#some certain infuriating things have been said to me

[homicidalfelidae]

Mutuals I am once again faced with a wretched speaker phone conversation involving me. Lend me your strength.

[sadnymi]

Mastermind

[Mattheo riddle x reader]

Summary: Lady Whistledown and Gossip Girl [ Hogwarts Version] had taken the school by storm. Every week, spoken letters delivered the latest rumors, and things were getting out of control. Y/N had finally had enough, especially when the latest gossip claimed she was dating Mattheo Riddle. Frustrated and determined to put an end to it, she went to Mattheo, asking for his help in uncovering the person behind the relentless rumors and stopping them once and for all.

Words: 15k

Warnings : fluff, smut smut smut don’t read in public you have been warning , biker boy mattheo [yes a warning] , a little angst, fluff .

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨

**The Daily Whisperer: Hogwarts Edition**

_Issue #47: The Gossip of the Week_

Hogwarts is buzzing with the latest speculation surrounding two of our most enigmatic students. You guessed it—Y/N Y/L/N and Mattheo Riddle.

Rumor has it that sparks are flying between these two, and if they aren't already an item, then Merlin’s beard, they definitely should be! A sighting in the library, some lingering glances in Potions class, and let’s not forget that mysterious detention they both just _happened_ to land in last week. Could this be the beginning of a legendary Hogwarts love story? But that's not all! This week’s flying letters brought us another sizzling scoop: Y/N was seen practicing dueling spells with Mattheo, and let's just say, the sparks were flying—literally. Could this be a sign of something more than just friendly competition? Stay tuned, dear readers. We’re on the case!

In other news, Y/N has been making waves not just in the rumor mill but in the academic arena as well. This ( whatever house you’re in, darling Y/N!) has been impressing professors and students alike with her spellwork and potions prowess. Is there anything she can't do? We'll keep you posted on her latest achievements and, of course, any further developments in her relationship status with a certain handsome Slytherin.

Until next time, keep your wands at the ready and your ears to the ground!

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

I could feel the heat of a hundred eyes on me as I stormed through the hallways, clutching the latest edition of "Hogwarts Whispers" in my hand. My anger was palpable, a tangible force pushing people aside as they gawked at me. As I turned a corner, a group of Hufflepuffs quickly scattered, clearly not wanting to be on the receiving end of my wrath. My anger flared hotter. Who had the nerve to spread such nonsense? And why did it have to be always about _me_?

Finally, I spotted him. Mattheo Riddle stood by the entrance to the Great Hall, casually leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, his dark hair falling effortlessly into place as he exchanged easy banter with his friends. Typical.

I marched up to him, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. His friends wisely took a step back as I approached, but he merely glanced over at me with that infuriating smirk of his, clearly amused by my arrival.

“Riddle,” I said, my voice clipped.

“Y/L/N,” he replied, raising an eyebrow in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was mocking me or just genuinely interested.

“We need to talk.”

His smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “We need to talk?”

I huffed in frustration. “You didn’t read what that freak wrote today?”

“No,” he said slowly, his eyes scanning my face for any clue. “But does that have anything to do with why people are looking at us like we are about to say our vows?”

Resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallway. “Come on.”

He chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying the situation more than he should. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to have this conversation in front of the entire school. The last thing I needed was to give those gossipy little owls more fuel for their fire.

I could feel his gaze on me as we walked, his hand warm in mine, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I wondered if there was any truth to what they’d written.

But I shoved that thought aside as we reached a secluded corner. I had a bone to pick with him, and I wasn’t about to let a few stray butterflies distract me.

“What are we going to do about this?” I demanded as soon as we were out of earshot of anyone else.

He just grinned, clearly unfazed. “What do you mean, Y/N? Sounds like we’re the hottest topic in school.”

My glare deepened. “This isn’t funny, Mattheo.”

“Maybe not.”

“This is absolute bullshit!” I fumed, waving the gossip letter around like it was cursed. “Why would anyone write this? Why is it always about me? Every. Single. Week!”

Mattheo leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed, watching me with that maddening smile on his face. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned, which only fueled my irritation further.

“And then they say I’m dating you?” I threw the letter on a desk, feeling my pulse racing. “Are they insane? Where do they even get this stuff?”

He chuckled, that deep, velvety sound that always seemed to get under my skin. “I’m trying so hard not to take that personally, princess.”

I shot him a glare. “Shut up, Riddle.”

But he didn’t stop smiling, just kept leaning against the wall, looking at me like he was thoroughly enjoying the show. My frustration bubbled over. “Why are you so calm about this? This is serious! People are staring at us in the hallways! It’s like they’ve all got nothing better to do than imagine some ridiculous romance between us.”

“Well,” he drawled, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps toward me, “can you blame them? You’re not exactly easy to ignore, Y/N.”

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “This isn’t funny. We need to find out who’s behind this, and you’re going to help me.”

Mattheo pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to me. "You want me to help you track down the identity of…" he paused, a playful glint in his eyes, "Madam Matchmaker?"

"Yes," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Would you do that?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I would never say no to my girlfriend."

"Shut up, Riddle." I stared at him, my heart skipping a beat despite the anger still boiling inside me. "I’m not your girlfriend," I insisted, my voice lacking the conviction I’d hoped for.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression smug. "That’s not what the whole school is saying."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t ignore the way his words sent a shiver down my spine. "Shut up, Riddle."

"Don't you see how ridiculous this is?" I asked, exasperated.

He tilted his head, still not breaking eye contact. "Oh, I see it, alright. But I've got to admit, I don't mind being linked to you, Y/N. It gives me an excuse to spend more time with you."

"Shut up, Riddle."

He laughed, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You know, if you keep telling me to shut up, I might just have to find another way to occupy my mouth."

"You… you’re —-!"

"And yet, here you are, asking me for help. You must like something about me, Y/N."

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "I like the idea of you doing something useful for once. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

He straightened up, still smiling but with a more serious glint in his eyes. "Of course I’ll help you. But you owe me one."

"Fine," I grumbled, though I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.

The next day, I stormed into the Great Hall, clutching a rolled-up piece of parchment in my hand. I barely noticed the whispers that trailed behind me as I made a beeline for the Slytherin table, my eyes locking onto Mattheo, who was lounging back in his seat, looking completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around us.

I slammed the parchment down in front of him, making a few Slytherins glance over in curiosity.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a list,” I said, taking a seat across from him and ignoring the way his friends were watching us with interest. “A list of suspects. I’ve narrowed it down to a few possibilities, and we need to figure out who’s responsible.”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to the parchment, then back to me, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”

I pointed to the first name on the list. “First, there’s Carla knight. She’s always had it out for me ever since that incident in Potions last year. You know, she’s been looking for a way to get back at me ever since, she’s petty enough to spread rumors, and she’s got the connections to get them published.”

“True,” Mattheo mused, leaning back in his chair. “But Carla’s too obvious, don’t you think? She’s not exactly subtle.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, moving on to the next name. “Then there’s John Gary. He’s always been the quiet type, but that just makes him more dangerous. He’s close to the source, and he’s smart enough to cover his tracks.”

Mattheo nodded, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Interesting."

"What about Lavender Brown? She’s always gossiping, and she’s got this diary she carries around everywhere. What if she’s the one writing this stuff down and sending it off to ‘Hogwarts Whispers’?"

"Lavender’s a possibility," Mattheo admitted, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine. "But she’s more into writing about her own love life than anyone else’s. I doubt she’d be focused enough to keep tabs on us."

I grumbled under my breath and tapped my quill against the parchment, staring at the remaining names. "Then who could it be? I’ve gone through almost everyone who’s likely to be involved in this kind of thing, and none of them make sense!"

Mattheo didn’t respond immediately, and I looked up to find him just staring at me, a small, almost secretive smile on his lips.

"What the hell are you doing? Were you even listening?" I demanded, feeling my frustration rise again.

His eyes flicked over my face, lingering on my lips for a moment before he finally spoke. "Oh, I was listening, princess. It’s just hard to focus when you’re looking so damn determined. It’s… distracting."

My heart did a little flip, but I shoved that feeling down and crossed my arms. "This is serious, Riddle. Someone is spreading lies about us, and you’re just sitting here, smirking like it’s all a joke."

He chuckled softly, his eyes still locked on mine. "I’m not laughing at you. I’m just appreciating how hard you’re trying to solve this little mystery. It’s kind of… sexy."

I felt my face heat up, but I wasn’t about to let him derail me. "Stop with the compliments, Mattheo. This is important."

"Sure."

"Shut up, Riddle. I’m serious."

"So am I," he said smoothly, leaning back in his seat, his gaze still locked on mine. "But if you want to focus on this little mystery instead of the much more interesting topic of us, then go ahead."

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way his voice sent a shiver down my spine. "Fine. If you’re not going to help, then at least don’t make this harder than it already is."

Mattheo’s smirk grew as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, Y/N, there are easier ways to spend time with me than concocting elaborate schemes to solve a mystery that might not even have a culprit."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugged casually, his eyes never leaving mine. "Maybe someone’s just trying to push us together, and it’s working. Ever thought about that?"

"Shut up, Riddle," I snapped, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

He chuckled, his gaze never leaving mine. "Only if you make me."

I reached out to smack his arm. "Stop acting like that. This is serious!"

In a flash, Mattheo’s hand shot out, catching my wrist with a firm but gentle grip. His smile was both mischievous and reassuring as he looked at me. "Alright, but only because you’re so charming when you’re worked up."

I pulled my wrist free, trying to hide the flush creeping up my cheeks. "Just—stop distracting me. I need to figure out who’s behind this before it gets any worse."

Mattheo leaned back, still watching me with that unnerving mixture of amusement and interest. "Indeed, lead the way. I’m all ears."

For the rest of the week, I was on a mission. Every day, I dragged Mattheo around the school, from the library to the common rooms, and even to the less frequented corners of the castle. Despite his usual nonchalance, Mattheo followed along without question, his only response being that knowing smile he always seemed to have when he was around me.

We spent hours poring over potential suspects, analyzing their motives, and investigating their whereabouts. Each time I got frustrated or hit a dead end, Mattheo would patiently listen, never interrupting, and only offering occasional comments that were either strangely insightful or just plain distracting.

As we walked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, I finally vented my frustrations. "This is ridiculous. I’ve talked to nearly everyone I can think of, and no one seems to know anything. It’s like we’re running in circles."

Mattheo’s hand brushed against mine as he walked beside me, and I could feel the warmth of his touch even through our robes. "Maybe you’re looking too hard. Sometimes, the answer isn’t in what people say but in what they don’t."

I sighed, feeling the weight of the week’s frustration pressing down on me. "I just don’t get it. Why would someone target me like this?"

He glanced at me, his expression softening. "Maybe they’re trying to get a reaction out of you."

His words, though comforting, did little to ease my worries. I shook my head and kept walking, the silence between us stretching as we turned another corner. "I don’t know how you manage to stay so calm about all this. I’m losing my mind trying to figure this out."

"You’re doing great."

"Thanks, Mattheo."

He flashed me a reassuring smile. "Anytime. Besides, it’s been… interesting, spending all this time with you. I’d say it’s been the highlight of my week."

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a wry smile. "Oh, is that so? I’m glad to be your highlight, Riddle."

He grinned, his usual mischievous glint in his eye. "You should be. And if you ever need me to be a distraction! again, just let me know."

" I hope not."

As we turned another corner in the castle, Mattheo suddenly stopped, his expression shifting from his usual playful smirk to something more serious. "Go on a date with me."

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly confident look on his face. "Let’s go on a date."

I blinked, trying to process his words. "Why would I—what are you even talking about? We’re supposed to be figuring out who’s spreading these rumors, not giving them more fuel for the fire!"

"Exactly," he replied smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If we go on a date, we can see who’s watching us, who’s interested in what we’re doing. It’ll flush out the culprit. And with the weekend coming up, whoever’s behind this will be desperate for more gossip to spread. We’ll be able to figure it out, Y/N."

I shook my head, utterly incredulous. "Absolutely not. I’m not going on a date with you."

"Why not?" he asked, his smirk returning as he stepped closer, his presence as magnetic as ever. "It’s the perfect plan. We’ll be able to spot who’s paying too much attention to us."

"Because," I stammered, feeling my heart race as he closed the distance between us, "it’s ridiculous! You’re just trying to mess with me. I know you, Mattheo. You don’t actually care about solving this, you just want to—"

"Want to what?" he interrupted, his voice low and teasing. "Think about it, Y/N. We go out, see who’s watching, think of it as an experiment. A way to gather evidences. You like evidence, don’t you?"

"I’m not going on a date with you. I refuse to give these gossips exactly what they want. I’m not some pawn in their game, and I’m certainly not going to parade around with you just to see who’s got their eyes on us."

He just kept smiling, his eyes locked onto mine with that infuriatingly calm, knowing look. "You keep telling yourself that, but deep down, you know it’s the best way to figure this out."

"No," I insisted, my voice rising slightly. "There’s no way I’m doing it. This is absurd, and I’m not falling for it. You’re just trying to—"

"Trying to what?" he echoed, taking another step closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened. "Shut up, Riddle."

He didn’t move, his smirk widening as his gaze held mine. "You tell me to shut up again, and I will kiss the fuck out of you, princess."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. "That’s the deal. You say it again, and I won’t hold back."

My face felt like it was on fire, and I could barely form a coherent thought as his words sank in. "You—you’re insane."

"Maybe," he replied, his voice low and full of intent. "But I always get what I want. And right now, what I want is to figure this out—with you."

I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I tried to gather my thoughts. "This is ridiculous."

"Is it?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his gaze still locked onto mine. "Or is it just that you’re afraid you might actually enjoy it?"

I stared at him, my mind spinning as I tried to come up with a response. But the truth was, I was too flustered to think straight. His confidence, his intensity—it was overwhelming.

"This is stupid," I muttered, trying to muster up some semblance of defiance.

"That’s not a ‘no’."

I glared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "But this is strictly for the sake of finding out who’s behind the rumors."

Mattheo’s grin widened. "Of course, princess. Strictly business."

I crossed my arms, trying to keep a lid on the flurry of emotions swirling inside me. "You have to behave, Riddle. No funny business, no flirting. Just… business."

"I’ll be on my best behavior."

I raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge if he was being sincere or just playing me. "Somehow, I doubt that."

He chuckled, leaning in slightly saying in a mocking tone. "Your doubt wounds me, Y/N. My favorite thing to do is to be a good boy for you."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. "Sure, whatever you say."

"So," he continued, ignoring my skepticism, "tomorrow, then?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, tomorrow."

Mattheo’s gaze softened, though his smirk remained firmly in place. "Don’t be nervous. And try not to think about me too much tonight."

I scoffed, giving him a withering look. "In your dreams, Riddle."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur. "Oh, believe me, darling. You’re in my dreams every night. But we’re not just talking in them."

My face burned as I smacked his arm again, harder this time. "I’m going to just kill you someday and stop the rumors you’re insufferable, you know that?"

He just laughed, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "And yet, you keep coming back for more."

"I don’t have a choice," I shot back, starting to walk toward my dormitory with him following close behind.

"Ah, but you do," he said smoothly, keeping pace with me. "And you’re choosing to be here with me. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?"

I ignored him, focusing on the corridor ahead, even as I felt his gaze lingering on me.

We walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft and teasing. "You know, tomorrow’s going to be fun. You’ll see."

I rolled my eyes, still facing forward. "If by ‘fun’ you mean torturous, then sure."

Mattheo’s laughter echoed through the corridor, warm and rich. "Torturous for you, maybe. But for me? It’ll be heaven."

I stopped in front of my dormitory, turning to face him. "This is where we part ways."

He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "For now. But you know, you can always invite me in if you’re feeling lonely."

Pushing him away lightly I said. "Not a chance, Riddle."

He grinned, completely unfazed. "Worth a shot."

I gave him a look, and for once, he seemed to back down. "Alright, alright. Sleep well, Y/N. And try not to think too much about tomorrow. Or about me."

I slammed the door shut in his face, cutting off his words, but I could still hear his low chuckle from the other side. Then I leaned against the door, trying to steady my racing heart.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve been on plenty of dates before, so why does this one feel different? I’ve had Quidditch players asking me out, and even the prince of Eldoria once tried his luck, but none of that made me feel as nervous as I am right now. And this isn’t even a real date. It’s just a… mission, right?

I stared at the mess of clothes strewn across my room, feeling utterly lost. Is this too much? Will I be overdressed if I wear it? Or is this too casual? And I can’t stop thinking about him—nope, we won’t do that. We won’t think about him or what he’s going to wear. Or not wear. No, absolutely not. We are not thinking about him without clothes. That can’t happen. I can’t stand Mattheo, right?

But why? Why can’t I stand him? I can’t remember anymore. Maybe it’s because he makes me feel so damn nervous? And I hate that. I hate losing control. I love having control over everything, and Merlin knows he wasn’t helping with that. It’s like every cell in my body is screaming, and I mean every single one.

I finally settled on a small black dress, letting my hair fall naturally around my shoulders. I added a touch of makeup and a simple necklace, convincing myself that I was doing this for me. It’s a good chance to get dressed up and look good—to myself, right? I always do. I’m a fashion icon, and I always dress well. Not for any certain someone with beautiful eyes and hair and a body that—nope, stop it, Y/N. We’re not going there.

I took a deep breath and walked out of my dorm, only to find Mattheo standing just outside my door, hand raised as if he was about to knock. He was dressed all in black, and oh, Merlin, that shirt was doing things to me.

His eyes slowly raking up and down my body. He wasn’t even trying to hide that he was looking, and when his gaze finally reached my face, it lingered on my lips before meeting my eyes.

"Matching," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "You always wear black or gray, It’s hardly a coincidence Mattheo."

His smirk widened as he took a step closer. "Oh, baby, so you were trying to match with me?"

"What? Of course not!" I shot back, but my voice sounded less convincing than I would’ve liked. He laughed, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I glared at him, crossing my arms. "If you don’t stop, I’m going back inside and forgetting about this so-called date,"

He raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You look stunning, Y/N. Absolutely breathtaking. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to focus on anything but you tonight."

I rolled my eyes again, though I could feel my cheeks heating up. "You’re so insufferable."

"And you’re so beautiful," he replied smoothly, taking my hand in his. "Now come on. Let’s get out of here."

I allowed him to lead me out of the castle, my heart pounding harder with every step. "Where are we going?"

"You’ll see," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice. "I promise it’s something you’ll like."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "If you’re up to something, Riddle, I swear—"

"Oh, I’m definitely up to something," he replied, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he glanced over at me, his eyes darkening slightly. "But I think you’ll enjoy it. Maybe even more than you expect."

My breath caught in my throat, and I tried to keep my voice steady. "You’re not fooling anyone, you know."

"Who said I was trying to fool you?" he shot back, his grip on my hand tightening slightly.

I tried to ignore the way his words made my pulse quicken. "You’re being annoyingly cryptic, you know that?"

"It’s part of my charm," he replied , his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. "And besides, it’s worth the suspense, don’t you think?"

I looked at him, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "I think you’re enjoying this far too much."

He chuckled, his eyes darkening with a mischievous glint. "Oh, I am. But don’t pretend you aren’t, too."

As Mattheo led me down the dimly lit corridor, I couldn't help but notice the way his thumb was now tracing small circles on the back of my hand. The warmth of his touch sent shivers up my spine, and I fought to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control.

My breath hitched slightly, but I forced myself to stay calm. "You’re really pushing it, Riddle."

"And you love it," he shot back, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear.

I pushed him away pretending to be annoyed it’s actually better to show him that I was so turned on. "Let’s just get this over with."

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to inject some firmness into my voice, though it came out softer than I intended.

Mattheo glanced at me, a slow, almost predatory smile spreading across his lips. “Patience, darling."

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words got caught in my throat. The cool night air hit me like a wave, but it did little to quell the heat burning inside me.

“You look like you’re trying really hard not to think about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. “What… what are you talking about?”

He chuckled softly, pulling me closer until our bodies were nearly touching. “Oh, come on, Y/N. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. About what it would feel like.”

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t stop the rush of heat that flooded my body at his words. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t letting him get to me like this. But when he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on my hip, I could barely think straight.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, though it was clear even to me that I was lying.

“Liar,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’ve been thinking about it. And the best part? So have I.”

I blinked up at him, trying to form a coherent response when he suddenly smirked and pointed behind me. “Relax, darling. I was talking about the ride I’m going to give you tonight.”

I followed his gaze and saw a sleek black motorcycle parked nearby. “Wait… what?” I breathed out, my heart still racing.

His smirk deepened, and he raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “What were _you_ thinking about?”

“Nothing!” I shot back, far too quickly.

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not buying it. He started walking toward the bike, and I followed, my steps hesitant.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the motorcycle as if it had personally offended me.

He looked at me with exaggerated innocence. “This? It’s a bike. You know, that thing with two wheels that goes vroom?”

I glared at him, my patience wearing thin. “I know exactly what it is. I’m asking why you’re near it.”

He leaned against the bike, looking far too smug for his own good."Because we’re taking it for a ride, obviously."

“Mattheo, you didn’t… Where did you even get this from?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He grinned mischievously. “Stole it.”

My eyes widened, and I took a step back, ready to bolt. But then he laughed, shaking his head. “Kidding, darling. Just get on.”

I stared at him for a moment, debating whether I should turn around and walk back inside. But something about the way he was looking at me—challenging, teasing—made me pause. I cursed under my breath and reluctantly walked over to the bike.

As I approached, I couldn’t help but curse myself for wearing a dress. Of all nights, why did I choose tonight to be impractical? I awkwardly tried to swing my leg over the bike, careful not to flash him.

“Need some help there?”

“I’ve got it,” I snapped, finally managing to get on the bike without embarrassing myself too much.

He turned to face me, and suddenly, he was so close I could feel his breath on my face. His hands reached up, and he gently placed a helmet on my head, securing the strap under my chin. The simple act was far more intimate than it had any right to be, and I found myself holding my breath.

“You might want to hold on to me,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with suggestion.

I hesitated for a second, then wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath my hands. “If you crash this thing, I’m killing you,” I muttered against his back.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got you.”

he started the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath us. I tightened my grip on him as we took off, the wind whipping through my hair. The cool night air rushed past us, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating from Mattheo’s body, the way his muscles tensed and flexed as he maneuvered the bike through the darkened streets.

“Enjoying yourself back there?” he called over the sound of the wind.

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Just keep your eyes on the road, Riddle.”

He laughed again, but there was a dark edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, I am. But I can’t help but think about how good you feel pressed up against me.”

My cheeks burned, and I was grateful he couldn’t see my face. “Shut up, Mattheo.”

" careful baby remember our deal?"

“Mattheo—”

“ Yes,princess?"

" don’t open your mouth please."

He laughed " Why? You don’t like it when I talk about how your hands feel on me? Or how I can feel every little movement you make?”

“No—”

“Or maybe it’s the way you’re clinging to me right now,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more seductive. “Like you can’t get close enough. Like you don’t want this ride to end.”

I bit my lip, trying to ignore the way his words were making my heart race even faster. He was doing this on purpose, and damn him, it was working.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” I shot back, but my voice lacked the bite I intended.

He slowed the bike down slightly, and I felt him lean back just enough to speak directly into my ear. “Too late for that, darling. You’re driving me crazy.”

My breath caught, and I tightened my grip on him, unsure if it was to steady myself or if it was because part of me wanted him to pull over.

“Mattheo…” I warned, but my voice was weak, trembling.

He chuckled, the sound dark and promising. “Relax."

Every time he took a sharp turn or sped up, my grip on him tightened, and he would laugh softly, his voice full of that infuriating confidence. “You sure you’re not nervous?”

“I’m sure,” I replied, though my heart was racing for more reasons than just the speed of the bike.

“Good.”

As Mattheo slowed the bike to a stop, I looked around and felt a jolt of unease settle in my stomach. The area was dimly lit, with groups of people loitering around, looking like trouble. The girls wore little more than scraps of fabric, their heavy makeup making their eyes look like dark smudges in the faint light. The guys weren’t any better—tough, dangerous, and clearly up to no good.

I turned to Mattheo, my voice tinged with irritation and confusion. “What the hell, Mattheo?”

