turning around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, it won’t," I insisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first lesson I learned however was my father doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded vigorously. "I love him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remember that day, I remember it too well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You can kill her please, you can—"

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

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

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

My heart twisted in my chest. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mattheo, I’m gonna—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath hitched. "Distraction?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voldemort’s lips curled into a proud smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I froze. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Silence!"

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

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

"Avada Kedavra."

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

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

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

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

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not!”

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

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

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

“You’re not dying,” I repeated.

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

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

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

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

"Y/N?" I called softly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[hatsukeii]

fragrance: by the fireplace, replica / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

notes: pink pepper (top), chestnut accord (heart), vanilla (base)

description: embers of burning firewood, billowing smoke and flushing warmth

disclaimer(s): N/A

wc: 1.06k

warning(s): big fat super domestic makeout!!!!! slightly touchy so ig suggestive?? not sure but i think ushiwaka might be a little ooc at times oops... IDC this took THREE FUCKING REDOS im TIRED

Wakatoshi has always wanted a fireplace. The prospect of burning firewood crackling in a dimly lit room seeming like some infinitely gentle blanket is what he confesses to you in bed with his back pressed up against your chest, your hands squeezing and massaging at the knots in his shoulders.

"It would be nice, I like the smell of firewood." His head tilts back to meet your gaze, and you giggle, fingers pressing meitculously into the flesh of his back. The mattress dips when you squeeze a spot, just in the curve that connects his neck and his shoulders, as he finally loosens up with a content sigh, the tension in his body released in an instant.

"Fixed it?"

"Fixed it."

Wakatoshi smiles, leaning back into you until his entire body is sprawled on top of yours. He takes your hand, wrapped around his torso, and holds it tight against the little area of his chest that his heart occupies. His hair is a mess of olive green on your chest, disheveled as you run your other hand through it, pressing your fingers into his scalp and rubbing strands against each other between the pads of your fingertips. His heart beats steadily beneath your palm, and he sighs in satisfaction.

"What would you ever do without me?"

He breathes out a chuckle at your question, bringing your hand from his chest to his lips. His thumb plays with your knuckles, and your hand in his hair crawls down to his jaw, fingers tracing nothings into his cheek instead. You feel Wakatoshi's weight shift, rolling around to press his chest flush with your torso, his head resting in the dip of your ribcage. For somebody who wants a fireplace for the smell of firewood, he sure encapsulates it already, toasty spices and woody chestnuts filling your senses when he pulls himself up for a kiss.

Wakatoshi's father once told him what his name meant, to be young and to be sharp. Wakatoshi trains and plays with a wildfire in his eyes, smashes hits through opposing teams with blazing flames coursing through his body. Scalding passion, burning diligence, so hot that surrounding air burns away into suffocating smoke.

Yet his lips meet yours like the crackling of wood in a fireplace, nibbling at you softly like occasional sparks that fly out when things run a little too hot. The burning sting of his hands hitting leather volleyballs is nothing but a dull glow of warmth that emanates from his palms, spreading to your face from his fingers that push strands of hair from your forehead. His droning exhale sends tremors through your body, and when he parts his lips against yours, you can feel his fingers rolling and rubbing at the hem of his shirt that drapes over your frame.

Greedy, wanting more, like the radiating heat of fire that spreads across a cold room.

Your waist takes the shape of his palm when his hand slithers its way beneath your shirt, drawing circles into your skin. His knee presses into the mattress between your legs, holding himself up just enough to give your chest room to heave up and down in rhythmic rises and falls. His hand squeezes the flesh of your waist, the cold promise ring on his finger sending a jolt up your body. It pulls a sharp inhale from you, and rips a stutter from Wakatoshi's throat. The kind of stutter that begs for your lips to stay on his, and for your heart to push even harder against his own, until he's sure that they will never separate. A feverishly lovesick stutter, so much so that the heat of Wakatoshi's fire is spilling everywhere, with nothing to contain it.

When your hand joins his beneath your shirt, two rings come together with a metallic clink as your fingers meet Wakatoshi's, holding them tight between your knuckles. They follow his hand to the grooves of your ribcage, his thumb pushing gently into the underside of your chest. When he swallows the sigh of his name that escapes your lungs, Wakatoshi thinks that this must have been what he was made for. His fingers were made to swipe lines and etch shapes into your skin, his legs made to trap you in his embrace, his mouth made to press against yours for as long as you please.