He smirked, swinging his leg off the bike. “What? I thought you’d appreciate something different from the fancy dates you’re used to. Oh, remind me again, where did Prince Edward take you to?”

“He didn’t,” I snapped back, dismounting the bike as gracefully as possible while trying to keep my dress in place. “Because I turned the date down.”

Mattheo’s grin widened, a mocking edge to it. “How bad for him.”

I rolled my eyes, glancing around nervously. “There’s no one from school here, right? I mean, how is the gossip mill going to work if they don’t notice us?”

He leaned against the bike, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, they won’t.”

“Excuse me?” I shot back, incredulous.

He laughed, shaking his head. “They’ll be more likely to be notice here than some fancy place, don’t you think?”

I frowned but nodded reluctantly. “Probably, yeah. Any normal person would feel so out of place here.”

I was about to step off the bike when I felt his hands suddenly on my hips, his grip firm. “No, not like that, princess.”

“What?” I managed to say, my voice coming out in a breathless whisper as he effortlessly swung off the bike first. Then, without warning, he placed his hands on my waist again and lifted me off the bike as if I weighed nothing.

“I wouldn’t want anyone to get a look at the show I had a minutes ago,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

My face flushed crimson, and I struggled to maintain my composure as his hands stayed on my waist, guiding me toward the entrance. His touch was possessive, almost claiming, and I couldn’t help the thrill that shot through me despite the chaotic surroundings.

“So, do I need to keep my wand close?” I asked, half-joking, half-serious as we neared the group.

Mattheo chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. “You really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

As we walked through the crowd, people began to notice Mattheo, their eyes lighting up with recognition. A couple of guys came over, greeting him with casual nods and low murmurs.

“Riddle! Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” one of them said, a tall guy with a crooked grin.

Another guy came up, clapping Mattheo on the back. “Good to see you, mate. Thought you’d ditched us for good.”

“Nah,” Mattheo replied casually. “Just been busy.”

“Yeah, thought you were too good for us these days,” another chimed in, smirking.

Mattheo just shrugged, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. “Can’t forget where I came from.”

Before I could process what that meant, a girl suddenly appeared, practically throwing herself at Mattheo. She had wild, dark hair and wore a top that could barely be called clothing. “Matty! I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” she purred, her hands already trailing over his chest. Then, she noticed me, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down, clearly sizing me up.

I met her gaze, lifting my chin defiantly as I looked her over. She was all beautiful and confidence, but something about her screamed desperate. I couldn’t help the surge of jealousy that flared in my chest. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snapped, crossing my arms.

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly recovered, her lips curling into a sneer. “Who’s this?” she asked Mattheo, her tone dripping with disdain.

Mattheo’s hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “She’s My girl,” he said simply, his voice cool and dismissive.

The girl’s eyes narrowed further as she gave me another once-over. I met her gaze head-on, refusing to back down. “Got a problem with that?” I asked, my tone sweet but laced with a clear challenge.

The girl hesitated for a moment, then forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “No, of course not,” she said, but her eyes were still cold. She turned back to Mattheo, trying to regain his attention. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, now you know,” I said firmly, stepping closer to Mattheo as if staking my claim.

She shot me one last glare before reluctantly backing off, clearly realizing she wasn’t going to win this one. I watched her go, feeling oddly victorious, even as my heart pounded in my chest.

Mattheo’s low chuckle drew my attention back to him, and I looked up to find him watching me with an amused glint in his eyes. “Jealous, are we?”

“Absolutely not,” I retorted, though my face was still flushed.

“Right,” he drawled, clearly not believing me.

Mattheo guided me through the throngs of people, his hand never leaving my waist as we made our way toward a secluded area. The crowd seemed to part for him, everyone stepping aside as if they knew better than to get in his way. He led me to a corner of the warehouse where a small, dimly lit bar was nestled. The area was quieter, more exclusive, with plush leather couches and a polished wooden bar that gave it an air of importance.

“This is where the VIPs hang out?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as we stepped into the area. It was a stark contrast to the chaos outside—a private sanctuary within the madness.

Mattheo smirked, pulling out a barstool for me before taking a seat himself. “You could say that. Only those who matter get to hang out here.”

I settled onto the stool, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. “And I’m guessing you’re one of those people?”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “What do you think, Princess?”

“I think you like making a scene wherever you go,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone light despite the way my heart was racing.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

The bartender, a grizzled-looking man with a permanent scowl, approached us, his gaze flickering over me before settling on Mattheo.

“Riddle,” the bartender said in greeting, his voice gruff. “Been a while.”

“Hey, Greg,” Mattheo replied, his voice casual. “How’s business?”

Greg grunted, grabbing a glass and starting to mix a drink. “Same old, same old. You finally got yourself a date, eh?”

Mattheo chuckled, his hand still resting on my thigh. “Something like that.”

Greg's eyes flickered over to me again, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He took in my dress and my slightly flustered demeanor, a wry grin tugging at his mouth. “She's a fancy one, ain't she?” he commented, continuing to mix the drinks.

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Mattheo agreed, his hand caressing my thigh. “But she’s all mine.”

I suppressed a shiver at the touch, trying to act as nonchalant as possible as I shot Mattheo a glare. He just smirked in response.

"Noted." Greg set our drinks down in front of us, a shot of dark liquor for Mattheo and something orange and frothy for me. “On the house,” he said gruffly, before moving to serve other customers.

"Can you tell me why those people know you? And how the hell are you so well-known like a famous celebrity here?"

Mattheo takes a sip of his drink, a smirk playing on his lips as he contemplates my question. “I wouldn’t say famous, darling. But I’ve spent a lot of time here... Let’s just say I know my way around.”

I raise an eyebrow skeptically. “That’s not a real answer.”

He grins, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Oh, it's a perfectly real answer. You just don't like it.”

"And what about this girl?" I ask, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

“That’s Layla. She’s part of this crowd… a regular here, I guess you could say.”

“And you… know her well?”

He shrugs, his hand going back to rest on my thigh. “We’ve crossed paths a few times, yeah.”

There’s something in his tone that makes me pause, a flicker of jealousy stirring in my chest.

He takes another sip of his drink, avoiding my gaze for a moment. “You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?”

I scowl at his non-answer. “You’re the one who keeps avoiding them.”

He lets out a soft laugh, his hand tracing lazy circles on my thigh. “I just like seeing you get all worked up, princess.”

“So what’s your definition of crossing paths?” I ask, pressing him further.

He pauses, seeming to consider his words carefully. “Layla and I have... hooked up a few times. Nothing serious, just casual stuff.”

My heart sinks, a mix of jealousy and disappointment flickering inside me. I try to mask it, though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered me.

“And what about now? Is she still in the picture?”

His hand tightens slightly on my thigh, and I feel him tense for a moment. Then he turns his head slightly, his lips almost brushing mine as he answers, “No, she’s not.”

“Good,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, “because this whole act would be a lot less convincing if you were involved with more than one girl.”

Mattheo chuckles, the sound low and rich, as his fingers tighten their grip on my thigh, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine. “And here I thought you were just in this for the show,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something darker, more seductive.

“I am,” I say, my voice steady despite the rapid thudding of my heart. “But even in an act, there are rules.”

“Rules, huh?” He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he speaks, his breath warm against my skin. “And what are those rules, princess?”

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. I need to stay in control, to remind myself that this is just an act. “Like keeping your hands to yourself,” I whisper, but the words come out more breathless than I intended.

He chuckles again, a dark, knowing sound. “But where’s the fun in that?”

His hand slides further up my thigh, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My pulse quickens, and I struggle to maintain my composure.

“We’re supposed to be pretending,” I manage to say, my voice betraying the strain of keeping up the facade.

“Are we?” His lips graze the corner of my mouth, his words a challenge, daring me to keep up the pretense.

I turn my head slightly, our noses nearly touching, my breath mingling with his. “Yes,” I whisper, but it’s clear neither of us believes it anymore.

“So, just an act?” he repeats, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

I nod, barely managing to keep my composure. “Just an act,” I reply, though the words feel like a lie.

He tilts his head, his lips dangerously close to mine. “But we might as well convince them, right?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a fire in his eyes that says he’s not playing anymore.

I should pull away, tell him no, remind him that this is all part of the charade. But I can’t. My resolve crumbles as I look into his eyes, the intensity there pulling me in, refusing to let go.

“Right,” I whisper, my voice betraying me.

Before I can take another breath, his mouth was on mine, claiming me with a possessiveness that made my breath hitch. His lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of it. Then, his teeth tugged on my lower lip, and I gasped, giving him the opening he needed.

His tongue slipped inside, tasting and teasing, coaxing mine into a heated dance that left me dizzy. The kiss was all-consuming, each stroke of his tongue demanding a response that I couldn’t help but give. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a declaration, a promise of everything he could make me feel.

Mattheo’s hand slid up my back, pulling me closer until I was practically melting into him. He sucked on my lower lip, pulling it between his teeth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. The sound sent a shiver down my spine, and I found myself pressing closer, needing more of him, of this.

“Good girl,” he murmured against my lips, the praise like gasoline to the fire already burning inside me. The words sent a rush of warmth straight to my core, and I couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped my throat.

His hands were everywhere—on my hips, my waist, tracing the curve of my spine—as he guided me to straddle his lap. The shift in position made me acutely aware of the hardness pressing against me, a reminder of just how much he wanted this, wanted me.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, his lips trailing down my neck, sucking and biting just enough to leave a mark. His words were a drug, intoxicating and impossible to resist. I could feel the heat pooling low in my belly, a need so intense it was almost painful.

“Mattheo,” I breathed, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to take more, to give more.

He groaned, the sound vibrating against my skin as his hands gripped my hips, guiding me to grind against him. The friction was maddening, each roll of my hips sending waves of pleasure through me that made it hard to think, hard to breathe.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough, laced with a hunger that made my heart race.

“Yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as I rocked against him, desperate for more. His hands moved to my ass, squeezing as he guided my movements, his lips capturing mine again in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, primal, a clash of tongues and teeth that left me trembling in his arms.

“Good girl,” he repeated, his voice thick with desire as his hands slid under my dress, tracing the edges of my panties. “Such a good girl for me.” The praise was almost too much, his mouth was on mine, sending a fresh wave of heat through my body as I arched into him, needing him to do something, anything to relieve the ache between my thighs.

Reality crashed down on me like a cold wave, dousing the fire that had been raging between us. I was kissing Mattheo Riddle—not just kissing him, but grinding against him in a dark, dingy bar, losing control in a way that was so unlike me.

Breathless, I shook my head, my hands still resting on his chest, but I pushed him away just enough to create space between us. “We shouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the effort to regain control.

“Why not?” he murmured.

His hands remained on my hips, firm but not forceful, as if he knew I could—and might—pull away at any moment.

“It’s wrong,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth, they felt hollow. Wrong didn’t even begin to cover the tangled mess of emotions inside me.

“It feels so right to me,” he countered, his voice low.

“That’s the problem,” I whispered, my resolve wavering as I felt the heat of his body so close to mine, the pull of his gaze making it almost impossible to think clearly. I was losing myself, losing the control I prided myself on, every time I was near him.

“Mattheo, I want to go,” I said, my voice firmer this time, though the longing in me betrayed how much I wanted to stay, to give in.

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes as he stood up, his hand falling away from my thigh. He kept close to me as we made our way out of the bar, his presence a constant, protective shield, yet he didn’t touch me. And damn, I hated that—hated how much I wanted him to touch me, to feel his hands on me again, even as I knew I shouldn’t.

We reached his bike, and he stood between me and the prying eyes of anyone passing by, shielding me as I climbed on. He still didn’t touch me, and it was driving me insane, the absence of his touch making me crave it even more. I hated myself for it, for wanting him so badly that it was all I could think about.

He climbed on the bike in front of me, starting the engine with a low rumble. My hands automatically went to his waist, and as soon as I made contact, it was like an electric current shot through me. My mind was a mess, a chaotic whirl of thoughts and emotions, and my body—oh, my body—was screaming for more, for him.

I clenched my hands tighter around him, trying to focus, trying to breathe, but the tension inside me was unbearable. The battle raging within me, between what I wanted and what I knew was right, was tearing me apart.

“Stop, Mattheo,” I blurted out, my voice cutting through the night.

He didn’t respond at first, but I felt his body tense under my hands. “What?” he asked, his voice tight, uncertain.

“I said stop,” I repeated, louder this time, and he immediately pulled the bike over to the side of the road, the engine cutting off with a final, ominous growl.

We were on a dark, deserted forest road, the trees casting long, eerie shadows under the moonlight. I got off the bike quickly, putting distance between us, trying to get a grip on the whirlwind of emotions inside me. I walked a few steps away, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the fire burning inside me.

I turned around, my breath catching in my throat as I saw him, standing there, taking off his helmet. His eyes were on me, intense, questioning, filled with something that made my heart race all over again.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was running back to him, my resolve crumbling to dust. I crashed into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I pulled him down to me, my lips finding his with a desperation I couldn’t control.

His response was immediate, his hands flying to my waist, gripping me tightly as he kissed me back with a fierce, raw passion that left me breathless. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that matched my own, devouring, claiming me in a way that made my knees weak.

He lifted me effortlessly, placing me on the bike with my back against the handlebars, my legs on either side of him as he stepped between them, his body pressing into mine. The cold metal of the bike contrasted sharply with the heat of his body, the hard, unyielding surface beneath me a stark reminder of how exposed, how vulnerable I was.

But I didn’t care. I was beyond caring. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against me, needing him to take away the ache that was consuming me from the inside out.

His hands roamed over me, possessive, claiming, as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made me moan into his mouth. He was everywhere—his touch, his taste, his scent—overwhelming my senses until there was nothing left but him.

“Mattheo,” I breathed against his lips, my hands sliding up to cup his face, holding him to me as if letting go would mean losing him forever.

He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into mine, dark and wild. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

“Then show me,” I whispered, my voice trembling, both a challenge and a plea.

And he did. His hands moved down to my hips, gripping me firmly as he pulled me closer, his lips descending on mine once more, claiming me, possessing me. The kiss was hard, demanding, every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, sending shockwaves through me that left me breathless, trembling in his arms.

his hand tracing a teasing line down my side. His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “If I were to slip my hand between those pretty thighs right now, would I find you soaking wet, princess?”

A shiver ran through me, his words setting my skin on fire.

“You’d have to do it to find out,” I whispered back, my voice shaky.

His hand slid down to my thigh, gripping it firmly as he pushed the fabric of my dress up, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there. The touch was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core, making me gasp.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, dripping with praise that sent another rush of heat through me. His hand moved higher, inching closer to where I needed him most, but he took his time, teasing me, making me squirm against him.

When his fingers finally reached the edge of my panties, he paused, his eyes locking onto mine, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he slid one finger along the slick fabric, barely touching me but enough to make my breath hitch.

I bit my lip, fighting back a moan as he continued to tease me, his finger tracing lazy circles over my clit through the thin fabric. The sensation was maddening, the light touch just enough to drive me crazy but not nearly enough to satisfy the aching need inside me.

“Let’s see how wet you really are,” he whispered, slipping his hand inside my panties, his fingers brushing against my slick folds. The contact was enough to make me moan, the sound escaping my lips before I could stop it.

His finger slid along my slit, collecting my wetness before he pressed it against my clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had me arching into his touch, desperate for more. “You’re drenched,” he murmured, his voice laced with approval, his breath hot against my neck as he continued to work me over.

“Mattheo,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as he curled his finger, finding that perfect spot that made me see stars. He added another finger, the stretch delicious as he pumped them in and out, his thumb brushing against my clit with every movement.

“Look at you princess.” he whispered, his voice a low growl as he continued to finger me, his pace steady and relentless. “You like knowing we’re still in public, don’t you, Y/N? That’s so unlike you….”

His words made my head spin, the combination of his dirty talk and the way his fingers worked me over was too much, too overwhelming. “Nothing I do when I’m with you is like me,” I admitted, my voice breathless as I bucked against his hand, craving more of the pleasure only he could give me. “But nothing has ever felt this good.”

He groaned at my confession, his fingers curling inside me, hitting that perfect spot that had me seeing stars. “Good girl,” he praised again, his voice filled with pride and lust as he kissed me hard, his lips claiming mine with a hunger that left me breathless.

I kissed him back with equal fervor, losing myself in the feel of him, the way his fingers worked me over, driving me closer and closer to the edge. His thumb pressed harder against my clit, his fingers curling inside me in just the right way, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me that made my entire body tremble.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled against my lips, his fingers moving faster, harder, the wet sounds of his fingers working me over filling the dark, empty forest around us. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, princess? Come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

His words were my undoing, the praise and the dirty talk too much for me to handle. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders as I shattered around him, my orgasm ripping through me with a force that left me breathless, clinging to him for support as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.

Mattheo didn’t stop, his fingers working me through my orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until I was nothing but a trembling, panting mess in his arms. He finally slowed his movements, gently pulling his fingers out of me and bringing them to his lips, his eyes locked onto mine as he licked them clean.

“Fuck, you taste amazing,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction as he pulled me in for another searing kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth, letting me taste myself on him.

I kissed him back, my heart racing, my body still trembling from the intensity of what he’d just done to me. I knew we were still out in the open, knew that anyone could have seen us, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, the way he made me feel, the way he could break down every wall I’d ever built around myself with just a touch, a word, a kiss.

breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “Would you let me tease you, princess? Let me take my time driving you wild until you’re begging for me?”

His voice was dark, dripping with lust and promise, the words alone sending a shiver down my spine. I could only nod, still panting, my body trembling from the aftershocks of my release. The anticipation of what he was about to do had my heart racing, my breath catching in my throat.

He smirked at my response, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to spread my legs wider. I gasped as the cool air brushed against my heated core, my entire body thrumming with a desperate need for more.

Mattheo took his time, starting with a slow, deliberate kiss on the inside of my thigh, just above my knee. His lips were soft, his tongue darting out to taste my skin as he worked his way up, inch by agonizing inch. Each kiss, each lick, sent a fresh wave of arousal through me, making my thighs tremble in anticipation.

He alternated between gentle kisses and slow, teasing licks, his tongue tracing patterns up my inner thigh. The closer he got to where I wanted him most, the more my hips began to shift, desperate for him to end the torment. But he didn’t rush, savoring every moment, every reaction he pulled from me.

When he finally reached the apex of my thighs, he paused, his breath warm against my soaked folds. The anticipation was unbearable, every nerve in my body screaming for him to touch me, to give me the release I was so desperately craving.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement as he kissed the sensitive skin right beside where I ached for him most.

And then, without warning, his tongue was on me, the first long, slow lick sending a bolt of pleasure straight through me. I cried out, my hips bucking involuntarily as his tongue slid over my folds, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me in place.

He took his time, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, deliberate strokes of his tongue over my clit. Every touch was electric, every swirl of his tongue pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I was already so sensitive, still reeling from my first orgasm, and the sensation was almost too much to bear.

“Mattheo, please,” I gasped, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

He chuckled against me, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through me. “Patience, princess,” he murmured, his voice a dark, sinful promise. “I’m just getting started.”

He wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub. The combination of his mouth and the steady rhythm of his tongue was driving me wild, the pleasure building so quickly that it was almost overwhelming.

He kept at it, his tongue working in tandem with his lips, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. My thighs were trembling, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure coiled tight in my belly, ready to snap.

And then he pushed me over the edge, his tongue curling around my clit in a way that made my vision go white. I cried out, my body convulsing as the orgasm tore through me, the pleasure so intense that I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel.

He didn’t stop, didn’t give me a moment to recover as he continued to work me through my release, his tongue lapping up every bit of my arousal. The overstimulation was mind-blowing, each flick of his tongue sending another shockwave through my already oversensitive body.

“Mattheo,” I gasped, my voice raw from the intensity of it all. “I can’t—”

“Oh, but you can,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding as he continued his assault on my clit, his fingers sliding back inside me to curl against that spot that made me see stars. “You’re going to cum again, princess. I want to feel you fall apart for me one more time.”

I could barely form a coherent thought, my mind completely consumed by the pleasure he was giving me. I could only nod, my body already climbing toward that peak again, the intensity of it making my head spin.

He finally pulled away, his hands gently holding my thighs as I came down from the high, my body still trembling with the aftershocks. I was completely spent, my mind foggy with pleasure, but Mattheo just grinned up at me, his lips glistening with my arousal.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kissed my inner thigh, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my skin. “I could do this all night.”

Tears of pleasure welled in my eyes as I reached for Mattheo, pulling him up to me. I could feel my makeup smeared, my face wet with tears that I knew had streaked down my cheeks, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, about the way his lips met mine in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender.

He kissed me with a hunger that matched my own, his hands cradling my face as if I were something precious, even as I reached down, my fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. I could feel how hard he was, could feel the heat radiating from him, and it only made me more desperate, more eager to feel all of him.

But then, to my surprise, he pulled back slightly, his hand catching mine. “No,” he murmured, his voice firm, but there was something in his tone that made me pause, that made me look up into his eyes, confused.

“What? Why?” I asked, my breath hitching, my heart pounding in my chest. The need in me was so overwhelming that I couldn’t understand why he would stop now, not when we were both so clearly on the edge.

He laughed softly, but it wasn’t mocking. It was low and full of a raw affection that sent a shiver down my spine. He leaned in and kissed me again, slow and deep, as if he were trying to pour all of his feelings into that one moment. When he pulled back, he looked into my eyes, his thumb brushing gently over my tear-streaked cheek.

“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more in this world than to bend you over this bike and take you right now, right here,” he whispered, and the words alone were enough to make my legs go weak.

“Then do it,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with both need and frustration. I didn’t care about anything else in that moment; I just wanted him.

But he shook his head, his gaze never leaving mine, his thumb still tracing the line of my cheek.

“No,” he repeated, and before I could protest, before I could beg, he continued, his voice soft but filled with a determination that left me breathless. “When I get to have you, Y/N, I want it to be when I can take my time, when I can make you feel everything I’ve been dying to give you. I don’t want to rush this, to take you in some dark forest where anyone could see. You deserve more than that, more than just a quick fuck.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, overwhelming in their sincerity, in the sheer weight of what he was saying. I could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. He wanted more than just my body; he wanted all of me, and he wanted it to be right.

I was speechless, my heart pounding so hard it hurt, and all I could do was stare at him, trying to process everything he had just said. “Mattheo…” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but he silenced me with another kiss, this one gentle, full of a tenderness that brought fresh tears to my eyes.

"Not here, not like this. I want to take my time with you, princess. I want to feel every inch of you, taste every part of you, and make you mine in every possible way.”

I could only nod, tears slipping down my cheeks as I kissed him back, pouring all of my emotions into that kiss. I wanted him so badly it hurt, but I knew he was right. This—whatever it was between us—was more than just a physical need. It was something deeper, something that deserved to be treated with the care and attention he was promising.

We were supposed to be heading to class, but with Mattheo Riddle standing this close, logic and responsibility seemed to melt away. His lips were on mine, hot and insistent, and I could barely think straight. His hand was firmly on my waist, pulling me closer as if he couldn't get enough, and I had to admit, I didn’t mind in the slightest.

In the back of my mind, I knew we were in a hallway, but everything else was a blur. All I could focus on was the way Mattheo’s lips moved against mine, the way his other hand slid up to cup my cheek, deepening the kiss.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. My eyes flew open, and Mattheo reacted instantly, pulling me into a nearby alcove and pressing a hand gently over my mouth. My heart raced, not from fear but from the thrill of almost being caught. I couldn’t help the mischievous smile that crept onto my lips as I peeked up at him.

His eyes were locked onto mine, and he had that signature smirk of his as we both listened to the footsteps drawing nearer. The Ravenclaw group passed by, completely oblivious to our presence. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at how close we had come to being caught.

As soon as they were out of sight, I grinned and grabbed his collar, yanking him back to me. “Where were we?” I asked, my voice playful as I pressed my lips to his once more. The taste of him was intoxicating, and I was already forgetting why we needed to stop.

His hands slid down my back, pulling me even closer, his lips moving hungrily against mine. “Right here,” he murmured between kisses. “Not going anywhere, princess.”

I laughed softly, feeling the thrill of the moment surge through me. “You’re going to get us both in trouble,” I teased, even as I kissed him deeper, not caring at all about the consequences.