He almost whines when your head pushes upwards, before detaching from him to breathe. Your other hand pulls his head towards you, his pulse pumping into your palm as you press your lips into his jaw, peppering kisses down to his neck. He hums at the sensation, lowering his body onto yours as he nuzzles his face into the pillow beside your head. Your fingers run through his hair, relishing in the softness of the strands that slip between your knuckles. His chest is flush against yours, head turning to press his nose against the side of your neck, where his mumbles send tingles down your spine as your hand shifts to hold his head close to you.

"Can't live without you. I love you."

In the darkness of your room, all that remain are Wakatoshi's soft exhales into your pulse as he drifts to sleep, one arm inside your shirt and the other laid above your head. You absentmindedly push a kiss into his head, and he shifts in his slumber, his lips curling into a serene smile. Beneath his eyelids, fleeting images of you pass by. The first time you cry out his first name instead of his last, the first time his lips learn of yours, the first time his blazing sharpness is mellowed out for something gentler. He watches you like some vintage film, shoved into the depths of his heart, not to be seen by any other eyes but his own.

"I love you too, Toshi. So much."

Wakatoshi is a wildfire, smoke and ash rising from his feet, sending people running from his blaze. You are the only person daring enough to be engulfed by his radiance, only to find that his inferno is mellow as a candle on a shelf, sweet as toasted vanilla pods, gentle as a paintbrush drawing outlines on a blank canvas. And although you're still open to getting the fireplace that Wakatoshi has always wanted, you think he's warm enough to beat out a fire any day.

author's note:

guys i really hope i did domestic ushiwaka justice because this took way too long to write up and i don't know why :( i legit had to rewrite like three whole times and i was about to smash my head into my laptop trying to keep going because im in a BLOCK it's super annoying BUT i needed ushiwaka brainrot and this was my take LOLOL

guys i love ushiwaka sm :(

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @akaakeis @iiwaijime @fiannee @afyrian @catsoupki

ok love u guys see u next fic bye bye

[purerae]

╭────༺♡༻────╮

YANDERE!JOCK X GN!reader // PT1

warnings ;; none (i think??) YANDERE!JOCK does not show much yandere tendencies in this part!!

╰────༺♡༻────╯

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who’s obnoxiously loud with his friends. Their table is surrounded with the soccer team. Their voices are 1/2 of the noise in the hall.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who overheard someone speaking about his team. “God, I hate them all. They’re so self centered! I wonder if they know that not everyone cares about soccer like they do.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who immediately frowns after he hears that. Someone hates him? No way he tries to be nice to everyone! He's so self centered?? He didn’t know that :(( (You were generalising but okay..)

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who attempts to find the source of who said those words and his eyes land on you. You were on a table with two of your other friends chatting and side eyeing his team. He’s determined to make you realise he’s a decent person!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who walks over to your table with a sad grin and puppy dog eyes but he quickly replaces it with a wide grin. “Hey I'm Alex!!”

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who recognises you. You’re in his history class! You lent him a pen and he gave it back. He thought you guys had some solidarity going on but it turns out you don’t?

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who always thought you were attractive, You were cute and quiet in class, He never knew you disliked him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who notices you freeze when he comes up to you. Are you scared of him? Just because he’s 3x stronger than you and towers over you doesn’t mean he’s going to hurt you!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who wants to be your friend! He needs to have a good reputation with everyone in the school. With a pout he explains, “I can’t help but overhear you saying you hate me…did i do something wrong”

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who makes you feel a little bad for saying all of that. The way he’s staring at you makes it feel like he’s a high school girl who just got rejected by the love of her life.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who ignores the stares the other jocks give him, because he’s interacting with someone who’s talking shit about them. He doesn’t care! He needs to have a good reputation with everyone especially with his classmates.

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who sulks when you ignore him and he slowly walks back to his table. He’s not as excited as he was before. The teammates notice that and now they heavily dislike you. How dare you make the sunshine of the group sad!?! :(

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who never gave up. After english, you rushed out the class only to be stopped by Alex. He gives you a proposition. If you come to his next practice and hang out with him after, he’ll help you revise for history!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who frowns when you point out you have a higher grade than him. Come on! Just find him nice already!