“Worth it,” he breathed out, his lips trailing down to my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “You know, you could just skip class… stay here with me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I definitely don’t want to go to class right now.”

“Who says we have to?” he murmured, his voice low and tempting as he pressed another kiss to the corner of my mouth.

I sighed dramatically, feigning frustration. “You’re such a bad influence, Riddle.”

“And you’re such a willing participant, Y/L/N,” he shot back with a smirk, pulling me back in for another kiss. This time, it was even more heated, as if the idea of sneaking around had only fueled the fire between us.

But just as things were getting even more intense, a familiar voice interrupted us. “Oh, don’t mind me. Continue.”

We both pulled away quickly, turning to see Theo standing there, looking entirely too amused for my liking.

Mattheo sighed, rolling his eyes before he spoke, “Theo, mate, you’re my best friend. Can’t you find something better to do than being a cockblock?”

Theo crossed his arms, smirking. “And you two were supposed to be finding the person behind the gossip column, not making out in an empty hallway.”

At Theo's words, realization hit me like a lightning bolt. The Daily Prophet letter! It was supposed to be today! I spun around to face him. “Theo, did the letter arrive yet?”

He shook his head. “Nope, nothing. You might’ve scared them off for good.”

I frowned, trying to think straight despite the lingering heat in my body from Mattheo’s touch. “That’s strange… they’ve been so consistent."

Mattheo’s hand was still on my waist, his thumb brushing gently over my skin, and despite my worry, I couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at his touch. I turned to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I should probably go so I won’t be late for class,” I said softly, though every part of me wanted to stay right here with him.

“You sure you don’t want to stay? I can think of a few more ways to spend the time.”

I laughed, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Tempting, but I’ll save that for later.” With that, I pulled away from him, giving Theo a playful wave as I hurried off down the corridor.

As I walked away, I could hear Mattheo’s voice behind me, low and teasing. “You know, Theo, sometimes I think you take your job as a third wheel a little too seriously.”

Theo’s laughter echoed through the hallway as I turned the corner, already counting down the minutes until I could see Mattheo again.

I sat in class, staring blankly at the parchment in front of me, my quill lazily tracing random lines across the page. The absence of the Daily Gossip Letter today was unsettling, and I could feel the unease settling over the classroom like a heavy fog. Everyone else seemed to be thinking the same thing—why hadn’t it come today? The letter had become a constant, its arrival as predictable as the sunrise, yet today, there was nothing.

As I absentmindedly doodled on my notebook, my mind began to wander, trying to piece together why the letter had stopped.

But why would it stop?

I tried to focus, to pay attention to the professor’s words, but my thoughts kept wandering. The gossip letter had become a staple at Hogwarts, a daily dose of scandal that everyone had come to expect. So why would it just… stop?

Unless… unless the person behind it didn’t need it anymore.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I started to think about all the things that had been written about me in that damned letter. The gossip wasn’t just random; it was targeted, specific. Almost like someone had a personal reason.

I started recalling all the gossip that had been written about me. My so-called date with Prince Edward, which wasn’t even a real date because I had turned him down. But when I returned to school, the letter had detailed everything about it—except the rejection part, of course. That happened privately, away from prying eyes. So how did the letter know about the date in the first place? Who else was in Italy at the same time as me?

My heart began to race as I straightened in my seat, my hand shaking slightly as I wrote down the names of the only two people who could have possibly known. The first name felt wrong, implausible, but the second… my stomach twisted as I scrawled it down.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. My thoughts raced back to another piece of gossip—the one about me supposedly flirting with a Durmstrang student during the Yule Ball. The truth was, I had been trying to get information about a certain dark artifact that night, and the conversation had been strictly business. Yet the letter painted a completely different picture.

Again, I scribbled down the name. My hand tightened around the quill as I recalled another instance—Time when I helped Adrian Pucey sneak into the restricted section of the library. It was late at night, and we were careful not to get caught. But the letter described it in perfect detail, down to the exact time we were there. Who else knew?

The quill in my hand quivered as I wrote down the final name. My breathing became shallow, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as all the clues finally came together, like pieces of a puzzle that I had been too blind to see. Every rumor, every piece of gossip, every little detail that had been written about me, led back to one person.

I circled the name angrily, feeling my heart break as I stared at the words on the page, the tears now spilling down my cheeks.

I didn’t care that the professor was calling my name, didn’t care about the shocked whispers that followed me as I bolted out of the classroom. All I could think about was finding him, confronting him. My feet carried me quickly down the corridors, my heart pounding in my chest as I headed toward the Great Hall. But when I got there, he wasn’t among the students milling about.

I clenched my fists, trying to think. Where would he be? Then it hit me—Quidditch practice. They had the last part of the day off.

Without another thought, I made my way to the Slytherin dorms. My mind was racing, anger and betrayal twisting in my chest as I reached his door. I didn’t hesitate as I knocked, the sound echoing in the empty corridor.

When the door opened, Mattheo’s surprised expression turned into a mischievous smirk as he leaned against the frame, eyes raking over me. “Y/N? What, you miss kissing me so much you had to skip class?” His tone was playful, teasing, and he stepped aside to let me in.

I ignored the flutter in my chest and walked past him into the room. The moment he saw my face, though, his smirk faded. He closed the door and turned to me, concern clouding his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, as he moved closer. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I sat down on his bed, feeling the weight of his gaze on me. His words echoed in my mind, the ones he’d said before about how the person behind the gossip letter must want to get a reaction out of me. I looked up at him, a cold smile curling my lips. "Well, was it good?"

Mattheo frowned, confusion crossing his features. “What are we talking about now, princess?”

“The reaction you got out of me,” I said, and just like that, the smile on my face vanished, replaced by the full weight of my anger and hurt. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

His face went blank, the confusion deepening in his eyes. “Wait, Y/N—”

“Checkmate, Riddle,” I said, my voice trembling as I stood up, the anger and hurt finally spilling over.

"You were the only one who knew about Italy, about what happened there. You were the one who was with me at the Yule Ball. You were there when Adrian and I sneaked into the library." My voice grew louder with each accusation, tears burning in my eyes. "All of those details, every single one of them—it was you. You were the one writing the gossip letter, weren’t you?"

Tears blurred my vision as I continued, my voice shaking with emotion. “Was it fun for you? Watching me losing my mind, seeing how much it effected me? Was it a game, Mattheo? Did you enjoy it? You said the person doing this wanted a reaction—well, congratulations, you got it. You got everything you wanted. I trusted you… I thought you cared, but you were just playing me all along.”

“You’ve been playing me this whole time, haven’t you? Feeding me lies, watching as I fell for every trap you set. And for what? A laugh? A good story?”

“Y/N, that’s not—” he started, but I cut him off.

“Save it,” I spat out, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. “You’ve already won. I just wonder why you haven’t written your final story yet—it’s a good one. Especially the part where you—"

But before I could finish, he cut me off, his voice trembling with an emotion I hadn’t expected.

"What could I have done, Y/N? What could I have possibly done?" he began, his words tumbling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. "I was there, yes, I was right there with you—through all of it. But do you know why? Do you know why I couldn’t stay away?"

I froze, his words piercing through my anger like a knife. He continued, his voice thick with desperation. "I’ve loved you all this time, from the first day I got off that stupid train, from the first moment I laid eyes on you. And I can’t remember a single day where I haven’t been in love with you.

He paused, his eyes locked on mine, pleading for understanding. "It wasn’t just some stupid crush, Y/N. It was an obsession, it was madness—but it was love. I loved you, and I still love you. I was desperate… Desperate to be near you, to be a part of your life, even if it meant doing something as twisted as this."

I stood frozen."You could have just said that. You should have just told me that."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. "Fucking right, Y/N."

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice wavering.

"You had a damn prince crying after you rejected him," Mattheo snapped, his frustration and jealousy spilling over. "A prince, Y/N! And here I am, the son of a psychopath, the last person anyone should ever trust, much less love. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m in love with you, even though my father’s the Dark Lord and everyone expects me to be just like him’? Who the hell would ever want that?"

He paced the room, running a hand through his hair as he continued, his voice strained. "Every day, I watched you. I saw you with your friends, with guys who could give you everything—everything. And the worst part? The worst fucking part was knowing that no matter what I did, no matter how close I got, it would never be enough. Not for someone like you."

Tears welled up in my eyes again, but this time they weren’t from anger. "You don’t get it, Mattheo. None of that mattered to me. None of it. I didn’t care about titles or any of that. I just wanted someone who was real with me. Someone who saw me for who I am, not just as some piece in a game."

He stopped pacing and turned to me, his expression softening. "I did see you, Y/N. That’s why I did what I did. The letters… they were my way of being close to you, of being a part of your world. But I was so scared of losing you, of you finding out what I’d done, that I just kept digging myself deeper. And now… now I’ve lost you anyway."

His voice broke on the last word, and the sight of him standing there, so vulnerable, shattered the last of my defenses.

Just as I was about to respond, movement from the next bed caught my eye. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Enzo sitting up, looking between Mattheo and me with wide, startled eyes, propped up on his elbows.

He Clearly had heard more than enough. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I’ve got this thing—relationship phobia. Can’t be around emotional confessions, they give me hives." [p.s that’s the same Enzo from Down bad pray for him]

He awkwardly shuffled out of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, guys. Gonna get out of here real quick. Pretend I was never here, yeah?" With that, he practically bolted out of the room, leaving me staring after him in disbelief until the door clicked shut behind him.

This family is insane.

We both stood there in silence for a moment, the sudden interruption leaving us both a bit stunned. I didn’t know what to say, and it seemed like Mattheo didn’t either.

“Y/N,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking as he took a tentative step toward me. “Please… say something. Anything.”

“You hurt me, Mattheo,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You lied to me, manipulated me."

“I know,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I did, and I hate myself for it. But Y/N, please believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how else to keep you close.”

Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I wiped them away furiously, hating how vulnerable I felt in this moment. “Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt? Why did you have to go through all this?”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his voice so quiet, so broken, that it made my chest ache. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how else to be close to you. I didn’t know how to tell you that I loved you without feeling like I was going to lose you.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “But you didn’t have to do it like this, Mattheo. You didn’t have to lie to me, to manipulate me, just to be close. I would’ve—” My voice broke, and I had to take a deep breath to steady myself. “I would’ve loved you anyway."

Mattheo's face softened, his brow furrowing in confusion as he whispered, "You would?" His voice was barely audible, almost as if he didn’t believe the words that had just left his lips.

I couldn’t bring myself to answer right away. My heart was pounding, and I could feel the walls I had built around myself beginning to crumble. Without a word, I got up from the bed and walked toward him, each step feeling heavier than the last.

"Yeah," I finally said, my voice trembling as I stood in front of him. "Because it would’ve been easy, Mattheo."

His eyes searched mine, desperate and lost, as if he was trying to find the truth in my words.

"I’ve loved you," I began, my voice cracking, "from the moment I stepped off that stupid train, too love must have been in the air that day or something. But I couldn’t let myself admit it. Instead, I pushed you away, pretended I couldn’t stand you because I was terrified—terrified of how much I wanted you, how much I needed you." Tears spilled over, and I couldn’t stop them this time. They streamed down my face as I choked out the words I had been too afraid to say for so long. "I didn’t know how to deal with how much you consumed me, so I fought it. But it was always you, Mattheo. It was always you."

He moved closer, his hands gently cupping my face, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. His touch was soft, so different from the way he usually carried himself—like he was afraid I might break if he wasn’t careful.

“I didn’t know…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I did. I do,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper as I leaned into his touch. “I just didn’t want to admit how much you meant to me. How much you still mean to me.”

Mattheo’s forehead rested against mine, his breath warm on my skin as he held me close. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability I’d never heard from him before. “I didn’t know how to show you what I felt without messing everything up. I was so afraid of losing you that I did the exact thing that could drive you away.”

I shook my head, trying to push away the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. “I know,” I whispered, my hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping me grounded. “I know now that the letters were more about admiring me than harming me. They only felt too much when another boy was involved, and… and I get it. I get that it was your twisted way of dealing with jealousy.”

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze intense but soft, as if he was seeing me for the first time. “You mean everything to me,” he said, his voice so quiet it was almost a breath. “I just didn’t know how to show it without screwing it up.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” I told him, my voice shaky as I tried to make him understand. “You just have to be you. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Mattheo’s grip on me tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was like he was asking for permission, for forgiveness, and I gave it to him willingly, kissing him back with all the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.

As the kiss deepened, I felt the last of my walls crumble, leaving me completely vulnerable in his arms. But for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I knew that despite everything, this was where I was meant to be. And maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other from here.

“I love you,” I whispered against his lips, my voice thick with tears and longing.

“I love you to—”

The door suddenly burst open, and Blaise walked in, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. He froze for a moment, his gaze darting between the two of us, and then a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Isn’t this cozy? I was just coming to grab a book, but it looks like I walked into the middle of a romance novel. Should I start narrating? ‘And in that moment, their love ignited like a house elf’s poorly managed kitchen fire…’”

I felt my face flush, and I quickly stepped back from Mattheo, wiping at my eyes. “Blaise, could you just…not?” Mattheo said .

Blaise chuckled, completely unfazed by Mattheo’s irritation. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, pretending I didn’t walk in on whatever _this_ is.” He waved his hand vaguely in our direction before sauntering over to the bookshelf.

I shot Mattheo a look, trying to stifle a laugh as Blaise exaggeratedly searched for his book, humming to himself like nothing unusual had happened.

Mattheo sighed, shaking his head as he muttered, “I’m killing you after this.”

“Nuh,” Blaise called out, pulling a book from the shelf and turning back to us with a grin. “You love me.”

“Debatable,” Mattheo shot back, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Blaise winked at me before heading toward the door. “Carry on with your dramatic declarations of love. I’ll leave you two to…whatever this is.” With that, he slipped out of the room, leaving us alone once more.

As the door clicked shut, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, Mattheo looked down at me.

“Where were we?” he asked softly, pulling me back into his arms.

“I think you were about to tell me how much you love me,” I teased, my heart swelling with warmth.

“Right,” he whispered, his voice turning serious again as he leaned in to kiss me. “ Fuck yeah I love you. So much.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