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ YANDERE!JOCK who will not stop bothering talking to you, until you become friends! Your friends don’t like him so why doesn’t he bother them? Many people care for him but…why does he care that you don't?

“Trust me, Im not as bad as you think!!”

purerae<3

[shelbygpryor]

WRITING ADVICE!!!

"Pain is Plain."

Let's face it; saying " it was very painful," falls just a little flat. You want something that will empower your writing, enrichen it. Using words that vividly describe a situation or feeling will help your readers "visualize" the scene. It will make them wonder " How is the main character going to survive this?" Or, if the hero is inflicting rightful pain on the antagonist, it will cause them to cheer and anticipate what their favorite character will do next. But none of this will work if you describe a deadly wound as "It really hurt." Here are some alternate words for "painful."

 

Excruciating

Seering

Stabbing

Ripping

Blood-curling

Paralyzing

Unimaginable

Writhing

Twisting

Shot

Shredding

Tearing

Agonizing

Indescribable

Intolerable

Harrowing

Torturing

Torturous

Aching

Cramping

Dull aching

Burning

Cold sensation

Electric shock

Nagging

Intense

Pins and needles

Sharp

Spasms

Splitting

Tender

Throbbing

Tingling

Tiring

Exhausting

Acute

Burning

Chapped

Nauseating

MILD PAIN: PAIN YOUR CHARACTER NOTICES BUT IT DOESN'T DISTRACT THEM.

Pinch

Sting

Smart

Stiffness

MODERATE PAIN: PAIN THAT DISTRACTS BUT DOESN'T TRULY STOP YOUR CHARACTER.

Ache

Throb

Distress

Flare

SEVERE PAIN: PAIN YOUR CHARACTER CAN'T IGNORE.

Agony

Anguish

Suffering

Thoes

Torment

Stabbing

OBLITERATING: KIND OF PAIN THAT PROHIBITS ANYTHING BUT BEING IN PAIN. (AND DOING ANYTHING TO ALLEVIATE IT.)

Ripping

Tearing

Writhing

Got other ideas or something you'd like to ask me? Go right ahead! I'd Love to hear from you!

[xxthunderthedragonxx]

its not hard to click someones profile before you follow them btw

[uinmyheart]

[♡] "Hey, stranger"

"Hello, youuuu" you instantly smile after hearing his voice.

"How's everything going over there?" you ask. You're sitting in your pajamas, skincare routine already finished and putting some lotion on your legs. it's been ages since the last time you were able to do this properly.

"Well, our dear Hanni has been acting like a brat all day just because she misses you. She's been acting like i'm the devil." you hear a certain echo of his voice as well as the knocks of pans and silverware which probably means he's wrapping up the night routine while your call stays on speakers.

"I'm guessing you had an eventful day." you smile.

"And that's to say the least." you both giggle. "I'm not sure about letting Hanni continue with her football lessons. She's starting to grow some muscles and now I'm scared of a pre-teen that just happens to be my only daughter."

"I don't think it's the football lessons, babe. It's that age." you giggle. You're so happy to hear them and your heart aches now that you're not with them.

As soon as your daughter started growing, it was time to get back on your feet and start working again, but every single time you had to pack your things for a quick work trip, it became even more difficult than the previous one. Maybe it's the constant fear of missing out on things that happen in your house, or not being able to be in control of everything that's happening over there, but being completely honest, you cannot really complain about the perks that came with work travelling. The suite your workplace had provided for your stay, and the clean bathtub in your bathroom wasn't so bad either.

"I mean, you should've seen me driving over here with a car full of annoying teens making fun of everything that I did or said. The way they made fun of my nose for more than 20 minutes almost made me cry, honestly." hearing you giggle out loud makes him lightly smirk even though deep inside he still feels hurt by the way his own blood had betrayed him like that in front of all of her friends. "And feeding those demons.. It's insane. I'm going have to squeeze in a quick run to the grocery store. We're out of.. oh, yeah. Everything. They even found those special cookies we keep hidden for our movie nights."