A little indulgent, venty drabble.

~~~

Your bedroom door opened. You were absolutely certain you had locked it. Alarmed, you shot up in bed, looking to the entrance to see who was intruding on you when your mood was so crushingly terrible.

It was Nightmare. He had a weird expression on his face, he looked very... calm. Calm was weird for him. He was the last person you expected to see.

... Also probably one of the last people you wanted to see.

"What're you doing?" you snapped. "Get out of my room."

His voice was low. "is everything alright?"

"Uh. Yeah." Perhaps you sounded more hostile than you needed to. You were glaring. "Everything's fine. You can go."

... His lovely cyan eye lingered on you.

...

He did not, in fact, leave. He closed the door behind him.

What the hell? Indignation coursed through you. "I'm seriously fine. Leave me alone."

"no," he said, softly.

You really really didn't have the self control for this, right now. You spent every moment of every day watching your words, taking stock of everything that left your lips, ensuring it wouldn't bother those around you even if it was at your own expense. Right now, you were fraying at the edges. You did not have the energy.

"Nightmare. Go away. I want to be alone right now."

He started walking toward you. He looked so calm. He looked like he understood exactly what was going on.

Anger flashed inside you, oil catching in a pan, it spittled and flew to your lips. You did not understand what was going on, and you didn't like feeling stupid.

"Get the fuck out of my room!"

"no."

“What the hell is your problem!?" You leaned forward, voice raising, like a cat raising its hackles. "You want to come watch me at my lowest? Point and laugh, rub it in? Real fucking mature of you.”

He didn't take the anger bait. "no." 

Stars, something was really wrong with you today, because his lidded socket and soothing voice just utterly infuriated you.

“Get out!” you yelled.

He didn't respond. He just looked like he cared.

You picked up the nearest weighted thing - your matte plastic water bottle - and threw it at him as hard as you could. He paused, but only to let the bottle literally just bounce off him... it hit his chest and thudded to the floor, rolling away plaintively.

You were probably acting more like a toddler than a grown adult human right now. But you were out of self control. Out of anything, really. Tired and cranky.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

"it's okay."

What? When he started approaching again, you picked up another heavy object to throw, this time it was your bedside lamp. You were shocking yourself with your own bad behaviour. When you launched that at him, a tentacle curled in the air and caught it, setting it carefully down on the floor and not even interrupting his stride.

“Go bother someone else! I’m not a child!”

Honestly? You left that one open for him. You wanted him to make the most of the opportunity to insult you - maybe he’d say something sharp like “not a child? you sure are acting like one.” Something that would bring you back into territory you felt safe in. You didn't like the way he was looking at you, the way you were the only one yelling but he looked so empathetic and gentle. You wanted some control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured. “you can say what you need to. i know you don’t mean it.”

“What - what the fuck are you talking about?!”  

Nightmare sat beside you, cross-legged on your bed. And before you could do a thing, his extremely dexterous tentacles curled around you; and pulled you in, until you were sitting between his legs.

Oh, you were furious. You weren't even sure what you were yelling, but you were definitely yelling something. If you had been a cat raising your hackles before, now you had your claws out, you were scratching and biting and yowling. You kicked at him, you slapped at his chest, you shoved him like that would do anything.

... He didn't say a thing. His arms rested on either of his knees, and a tentacle carefully brushed your back. You kept hitting him. You ...

... You started to run out of steam. Your 'hits' on his chest became weaker, feebler, until you weren't really hitting him anymore. You were just bumping your enclosed fist against his sternum. The water bottle from before probably did more damage than you were doing now.

...

... You hiccuped.

And then you just started to bawl.

Nightmare clearly had anticipated this all along. He leaned down, face closer to your level, like he wanted you to know he was there. Your head thumped against his shoulder, where it remained, sobs wracking your entire body. He didn’t interrupt. He just let you cry - getting it all out. 

Part of you wanted to be embarrassed. Assaulting him and then wailing right there in his lap. But oh... there was something so wonderful about acting your absolute worst, and yet, not being abandoned. You worked so hard to be liked; every day, you did everything you could to be the kind of person that the people around you would enjoy. So much so that you had no idea what was left, underneath all of the personalities you'd stitched together to make a quilt people would like looking at.

Nightmare had just watched you scream at the top of your lungs, then sob with anything you had left. And yet? He was still there.

By the time your crying quietened down, his eyelight was glowing a little brighter. A little bluer. You weren’t sure what that meant.

“... I-I...” you rubbed your eyes with your sleeve as best you could. Your voice was horrendously hoarse and thin. “I didn’t... mean...”

“i know,” he said, warmly. Sitting this close, you could hear how his voice thrummed from within his chest, not really his mouth. Knowing his lecherous and borderline evil personality, you thought that basically sitting on his lap would've felt different. Risky, perhaps. Right now, it didn't - you felt comforted. The good kind of surrounded.

"I'm sorry."

“don't be. if there’s anyone who would know when anger is a cry for help, it’s me.”

You kept your head on his shoulder. "I shouldn't have hit you."

He tilted his face to you a little more. He was so close - inches away. You could feel his breathing. “honestly? i incited you, in the hopes you would. you just wanted to be angry. everyone deserves to feel angry, every now and then.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it is okay," you muttered.

"anger isn't something to be ashamed of. anger protects you. it tells you when your lines have been crossed."

"How can I be angry, without hurting people? If you were anyone else, I would've really hurt you."

"i'm afraid there's no easy answer to that, dear."

You looked up at him. “How did you know I didn't want to be left alone?”

"did you forget i can read emotions?"

Ah. True. You always forgot Nightmare wasn't just any old skeleton. He was some kind of God, wasn't he? A deity of negativity. He probably read everything going on in your mind the moment it arose.

"I kinda did, yeah."

His socket crinkled at the corner. “i felt what you wanted. heh, that, and... i know your insults well enough to know your heart wasn’t in those.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny watery snicker, at that. He seemed to like it. 

“... Thank you." You brought your legs up to your chest, tucking closer against him. "For... for not leaving.”

He finally put his arms around you.

“of course.”

[20-th-centurygirl]

never yours to have

brothers bsf!jude bellingham x fem!reader

summary: he was never yours but it didn't stop you from wishing he was

a/n: i am RUSTY so please show this some love thanks 😌 i'm also not really an angsty writer so this is not my normal style

navigation masterlist

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

10 years you'd known jude. he was 11 and you were 10. he was best friends with your brother. you'd been close for as long as you could remember. all his moves to different countries you'd been there. all his hard times you'd been there and him vice versa. there was never any sort of label between you as you got older. your brother had always told jude you were out of bounds and told you jude was out of bounds and that was that.

you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't find him attractive, of course you did. but you were certain of two things: he was your brothers best friend and he had one hell of a reputation for being a fuckboy. you couldn't really blame him for that second part, but you always told yourself it was something to be weary of. you'd never be reduced to a number, and your brother would no doubt kill you and jude if something happened anyway.

little did you know your feelings were being reciprocated ten times stronger. everytime he was near you his heart skipped a beat. it was wrong. maybe that's why he wanted you so badly, because he knew he could never have you. you were his best friends sister, strictly off limits. but he couldn't help it. your smile, your laugh, your eyes, your voice, everything about you was perfection. to jude, you were the most beautiful person inside and out. and oh how he wished you could be his person.

your brother had decided that it was necessary to have a huge house party for his birthday, and you'd been forced to go. you weren't exactly happy to be, much preferring a quiet evening but the prospect of seeing jude after him being away for so long made you alot more excited than you wanted to admit. you couldn't help but keep glancing over to the door, waiting for jude to arrive. but when he finally did you wished he hadn't. he brought a girl? not just any girl either, quite frankly she was the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen and there she was hanging off his arm. she was perfect and she had jude. bitch.

it was immature, it was petty and it was stupid. nothing had ever happened between you and jude, you had always been strictly friends so you weren't really sure why you felt the way you did. why did this have to be the time you realised your feelings? but you were still angry, still hurt. it was irrational and you knew it, so your solution was to get drunk and avoid jude like the plague. but you couldn't run forever

"where have you been hiding?" he appeared behind you.

"shit jude. why would you sneak up on me like that?" your drink had gone all down your top. perfect.

"m sorry. come here" he grabbed a towel and attempted to dry you, something which any other time would be completely fine with you. but this time it felt wrong. you snatched it out his hand, admittedly alot more aggressively than you intended. "what's with you? can't take the drink?" he was drunk, and his arrogance was no longer attractive, it was infuriating to you. "shut up jude. i just don't think your girlfriend would appreciate watching you feeling me up" you spat and turned on your heel.

but he followed you. "what the fuck does that mean?"

"just leave me alone jude"

"no what's with you? you've been avoiding me since you've i got here and now you're making digs"

"no i'm not"

"are you jealous?"

"i'm sorry?" was he serious?

"are you jealous?"

"i heard you the first time jude. no i am not. why would you even think that?"

"don't know, but it would explain why you're acting so stupid"

you had nothing to say to that. ultimately he was right. you should be happy for him. why weren't you?

he paused, then talked slower and calmer than before.

"you know there's nothing going on between us right? we're just friends. she knows someone else here so we just decided to go together"

"then why was she all over you?" you mumbled, matching his low tone

"dunno. she'd had a few pre drinks so she was just tipsy"

you stared at him again.

"i like you y/n. not in a friend way. in a i can't think straight around you way. and your brother will probably kill me but i can't keep this in anymore. i don't want you to think i'm with anyone else because you're the only one i want"

"jude don't fuck me about" you were barely whispering, too afraid for this to all be some sort of joke.

"i wouldn't dream of it. i mean every word y/n. i think i'm inlove with you"

you'd unconsciously stepped alot closer to him, gazing up with glassy eyes. your brain screamed that he was drunk, that he was a player, that he was your brothers best friend but your heart said otherwise. you liked him too and you were gonna give it your best shot.

it was like he'd read your mind. one hand slipped to the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his while another fell to your waist. he was angelic. so gentle, so careful. he kissed you like you were fine china. a prized jewel that needed all the respect in the world. you melted into him. it was perfection, something you'd been dreaming of for years. the kiss meant absolutely everything to you. everything.

you could've kissed him forever if your brother hadn't come outside to find you both. "what're you both doing out here? it's cold come inside"

jude grinned at you in a way that had your heart bursting. "come on"

it wasn't long before he'd disappeared. and he'd been gone a while. you thought nothing of his absence until you noticed she was missing. you made your way upstairs looking for him when you heard someone else call out his name. another girl.

no, surely it wasn't.

the shout had come from the bathroom. you walked slowly, shaking hand turning the handle. you knew then and there what had happened. you knew you should've walked away. but you didn't. some twisted part of you wanted to check, and if it was what you thought it was, you wanted him to know you knew. you wanted him to know he'd hurt you. so you opened the door and you were met with a sight that made you feel physically sick. she hadn't seen you, clearly lost in her own please and her hair being held in jude's hand probably didn't help her ability to look in the mirror and see you. but he did. he met your eyes in the reflection. regret clouded his face instantly and he stopped. her head raised at his halted movements, clearly confused and you muttered a quick sorry before slamming the door.

you couldn't breathe. you needed to get out, get away from him and his lies. you ran back out to the garden that he'd confessed his feelings for you and kissed you in not even 20 minutes ago. you stood in the same spot and you let your tears fall.

why were you so upset? he was never yours to have

[stevieschrodinger]

TW for Eddie getting hurt (but he's okay). And Human Trafficking.

Link to part Two

Steve leans against Carol's desk, "here are your messages, I fobbed off the Times interview - they're going to email you their questions instead." He's listening to Carol, but he's watching, frowning.

There's a man in his office.

"Lunch call with the Singapore office is on. Your suite for the gala is back from the dry cleaners, it's in your bathroom."

"Right, the gala," Steve answers absently. It's a corner office, lots of glass, so it's impossible to miss the man in his office. The man who is calmly, right now, looking at the framed photo Steve has of his parents. It's basically a prop, Steve never got on with them, but that is not the point. Some random guy is touching Steve's shit.

"And my nine thirty?"

"Had to move it, don't worry, they were fine about it."

"Right," Carol's leaning over the desk now, watching the man right along with Steve, "I assume that's why you had to cancel my nine thirty."

"Uh hu," she's tapping her nails on the top of the desk, and she's so fucking infuriating, if she wasn't so fucking good at her job Steve would have booted her years ago.

"You're going to make me ask aren't you??

Carol gives him a massive shit eating grin, "ask what, sir?"

"Jesus fucking christ," Steve sighs, "who is that in my office."

"Not sure," Carol shrugs, grinning because she's pleased she's being such a dick, "security brought him up," she leans over the desk, whispering like she's imparting a secret, "pretty sure they said something that sounded like FBI."

And then she sits down, tapping at her computer and painting her nails or doing whatever it is she does all day. Harassing mail boys, probably. God she's like a fucking shark, but that what Steve gets, he wanted a competent secretary, what he got was a fucking guard dog.

Steve's not complaining. He'd been weary of hiring a female Alpha and then shoving her behind a desk, but it turns out Carol is terrifyingly efficient and fucking fearless, so it's kind of a win win.

Steve stares at the man in his office for a second longer, trying to figure out what the fuck he's done. he wonders if he's somehow accidentally committed major tax fraud, or something. He's pretty sure he hasn't, but the panic spiral is sitting there, looking inviting, anyway.

Steve goes into his office, and the man turns. He's tall, well built, kind of portly with age, maybe, but Steve still wouldn't fuck with the guy. He's not wearing blockers of any sort, so Steve's office now smells of strange, uninvited, Alpha. Great.

"Jim Hopper," he says, extending his hand, "FBI."

"Steve Harrington," Steve replies, even though he's certain it's pointless, this guy knows exactly who he is.

The guy is already producing paperwork as Steve takes his seat on the other side of his desk, "standard non disclosure, Mr. Harrington."

Steve gives it a once over, he's signed enough of these, and been involved with the legal team enough, that he feels confident enough. He signs it, knowing he won't get any answers until he does.

"I'll get right to it, time is tight. I've been working to dismantle an Omega trade ring for nearly eighteen months now. We're almost ready to move, teams are in place, inks drying on the warrants, cells are all picked out."

Steve nods, okay. He knew Omega trade was a thing, a barbaric, highly illegal thing. Human trafficking of the worst form, he gestures for Hopper to continue.

"If we go in now, we will likely get a few of the higher ups, we'll rescue approximately two dozen Omega, it'll be a success." Steve goes to speak, wondering what the fuck this has to do with him, Hopper waves him down, "we've been here before; I've made this mistake once before. If we don't get the people at the top, this thing will grow back in a years time. I want them all."

Steve gets that. His head is spinning a little. He knows things like this go on, you see about it on the news, but it does sound a bit...like a spy movie.

Hopper puts a photograph on Steve's desk, "you know this man?"

And Steve does. They're not what Steve would call friends; more of a good tempered rivalry. And yeah, Steve had Daddy's money, but Tommy had his Daddy's company. They came up at the same time, went after the same deals. Move in the same circles, Steve's known him for years. Steve's disliked him for years, "you're not suggesting Tommy Hagan is...the head of some sort of, human slavery outfit?" Knowing how ruthless Tommy can be, how questionable his methods are...Steve's still struggling to see him as...this.

"I'm not suggesting it. I'm telling you as fact. You've known him a long time, and we have to move fast. The charity gala tonight, you'll both be there."

"Right, sure, but I don't exactly see what I can do about this."

"Hagan moves the...high end product. Very exclusive, very expensive. They keep them at a ranch, just out of state," and that's kind of uncomfortable, because Steve's been to the ranch for a business lunch, so he knows exactly the place Hopper is talking about. And, jesus, Steve had thought at the time Tommy had a lot of Omega staff. A lot of really well behaved Omega staff - at the time, Steve thought Tommy was just being his usual dick self. Just showing off wealth. Fuck, if some of those Omega were actually, like, prisoners- "drop a hint to Hagan, tonight. Tell him you're getting itchy, fancy yourself an Omega. A traditional one, timid. Say whatever you need to say, get yourself an invite out there."

Steve takes a deep breath, nodding. He can do that. He can play that; he might have to wear blockers, his opinion of Tommy is in the gutter on a good day, never-mind this.

"That's all you need?"

Hopper shifts forward in his chair, "look, you're ideal. On the periphery, you've known each other a long time, but not well. He knows exactly the kind of clout you have, your bank balance, you're the perfect person to do this."

It's not hard to find information on Steve Harrington, he's thirty first on the Forbes 100 list, but clearly Hopper, at the very least, has taken notice.

"How do you know I'm not already involved?"

Hopper snorts, "kid. We know. Also, you just asked me that question, and your balls ain't that brassy."

Steve can't deny it, he shrugs, "so, what else?"

"Get an invite. Go there wearing a wire. Meet Tommy, pick an Omega. You'll be trusted; we will fit a listening device. Hagan's wriggled out of this sort of thing before; evidence like that, there'll be no court in the country that won't convict him."

Steve feels awkward. He knows there's a device on him somewhere; Hopper had taken his phone for ten minutes, and brought it back with a different suit jacket for him to wear.

That had been at half five this morning, standing on Steve's back porch. And as he pulls into the ranch, he has the air con on full blast because fucking hell, he's sweaty when he's nervous.

Hopper had made this sound easy; the ranch is pretty safe. Only a couple of armed guards. Plus, he's Steve Harrington; you can't just disappear a guy like Steve.

Hopper had sounded so certain, the cherry of his cigarette bright in the pre dawn mist. He'd even slapped Steve's shoulder, told him he was saving lives. Steve had felt like a fucking super hero for about twenty minutes, until reality and fucking nerves had swamped him.

But here he is, walking up the front steps to the ranch house, Tommy Hagan grinning big, "hope you brought the black card," Tommy jokes as they bro hug.

Because that's not creepy.

Tommy had given Steve a smirk at the Gala last night, was confident he had exactly what Steve was looking for. Knew, for the right price, exactly what would scratch Steve's itch. Not like he was talking about real fucking human beings or anything.

Steve's real glad he went thick on the blockers; he's certain Tommy would be choking on the scent of his disgust by now.

They bring them in during lunch. Steve sitting, eating fucking cornbread and home made slaw and he just can't. He nibbles, feeling sick with nerves. Tommy doesn't even seem to notice. Steve can't help but stare at him, someone he's known most of his life and now...he's been revealed as something vile and subhuman. Steve has to work hard to keep the disgust off his face.

Something that gets even more difficult when the Omega are brought it and lined up, all wearing the same diaphanous nightdresses regardless of gender. Every single one of them could be a contender for the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen. Every single one of them could be a model, or something.

They're lined up in height order; the last one in, the tallest, a male Omega. He's limping.

He's leaving bloody footprints on the fancy parquet flooring.

Tommy must catch Steve's face, "the unruly ones need to be disciplined, and that one is more...difficult than most. Refuses to learn. And we don't want to damage the product anywhere that'll be visible, obviously."

Steve has to breathe through his nose so he doesn't throw up. All the Omega are wearing blockers; probably because the scent of Omega distress would be so off putting.

Tommy waves a hand, "get him out of here, he's bleeding on the rug," and the Omega winces, as he turns. he's got lots of shiny dark curls. Everything about all the Omega is pristine, perfectly maintained hair, nails, flawless skin. The smear of blood on his ankle is even more stark for it, and Steve can't help but stare as the Omega gamely takes what looks like a very painful, shuffling step away again.

"Him," Steve says before he can stop himself, "I want him."

The Omega turns back, looking at Steve with huge, beautiful brown eyes. He's hopeful and fearful all at once, and it tears Steve up inside. He wants to buy all of them, get all of them out of here, but knows he can't. If he does anything to raise suspicion he could fuck the whole thing.

At least he has Hopper's word that the rest of them will be out of here by the end of today.

Tommy scoffs, "Steve, come on, have a proper look. Don't pick that one. Get a pretty one."

Steve wants to swear at Tommy because they're all fucking pretty, ridiculously so, "no, he'll do."

"Oh," Tommy laughs, "I get it, just gonna' wreck him anyway, right? That's fair, can always get another," and he's laughing again and suddenly Steve is dragged into a very detailed conversation about how to move funds - from where and to where, which Steve does. It's an amount of money that under any other circumstances would make Steve's eyes water - but in the face of a human being in pain, Steve doesn't even blink.

It doesn't feel like Steve takes a breath until he's on the interstate, the Omega curled up on the seat next to him. No possessions, no clothes, no bag.

Nothing.

And that had gutted Steve as much as anything else.

"Look, uh, hey, you have a name?"

"Eddie," the Omega answers quietly.

"Right. Eddie. So. This is...well it's going to sound a bit wild but...I'm kind of here for the FBI. I mean. I don't work for them, or anything, but...I was...asked, I guess, to get evidence. So don't worry about everyone else, they're getting rescued later so. That's. A thing, I guess?"

Eddie's just blinking at him.

"Yea. Yeah, I guess that's a lot to take in. But we can talk about it...later? Do you have family? Like, shit, do you have somewhere to go? I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to actually like...buy, a person. Couldn't leave you there though."

"I've...I've got an uncle. Haven't seen him for years. I don't...know."

"Right, right okay. We can talk to Hopper about it," Steve spots a drive through, "you hungry?"

Eddie turns and sees the McDonald's, "oh fuck me yes," he breathes with such vehemence that Steve laughs, "I haven't left the ranch for two years, and they never let us eat anything like that, it's bad for our skin. Plus, we have to stay thin and pretty."

That kills Steve's laughter stone dead.

Hopper rubs at his forehead, "you were not supposed to buy a human being."

"I know but-" Steve turns, Eddie standing behind him, which on it's own makes Steve wince. Eddie's barefoot on the asphalt, half hidden behind Steve, still wearing nothing but that scrap of white fabric. It's now a little smeared with the fry grease Eddie had shamelessly wiped off his fingers. Steve hands over his phone and the suite jacket.

Hopper waves him off, "you did good."

Hopper does something to the back of Steve's phone, peeling something away from it, before giving it back, "somewhere I can take you kid? Any family?"

"I only have an uncle, but I don't...it's been years, I haven't seen him since I was little."

Hopper rubs is hand over his face, the rasp of stubble loud, before he lights another cigarette, "I'll have to find you a motel somewhere while we figure this out."

"He can stay with me." Steve's volunteering before he can really think it though, "I've got...a lot of space," he trails off. He did just rescue this Omega after all, he's not just going to abandon him to be alone somewhere. Somewhere that might not even be safe for a lone Omega.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at Eddie, Eddie shrugs, "not like I've had any better offers lately."

Hopper snorts, but he hands over a business card, "this is highly unorthodox, but...I don't care. I've got bigger things to worry about. Text me any details the kid can give you on the uncle. I'll be in touch."

And then Hopper just...drives away. It's maybe an hour and a half drive back from here, since Steve had to go out of his way for this clandestine meeting in an abandoned car lot.

"So is there anything you...want? Need?"

Eddie seems to think about it for a second, plucking at his nightshirt, "I mean, I don't have any cash, obviously, and I heard how much money you shelled out- I mean, do you think you can comp me from the FBI? Man, you didn't even get a receipt for me."

Steve starts laughing first, then Eddie joins in.

At Eddie's request they get milkshakes on the way home.

[gah-who-are-you]

The Strongest?... (Fem!Reader x blind!Gojo) (SFW)

So this is where he loses his eyesight and six eyes technique after the shibuya arc and is left with multiple scars around his body. Showing a interpretation when he really lets himself be vulnerable and helpless. I had this idea for a good while now. I couldn't stop thinking of different scenarios in where Gojo would act differently than how he usually does. Reader is called doll, which is the nickname Gojo gives you. -sorry if it's not to your liking- (Angst??? Comfort? Hehe idk how to label this...)

------------------------------------------------------------Start!------------

After Shibuya he was never really able to adjust. You had gone to his side then when he was stumbling around, unable to see what he was doing. After the intense fight he didn't know where he was going. He was so lost. Blood rushing from his eyes, his body covered in wounds. Debris dusting his clothes and entering his cuts. He called for you, desperately.

After being able to prove himself he didn't care if people looked down on him. He didn't care of the way they'd treat him, the way they'd talk, the way they would look at him. Right now what he wanted most was to be able to feel you. Wanted to be able to know you're there.

He was so tired, so done with everything. His voice cracking. He kept walking despite the pain coursing through his body. Sukuna was gone and he was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was cling to you.

You rushed to his side. Your hands reached out to hold Gojo in your arms. "Satoru!" You called out as you saw him in a distance. He flinched slightly from the contact. He collapsed, his body exhausted from the exertion. His hands desperately moving to touch your face, your hair, your hands. "Doll? Doll is that you?" He asked desperately as he clung to you, the upper half of his body leaning onto you.

"Satoru, oh Satoru what has he done to you." You say shakily as your hands shakily hover over his face, tears starting to stream from your eyes. "I can't see, I can't see you." Satoru said desperately as his hands shakily traced your face. "We'll get Shoko here Satoru, just wait please." You say as you help him up. Gojo clung to you. His arms wrapping around your waist. "Don't leave me... Don't leave me." He said shakily. Your eyes widened, your heart raced, and your chest hurt.

Gojo would never let himself been seen like this not even by you. There had been certain times where he had opened up to you. But not like this, not ever. Not so hurt and desperate.

He's finally crumbled. He's finally given in to what he's been hiding for so long. You thought to yourself. Your arms wrapped around his, shaking, trembling figure. "I won't let you go. I won't go. I'll be here Satoru." You said as he buried his face in your neck.

His warm blood cascading down your neck. His eyes becoming a waterfall for the dark red liquid.

Everything was different since then. Gojo being tipped off the pedestal he used to be on. The advantage that he had for long now stripped from him. His vision was gone but most importantly to others. His six eyes techniques. He was immediately seen with disdain in the sorcery world. He wasn't the strongest anymore, wasn't the one that reigned upon. People talked, they whispered, they laughed, and showed their disapproval of his loss of technique.

Every time you'd go to a meeting you'd hear them whisper, hear them say some of the most insulting things to your husband. Insulting the one who had made possible their measly existence for now. What a bunch of Idiots. You thought to yourself. Ungrateful bastards, dipshits, assholes, but most importantly.

How pitiful. You thought to yourself. Those who cowered when Gojo was sealed. Those who hid themselves and bothered not to show. You jaw clenched, your fists balled at your sides. They shouldn't have lived. You thought to yourself as you left the meeting, seeing them pass by you. Stealing glances to you. How infuriating. You thought to yourself as your eyes caught onto a sweets stall.

You'd arrive home later that day. As you opened the door you heard the loud sound of a shatter. "Damnit!" You heard Satoru say, a hint of frustration and irritation present in his voice. You quickly rushed to the source of the voice and found Gojo standing there, his hand resting on the wall for support as he use his other hand to feel the table from where the vase had fallen. A small piece of glass gleaming with blood in his shin. Meanwhile the rest is on the floor. "Satoru stay still." You said hurriedly as you tried to pick up the glass quickly. "Doll? You're home." He said nervously as he tried to bend over and pick up the glass as well. His hands roaming the floor, trying to feel the glass shards. "I'm sorry doll here let me help." He said quickly. Your hands quickly came to hold onto his wrists and pulled him away. "No no, I can do this just stand still." You said hurriedly as you finished picking up the pieces of glass. You quickly walked to the kitchen throwing the glass away.