"Ooh, babe. It was time you found out. Hanni has been eating them non-stop. That place is not a secret anymore. I just stopped restocking those because she always checks right after coming back home. It's taking a toll on our sweet treat budget." you deliver the bad news with a pretty big smile on your face, already imagining the look of confusion on his.

"That's insane. She's insane." "I know, right? But at least she's cute, though."

"Yeah, she really is. You should see the way she scrunches her nose when she runs on the field. Totally cute." he gushes and you can only hum in response. "What about you, though? How's my management & sales senior doing?"

"It's pretty boring over here, I must say." you sigh. "Boring deals with boring people. Cannot complain though, not allowed." you both giggle. "You wanna guess what I did today?" he hums.

"I had a 20 minute shower." he groans in response. "No complaints and no banging on the door."

"You're killing me over here!"

"And when I got out, I asked for room service. Had some fried chicken, some pizza and now I'm even waiting for dessert!"

"Are you guys hiring? Maybe I can squeeze in my résumé and a couple of interviews."

"I'm not sure relationships between coworkers are allowed over here.."

"For a night like that I could leave my wife." all jokes aside, "Hey!" you instantly exclaim, feigned offense laced in your voice.

"I know, baby. I know. Just joking." you smile at him. "So... what are you wearing? Do you miss me?"

Before you could even think about a cheeky response. A big, loud, and clear. "EW!" is heard right on cue. There's your girl.

"Dad, you're so disgusting." you can hear your husband loud complaints as well as your daughter's perfectly clear light hearted insults to his father.

"So what? Is it a crime to love your mother? I'm not apologizing for that."

"You're both too old for this! At least don't do it in a common area on speaker!"

As you stay silent for a couple of seconds you get to hear the way they go back and forth as Hanni continues to emphasize how embarrassed she feels by your behaviour. Teens can be so intense, you cannot help but roll your eyes.

"Anyways... Mom? Are you there?" your girl asks.

"Yes, my lovely daughter. How are you? Do you miss me?"

"Incredibly much. Dad over here is embarrassing me at school and at practice as well." you smile at what she tells you. You miss this banter even though you get to have a taste just by the phone.

"I'm sure he is. I made sure to give him instructions on how to!" Hanni whines on the phone and you can hear Jungkook in the background making slight fun of her.

"So, mom..." "Yes?" "I've been thinking.. since you're already there.." You know exactly where this is going. "Can i send some stuff for you to buy? There's this new lip glo-"

"Jeon Hanni! You're in so much trouble. Why would you use your time to talk to your mom to ask her stuff?!" Hanni whines as Jungkook continues. "That is not how I raised you!"

"Dad, you're so annoying. For real."

To cut things short, you ended up compromising on bringing your daughter this new lip gloss everyone's talking about and a new water bottle she insists that will help her performance on football practice. Absolutely ridiculous, yet you agreed on buying it just to make her happy.

And at the end of the night, when you're unable to get some sleep as you shine in the glow the television gives you, you're awoken from your trance-like state by a message from your husband.

It's the best way to end a mostly perfect day. A pictured of him and your daughter cuddling on your big bed together, her hiding on his chest already sleeping with her mouth wide open and him being his usual cheeky self with his big doe eyes and sticking his tongue out.

"She always caves ❤️ we miss you, honey! Come back soon"

and you cannot wait.

[orikiys]

Silent love (quiet moments):

Reading together. Gently running their fingers through the other’s hair as they read to them in a soft voice. The other one silently listens to them and their heartbeat until they get fully immersed in the story they’re bringing to life.

Cooking together. Backhugging the person that cooks. Smearing flour over each other’s face and making the kitchen a mess. Playing rock, paper and scissors to decide who cleans up. But both end up cleaning together while sharing stories of their relationship.

Walking together. Intertwining fingers, shoulder brushing against each other and shy giddy smiles as they walk. Pulling the one on the road closer so that they don’t get hit. Caressing each other’s thumb and finding comfort amidst the crowd. 

Sleeping together. Hushed breathing and feather-light touched when one wakes before the other. Covering the other’s face with their hand in order to block sunlight. Pulling the other one deeper in their embrace. The asleep one unconsciously rolls over and curls into the other one as if it’s their comfort place.