Yet in a rush you hit your side on the corner of the desk. Causing you to bend over in pain. A groan leaving your lips. A small "fuuuck" leaving you. You winced in pain and stood there holding onto your side. "Doll??" You heard Gojo call out. "I'm going honey just wait there for a bit." You squeaked out as you tried to compose yourself. You rubbed your side as you walked to the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit.

You then rushed back to Gojo's side. You placed your hand on his arm. He flinched in response. "Hey hey, it's me don't worry." You say softly as you rested your hand on his face. Gojo eased under your touch and leaned in. "Here let me help you get to the couch. I have to take the glass shard out of your shin." You say softly as you laced his arm in yours. Gojo turned to you and slowly nodded his head. Your eyes softened in response. He must feel really guilty. You thought to yourself. "C'mon I'll lead the way." You say gently as you walked at a slow pace, helping him walk to the living room.

"Okay you can sit down now, slowly though okay?" You say as you held onto his hands. Helping him support himself as he sits down.

"Why didn't you have your infinity on?" You ask nervously as you rolled up the cuff of his pants carefully. Gojo stayed quiet his hands intertwined but nonetheless one of his fingers nervously tapped on his other hand. "I was trying to memorize the house's feeling. Like the wall and furniture" He said quietly as his hands disconnect from one another and come to rest on his thighs. His fingers creating a beat on his thighs. You take out the disinfectant and apply some on his leg, causing the man to flinch slightly. "I'm sorry." You say softly as you finish cleaning up the small wound and place a bandage on it.

You then sigh and sit down next to him. "We could've done this once I got home. So this wouldn't have happened." You say as you place you hand on his. Gojo lowered his head in response and nodded his head slowly.

"I'm a burden aren't I?" he muttered. His hand clenching his pants. His fists balled. Your head quickly turned to face. Your eyes widened and your breathe was caught in your throat. "N-no no you're no burden." You say quickly and cup his face with your hands. "Oh Satoru if only you could come to understand how much I love you. If you ever come to hear me say you're a burden, know that's not me." You say as your face inched forward to his.

Gojo felt your warm breathe and inched forward in response, his lips meeting yours. He wrapped his arms around you tightly. His hand splayed on your back. He kissed you hesitantly, almost as if scared you might leave him. As he begins to pull away you place your hand on the back of his head. Pushing him forward. "Satoru I love you. I love you so much don't pull away." You mumble between kisses. Your hands tangling themselves with his white hair.

Gojo gave in, his arm tightening around you. He started to shift his position. Your kisses heating up. His figure moving to get on top of you. As he did he placed his hand on the sofa to support himself, to help him move on top of you. But his hand slipped and he fell right on top of you. His face smacking against yours. You yelp in pain and come to rub your nose and forehead.

Meanwhile Gojo winced as well, his hand coming to rest on his face. "Ah, I'm sorry!" He quickly said as his hands come to try and feel your face, trying to rub away the pain. But he placed his hand by accident instead on top of your eye. "Satoru!" You exclaim softly and try to get up. Gojo then flinches and tries to shift away from you, panicking slightly. His hand coming to rest on the cushions of the sofa, he leaned back instinctively but fell back. His body toppling off the sofa. "Shit!-" He exclaimed before his body smacked onto the floor.

"Satoru!" You exclaimed in panic as you kneel to his side. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" You ask quickly as your hands come to rest on his face and patting him down to see if he feels any pain.

A small groan leaving his lip. He sits up. His hands resting on the rug. He then stands up slowly. "Satoru?" You ask softly as you also stand up. Gojo turns to where the sound of your voice is heard, and then faces away from you. He then places his hand on the furniture as he moves away from you. Making sure not to bump into anything. "Satoru wait let me help you." You say as you reach out to hold his arm.

Gojo instead yanks his arm back. He doesn't turn back to face you, his back greets you instead. You stand there stunned, as he walks away. His form disappearing down the hall of your house.

You couldn't deny that ever since he lost his sight and technique you've noticed a change in Gojo.

He's more quiet, more isolated, and seems so lost. The first day back home he tried walking around the house. But would end up stumbling around instead.

The house he had gotten so used to seeing as home felt so foreign to him. It left him uncomfortable. When night came around he sat on the edge of the bed. He just sat there, didn't say anything.

But you wouldn't give up. Soon the day passed and it was night time. Gojo spent his entire day in your bedroom. You decided to give him space. When night came around you walked into the room. You walked up to him slowly. Your footsteps light. Lost in his thoughts he didn't hear you walk in. "Satoru?" You called out to him your hand coming to rest on his back.

He flinched, jumped from the touch, and ended up stumbling forward. Landing on his face. "Satoru!" You called out worriedly and got up quickly to his side. Satoru didn't move for a bit, just laid there, when he did he sat up and curled himself up in a ball. Small muffled cries could be heard, tears streamed from his black blindfold.

You rushed to his side and hugged him. Hugged him tightly. Your hand combing through his hair as you kissed his forehead. "Satoru, Satoru honey is everything okay?" You asked gently as your hand combed through his hair, soothing him.

Gojo didn't say anything. Instead he cried harder. His heart hurt, his eyes hurt from the cut across his face. His body hurt from the multiple cuts and wounds littering it.

His hands come to grip the back of your shirt. Holding onto you tightly, not letting you go. "I'm scared." He admitted. His figure trembling. "I'm so scared of not being able to remember how you look. I'm scared of not being able to see the way our house looks. Scared of not being able to see how we'll look when we grow older." His voice cracking, cracking, trembling. "I'm scared of you leaving me." He said softly, barely audible.

How could you think I'll leave you. You thought to yourself. "Why would I ever leave you Satoru. Have you forgotten our vows? In the sick and in the health. In the poverty and in the wealth." You said as he rested his head on your shoulder. "I will forever be thankful of having you as my husband." You say softly as you help him up. "Let's sleep, alright? In our bed. Together." You say as you intertwined your hands with his. "Like it's meant to be." You say and smile at him, raising his hands to touch your face.

Satoru's hands traced your face. His fingers tracing lightly your smile. Feeling the way your lips curved up. The warmth of your face resting on his. "I love you." Satoru said. "I love you so much." He said shakily as he leaned on you, his head resting on shoulder, his upper body rests against you. "You don't have to be the strongest for me Satoru, not the toughest, not the almighty, not the one that stands above others. I just need you." You whisper to him gently. Satoru sniffled in response. "Thank you." He muttered softly.

You then picked up Satoru. His legs wrapping around your waist, his arms wrapped around your neck as his face is buried in your neck. "Oof- you're heavy." You say with a small grin. Satoru sniffed slightly, but a small smile slowly formed on his face. "Just shows how healthy I am." He responded with a small hint of comfort. You chuckled lightly and rested him on the bed. "Alright you sleepy head lets tuck you in." You say as you move the pillows and blankets to his comfort.

"I'm not a baby." He mutters as he reaches out to attempt to hold onto your wrist. "Sure clinged to me like one." A grin covering your face. You inch your hand forward to make contact with his. His hand wrapping around yours. A small flush covering his face at your comment. You're then pulled forward. Landing on the side of the bed next to him.

You squealed slightly in surprise. But a small laugh escaped you. You then scooted closer to him, your back against his chest. He reached out and wrapped his arms around you. Spooning you. "Though I wouldn't mind having one." He said with a smirk on his face. Your eyes widened and you grabbed a pillow, hitting him with it softly.

"I thought you were too sad to talk." You said and narrow your eyes at him. Gojo smiled softly at you. "You fixed that for me already, for now." He said softly as his hold on you tightens. His face nuzzling into your neck as his legs wrap around yours.

"And I'd do it again, as many times as it takes." You say as you turn your head to face him kissing him softly.

Gojo kissed you back, soft slow kisses being shared. Your bodies pressed with one another. It wasn't lust but rather love being shown in each kiss. Your lips meeting one another in a beautiful dance.

You two laid there, until your eyes closed, until your bodies went limp from sleep. The sound of your shared breathing being heard.

-----Time Skip a few years later-------------------------------------------

The sound of a babies laughter can be heard. Filling the halls of your house. Along with the sound of Gojo laughing. Birds chirping can be heard from outside the house. You walk into the room, the sight warming your heart.

There sat Gojo on the floor. Your daughter sitting between his legs, trying to push away his fingers as he tickles her. A grin covering his face.

"Satoru." You say with a soft hum. Gojo perks up at the sound of your voice, his head moving to face you. "Doll!" He exclaimed with a smile as he swooped up your daughter in his arms. Standing up to face you. Earning a small giggle from the little girl.

"How's our little flower?" You ask with a warm smile as you walk up to Gojo. One of your arms wrapping around his waist while you use to other to poke your daughters nose. Your daughter holding onto your finger and fidgeting with it. Her eyes widening in curiosity.

You chuckle softly in response and turn to Gojo. "Quite the curious one we have here." You say with a hum. As you wiggle your finger in her hold. Her small hand gripping onto you tightly. "And quite strong, too." You say as you try to pull your finger away. Your baby holding onto your finger tighter.

Gojo grins in response. "Just like her dad." He says proudly and puffs up his chest. You roll your eyes and swat his chest playfully. "Yeah Yeah." You say and sigh, wiggling your finger out of your daughters grasp.

"I'll be taking her now. Gotta feed her." You say with a hum as you take your daughter from Gojo's arms, earning a small whine from the little girl.

"Wait-" Gojo said as he raised his hands carefully. Resting them on your babies face. His hands gently tracing her features before moving up to touch yours. "Okay you can go now." He said softly, a grin beginning to form on his face.

You smiled at him fondly, meanwhile your daughter giggled after he touched her face. You then shifted your daughter to rest in one of your arms, meanwhile your other hand came to rest on his face. Caressing his cheek.

"I love you." You say gently as you pressed your forehead against his.

Gojo smiled at you, as he presses his forehead against you. "I love you more." He muttered softly.

You're then interrupted by a small outburst of your daughter. Babbling lightly with a big smile. "I think she said she loves you too." You say and grin at him.

A smile spread on Gojo face. A warm, heartfelt laugh leaving him. His hands coming to rest on you and your babies face.

"I love you both." He says gently his voice crackling slightly. Small tears pricking from his eyes "My little girl." He says as he leans in kissing his daughters forehead. "And the love of my life." He says as he leans in. Giving you a soft kiss to your lips.

He'd come to terms with things now. He wasn't the strongest, he isn't considered the best. The higher ups may look down on him. He may joke to you that he should've killed them before. Earning a laugh from you. He may not be able to see you or your daughter. But as long as he can hear the two of you. As long as he can feel your daughters small face, her little hands and feet. As long as he can feel your gentle touch and face. As long as he can kiss you and make love to you.

He's forever grateful, to be standing here with you. To have heard you give birth to his daughter. To be able to hear the first cry from his daughter. Forever grateful to have you blessing him with your eternal love and support.

It's more than enough to make him wipe his tears of sadness and instead replace them with tears of happiness. He didn't have to be the strongest anymore. But rather a father and loving husband.

----Author's note-----------------------------------------------------------

I might've gone a little too far. Oh well.. hehe :) -I also write Nanami and Toji fics in case anyone is interested (any jjk character really), i also take requests^^

[aemonds-sapphire]

Unnoticed

Summary: Aemond fucks you a little too hard… and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Comic relief. Aemond being Aemond. Aegon being Aegon and having a deathwish.

Word count: 1k

“We ought to be on our way.”

You glanced lovingly at your husband who had been fixing his hair and attire, expertly getting rid of every and any proof of his earlier endeavour with you.

“Must we go?”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “We must.”

Ever dutiful.

Sighing heavily, you threw your legs over the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling a faint sting in your inner thigh as cramps spread throughout your legs.

You took a mental note to never let Aemond fuck you ever again before a royal feast.

He came to stand before you, extending his hand with a devious smile tugging at his lips. “Shall we, lady wife?”

The discomfort only increased as you reading yourself to stand on your feet.

“Aemond…”

He eyed you intensely, taking a hold of your arm as you slumped against the mattress. “Are you well?”

“I think I’ve strained something…”

You rubbed at your inner thigh before realising the pain extended to your groin as well.

Aemond crouched at your feet, his eye widening slightly. “Was it my doing?”

Ah. The male ego.

“I suppose,” you nearly chuckled. “You might have overdone it this time, lord husband.”

He placed both hands on your thighs. “I would usually apologise, but considering the circumstances, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You huffed in forced annoyance as he planted a kiss atop your knee through your dress.

“Should I kiss it better?”

Tempting, but time was of the essence.

“Help me up,” you said, brushing a stray strand of silver hair behind his ear.

Aemond rose to his feet and grabbed both your arms. With little to no effort, he brought you up to stand in front of him.

A jab of soreness dug into your muscles and you couldn’t hold back a hiss.

Your husband planted a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Should I carry you?”

You glanced back at him only to find a playful smile on his face. “Aemond Targaryen, you will do no such thing. Just help me get to the dining hall.”

Aemond wrapped one arm around your waist. “Are you certain?”

You offered him a weak smile. “I’m sure it will pass.”

It did not pass.

In fact, you could feel the throb intensifying with each step along the loomy halls of the Red Keep. Aemond made sure you were close enough so he could check on you periodically. Your sudden ailment turned the heads of many Kingsguard that would occasionally offer help.

Aemond would have none of it, of course. He’d sooner have you use him as clutch.

Which was precisely what you were doing.

“We will never try that position ever again,” you hissed through gritted teeth, clasping his arm with increased strength.

He patted your hand softly. “If memory serves me right, you were the one who suggested it.”

Infuriating.

“Be it as it may…”

Your voice died in your throat as the two of you approached the large dining hall, the sound of cheerful music and indistinguishable voices filling your ears.

Even though you struggled down the stairs, you put on a wide smile in the hopes it would be enough to hide the discomfort.

“You are going to scare someone off,” Aemond whispered in your ear teasingly.

Your smile promptly dropped and you cleared your throat. “This is all your fault.”

He didn’t contest your accusation.

“If I stand here without moving, no one will notice.”

“Yes, I am sure that will not raise suspicions when the time comes to sit at the table, lady wife,” he said, sarcasm laced with amusement dripping from his voice.

A servant came before you, holding a platter with several cups of wine. “May I tempt you, my prince? My lady?”

You immediately snatched one in your hand, knowing that alcohol might ease the throbbing in your inner thigh.

Desperate for some relief, you downed most of the liquid, earning a surprised look from Aemond. “You’d do well to go easy on that. We do not need a second Aegon amongst us.”

You blinked at him. “This is all your fault.”

“I heard you the first time,” he nodded, lips curling upwards.

People from all over the Seven Kingdoms swarmed the large hall, making it nearly impossible to walk through without bumping into a few guests.

Your limping might have gone unnoticed by those around you, but the sudden wave of relief was cut short when you spotted Aegon heading your way.

“Brother!”

He had definitely emptied a fair share of cups of wine already. You gathered it from all over-the-top excitement and overjoy from spotting his younger brother.

“Why are you walking like that?” he then nudged you in the side playfully.

“Sword practice yesterday,” Aemond said immediately.

“I tripped on my way here,” you blurted out simultaneously, earning a stare from Aegon.

His eyes hopped from you to Aemond in silence and you then saw a knowing smile appear on his lips.

“I see,” Aegon lifted his cup, drinking the liquid inside all at once. “Didn’t know you had it in you, little brother.”

Aemond shot him a death glare. “Whatever that means.”

Aegon rolled his eyes and chuckled, his breath reeking of wine. “Please… sword practice…” he said as he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You felt Aemond tense under your touch. “Must you be so vulgar?”

“I am sure my sister-in-law agrees with me,” he said with a shrug, before stealing another cup from a passing servant. “How’s my brother’s sword?”

You choked on your own saliva and Aegon quickly passed you his own cup of wine.

“Aegon,” Aemond said as a warning, taking a few steps towards him.

After a few hasty gulps, you were able to breathe once more. “Let’s go, Aemond…”

Your husband took the cup from your hand and shoved it into his brother’s chest until he grabbed it.

Their relationship was rocky to say the least. Aemond extended the bare minimum amount of respect as he possibly could to Aegon.

Aegon frowned. “You’re so frigid, little brother.”

His voice faded away as Aemond walked you through a few guests, greeting the ones you knew and smiling at the ones you didn’t.

Soon after, you walked right into Queen Alicent “Oh, dear… why are you limping?” her voice was filled with worry as her features twisted in concern as she took you in her arms, her warmth filling your entire body.

“Sword practice yesterday,” you said with a forced smile.

“She tripped on her way here,” Aemond said.

She looked taken aback for a moment. “What?”

Great.

You were about to change the topic when you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder.

Aegon.

“Seems like Aemond went too hard on her with his sword, mother.”

You watched as Aemond’s lips pursed into a thin line. If looks could kill, you were dead sure Aegon Targaryen would get buried several feet beneath the Red Keep in an instant.

“Aemond!” Alicent gasped, cluthing her pearl necklace. “I warned you not to do so.”

A pang of cold sweat ran through you as your heart dropped to your stomach. Had she caught on to Aegon’s innuendo?

Alicent wrapped one arm around you protectively. “You are a seasoned swordsman, but she isn’t. You must not be so demanding.”

“Of course, mother.”

Your heart soared once again with relief and you sank into Alicent’s embrace.

“I reckon she is getting the hang of it,” Aegon grinned, taking another sip from his cup. “Wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

“I reckon you should keep your mouth shut, brother,” Aemond said abruptly.

“Honestly, Aegon, do tear yourself from that cup of wine,” she scolded in a low voice before turning to you. “Should I fetch a maester?”

“Oh! No, no,” you quickly said, forcing yet another smile. “I’m already feeling much better, thank you, your grace.”

You were wholeheartedly grateful for Alicent’s caring and nurturing nature and, truth be told, you did feel some of the throbbing pain ease.

Aemond came to join your side once again, pushing Aegon’s hand off your shoulder.

Otto Hightower appeared out of nowhere, jolting you as he towered over you. He offered a curt smile and nod before bending to whisper something in his daughter’s ear.

Alicent’s face deepened with worry once again. “Should I go and be by his side?”

Otto shook his head. “No need. He just needs some rest.”

The effect those words had on the two siblings was immediate: Aegon’s face dropped into a faint frown as he exchanged glances with Aemond.

Her body was suddenly tense against yours, but she merely nodded. The king’s health had been declining rapidly, causing him to miss out of most of the events he’d once took joy in organising.

“Are you well, my dear?” Otto was back to his usual pleasing demeanour as he looked at you.

You nodded sweetly, but Aegon was apparently bent on antagonising you. “Aemond hurt her with his sword.”

The older man arched an eyebrow at your husband. How come?”

You could tell Aemond was close to lunging at his brother and mustered all of his will-power to prevent that from happening.

“It’s nothing. It happens,” you chuckled through the tension that had settled.

“We should get her a maester,” Alicent said, her eyes roaming across the vast hall.

“Lighten up, brother,” Aegon cheered with another sip as Aemond’s face twisted into a menacing scowl. “We are merely concerned for your wife.”

Otto brought his hands up into a series of small claps of approval. “Good, good. Family stands together.”

You wished you could vanish into a hole in the ground and disappear, but before you could entertain that idea, Grand Maester Maester was spotted in the crowd and Aegon rushed to summon him.

By the time the old man managed to join your side, you immediately regretted ever joining your husband in this feast.

“Please… there is no need for this,” you said as you began to panic.

“Aemond hurt her with his sword…” Aegon feigned concern before wiggling his eyebrows.

Maester Mellos was perceptive enough to gather the implication in his words, promptly clearing his throat.

Alicent came to that same realisation next as she sighed heavily, glaring disapprovingly at Aegon. “Oh… you imbecile…”

You felt heat take over your body from the embarrassed.

And in no time, Aemond was on Aegon, gripping the back of his neck with bone-cracking force and hissing at him. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Let go of me!” he tried to jerk away, but Aemond’s grip didn’t ease.

“Stop it. Both of you,” came Otto’s authoritarian voice, effectively tearing both siblings away from each other.

Maester Mellos seemed suddenly out of place as he approached you. “If there is anything I can do to help, let me know, my lady. I have some oils that… are quite effective… in…” he fell silent, avoiding Queen Alicent and Otto’s inquisitive stare.

Aemond took you in his arm once more as you growled at him absolutely mortified. “This is all your fault.”

[hyperactively-me]

I saw a similar request, but this idea has been in my mind for a long time. An ally from a neighboring kingdom has arrived with his heir, a prince who is her age. Simon is infuriated by the way the prince looks at his treasure and is clearly jealous, but he doesn't show it. However, later that night, he takes and «claims» her all night, and she doesn't understand what got into him

oopsies my fingers slipped and i'm posting this earlier than i originally planned. got some angst packed in here. and smut! someone's jealous. but also extremely concerned. hope you like! also i made up random characters for this (again) lolz. also last thing, this is lowkey long

warnings: smut, inexperienced!reader

The morning sun spilled through the windows of your shared royal chamber as you and Simon prepared to receive King Victor and Prince Theodore. King Victor was an extremely trusted ally to Kastron, strong bonds between the two kingdoms stemming from decades ago. You donned a gown of regal blue, embroidered with intricate patterns that reflected your wealth and status. The dress flowed gracefully around you, accentuating your figure and emphasizing your beauty.

“Si, can you please tie the back for me?” you question, reaching around to tug at the strings resting on your back. 

Simon turned to face you, securing the cufflinks on his sleeves. “Of course, love,” he murmured, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers deftly moved to secure the ties of your gown, and he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your shoulder. 

As he finished securing the gown, his hands lingered on your shoulders, turning you around to face him, and he met your gaze with a certain intensity. “You look beautiful, as always,” he said, his voice low and husky.

You couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading across your face. “Thank you, Si.” You peck his cheek, grabbing his hands in yours. Simon's eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“Are you ready?” he asks, pulling you towards the door.

“Yup, I’m ready,” you sigh, straightening your dress once more before stepping outside. 

The arrival of King Victor and Prince Theodore was imminent, and the royal staff buzzed with anticipation. The bond between Kastron and their kingdom was unbreakable. The visit was meant to strengthen the enduring ties between the two kingdoms. As the grand doors swung open, King Victor and Prince Theodore entered with an air of regal grace. King Victor, with his silver hair and a warm, wise smile, exuded a commanding presence. Prince Theodore, around your age, was a mirror image of his father, possessing a handsomeness that drew attention.

“Ah, Simon,” Victor spoke, approaching him with a smile. 

“Victor, very nice to see you again,” Simon replies, shaking Victor’s hand with a firm grip. 

“Of course you remember my son, Theodore?” Victor says, pulling Theodore into his side. 

“It’s been a while, but yes, I vaguely remember,” Simon replies, giving Theodore a firm handshake as well. 

“You are going to introduce us to your new queen, right?” Victor quips, clapping Simon on the back with a friendly chuckle. 

“Of course, Victor,” Simon smiles, placing his hand on the small of your back. With a slight nudge of his hand, he pushes you forward in front of Victor and Theodore. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, the queen.”

You offer a polite curtsy, your regal grace on full display. “Your majesty,” you greet, smiling warmly at Victor. You extend your hand to him, and he accepts it with a warm smile.

“My queen, how lovely it is to finally meet you,” he smiles. He reminds you of your father, warm yet commanding. “I’ve heard of your marriage to good ol’ Simon here. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend the wedding. But now that I’m here, it is safe for me to say that Simon is lucky to have you.” 

You smile at Victor, his well wishes flattering you. “I truly appreciate the sentiment, your majesty.”

You turn to face Prince Theodore. “Your highness,” you greet, extending your hand out to him. Theodore grabs your hand lightly, bowing before you. 

“Your majesty, how flattered I am to bask in your presence,” he says, his voice buttery smooth. 

His gaze is anything but subtle. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Prince Theodore—”

“Please, call me Theo.”

His concern caught you off guard. “Oh, yes, of course, I apologize—”

“No need to apologize,” he murmurs, holding onto your hand longer than he has to. You maintain your composure, withdrawing your hand gracefully from his grasp. You don’t notice the way Simon straightens his back a little, a subtle tension settling in his posture, like a coiled spring. 

“Come, now,” Victor sighs, wrapping an arm around Simon’s shoulder. “How about we start these dreaded talks?” he jokes, laughing jovially as he pulls Simon towards the meeting room. 

You turn to follow them, but not before Theodore offers you his arm. You take it with a smile, following behind Victor and Simon. The presence of Prince Theodore's arm linked with yours added a weight to your steps as you followed the others into the meeting room. Unbeknownst to you, his demeanor made it clear that he had little intention of keeping things strictly formal.

Once the doors are shut, Simon turns to you, jaw clenching as he sees you arm in arm with Theodore. Immediately, Simon is striding over to your seat, next to his of course. He pulls it out for you, motioning for you to sit down. 

“Thank you, Simon,” you smile at him, settling down in your seat. Simon turns to glare at Theodore for a split second before taking his seat next to you. 

Once inside, the discussions began. You, Victor, and Simon delved into matters of trade and alliances, and Prince Theodore was left with more observing. You and Simon had discussed what would happen in this meeting in the days leading up. This would be your first official involvement in Kastron’s affairs with an ally. You would offer as much aide as you could, utilizing your knowledge from your lessons with your advisors.

As the meeting began, you inserted yourself into the talks confidently, trying your best to be as diplomatic and professional as possible. When you were about to speak again, Theodore interrupted you.

Theodore raised an eyebrow, his eyes locking onto yours, then flitting to Simon. “Forgive me, but I can't help but be curious about something,” he said, his tone light yet probing. Theodore addresses you by your first name, taking you slightly aback. No one refers to you by just your first name other than Simon and your family. You don’t notice the way Simon narrows his eyes in annoyance at Theodore. 

“Your confidence is truly a sight to see,” Theodore compliments, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “It’s honestly impressive to see, especially only becoming queen of Kastron a couple of months ago.”

You smile appreciatively at him. “Oh, thank you,” you gush, “I’ve been doing lessons for the majority of my time here, but I’ve really fallen in love with Kastron.”

Simon knocks his knee into yours under the table, his leg resting right against yours.

Theodore leans back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Prosperity and alliances aside, I can't help but be curious about the person you are behind the title. I'm sure there's more to you than just diplomacy and royal duties.”

“Oh, well, maybe we can talk afterwards?” you suggest, smiling at him politely. “I’m sure we would like to get these talks over as soon as possible.”

Simon’s hand appears under the table, thick fingers tracing your thigh and coming to rest on the slope of your inner thigh. You squirm slightly as his fingers linger on your thigh, but you keep your mouth shut. 

“I would be delighted,” Theodore smiles back at you. 

Theodore’s interjections and conversation directed towards you for the rest of the meeting made Simon feel like he was losing his sanity inch by inch. As the discussions wore on, you didn’t notice the way Simon's jaw clenched intermittently. He maintained a diplomatic facade, but the strain was evident. 

The meeting started wrapping up, all good results for both parties. 

“Well, we would like to thank you for coming, Victor,” Simon says, shaking Victor’s firmly. “I had no doubt in my mind that we wouldn’t be able to come up with an advantageous agreement for the both of us.”

“Always a pleasure, my boy,” Victor smiles enthusiastically, shaking Simon’s hand.

Victor turns to you. “And, my dear, a wonderful job you’ve done here! You have great potential.” 

You smile graciously, extremely pleased that an experienced monarch complimented you. 

“Thank you, Victor, your words mean so much to me.” 

Prince Theodore taps you on the shoulder. Simon immediately tenses beside you, placing a hand on your waist. 

“Do you still want to talk?” Theodore asks with an air of confidence, eyeing Simon for a brief moment. “I could use some advice in terms of meetings like these…you just did such a wonderful job.” 

You turn to Prince Theodore with a polite smile, not noticing the tension that lingers in Simon's expression. “Certainly! I’ll try my best!”

Theodore's gaze lingers on you, his eyes sparkling with a subtle charm. “I was thinking perhaps we could talk somewhere else? I'd love to hear more about Kastron from your perspective.”

Before you can say anything, Simon is interrupting you, voice stern and gruff. 

“She’s actually feeling quite exhausted.”

“Wha—”

“We must be off, it has been a long day,” Simon continues, squeezing you flush against him. 

Your eyebrows raise slightly in confusion at Simon’s intervention, but you quickly recover, offering a polite smile to Prince Theodore. “I apologize, Prince Theodore, but Simon is right. It has been a long and productive day, and I’m afraid I am feeling a bit fatigued. Perhaps we can continue our conversation another time?” 

Simon, his expression firm, nods in agreement. “Another time, Prince Theodore. We appreciate your understanding.” And with that, Simon practically drags you away and to your chambers, arm still fastened around your waist. 

. . . 

“Simon, what was that back there?”

The moment the door clicks shut, Simon is practically on top of you. 

“Woah— hey, big guy, what’s—”

“Quiet,” he commands, pressing his body up against yours. He’s slotting you against him, grabbing your hips with fervor. 

“Simon—”

And he’s kissing you. Kissing you with an intensity in a way that feels…different. He’s pressing into you so hard that you don’t fully realize when your back hits the wall. 

Simon slots his knee in between your legs, bucking his knee up into you, pressing into your clothed clit just right. You gasp into his mouth, grabbing onto his shoulders for support. Simon groans at your reaction, the way your hands feel against him is heavenly. But his shirt is in the way. And his pants. In one fluid movement, Simon shucks his shirt off and presses himself back on you. 

“Simon, what’s gotten into you—?”

“Saw the way he was looking at you—”

“Wha– who?”

“Theodore.”

“What?” you stop moving. “What are you talking about?” 

You push your hands against his bare chest, trying to push him off you. “What are you talking about?” He moves back, removing his knee from in between your legs. 

“He was trying to get in your pants,” he says bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Your face heats up at his accusation, “Simon, he was not—”

“He wouldn’t stop talking to you.”

“He was just interested in political advice! Yeah, he was a bit immature during the meeting, interrupting me, but that was it,” you exclaim. 

“No, no he wasn’t—” Simon pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut.

“How do you know?” you question, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“I’m a man. I just know.”

“Really? Simon, I–”

He interrupts you.

“I cannot have a repeat of Valerian.” 

You’re silent, and suddenly you feel small under his gaze. His eyes search yours, emotion coursing through him. 

“Valerian was truly dangerous. They are not the same—”

“I don’t like taking that chance with you,” Simon presses, returning his hands back on your hips. His grip returns you back against the wall. You look at him, mouth parted slightly. You lick your lips and nod with understanding.

“I can’t stand Theodore, the prying little prick.” 

You rub Simon’s arms in soothing motions, up and down. You know where this is coming from. He’s just scared. 

“I know,” you whisper quietly. 

“We’re going back to daily self defense training,” Simon adds on, breathing hard into your ear. “And ‘m gonna assign a personal guard to you.”

You get goosebumps from his breath against your skin. You nod slowly, chewing your lip.

“Okay.”

“I should’ve done all of this sooner, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m a bad husband—” 

“No, no you’re not, Si,” you whisper, pulling him against you. You rest your cheek against his bare chest, his skin hot against your face. “You’re not.”

You take his face in your hands and pull him down for a gentle kiss. He lets out a breath as your lips meet his, and he’s leaning against you again, making you take his body weight against the wall. His hands reach around your back, pulling at the strings on your dress with his meaty fingers. You reach around your back to help him, yanking at the strings and hoping it unravels. With a satisfied grunt, Simon yanks the knot free, letting the dress slip from your shoulders. 

He kisses you again, hands pulling the dress of your form. Simon pulls you into his arms, his chest pressed against yours as if trying to consume you whole, his hand shooting out to brace against the wall as he walks you back into it once more, moving his knee back in between your pillowy thighs. You gasp into his mouth as his knee comes back into contact with your core, beckoning you to slide against him. 

“Oh—” you whisper, your head falling back against the wall as he rocks his knee against you. 

He kisses his way down your throat, nipping at the skin before sucking a hickey on your flesh. You gasp, trying to push him off. It’s too late, and he’s looking at you with a certain glint in his eyes.

“Si, people are going to see that—” “Let them,” is all he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lip. “You’re mine. Only mine.” 

You feel his cock press into your thighs. You stutter as desire pools between your legs. He starts rocking his knee against you harder, making you swallow your words as a moan threatens to escape your throat. You involuntarily grind against his thigh, eliciting a small chuckle from him. His hands move to your hips, pushing you down more firmly onto his thigh, a soft gasp falling past your lips.

“Thas’ it, love,” he encourages, grabbing your hips firmly, pushing you against his thigh. You gasp louder this time as your clothed cunt makes contact with him. 

He revels in your reaction, loves hearing your sounds. You bite your lip, unaccustomed to the way you felt against his leg. Your shyness only spurs him on, pulling your hips forward, dragging you against his covered thigh once more. 

“Si,” you garble, clutching onto his shoulders, your wetness pooling in your panties. You let your head fall in front of his chest as he pulls and pushes at your hips. You pant softly, "Fuck, Si," curling your fingers into his skin deliciously. 

“Feel good, dove?” He drawls, lost in your pleasure. He watches you nod slowly. “I’m the only one who will make you feel this good.” 

You grab his shoulder tightly as he speaks, your wetness surely soaking through your panties now. 

“F- feels so good,” you murmur with a shaky breath, groaning lightly at the way he nudges you on his thigh, the feeling of fabric rubbing against your clit making your legs tremble slightly. 

Simon slides his fingers up into your panties, sliding his fingers through your slick and pressing at your clit before pulling them back out. You shiver from the loss of contact, a glossy look washing over your eyes as you watch Simon bring his now dripping fingers up to his face. 

“So wet,” he notes, wiggling his fingers in front of your face. “S’ wet all for me.” 

You nod your head quickly, becoming lost in your own pleasure, moving your hips faster. “Only for you.”

Simon watches you intently, bringing his slick-covered fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean as you watch him. He groans at the taste of you, bucking his knee up into you, making you moan. “Taste s’ good f’me,” he mumbles around his fingers, licking every last drop. 

You look up at him, mouth agape. “I– I think,” you mumble, grasping onto his shoulders with a death grip. Your knees start to shake, the coil in your stomach threatening to unravel. 

“Let go, love,” Simon encourages you, rutting you harshly against his thigh. 

You feel the coil in your stomach snap, moaning as you arch your back, hips rutting forward. You dig your nails into his shoulders, pressing your forehead up against his chest as you roll through your climax. 

“Thas’ it, darling, so good all f’me,” Simon says huskily eyes darkening as he removes his leg from in between your thighs. Immediately Simon is pulling you over to the bed, laying you down gently. He was planning on being anything but. 

Your mind is hazy as he climbs on top of you, your climax dripping through your now completely soaked panties. Simon lowers his head down, presses his nose into your clothed cunt, the top of his nose pressing into your clit. You gasp again, hands finding purchase in the bedsheets. 

Simon grabs the edge of your panties with his teeth, then pulls, ripping them off your body. You shriek, heat creeping up your face, “Si- Simon! Those were one of my favorites—”

“I’ll get you another,” he coos at you, licking your slick off your folds. Then he dove in. You let out a deep seated moan as he pressed his tongue through your folds, humming and groaning at your taste. He digs his fingers into your thighs, groaning louder as he tastes more of you. He’s so vocal with the pleasure he derives from you, always so eager to please you.

“‘M the only one,” he hums into your cunt, “who’ll taste you like this.” 

You’re so wet it’s dripping down his chin, his nose, his lips. You nearly sob as he presses impossibly farther into you, squeezing his head around your thighs. Your hips buck off the bed as his tongue presses inside you, grinding down on him as his nose hits your clit. He groans as you spasm around his tongue, grasping your hips in a bruising grip. He moves back up to your clit, pressing his tongue against your bud, swirling around your bundle of nerves. Tears prick your eyes, the stimulation bringing you close to the edge again. 

“Simon,” you cry out, pawing at him. He ignores you, relishing in the way your back is arching off the bed. He’s bringing you to the edge, again, and the moment his eyes flit up to meet yours, you cum. Your eyes roll back, the coil within you letting loose once more. Simon moans as his tongue laps up your release eagerly. 

With lightning speed, Simon is crawling back up your body and kisses you, long and deep, shoving your slick inside your mouth for you to taste.

“Taste s’good, baby,” he praises, squeezing your hips as he kisses you. He shudders as your nails scratch down his back gently, grazing his shoulders with an unexpected gentleness. 

Simon leans down to your collarbone, pressing hickies into your skin, much to your dismay (you loved it). You could care less that there’ll be visible marks all over your body by the time he’s done. He goes farther, sucking hickies at the tops of your breasts, pulling you against him as he does so. His breath hitches everytime he hears you moan, his hard cock aching in the confines of his pants, your sounds only pushing him farther and farther.

“Please, please” you moan, tugging at his hair, “take your pants off.” 

“Because you asked so sweetly, pretty girl,” he whispers, fumbling with his pants as he practically rips them off his legs. His cock springs free, angry and ready. 

“Please,” you murmur, eyeing his cock. Your fingers brush over it, and he lets out a hiss. Simon grabs your wrist, forcing your hand to close around his member. He drags your hand up and down his cock, once, twice, before he’s twitching. He needs to be inside of you. Now. 

He reaches down to spread your folds for him, then pushes just the tip inside your walls. You groan at the stretch, clawing his back as the meaty tip pries you open. 

“So good–” you moan as he continues to slide inside of you, the stretch making you wince in pain and pleasure. 

“Almost there, lovie, such a good girl,” he praises, keening at the way your nails scratch his back. He lets out a strangled breath as he bottoms out inside of you, letting his forehead rest against yours to catch his breath. 

You whimper as he just sits there, his strong arms clutching your back as he lifts your back off the bed. As he lifts you up, he hooks your legs around his hips tightly. He grabs your back with his strong arms, pulling you up from your previous position on the bed. 

Suddenly, he’s pulling his cock almost all the way before slamming back into you with no remorse. You moan loudly, eyes rolling back as he bounces you on his cock, hard. 

“‘M the only one that’ll fuck you like you deserve,” he groans into your neck, dragging you up and down his cock like its his day job. You whimper and drag your nails down his back, your nails scratching his skin so perfectly, red marks appearing along his rippling muscles. 

He moves faster, pumping into you hard. He’s never been this rough with you before. 

“You’re mine, only mine,” Simon strains. “Say it.” 

“‘M yours, Si,” you babble, grasping onto him. “I’m o-only yours.” You moan as your hands find purchase in the firmness of his back, shoving your head against his neck to leave him open mouthed kisses. 

The words he so urgently craved from you slipped from your lips, prompting a growl to escape from his own.

“Good girl,” he grunts, voice gruff and husky, overridden with lust and the way your legs felt around his hips. “My good girl.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, clutching the back of your head to press his tongue into your mouth deeply. Your eyes fall shut, the pleasure overbearing as he moves his hand from the back of your head to your throbbing clit. Your back arches into him, moaning loudly as he massages your swollen bundle of nerves. 

You clench around his length, breathing ragged, you’re so close. “You’re mine,” Simon drawls, thrusting into you harder, deeper. “I- I’ll fuckin’ kill anyone who touches–” he stutters, speech cut off as you kiss him. You don’t want him to finish that sentence, but you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t sing as he spoke. 

The ever so familiar coil building up in your abdomen breaches your senses, your muscles tightening. Your mind is foggy as he continues pounding into you, playing with your clit, pushing you farther. 

“Takin’ me so well, darling girl.” 

“‘M gonna cum,” you cry out, his fingers on your clit pushing you over the edge. 

“I know, I know,” he grunts, his voice strained from his own impending release. “Cum for me, baby.” 

You whimper as you cum, nails digging into Simon’s back as your senses go into overdrive. 

“G- good girl,” Simon strains, his speed increasing at you coming on his cock. His breathing grows erratic as he slams his hips against yours, hands gripping at your back. “My beautiful girl.” 

Simon slides his hands from your back, letting you fall back on the mattress as he pushes himself into you. 

“I’m yours, Si, always yours,” you whisper, grabbing at his wrist on your hip. “Forever yours.”

You lock eyes with him. 

“You’re mine,” you lick your lips, eyes meeting his. “You’re all mine, Simon.”

He moans at those words alone, closing his eyes as he rolls his hips before releasing inside of you. He drops on top of you, flipping you over so you’re laying on top of his chest. You press your chin against his chest, his racing heartbeat pounding against your skin. 

“Fuck, dove.” He finally opens his eyes, looking right at you. He looks like he’s in utter shock. “Fuck.” 

He doesn’t pull out quite yet, letting his softening cock rest inside you. 

“Hmm?”

“Say that again.”

You shift under his gaze, his eyes practically boring holes in your skin. 

“You’re mine, Simon.” 

He shudders, hands running up your body to rest on your ass. He gives you a firm squeeze. 

He looks at you, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“Damn right.”

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Love is Stored in the Cat: A Nepeta Leijon Character Study

I guess these are a series now! I also have a request for Feferi in my inbox that I'll get around to eventually.

SO! Dear, sweet Nepeta.

Nepeta is the troll that is most against the existence of the hemocaste.

I believe the Ultimate Self speech was originally going to be from her, not Davepetasprite^2.

She's bad at shipping.

These all make her extremely impurrtant!!!

So furst of all, I'm going to start with the same disclaimer as my Eridan essay (go read that first!!! It sets up a lot of ideas that I'm expanding on here), which is that the things Hussie says are going to be lowered in value, because he likes to play coy about plot stuff. I'm also not counting anything but the actual text as canon, and even with in that text, I'm counting everything after GAME OVER as soft canon - a suggestion of what would have been, often truncated for time, often a deliberate middle finger to the shitty fandom.

Okay, so with that squared away!

Nepeta Says Fuck The Hemocaste

I'm not going to bother doing a deep dive on Nepeta's characterization, because fur the most part, I think the fandom more or less gets her right - she wears her heart (h33h33) on her sl33ve, after all! She's a very sweet little catgirl who loves roleplay and shipping, who is also a vicious hunter of wild beasts and lives in a cave. She's very nice and friendly, but has a tough streak and a spine.

She also says fuck the hemocaste, why does that even exist:

CT: D --> Your fraternization with the base classes have 100sened your morals, can't you see this AC: :33 < no! i dont care, they are fun AC: :33 < and i dont know anything about classes or bases or blood color, it doesn't matter! AC: :33 < what does gr33n blood even mean! it doesnt mean anything to me and it shouldnt mean anything to anyone else!

This is a radical stance not outright shared by any of the other trolls. Aradia calls highbloods "hateful sn0bs" that she and Tavros shouldn't have "ever had anything t0 d0 with", the highbloods are, of course, all casteist to varying degrees, and even Karkat seems fairly accepting of the class divide, at one point taunting Vriska that her rejection from the blue team is "ANOTHER INFURIATING VICTORY FOR GUTTER BLOOD OVER ARISTOCRACY". Not to mention his long-held dream of becoming a threshecutioner.

Even Feferi, despite saying to Eridan that "W-E AR-E NOT B-ETT-ER T)(AN ANYBODY!!!!!", is actually perfectly comfortable with the caste system's existence, comparing having to stop using her royal typing quirk to "peasant-IFICATING" herself - and let's not forget that a Beforus under her rule had its caste system 100% intact.

This means that Nepeta is the ONLY troll who has said, in no uncertain terms, that the caste system should not exist. It's stupid, it's bad, and it doesn't meowtter!

AND SHE'S RIGHT.

But she's never able to fully express this opinion, which brings us to:

A COMPLICKATED RELATIONSHIP WITH EQUIUS

Now, before I say anything, I must insist that I do believe these two work as good moirails. That does not, however, stop them from being 13, and therefore, being poor to each other the way 13-year-olds sometimes are. I don't think they should break up; I think they should re-examine certain dynamics, and I think they need some space to breathe apart from each other.

Equius has a lot of problems, which I won't get into overmuch here, because... that's a whole essay on its own (are you people seeing a trend yet). But with regards to Nepeta specifically, he's extremely controlling and protective, to the point where she's a little scared of him before the game begins:

AC: :33 < well it does sound like it will be a lot of fun but i think i should get purrmission first GC: BL4R!!!!! GC: TH4TS SO STUP1D GC: H3S NOT TH3 BOSS OF YOU AC: :33 < i know! AC: :33 < but still im kind of scared of him and i think purrhaps its best to just run it by him first so there isnt a kerfuffle about it or anything

She's also afraid to tell him about her crush on Karkat, since she knows he doesn't like Karkat:

AC: :33 < well AC: :33 < i have never told anybody this not even my moirail AC: :33 < heh, actually hes the LAST guy i might tell, he so wouldnt appurrve X33 AC: :33 < but yes i have liked somebody for quite some time, but alas he doesnt know it

By the time they end their game, she's gotten over this fear, seeing as she spends many hours curled up with Equius in a pile of robotics parts, but it still must be noted that they have some issues in their relationship that were never resolved, primarily on Equius's end. What this means for Nepeta, however, is that in addition to setting her up as the most outright anti-classism troll, the comic sets her up to be socially isolated due to her moirail's paranoia about letting her associate with both lowbloods (seeing them as bad influences) OR other highbloods, seeing them as dangerous.

He's not entirely wrong - his refusal to allow her to participate in FLARP kept her from winding up entangled in the horrible chain of revenge, as Tavros alludes:

AT: iT'S PROBABLY FOR THE BEST, AT: tHAT YOU LISTEN TO HIM, AC: :33 < i dont know AC: :33 < you think so? AT: wELL, AT: iF YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO HIM BEFORE, AT: yOU MIGHT HAVE PLAYED GAMES WITH US BEFORE, AT: aND SOMETHING BAD MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED TO YOU, AC: :33 < hmm purrhaps

But he's still wrong. And it's probably an uncontrolled manifestation of his Heir of Void abilities - he's both consciously and unconsciously hiding her from other people.

This isn't to say she doesn't stand up for herself! Many of her discussions with Equius are pseudo-arguments, and she does get her way often enough, managing to get him to roleplay with her, and managing to get him back in the roboti% pile to talk about his feelings about Aradia. She also talks to the humans explicitly against Equius's orders, although she's keeping it a sneakret from him:

NEPETA: :33 < but equius already furbid me from doing that :(( NEPETA: :33 < not that i am listening to him, but shhhhh! :33 KARKAT: WAIT, HE DID? KARKAT: OK, THEN AS YOUR LEADER I ORDER YOU TO RP WITH THEM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. BE AS OBNOXIOUS ABOUT IT AS YOU CAN. NEPETA: :33 < yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

But the fact that she has to tiptoe around him like this speaks to them having issues in their relationship that go unexamined and unresolved, especially since it's clear that Nepeta really would like to be friends with more people, were Equius not getting in her way. So, even though I do think they are good moirails for each other - they clearly genuinely, deeply care about one another. But they could use some relationship counselling.

In fact, Jasprosesprite^2 outright calls her lonely:

JASPROSESPRITE^2: Or the girl who likes ships! Cause they made her less lonely. ;3

So, she's anti-hemocaste and lonely, two character traits that were set up and never resolved. And beclaws this is Nepeta, in her honor, I'm going to talk about a third:

Her Unrequited Crush On Karcat

She has the BIGGEST flushed crush on Karkat. It's seen on her shipping wall twice, once with the word OTP on it.

And, despite never discussing it with her moirail, Nepeta mentions it once to Jaspersprite, and once to Jasprosesprite^2.

Now, I'm not really here to debate on the validity of KatNep - I think it's fine, even if I don't personally ship it, and don't personally think it would work out (there are lots of indications that they wouldn't work out, including Jasprosesprite^2 outright saying so). However, her crush on Karkat is both complicated and creates some interesting setups for her character. I am going to discuss it fairly critically either way, so KatNep shippers have been warned.

A lot of her feelings about Karkat - and about shipping in general - wind up being heavily interlinked with her status as a Hero of Heart, so I'm going to expand on it more there. But what I will note in this section is the fact that, despite Nepeta insisting twice that she doesn't think Karkat knows about her crush on her:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < it was karkat NEPETASPRITE: :33 < but i never told him and im pretty sure he never found out how i felt!

He tooootally did:

KARKAT: OK, BUT TO BE FAIR, I'M PRETTY SURE SHE'S STILL OBSESSED WITH ME. KARKAT: IT'S A VERY UNFORTUNATE, VERY RED AND VERY UNREQUITED SITUATION I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TIPTOE AROUND FOR A LONG TIME, OK?

Interpret that how you will for shipping purposes, but I want to propose that this is a reflection of their statuses as Heart and Blood players. Heart, despite its players' obsessions with romance, is not the romance aspect, Blood is. Karkat displays this very same romantic acumen when he tells Dave that he's known Terezi and Gamzee were a thing for a long time, despite everyone else on the meteor trying to keep it a secret from him. Heart is, instead, about identity, feelings, motivations, souls, and self. In other words:

Nepeta Is Kind Of Bad At Shipping

Let's take a look at those shipping walls.

Let's break this down a little. Nepeta's ships are not entirely wrong, but even the successful ones are kind of wrong. Here's what I mean. We've already discussed how Equius and Nepeta's moirallegiance has some... issues in it. If we go down her list of ships that actually do happen, most of them have some issues in them!

Aradia expresses her regret for getting together with Equius in the Ministrife. Kanaya and Rose suffer some major relationship problems when Rose starts drinking, to the point Karkat feels a need to step in as an auspice. Karkat and Gamzee fail, as Karkat is not calmed by Gamzee, and Gamzee stops listening to Karkat. And while Sollux and Feferi seem to be fairly healthy, after they both wind up in the Furthest Ring, he's pretty much always next to Aradia - he and Feferi don't even get to exchange words with each other once they're in the Furthest Ring. Purrsonally, I think he and Feferi are meant to end up as moirails, but shhhh.

So what's happening here? Well, this goes back to her identity as a Heart player. Heart is concerned with feelings and motivations.

They simply want to understand the one thing we all are stuck with for our entire lives, i.e. our own minds. Forging an identity is extremely important to the Heart-bound, and every decision and action goes toward building a coherent narrative of their own story. That isn't to say Heart-bound don't care deeply for their friends and allies; they just have a tendency to assume that everyone is as concerned with identity as they are.

Nepeta's shipping has also been associated with her isolation and loneliness. When you put this together, it implies that Nepeta's shipping is about her desire to understand others, and much of her ships are based on one of the parties having feelings, regardless of compatibility, feasibility, or broader implications. After all, despite the fact that she has pretty terrible romantic acumen, she IS able to instinctively identify that Eridan's advances toward her were insincere:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < well ok i guess eridan hit on me a few times NEPETASPRITE: :33 < but his advances always struck me as cr33py and insincere

And that Karkat secretly LOVES and RESPECTS his friends:

JASPROSESPRITE^2: On the contrary Nepeta. You deserve someone who will RESPECT and ADORE you. NEPETASPRITE: :33 < well... yes NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i always hoped to find someone like that some day NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i dunno maybe youre right but in spite of whatever problems he might have i always felt like i saw something in him that made me think he could be that purrson!

Or knowing that Equius loves to play games, and still feels sad about Aradia exploding:

AC: :33 < i s33 right through your stupid act, who are you trying to kid! AC: :33 < look how you go out of your way to use words that have x's in them so that you can use your silly purrcent signs AC: :33 < or use these absurd words that you can shoehorn a '100' into, even if its not strictly replacing 'loo'!!! AC: :33 < you are so transpurrent AC: :33 < i can tell you like to play games, d33p down you are a guy who likes to play games! AC: :33 < i can smell a guy who likes to play games from so fur away with this nose, you have no idea X33

NEPETA: :33 < she was so happy, just like she used to be, and she said she would s33 you soon! EQUIUS: D --> That's a nice thought, and thank you for sharing it EQUIUS: D --> But it was only a dream, and will surely have no consequence in reality NEPETA: :33 < equius? NEPETA: :33 < are those f33lings i an detecting with my wiggly whiskery nose? EQUIUS: D --> Maybe

Because feelings, and not relationships, are her actual domain.

And speaking of Heart powers...

Nepeta and the Ultimate Self

So from this point forward, I'm going to assume you're more or less agreeing with my take that at some point after Game Over, Hussie - for whatever reason - gave up on his original ending, and wound up truncating his ideas so he could finish the comic faster. I go more into detail about that here.

So, in this hypothetical original ending, I firmly believe that the speech about the Ultimate Self would have come from Nepeta. First, let's take a look at what the "Ultimate Self" entails, as it appears within the comic:

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < everything that ever happens to every version of you is an important part of your ultimate self... like a superceding bodyless and timeless persona that crosses the boundaries of paradox space and unlike god tiers or bubble ghosts or whatever, it really IS immortal DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < but in your physical form there are all these partitions in your mind that prevent you from remembering any of that which makes your existence f33l totally linear DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < which is probably for the best! DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < in a regular body s33ing all that would be too overwhelming ... DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < and after it sinks in for a while you start coming to this understanding of a greater self DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < maybe i "got it" quicker though because of the two people i was and their aspects DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < understanding heart is all about the nuances of a distributed self DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < nepeta never got to make much headway with her aspect but shes finally gettin the chance DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < the time aspect is all about running into different versions of yourself so you kinda get confronted with it in a really literal way that can be disturbing DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < obviously davesprite stuggled with that too, but now its fine DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < hes fr33 from worrying about it all and what it means for his place in reality DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < because he can s33 now all his selves have relevance in painting the full picture of who he truly is DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < im not COMPLETELY sure because im not like some sort of ASPECT MASTER but DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < my avian slash feline intuition tells me that all roads will lead you here eventually DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < gaining the d33pest possible understanding of any aspect will bring you to the same final conclusion about your ultimate self

Now, I believe - and I hope you'll agree - that it's kind of lame, narratively, for Davesprite to have been set up with so much angst about not being the "real Dave," and for Nepeta to have all her issues with loneliness and shyness, and for these two specific iterations of each other to have never interacted, but suddenly getting double-prototyped fixes all of their problems, and they achieve Ultimate Selfhood despite being two total strangers to each other. So let's instead break down the more salient points about what Ultimate Selfhood entails, divorced from the fact that it's Davepetasprite^2 doing the narrating:

Every player in the game possesses an "Ultimate Self," an ultimate culmination of all their experiences and memories, specifically referred to as a "persona"

Normally, people are not aware of this, because it would be too overwhelming to deal with so many memories and iterations of each other.

Everyone will achieve Ultimate Selfhood eventually as the final culmination of their understanding of their aspect.