Watching TV together. Volume turned up just loud enough to be heard for the two. Lights dimmed, wrapped in blankets and aircon switched on. Leaning against each other’s shoulder/ head as they absentmindedly run their fingers over the other one’s arms. Silent giggles and speaking out their observations to the other ones. Staring at each other during an intimate scene. Pillow fights and causing havoc while the now forgotten movies continues to play in the background.

[minjiarchive]

my way or fuck it out | jiu x fem!reader

i'll stop shit posting for now just to feed you all 🥲

warnings / smut, mommy kink (lolol i wish i could stop with the mommy kink with minji)

Minji doesn't always choose 'fucking it out' as an option to handle bad behavior.

That's only when it comes to other people though.

She's the leader in her group and sometimes her position can bleed into your relationship and sex, which is why she didn't tolerate the way you teased her all night during dinner with the other girls.

It was an innocent game after all – but that's if you didn't get her wet in the process of teasing her earlier. You enjoyed watching her flushed and fucked out face every time you touched her under the table,

Minji doesn't take your game very lightly and in fact, she lays out all the different ways she could handle you on the drive back home.

She sat in the passenger seat of the car while you were seated at the back. The distance seemed good for now, she was able to settle whatever the fuck happened earlier in silence.

“Any reason you wanted to tease me tonight?” Minji texts, hearing your phone chime from the back of the van. You smile to yourself, knowing it's a message from her since she's the only one awake in the car.

“Nope.”

Your single-worded message is funny to her, she knows you'd never be that bold if she was on top of you.

“You're being such a brat, I hate it.” She doesn't really hate it, it just gives her a bigger excuse to be rough with you.

Minji notices your smirk grow bigger in the rear-view mirror, you aren't subtle at all, she suspects. She's prepared for a message that's going to get her wet (again) or another snarky remark from you.

And if she could pick, she'd rather want the message that would get her wet.

“It's not a big deal, unnie.”

Minji slacks her jaw at your text, it's like you're purposely trying to get on her last nerve. This conversation was going nowhere at all and not in the way she wanted to handle it. Minji is a composed woman though, working her thoughts by herself, so she thinks of ways to approach her last few texts to you since you'd be arriving at the dorm soon.

She quickly types the one phrase that always has that effect on you, “Is that so?”

You could say she gave you a million chances tonight, turning down all those opportunities to be good just to turn her on. And you don’t process how severe you've already made the situation, Minji can take a little more of your games, you're sure of it.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Minji isn't really having it with you this time, she knows that her messages will never get through your head until she does something – touch you, fuck you. You aren't close to deserving a simple request like that and with the time you have left until you reach the dorm, she doesn't have the patience to take care of your mess anymore.

“Tell Bora she's sleeping alone tonight, you're coming with me to my room.”

--

“It's a shame that you don't get to be loud tonight,” she speaks, her voice low and calm while she positions you on her lap, “because you obviously want to be a smart ass and you don't know your place, do you?”

You're honestly losing your shit and you don't know how to reply. She isn't wrong, she's never wrong, but you don't want to admit that she's right.

It's embarrassing to say the least.

You feel humiliated just squirming when she's barely touched you, skin already feeling sensitive. You choose not to say anything and nod at her words instead, which is a horrible idea for tonight.

She slaps the side of your thigh, not as hard as she would if she slapped your ass instead but still left a lingering sting.

“Words.”

The way heat traveled to your center almost immediately made you question what unhealed part of you was so attracted to that. Maybe it's the disciplining part in this, her voice, or maybe everything about her has you down to her mercy, all of the above could work.

“I do know my place, I'm sorry mommy,” your words slipping out faster from the desperation.

“Good, now,” her fingers gripping your jaw, making sure she has your full attention, “you're going to take my fingers, okay? Don't fight it.”

One second, you're clenching around nothing, another second, and you clench around her slender digits.

She pumps her fingers in a monitored pace, stretching your cunt out with each thrust. Your mouth fell open, letting out moan after moan as your legs spread wider for her. Minji keeps your legs there, using her one free hand to push your thigh open.

“Tell mommy how sorry you are.”

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry,” you whine, stuttering over your pleas when her palm starts rubbing faster against your clit.