Heart is all about the nuances of a distributed self.

Let's talk about that last one some more, and by that I mean, let's see what Calliope has to say about it:

TT: I don't know why it had to be this way for me. Juggling these two waking selves at once. TT: I guess I'm used to it, but it still makes for a pretty intense existence. TT: Do you even know what the deal with that is? Like is there any precedent in your readings? UU: i don't know aboUt precedent, bUt it makes plenty of sense to me as the type of path one might expect for a hero of heart. UU: a path rUled by the heart aspect can be a joUrney of splintered self. UU: that is, the player's being may exhibit the same kind of fragmentation which certain classes coUld caUse in others. UU: i think this is what has triggered yoUr dUal-awareness between waking and dream selves, thoUgh it woUld not sUrprise me if the symptoms manifested in even more ways than this.

Now, Dirk has a clawmplicated relationship with his alternate selves, given that he's a Prince, but Nepeta wouldn't have the same struggles, or at least, not to the same degree. The problem is, hampered by Equius and her own shyness about discussing her thoughts and feelings with others:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i get so shy and worried what people might think of me if i say how i f33l NEPETASPRITE: :33 < im always so scared that they wont f33l the same way or just think im stupid or pathetic or something

She never actually gets to explore this part of herself.

But What If... She Did?

The way I imagine the original ending going is that each troll that gets saved by John's interference in the timeline then asks John to help them fix their own mistakes, thereby saving somebody else. Each successive trip through the meteor brings new character development, and also riddles the comic with progressively more password pages, which I think would be really funny. And throughout all this the Game Over team is searching for Vriska, Meenah, and the treasure, and resolving their arcs that way, so it's not like they would be replaced - they're the ones who get to kill LE. The process, in my mind, goes like this:

Terezi asks John to save Vriska, and prevent her from getting too spades with Gamzee, as these are her two greatest regrets.

Vriska obviously had great regrets about killing Tavros, both pre- and post-retcon, so she asks for his death to be prevented.

Tavros staying alive means that he and Gamzee wind up hashing out some stuff - Gamzee mentions that he feels "So aT ChIlL WiTh yOu" while talking to Tavros, and Tavros reciprocates the friendship and also - interestingly - acknowledges Gamzee's religion, calling it beautiful even if he doesn't necessarily believe in it. This is interesting because Karkat's inability to do so is explicitly one of the reasons their moirallegiance broke down. So having Tavros back, alive, means that he and Gamzee would likely end up in some sort of relationship, probably pale despite flushed leanings, and would bring Gamzee back into the fold.

Gamzee would then be like, yeah, wow, that time I killed Nepeta and Equius was pretty bad, huh? Especially since his decision to hang onto his friends' bodies and prototype them is often interpreted as him genuinely feeling bad about his dead friends (he tells Kurloz to shut up when Kurloz mentions all the dead friends, and his religion seems to be about a paradise he wants to share with his friends anyway). So he'd ask John to prevent him from killing them, resulting in the two of them getting to live.

Things get much more hypothetical from here, since so much of the character dynamics would have changed, but I think by this point, Equius might command ask John to let him say goodbye to Aradiabot before she explodes, which he expresses feeling very sad about. However, in doing so, John and Aradiabot end up in the same room, and when she realizes that he has the ability to change the timeline without repercussions, she'd seize him by the arm and demand that he take her back in time, to before she died. After all, she expresses regrets about her reckless actions, and how she always felt like it was all one big setup.

She would take Aradia's place in the Vriska revenge chain, being once more freed of her robot chassis, and from there, would trick Doc Scratch and the Handmaiden into thinking everything was still going according to their designs. Meanwhile, Alive!Aradia would be hanging out at Equius's place, borrowing his void powers to avoid notice, coordinating a new timeline that keeps the beats of the original (too much deviation causes unpredictability, and an paradox'd timeline offshoot without John's direct interference would still become doomed), but allows them greater freedom and the ability to overcome the machinations of Doc Scratch and associates.

This would also prevent Sollux from becoming so self-loathing, since it's no longer "his fault" that Aradia dies, although he winds up in that hole again after Feferi gets killed. Now that his Aradia is alive, he wouldn't feel like he might as well stay in the bubbles because his closest companions are there, so he'd make it to the end, and would ask John to prevent Feferi's death.

Eridan still dies; he's so disconnected and isolated from all his friends that his course of actions is largely unaffected even by everybody else's timeline tweaks. But before Feferi can suggest bringing him back, Karkat would butt in.

The Friendship Troll should be the one to demand that ALL of their friends be revived, especially if they had everyone except only one guy, and Karkat and Eridan are heavily implied to be moirails anyway. The course of Karkat's fixes are so comprehensive, and primarily romance-based, that the end result of this final loop is everybody not only being alive, but god-tiered, with appropriate character development.

Now, where Nepeta's Heart powers would play into all of this is that she would start to notice something going on. After all, Heart players are sensitive to their splintered selves, and (Nepeta) is probably much closer to Nepeta than regular doomed timeline offshoots. As the loops continue, and Nepeta has more and more time to talk to people, and meets her dead alternate selves, and even meets (Nepeta), she starts to awaken to her Ultimate Self - to come into possession of alternate memories.

And if the Ultimate Self is a very soul-y kind of concept, such that Heart players have a natural advantage in coming to understand it, then isn't it a natural fit that a Rogue of Heart - one who steals from Heart or steals Heart for others - would be naturally inclined to share the wisdom of her alternate selves, and even the very concept of the Ultimate Self, with her friends?

Because the Ultimate Self is actually, in my opinion, a pretty good narrative device. It turns the sadness of the dead and doomed timelines into something littersweet instead, and makes it so any weirdness regarding time travel and not really knowing your friends anymore will eventually be resolved, even if off-screen.

It's not really narratively satisfying when Davepetasprite^2 suddenly comes into being and reaches enlightenment, but imagine if instead it's a post-character development Nepeta comforting Davesprite on his relevance, or Jade on her loneliness, or John on not really knowing these new post-retcon versions of his friends? It would feel a lot better, since in this hypothetical, she would have reached that point after on-screen character development. Being able to share her true self with her friends on the meteor - by necessity, since what else are they going to be doing for three years - leads to her finally being able to fulfill her role as a Rogue of Heart.

Also, at some point during these repeated meteor trips, she dates Karkat (whether that's successful or not, I'll leave to reader interpretation - you already know where I stand), fulfilling Jaspersprite's musing that she might only be able to date Karkat after she dies.

So that's two out of thr33 of her outstanding plot hooks resolved... okay. So, I try not to make these essays into ship propaganda, but hear me out:

Hate Is Stored In The FefNep

Okay, so, remember that thing about how Feferi is actually a huge casteist hypocrite? Well, let's also note that the comic, post-Murderstuck, seems to put Nepeta and Feferi together a lot - they're a Commodore and Rear Admiral in the ghost pirate army, respectively, and they also wind up as Fefetasprite. So I think it's not entirely out of left field to say that these two were implied to have SOMETHING going on.

And that something... is a difference in political views.

I mean, let's be real, there's a reason Fefetasprite is the most explode-prone after Tavrisprite. Miss "The Hemocaste is Stupid and Shouldn't Matter" vs. Miss "I Love Being A Princess And Call Jade Hornless and Finless (Derogatory)"? Come on, tell me you don't see it.

Without getting too much into Feferi, this hypocrisy, and unwillingness to check her privilege (so glad I found an excuse to use that term unironically), are probably her greatest character flaws - ie, the things you would expect the story to address about her. Meanwhile, one of Nepeta's flaws, which she laments to Jasproseprite^2, is that she feels too shy to talk about her feelings to other people, leading to her having never expressed her views on the hemocaste to anyone but Equius.

I think that they initially think they'd be friends. Each one of them would go "oh man, this other girl is soooo cute, I wish I could talk to her more often!"

And then, once they do, they realize they fucking hate each other. Nepeta would go "X00 < you are such a hypocrite who f33ls like youre better than all of us!!!" and Feferi would go "You're suc)( an uneducated glubbing P-EASANT! 3X0" and then they'd claw each others' eyes out. It would be so funny, and if a homestuck ship isn't extremely fucking funny, then why are we even here.

But more importantly, this would further them along into resolving each others' arcs - Feferi would be forced to grapple with the greater implications of classism, and Nepeta - who is shown having a spine the most in defiance of somebody else - would grow more aggressive about being open about her feelings in defiance of Feferi. Even Equius would get roped into it in a positive way - you can just imagine him going "D --> Can I really believe my auricular sponge clots D --> Nepeta, you are finally taking interest in politi%" and be 100% on board with teaching her so Feferi won't be able to call her uneducated.

And then for flushed, I dunno! Karkat's an option, and Jade and Jake also both love the fuck out of furries, and Tavros seems nice. But yeah I'll die on the fefnep hate ship. Guys it would be so funny.

Thank you as always for reading! Let me know if there's a troll you want to hear me ramble about next.

[see-arcane]

I am truly thankful that she is to be left out of our future work, and even of our deliberations. It is too great a strain for a woman to bear. I did not think so at first, but I know better now. [...] I daresay it will be difficult to begin to keep silence after such confidence as ours; but I must be resolute, and to-morrow I shall keep dark over to-night's doings, and shall refuse to speak of anything that has happened.

Jonathan, no, don't give into the guys' peer pressure noooo

It is strange to me to be kept in the dark as I am to-day; after Jonathan's full confidence for so many years, to see him manifestly avoid certain matters, and those the most vital of all. This morning I slept late after the fatigues of yesterday, and though Jonathan was late too, he was the earlier. He spoke to me before he went out, never more sweetly or tenderly, but he never mentioned a word of what had happened in the visit to the Count's house. And yet he must have known how terribly anxious I was. Poor dear fellow! I suppose it must have distressed him even more than it did me. They all agreed that it was best that I should not be drawn further into this awful work, and I acquiesced. But to think that he keeps anything from me! And now I am crying like a silly fool, when I know it comes from my husband's great love and from the good, good wishes of those other strong men.

[...] Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all; and lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my heart put down for his dear eyes to read.

Mina, no, you have to communicate now, in the present, you're you, you can un-acquiesce, you can break the curse, just talk to Jonathan now, noooooo

GOD this is masterfully infuriating work, Bramward Stokerbroker. Here we have on paper just how much this new status quo--the 'proper' status quo--grates against both of them. You can almost hear them grinding their teeth with the effort to keep smiling and nodding through this unanimous* decision. They know it is For Mina's Sake that they are doing this. Sure, they both hate every second of it and it breaks a loving rhythm they've shared for years together, BUT THEY KNOW BETTER NOW :)))

(Lucy is screaming in the afterlife. Renfield has his head in his hands.)

But all that aside, a thing I'm hooked on this read-around is the fact that, hey. We are reading this. Spoiler, but the entirety of Dracula is actually compiled together by Mina after the story closes. These are all written documents we're reading that the entire group has laid eyes on already. With everyone (bar Art and Quincey for some reason, thanks Mr. 3 Lines Allowed and Mr. Laconic :/, Jack is just talking and waiting for Mina to transcribe now, augh) on duty in some way to record the progress of things so that they can be read later as reference...I have to wonder now.

How honest are these pages the Harkers are putting down now versus what they wrote before joining Van Helsing's Scooby gang? Neither one is writing in shorthand. It's all plain English.

I had a class once where one of the assignments was to keep a daily journal. One page filled out every single day, about anything. Anyone want to guess how many personal secrets or honest feelings I put in those pages for the guy grading my class to read? If you said anything higher than 0 you're wrong.

The Harkers have an audience to worry about right now. An audience of Prof. Et Cetera, Dr. Asylum Director (whose asylum they're currently living in! the kind of place where Jonathan could've ended up and innumerable women have been imprisoned for being women the Wrong Way! whee!), Incredibly Wealthy and Empowered Lord, and Mr. Likewise Rich 'We Should Do Guns About It' American. Who all seem to like them, fresh-from-the-lower class, industrious and Dracula-confronting sorts that they are. Fast friends, all of them.

(Jonathan is still only Harker to them. Simultaneously the Man Who Survived Castle Dracula and the gofer guy doing the footwork and the paperwork/property hunt while Van Helsing hits the library and the others...well, I'm sure they're doing something. Other than re-reading the first half of Dracula.)

(...Which was compiled and transcribed by Mina. Who faced down Dracula in her jammies. Unarmed. At night. For Lucy. But she can't handle your scary stories about the houses full of dirt boxes, let alone join you on the hunt she was explicitly prepared and eager to help with. Can't risk it, little lady, off to bed now.)

This is where they are now that they've ~joined forces~ with Van Helsing and the Suitor Squad. After all they've done, all they're still relied on to do, the Harkers are with allies who have had their acquaintance for less than three days. And now, to appease those allies and their opinions and to keep everything placid with these nice, outnumbering, socially and monetarily endowed parties, they do what they've always done when faced with the fact of their being perpetually on the low rung of the ladder.

The Harkers accommodate. Including in their own diaries, as these too are now deemed forfeit important to the Cause, should the gang need to comb back through it all for clues.

That's why the Harkers are the only ones writing it down--because they already were. They're the kids in the group project who can be trusted to do the work. So just let them keep doing it. Keep an accurate record now, kids! You do such a good job of it, we'd only be getting in the way, ha ha. Remember that we can and will read everything you put down in the future.

Hence: All of what we read today. And will read in the dates to come.

The Harkers are writing under a (friendly) gun right now. They can purge some feelings, but not all of them. And not completely. And not in any way that certain doctors and upper class people of power they barely know might misconstrue as ungrateful or mad in any sense. The Harkers are good people. The Harkers are helpful. The Harkers are team players even if that means no longer being a team themselves. They chafe a little at this, but it's all so new to them! It's alright. God's will and Van Helsing's be done. They know better now.

With all this in mind, it makes much more sense why Jonathan chooses to use shorthand for a Very Particular Entry we see coming up. An entry that Mina alone could read and decide to enter in the distant future, after the storm had passed.

And why, in light of all that happens, he cannot trust himself to put more than a vignette's worth of lines down as time goes on. Not if he wants to keep himself from laying out some actual honesty for everyone to read. Mina's entries will be weightier things, while she still has the capacity to write--carefully. Always carefully.

[equallyreal]

Transmission Received: The Call Is Coming From Inside The House And I'm Mad About It

Or, a response to National Novel Writing Month's stance on Artificial Intelligence.

But before we get into that, a quick story update: I actually haven't been working on much of anything lately due to some IRL issues going on (nothing too serious, don't worry, I am still alive and healthy). The Edge is going to be on a soft break until I get my energy levels back up to serious writing levels, but I will continue to make update posts to keep people in the loop about how well I'm recharging.

Unfortunately for the people behind National Novel Writing Month, while my energy levels might be low, my spite levels are always at an all-time high, and they are fully fueling me to take down their official position on AI. But first, a timeline.

I wake up to a message in a group discord I'm in with a screenshot of National Novel Writing Month making some...interesting comments about their position on AI.

While going to tumblr to see if anyone else is talking about this, I find this post my @the-pen-pot featuring the screenshot I saw. In the responses, I see @darkjediqueen saying that the article had been updated @besodemieterd giving some information that I'm going to keep secret for now because it creates a truly amazing punchline.

I get off tumblr and read the updated article.

I feel a deep rage in my soul that cannot be tamed by group chat participation, and I click the "write a post" button.

So, with that out of the way, let's break this down, shall we?

The original post, as seen in the screenshot of the above post, contained the following two paragraphs:

NaNoWriMo does not explicitly support any specific approach to writing, nor does it explicitly condemn any approach, including the use of AI. NaNoWriMo's mission is to "provide the structure, community, and encouragement to help people use their voices, achieve creative goals, and build new worlds—on and off the page." We fulfill our mission by supporting the humans doing the writing. Please see this related post that speaks to our overall position on nondiscrimination with respect to approaches to creativity, writer's resources, and personal choice.  We also want to be clear in our belief that the categorical condemnation of Artificial Intelligence has classist and abelist undertones, and that questions around the use of AI tie to questions around privilege.

This was all I saw when I first heard about this, and this on its own was enough to tap into my spite as an energy source. The second paragraph, in particular, was infuriating. "People who argue against AI are classist or abelist" is a terrible take I've seen floating around AI Bro Twitter, and to see it regurgitated by an organization that is supposed to be all about writing was, to put it simply, a lot.

But, as noted in the timeline, I did see that they had updated the article (about two hours ago as of me working on writing this), so I went to the updated post to see what was said. Somehow, it had gotten worse. I'll be addressing the updated post on a point by point basis, so if you want to read the whole thing without my commentary, here you go.

The first paragraph is the same was it was in the screenshot. The first major different is an added paragraph that begins like this:

Note: we have edited this post by adding this paragraph to reflect our acknowledgment that there are bad actors in the AI space who are doing harm to writers and who are acting unethically. We want to make clear that, though we find the categorical condemnation for AI to be problematic for the reasons stated below, we are troubled by situational abuse of AI, and that certain situational abuses clearly conflict with our values.

First off, I find it a big troubling that while they discuss bad actors in the AI space, they won't acknowledge that these same bad actors are often the ones pushing the whole "being anti-AI makes you morally bad, actually" accusations with the most fervor.

Second, why are you not more strongly discussing and pushing back against the "situational" abuse of AI? Why is the focus on how using AI can be good, actually, rather than acknowledging the fears and angers of your userbase around how generative AI is ruining an art form that you claim to want to help foster? I have a theory about this, but we're saving that for a bit further down.

The paragraph concludes:

We also want to make clear that AI is a large umbrella technology and that the size and complexity of that category (which includes both non-generative and generative AI, among other uses) contributes to our belief that it is simply too big to categorically endorse or not endorse. 

The funny thing is, in a vacuum, I don't have a problem with this statement. They're not wrong: AI is an umbrella term with a lot of complexity to it, and I can see how people would be hesitant to condemn the technology as a whole when there are uses of it that aren't awful. If their whole statement had been this, I would have less of a problem with it (still some of a problem, sure, but I wouldn't be writing a lengthy blog post about it) But they had to delve into how Being Against AI is Morally Bad, Actually, which is where the post continues from here.

The last big change between the screenshot and the updated article is in this paragraph:

We believe that to categorically condemn AI would be to ignore classist and ableist issues surrounding the use of the technology, and that questions around the use of AI tie to questions around privilege. 

This is much less strongly-worded than the original paragraph. If I had to guess, they got a lot of criticism regarding the original sentiment (namely, assuming that disabled and poor people can only make art if a machine does it for them is actually way more abelist and classist than saying generative AI is bad), and dialed it back through this rewording. They could've just worded it this way from the beginning instead of saying the dumbest possible thing they could've, but whatever.

I don't know if the rest of this was in the article from the beginning or if it was added later, as the original screenshot I saw only showed the first two paragraphs. Regardless of whether this is them trying to cover their asses by explaining logic they should've explained from the start or if this was always here, I still have major issues with these points, so we're going to address them next.

(As a quick full disclosure note: I had to transcribe the rest of the article instead of copy-pasting it because I lost the ability to do so at about this point in the blog writing process. I don't know what happened or why, I just wanted to let you know that almost all typos are my fault, but beyond that I recorded the text as-written at the time that I had the article up in another tab. I promise.)

Classism. Not all writers have the financial ability to hire humans to help at certain phases of their writing. For some writers, the decision to use AI is a practical, not an ideological, one. The financial ability to engage a human for feedback and review assumes a level of privilege that not all community members possess.

You may note that they are discussing the use of AI at what seems to be the editing process. As someone in my group chat pointed out, National Novel Writing Month has nothing to do with editing, and everything to do with writing. The only way you can currently use AI for the act of writing is if you use generative AI to do it for you, which is, I think we can all agree, not actually writing and is actually bad. This emphasis on editing ties into the punchline, which we'll be getting to shortly.

On a final note before we proceed though, I would like to carry over an argument about this matter that is used in the small business/handcrafts sector: If you can't afford it now, save up for it. Don't devalue the work of other people (in this case, editors and things like sensitivity readers or beta readers) by saying it's too expensive and I can get it cheaper on Shein by using AI. Save up and support your fellow workers if it really means something to you, or just do the editing yourself and hope for the best. (Disclosure: I don't have an editor. Or a beta reader. I can't say my writing is the most polished all the time, but I get by just fine.)

Abelism. Not all brains have the same abilities and not all writers function at the same level of education or proficiency in the language in which they are writing. Some brains and ability levels require outside help or accommodations to achieve certain goals. The notion that all writers "should" be able to perform certain functions independently or [sic] is a position that we disagree with wholeheartedly. There is a wealth of reasons why individuals can't "see" the issues in their writing without help.

First of all...just say "disabled." I promise your hands will not fall off if you type that word.

Second, level of education should really fall under the class bullet point, but that's just me nitpicking.

Third, I would argue that the real goal here shouldn't be to say "no using AI is fine, actually", but rather to a) dismantle the idea of what writing "should" look like in order to make it more inclusive, and b) fight back against people who bully imperfect writers. Those are actually more noble goals than propping up a corrupt industry by using the disabled as your scapegoat.

Fourth, the dangling "or" is not a typo I take credit for. It was in the article as of me transcribing it. If I had to guess, there was more to this sentence at some point, and they just didn't fully delete the thought.

Fifth, funny how this is once again more about the editing process of writing and not the writing part. Even more funny when we view the final point.

General Access Issues. All of these considerations exist within a larger system in which writers don't always have equal access to resources along the chain. For example, underrepresented minorities are less likely to be offered traditional publishing contracts, which places some, by default, into the indie author space, which inequitably creates upfront cost burdens that authors who do not suffer from systemic discrimination may have to incur.

This one really pissed me off, because the indie author sphere is actively under attack by the use of AI. AI-created scam books on Amazon's kindle publishing platform are increasing and actively stealing attention and money away from human authors (see this article). Sci-Fi magazine Clarkesworld had to shut down new author submissions due to the influx of AI generated stories, and while the head of Bards and Sages cited physical and mental health problems as a reason for shutting down the company entirely, having to weed through AI generated submissions and the way such bad actors are impacting the industry were listed as the final straw. There are probably even more examples of this, but I only did a cursory google search to avoid being here all day.

Simply put: AI is not helping authors who have to go to the indie space in order to escape systemic problems. It is actively killing the space instead. I don't want to sound doom and gloom, but if this keeps up, these authors aren't going to have anywhere to run to. A refusal to condemn the ways in which AI is impacting these spaces does, in my opinion, make you complicit.

On a final note, you might notice that this point is seemingly once again focusing on editing, not writing. Which means it's time to unveil the punchline pointed out by besodemieterd, the response that made me lose my mind:

They made this bullshit up to justify them getting into cahoots with an AI company called ProWritingAid, it's all over their instagram.

I immediately ran to factcheck this...and it's true. ProWritingAid is, in fact, a more in-depth Grammarly that uses AI for its functionality. They are a sponsor for National Novel Writing Month, and the first three posts on their instagram are dedicated to this partnership.

I completely back up besodemieterd's belief that they wrote this article to justify their taking this sponsorship. If I had to guess, they started taking a lot of flack for taking ProWritingAid as a sponsor and wrote this article in order to defend their decision to do so without actually saying so directly.

I don't want to shame NaNoWriMo for taking sponsors on the whole, as they do need money to stay afloat. However, taking an AI company as a sponsor and then defending their stance by essentially calling people with concerns about this morally wrong and bad is, as the kids say, clown behavior. This is clown shit. It's laughable, it's cringe, it's incredibly disheartening. It's so, so bad.

The next paragraph is just about how they "see value in sharing resources about AI and any emerging technology, issue, or discussion that is relevant to the writing community as a whole." Since my stance on this can be summed up as "AI bad and platforming it is bad", I'm going to skip over this paragraph. I will, however, address their last paragraph:

For all of those reasons, we absolutely do not condemn AI, and we recognize and respect writers who believe that AI tools are right for them. We recognize that some members of our community stand staunchly against AI for themselves, and that's perfectly fine. As individuals, we have the freedom to make our own decisions.

So, basically, you're incapable of saying "no" to money and decided to lean into the talking points of bad faith actors and refuse to address the destruction that generative AI is wrecking on the writing world in order to justify why you took a certain sponsor. In taking this middle of the road, individual choice-ass response, you also threw human editors and beta readers under the bus by justifying the use of technology that actively removes them from the space. You are making the writing world a worse place, which is absolutely crazy when writing is supposed to be the thing you're all about.

Truly amazing. And they're doing this on Labor Day, too.

In conclusion, I will be dead in the dirt before you spot me participating in National Novel Writing Month again. Which is probably for the best. My life can only handle so many self-imposed deadlines. I guess I should be grateful to them for removing one from my plate.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

How about a Regina George x fem reader (I'm not a writer just a reader lol, the best I can do is song lyrics so I'm sorry if this idea has been taken or sucks)

Rivalry Turned Romance:

Your character and Regina are rivals in some way.

Initially, their interactions are filled with snarky remarks and subtle sabotage as they try to outdo each other. However, beneath the rivalry, there's a mutual respect and fascination.

As they spend more time together, they start to appreciate each other's strengths and vulnerabilities. Their competitive banter gradually turns into playful flirting, and they realize there's more to their relationship than just rivalry.

Rivalry Lights the Spark for Romance

|| Regina George x fem!reader

|| Warnings; swearing, brief mentions of getting drunk, reader and regina rivalry, enemies to friends and lovers mention, long fic

|| Summary; reader and regina never got along. Like, ever. It would be a cold day in hell if they did. There was always something for the girls to argue over... until there wasn't.

Requests open!

Started; September 17th

Finished; September 17th