She enjoys herself, loving how easy it is to fuck this side out of you, hearing you beg for her. Minji finds you so pretty like this, all open and flushed out for her as you let her do whatever she wants. Although she can't see your face directly, she knows the rush she’ll get seeing your flustered face afterward.

Minji doesn't think it's enough though. This is your punishment, it's not supposed to be quick and easy,

“Are you getting close?” Minji asks.

“Yes, please, I'm gonna cum.”

She wasn't sure who gave you permission to cum but you were far from earning that now.

Minji's question was soon followed by her fingers slowly leaving your entrance, the pressure on your clit gone. Your soul entering your body again once the pleasure is all taken away. It would be a long night of edging if you think you'd be let off that fast.

You cried out, “No, no, please! I'm sorry for misbehaving earlier, I promise it won't happen again...”

Minji believes you, you're so good for her already. Words are important to her play though, she'd always remind you to use your words when you forget which is often lately. But you're lucky that Minji is a patient girl because she has no problem with giving you reminders, she understands that it takes time.

She hasn't had all her fun yet – so she isn't satisfied. You're aware of how embarrassingly quick it took for you to get close, it wouldn't be fair if she didn't tease you just a little bit more.

“And how are you going to prove that to me?”

Her fingers were covered in your slick, making it easier to spread it throughout your folds, your breath picking up when her thumb rolls over your clit. Minji hears you very clearly and uses it to her advantage, running a few more strokes along your swollen bud.

She wants you broken down to your lowest, having you reach your high multiple times that you can't speak without sobs coming out.

Minji pulls every muscle in your body to its peak, hips jerking up and your walls tensing tighter. It feels too good that you almost forget to answer her question in which you scrambled to speak before further consequences,

“I-I'm sorry, please... I'll let you fix my attitude by making me cum as many times as you want.”

“Good girl, baby,” Minji praising, “I'll fuck you so hard that you'll think twice before acting up again.”

[nomstellations]

I imagine a drider pred would be easy to stuff since they only have one stomach. (The human one, I don't really consider the spider thorax a stomach.) The drider eating all the prey they can, only to start whining when they realize they hit their limit from how tight and heavy their tummy is.

"Ohohoho! What do we have here? A few sweet little morsels have entered my parlor~"

Several fuzzy legs tapped ever so close to a group of fairies, some struggling in the web lining the cave walls of the tarantula's home. The drider grinned, flashing her fangs at her helpless prey which elicited some squeaks of...feigned terror. This was something the little things loved to do as a game, pretending to be caught by the big scary spider that lived in the woods...

The game always ended up with them being eaten, but she supposed that made them happy. The game entertained her too, it was rather lonely here...and she loved the opportunity to act.

"Sweet little things...don't you listen to the warnings people give you? People who wander into my cave...don't come back! Were you THAT eager to become spider food? Uhuhu~" She stepped closer, plucking up a fairy who struggled in her clawed grasp. "You're lucky I don't have venom, you know! But lucky for me, that means I get to feel you struggling all the way down..."

To make her point, she popped the little fairy into her mouth. Any protests were quickly muffled as her fangs clicked shut behind them, and the remaining fairies watched in horror as the glow in her mouth moved slowly down her throat until it vanished into her midsection. That was just one of their little group, and her stomach had plenty of room for more.

"So, who wants to be next? Maybe if you put up a good fight, I'll let some of you escape with your lives~"

~~~

This group was bigger than she thought. Five was her absolute limit, but more must've snuck in while she was hamming it up... She groaned as the subtle glowing forms shifted around in her noisy stomach. Two fairies sat perched on it, with one curiously poking and prodding at their friends inside. It was stretched taut from how full it was, making their movements and their glow all the more obvious to any curious onlookers. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Now that she had eaten them the game was over, so all the gravitas and mock fear was abandoned by both parties. She opened her mouth to reply but all that escaped was a burp and a quiet groan. Maybe one day her stomach capacity could handle more with how often they did this- but that day was not today, and her stomach grumbled loudly in complaint. At least with their magic the ache would start to lessen...eventually.

She really envied her taur friends and their multiple stomachs. Must be nice being able to eat so much with no drawbacks...