~~~

Regina George. The two of you were in a stare down from across the cafeteria. You sat with your group of friends, she sat with hers. Regina and you have had a long standing rivalry that dates back to sixth grade. When Regina stopped being human. Your friend group and hers used to be one big group that hung out together all the time. Then the Janis incident happened and you and your friends sided with Janis.

You, Prudence Ollia, Savie Lane and Nyla Caves were deemed 'weirdos' for doing so. While Regina, Gretchen and Karen grew in popularity. Janis was left on the side lines. You and her haven't hung out at all in the more recent years. Since highschool you've just lost touch with each other.

Which brings us back to present day.

"So. What's our next sabotage plan for Lilith over there?" Prudence asked. Lilith was the code name which your group had made for Regina when you talked about her in public and didn't want others to know.

You didn't take your eyes off Regina. It was like the two of you were in some game of chicken. First one to look away loses," huh?" You asked, not really paying attention.

"Next sabotage plan." Prudence simplified.

"Oh!" Savie grinned as she slammed her hands on the side of the table, looking at the three of you with mischief in her eyes," we replace her shampoo with hairdye. Give her green hair."

"Classic." Nyla nodded with a laugh," but none of us would even be able to step foot in Regina's house."

"Actually, I'm pretty certain her mom still thinks Lilith and I are absolute besties. Maybe I could give it a try, make an excuse like she left something in her room for me to pick up or whatever. Lilith's mom probably wouldn't even think to ask for details." You stated, eyes still on the blonde. You swear she hasn't even blinked once this whole stare down.

"I'll buy the hair dye," Savie did an excited clap. She was usually the most hyped up when it came to the sabotage plans.

That night, you did exactly what you had said you would. Luckily Ms George did think the two of you were still friends and Regina happened to be out at a party. So you were able to pull things off pretty smoothly.

The following day, Regina George showed up to school with bright lime green hair. But instead of laughing, people were in awe. And lime green hair was a trend over the next couple weeks.

Regina remained unaffected, which annoyed you to no end. How does everything you do just boost her popularity? It was infuriating. Though you couldn't help but respect her just a little. Only a little.

She walked by your locker as you were grabbing your trumpet out for music class," What? Too cool for green hair, L/N?" She smirked at you when she noticed you hadn't dyed yours to follow the trend. That technically you started.

"Shouldn't you be off trying to steal Christmas, Grinch?" You replied, trumpet case by your side.

Her eyes widened just slightly in annoyance and she snatched your case from you, flicking it open and taking the mouth piece. She handed your trumpet back," good luck in music, loser." Regina winked at you as she walked away. Mouth piece in her fist.

You sighed deeply. Honestly surprised she even recognized that piece was important. You didn't think Regina knew anything about music. Though the only grievance her act actually caused you was a lecture from the music teacher about not "losing" pieces to your instrument.

So it didn't bother you all that much. Which annoyed Regina, but she had a small respect for it. But it was only small.

Things like this would continue to happen between the two of you throughout the rest of the year. Each of you gaining a little bit more respect for the other.

One day, a few weeks before the Christmas talent show, Regina passed by your locker and gave you her signature smirk.

"Hey, L/N. Signing up for the talent show?" She asked, clearly she wasn't really interested. However, unless you were seeing incorrectly, her eyes scanned your body. It was quick and easy to miss if you didn't happen to be looking in her eyes when it happened- what? Pfft, no you weren't staring into Regina's eyes. You hated her.

"Yeah, actually. You still doing that tradition of yours?" You replied, arms folded across your chest as you leaned against your locker.

Regina scoffed, folding her own arms," obviously. Bet it's better than whatever you're doing."

"Playing the trumpet without a mouth piece. You know, when you stole it it gave me the idea to actually give it a try. Kinda fun," You grinned at her. Yes you did it specifically so you could rub it in her face that you were unbothered.

You saw her eye twitch ," whatever, loser."

Christmas was nearing, the talent show was here. You were on before the plastics and Mr Duvall called your name to the stage.

You walked on and took a seat, trumpet held in front of you. You took a breath and got ready to play. Only no sound came out when you tried.

"What?" You muttered to yourself and turned your trumpet around, looking down into it. Apparently someone had stuffed it with pink slime. Not the runny kind, but the kind that looks more like rubber. You rolled your eyes. You didn't need the pink to tell you who had done this," Just a moment."

You got up and took the slime out as you headed back stage, looking for Regina. When you found her; her and her crew were laughing. Presumably at you. They hadn't noticed you approach, so you took your chance.

You threw the slime directly at Regina, it slapped her in the face and landed in her hair. Getting stuck. She screamed and her eyes snapped to your direction.

"Oh you're so dead!" She immediately walked towards you, you stood your ground even after getting a solid bitch slap from the blonde.

The two of you were now in a full on brawl, you knocked Regina to the ground but she pinned you there. The both of you wrestled each other.

Gretchen and Karen shared a look while Cady encouraged it. Being the fake she is.

It didn't take long for Ms Norbury to find you and Regina and separate the both of you.

"She attacked me!" Regina yelled.

"You punched first!" You yelled back.

Ms Norbury sighed deeply," I don't care who started it, ladies. You are both just as involved as the other." Her eyes landed on the slime in Regina's hair," Regina, go get cleaned up. Y/N Mr Duvall's office. Regina you'll meet her there. You have ten minutes before I come get you to make sure you go."

"Ugh. This is so fucking stupid," Regina muttered.

"You're fucking stupid," You muttered right back as you both walked out. Narrowing your eyes at each other.

Soon enough, the both of you are in Mr Duvall's office. Just waiting for the talent show to be over as Ms Norbury waited with you. Keeping an eye on you both in case another fight started.

When Mr Duvall finally joined you, he looked... more disappointed than anything. Or maybe he was just tired.

"How many times must we do this?" He asked. This was not the first time you and Regina had been in his office together.

You and Regina gave each other a side eye.

"It put slime in my trumpet," You pointed to Regina.

"'It'?!" She looked ready to fight you again.

"Girls! Please." Duvall sighed and leaned forward, arms rested on his desk." Both of you are in the wrong. Both of you are being punished. You'll have detention with each other for the rest of this week and next. And you'll be given tasks from the janitor. Maybe if you work together on it... you'll at least tolerate each other more and I won't get so many headaches."

You did not tolerate each other more.

At least, not at first. The first few clean up tasks were absolutely hell.

That was until the janitor trusted you and Regina with floor cleaning machine. (i wish it had a better name but i could not find anything. they're those zamboni things. i'm just gonna call it a zamboni 😭)

You don't know how you earned his trust to use this but you did. School was out for the day and you and Regina had to stay behind, the janitor left already. Leaving the two of you to work alone with this.

You glanced at Regina and grinned. "Bumper cars?"

Regina raised an eyebrow," you're so stupid."

"Come on! You know you want to~!"

"Absolutely not." She folded your arms and started walking away.

You got an even better idea." Slip and slide?"

That got her to pause and consider it. She looked back at you," if it will get you to shut up."

"Definitely." It wouldn't.

You and Regina worked together to get the floor of a hall cleaned up with the cleaning zambonis. Once it was done, you took a running start from around the corner then sprinted down the hall. Sliding the whole way down and trying to stay on your feet. You did not. You landed on your ass about half way down.

Regina laughed as she watched you and thought 'screw it' as she did the same thing. She made it about the same length as you, then fell on her front with a thud.

The two of you laid on the floor and laughing, looking at each other with smiles on your faces. Maybe Regina George wasn't so bad. What you didn't know is that Regina was starting to think the same about you.

"Hey. Wanna ditch this and go get bobas?" You asked, you doubted she would even agree.

Regina seemed to hesitate for a moment before she got off the floor," yeah, sure. But you're paying."

"Aw, whattt? You're like a billionaire." You stood and followed her out of the school.

"So?"

You rolled your eyes but smiled. The halls didn't get cleaned that night, but it seems Mr Duvall's strategy worked a little better than he thought it would.

The two of you rekindled your friendship, you still annoyed each other to no end but on a less... chaotic scale. It was more controlled and less sabotages.

And later it even became more as you and Regina had a very intense drunk make out session.

[snakebites-and-ink]

What can I say, I was in a mind control/brainwashing mood. I’ve also lowkey been on a living weapon kick for a while, so I guess it was inevitable I would combine the two.

If the flow or voice of my writing changes unexpectedly in this one, that’s because I skipped around like crazy and wrote adjacent chunks of this at totally different times. 😅😅😅

CW: Brainwashing, mind control, captivity, corruption, dehumanisation, somewhat creepy whumper, bad ending (for the hero anyways 😈). I think I got a little unhinged with this one….

Hero was brought before their enemy, held between two of Villain’s goons.

“Villain.” Hero glowered. The villain came closer and looked them over.

“I’ve finally caught you,” Villain said, smiling. “Oh, you’re going to do great things for me.”

“I’ll never help you!”

“Not of your own free will, you won’t. But I believe I’ve found a way around that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Villain didn’t elaborate. Hero was taken to a dark room and forced into a chair with a gratuitous number of restraints. They tried to fight, but eventually ended up strapped down. And then more thoroughly strapped down. Restraints all over their limbs, across their torso, then something that wrapped around their forehead.

“I’d tell you that resisting is useless, but I don’t expect you’d listen,” Villain said from off to Hero’s side. “Well, I’ll see you later, Hero.”

Hero could hear the infuriating smile in Villain’s voice even though they weren’t looking at them. Hero growled slightly and tugged against the restraints—which didn’t give way, of course, Villain wasn’t that careless.

Hero heard the door shut, and just like that they were left alone in the darkness.

…

At first, Hero wasn’t sure what Villain had been talking about. Of course, they weren’t happy about the restraints and captivity, but none of it seemed out of the ordinary. They could handle this. Villain’s insinuations made them a little nervous, though. Villain wasn’t the type to make idle threats.

When they got bored and irritated enough, Hero tried shouting. No response. Still, they felt they could handle this. It’s not like their nemesis’ smug face was much better than isolation anyways.

…

It wasn’t just isolation that they were dealing with. Hero wasn’t certain how, but Villain was messing with their head without even speaking to them. It hadn’t been immediately obvious, but it was too consistent and drawn out now for Hero to explain it away as just their imagination. Lies were slithering their way into Hero’s mind in a manner similar to their own thoughts, but far too methodical to be just that. Sometimes Hero even experienced feelings that didn’t belong, however briefly. Hero knew they were lies, and could consciously reject them, but they couldn’t block them out.

Hero figured the most likely culprit was the weird band thing Villain had put across their forehead. It was thick and clunky enough to have some weird technology in it, and it didn’t seem a necessary part of their restraints. Hero wiggled and thrashed their head as best they could, but it seemed to be fixed in place too well for them to get it off that easily.

…

Hero had bruised themself struggling. Probably scraped a little too. They were sore in countless places from pulling and fighting against the restraints, but it had all been in vain. Nothing seemed any looser, and that horrid device was still well affixed to their head.

They were not giving in. With a physical struggle having proved useless, Hero turned their efforts at resistance inward, focusing on fighting whatever Villain was trying to do to them in their own head rather than in the physical world.

…

Hero was agitated. They didn’t feel quite right. They couldn’t be sure that whatever Villain was using on them wasn’t already having an effect. They countered it as best they could with their own thoughts, but they couldn’t be sure.

…

Hero felt sick. It was like what Villain was doing made them all messed up inside. They weren’t sure if it was a psychosomatic result of an emotional reaction they were having, or if some part of Villain’s treatment actually had a physical effect on them, but Hero was feeling nauseated. And just…off. They squeezed their eyes shut and made a sound that was a little too pathetic for their taste. They didn’t feel right. They wanted out.

…

Hero was still feeling unwell when Villain checked in on them.

Hero was transferred to a different room and restrained in a different position, but they were kept just as secure as before. Their captor strode into the room, seeming far too comfortable for Hero’s liking.

“Villain,” they spat, jerking ineffectually against their restraints with the automatic urge to fight their nemesis.

“Got some fire left in you, I see. Tell me, do you still remember your name?”

Hero cursed Villain instead of answering. Of course they still remembered their name, but they weren’t giving Villain any information that might make Villain’s nasty little project easier.

Villain was unphased by the vitriol. “Hmm. Sounds like it’ll take a while.”

“What will take a while? What exactly are you doing?”

Villain shrugged with the slightest of smirks. “Don’t worry about it. By the time you find out for sure, you won’t mind. Now unless you have something productive to say, I think we’re done here.” Villain beckoned to one of their henchmen.

“No! Don’t put me back in there!” Hero wished they could have said that in a way that sounded remotely threatening, but they just sounded desperate. They couldn’t let Villain change them, couldn’t lose themself.

“I’m afraid there’s not much of an option. Unless you’ve miraculously decided to change sides?”

“I’m not helping you. I’m not helping you.” Hero pretended they were only saying it to spite their captor, and not saying it partially to reassure themself. “I won’t do it.”

“We’ll see.”

Hero screamed and fought as Villain dragged them back there, but it wasn’t enough. Villain had them secured too well for it to result in anything but a few more scrapes and bruises.

Hero went back to the darkness, back to the restraints and the sickening feeling of Villain’s messages sidling their way into Hero’s brain.

…

They tried to fight it. They really did. But Hero couldn’t keep it up all the time, not for this long. They found themself slipping. Not listening really, but letting things through. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t what they wanted, but it was easier.

They picked up their efforts at resistance again when they caught themself, but the fact that they caught it happening multiple times was telling enough. 

…

Hero’s humanity felt further out of reach than ever before. It didn’t really feel like a person anymore. That wasn’t a good feeling. Hero wept.

…

It couldn’t remember its name. That was distressing. It wasn’t supposed to be able to feel distress, but it did. It wished it didn’t.

…

It had been told its name was 491. It supposed that must be true.

Something was still wrong, though. Its feelings weren’t quite right. It didn’t feel like this was how things were supposed to be. It knew things were meant to be this way, really, it just didn’t feel right. Maybe it just needed more time.

…

The weapon didn’t feel distressed anymore. It didn’t feel much at all. Villain had fixed it. It was working better now, not experiencing incorrect feelings or going against what it was made for.

It wasn’t going to fight against them any more. It would do what it was told, as it was meant to. It wouldn’t struggle anymore, or have bad emotions like it had when it was working wrong.

It understood what it was, and who it belonged to. It was a weapon, forged by Villain and for their purposes. The resemblance it had to real people was a testament to Villain’s craftsmanship rather than any sort of indication of its humanity. Its maker and owner was very skilled, and someone more than worthy of its best.

…

It didn’t know how long it was before Villain got it out of its restraints. Not that such things mattered to it. It was Villain’s to keep where they wanted, and they needed to make sure it was fixed and working right.

“How are you doing now?” they asked once it was freed and standing.

“Operating properly, sir.”

Villain grinned. They ran their hands over the weapon, inspecting, and it stayed in place and let them. Villain looked over it hungrily.

They slapped its face. It showed no reaction except to turn its head to face forward again afterwards.

“Perfect,” Villain purred, leaning on its shoulder and twirling a finger in its hair. 491 didn’t react to the handling.

Villain grabbed its hair and pulled its head back, exposing its throat. Not a very strategic position to put the weapon in, but of course its owner could do whatever they wanted with it. “Will you tell me what you are?” they breathed into its ear.

“Your weapon, sir.”

“That’s exactly right.” They released it and righted its head. “And you have no problems with that? No problems with doing whatever I say?”

“Of course not. That’s what I’m made for.”

“Yesss. Perfect.”

Villain took a step back and looked over their weapon once more. They were smiling, with something like victory in their eyes.

“Your precious hero agency won’t stand a chance,” Villain said gleefully.

“Sir?” 491 didn’t understand; the hero agency didn’t belong to it, nor did 491 think of it as precious.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s just…a figure of speech.”

“Yes, sir.”

[xaeoism]

Muichiro and you get into a heated argument and it escalates Part 2 Part 3

"You expect me to believe the fact that that girl in your estate isn't some- some girl that you're cheating on me with??", you spat, venom lacing every word that came out from your mouth.

"It's true! She only came over to hang out for awhile, there's nothing going on between the two of us!", muichiro replied hastily, trying to explain himself.

You had just came back from a month long mission and decided to visit the very person that you had been missing ever since you left immediately when you returned -- muichiro. You opened the door to his estate and your eyes landed upon a random demon slayer whom you had never seen before, shamelessly flirting with him.

After she left, he came up to you with a smile as if nothing had just happened. As if some girl didn't just flirt with him. This infuriated you to no end.

"Tokito! Just how gullible do you take me for?! Do you think I'd just accept what you say, that she was here just to 'hang out' when I so very clearly saw her trying to flirt with you?", you continued as you pinched your nose bridge, anger blinding your ability to slow down and process his words.

He flinched at the tone you spoke his first name with and found himself at a loss for words.

"I only love you, ..I promise, " Muichiro said softly, not daring to look up to see what kind of expression your face has.

You looked at him and sighed in distress. "You know what? I've heard enough. I can't even find it in myself to trust your promises anymore ever since you broke the last one. If you aren't going to end things between us then fine, I will. Let's break up."

He immediately looked up, eyes widening and looking through your own as if he was searching for something, some indication that you didn't mean what you said -- that in a few moments, you'll tell him you're joking. You looked back at him with no remorse and instead, opted to walk in to retrieve the items you had left before the mission.

His eyes trailed you as you entered his room and gathered your clothes and belongings. Panic began to settle in the depths of his mind as he thought of you leaving him for good. What did he do wrong? Was he lacking in certain areas?

Just as you were about to step out of his estate, his body moved on its own. He grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him before trapping you against the wall. His eyes traveled to your lips not even a second later, his lips collided with yours. He kissed you so forcibly that it shocked you, causing you to drop what you were carrying.

"Mmfph!" You put your hands on his chest and tried pushing him away but he didn't budge a single bit. Instead, he started using even more force, his arm wrapping around your waist tightly to prevent you from trying to escape him.

You couldn't escape even if you tried. Despite being a hashira, you could never win against muichiro in terms of physical strength. You were having trouble keeping up with his pace and you were running out of oxygen quickly. You became even more desperate and started to claw at his uniform, a silent plea for him to release you from his grasp.

Tears were forming in the corner of your eyes. Using the last of your energy, you decided to bite his tongue as a final attempt. He separated from you immediately when he felt the pain from his tongue. Your face was flushed and you were panting heavily, trying to let as much oxygen flow into your lungs as possible.

He looked at you and concern and guilt flooded his whole system.

"I'm sorry! Please forgive me I don't know what came over me.", he said in a moment of panic.

You slowly made your way to his main door again, walking right past him and ignoring his apology.

"Wait, please-!", he pleaded, to which you stopped in your tracks. "I don't want to see you in front of my face again.", you said coldly, before you continued to walk out of his estate.

Muichiro stood at his door in sadness silently watching as you walked off into the distance, not even sparing him a glance. He wishes this never happened, that this is just some sick dream his mind is playing on him. He hopes that you haven't fully given up on the two of you yet because he certainly hasn't and fully intends on winning your love and affection back, no matter how long it takes because he loves you and only you.

[the-crow-binary]

Trans headcanons: when people ridicule the thing they think they support

So I'm tired. Let's have a talk.

Let's start with the very concept of headcanons, before I get to the infuriating part: A headcanon is, by definition, an idea that has never been confirmed as being actual canon. It's people imagining things about the characters they like, taking advantage of the fact the media they're in never depicted certain things, certain moments of the characters' life, to fill the gaps. A headcanon that make sense, and isn't there to just make the character your OC, takes into account what the actual canon has already shown, such as the character's personnality or goals. (I'm taking characters as example here but headcanon can be about the media's universe as a whole, too)

For example: In Castlevania: Curse of Darkness, and it's mangas, we never saw the life Hector and Isaac lead in the Castle between the moment Hector arrives (Isaac being already there) and the moment he runs away. It's a perfect opportunity to have fun and imagine what happened all those years! So, by taking into account what official products gave us, such as Isaac and Hector's personnalities (before and after the curse took ahold of them), how they interact together, and their common roles and duties under Dracula's reign, we can easily headcanon that they used to be friends and respected each other, before it slowly gets crushed by Isaac's obvious inferiority complex and jealousy in regards of Hector's power and relationship with Dracula.

That's a headcanon. A thing that can differ from one person to another, as interpretation can also vary, just like the plots we like to see. But let me tell you something absolutely crucial this headcanon does that make it a valid one: it doesn't contradict canon material.

That's a thing I feel like tends to be forgotten by many claiming their takes on characters as "headcanon". It stops being a "headcanon" and start being a "i'm twisting this character into my OC" when you start making shit up that not only does not fit the Character, but also contradicts directly what has been shown about said Character, just because you're a certain way or like certain things. That's not a headcanon. That's fanfiction. Not one that will interest those who actually like the canon and doesn't like when people change things about it instead of just adding to it, but if you're having fun, go for it! Just own up to the fact that you're deforming a pre-existent character, lol.

Now that... that is still pretty harmless. Sure it's annoying to see someone take your Blorbo and make it do things it would never do and call it a "headcanon", but it's just that. Annoying. But then...

Have you ever come across, in your favorite medias, male characters who look are act just a bit feminine? Or female characters who might be a little rough, angry, or muscular? And then you go look for content of them, and are met with "that character is trans" headcanons? Chances are, if you're very active in fandoms, you have. Maybe some of you cringe because there's something wrong going on there and you're not sure what, and you're afraid you're just being transphobic even though you support transfolks and maybe are one yourself... at least it was my case at first lol. But not to worry! There's a very good explanations to your cringiness! And it's that: Lots of those headcanons are straight up awful in their logic and an insult to every genders involved! :)

Let's take the Netflixvania version of Hector as an example. He's the perfect target for those kind of headcanons, because he's a pretty boy! He's (a bit) feminine! So of course, just from that, you'll have people claiming he MUST be a trans woman. An awful take to call "headcanon", because it's very surface-level, gleefully ignores that everyone everywhere have both feminine and masculine sides to them (and the fact Castlevania is originally a JAPANESE product, have you ever seen ACTUAL anime? Pretty boys and boys who look like girls be everywhere in this media), some men being more feminine while some women can be more masculine, and literally goes back to gender-conforming logic. Something the very concept of transgenderism actually fights against. I mean sure, you have trans women trying to be as feminine as they can, and trans men as masculine as they can, for reasons that might differ from one person to another. But there's also those who don't. Those who simply exist, feeling secure enough in their gender that they don't care how masculine or feminine others percieve them to be. And what about the very cis people who don't conform to what others say they should look like, according to their genitalia?

Headcanoning a character as trans because of the way they look only is great !... To perpetuate gender-conforming mindset and clichés, and be uncomfortably close to transphobic logic (the "we can always tell" crowd who'll think a cis woman is a man because her body, that she has never altered in any way and is only the result of her genetics, is a bit too masculine, for example :) ). So what else you can use to headcanon a character as trans without it leaving a sour taste in other people's mouths?

Their personnality? Well, yes... but also no. It all depends on how you turn it. And in case of N!Hector? Oh boy! ^^

Hector is kind and compassionate... mostly with animals lol, and the devils he creates. He is gentle, can be vulnerable. He doesn't want humanity gone, but he wants them to be kept under control, because on one hand, he doesn't like them because Trauma, and on the other, he's not a bad guy at heart. He is naive, dare I say, emotionally, physically and mentally weak, wich causes him to be compared to a child by actual characters in the show, and a dumbass by the fandom. ^^ And ALSO causes him to get tricked, beaten and abused by vampires (wich makes the fandom call him even MORE of a dumbass for, and side with his abusers because "haha hot women vampire go brr"). Overall, even if he's trying to be tough here and there, and opposes some (futile) resistance sometimes (never going as far as it should've because of Peak Writing), he quickly goes back to being, well, soft (wich is NOT a bad thing in itself btw).

Now there's nothing wrong when you look at his personnality alone, and ignore literally everything else such as the way he was treated by the narrative, the characters, and the fandom itself. But look at this... and tell me it feels trans woman-coded.

Headcanoning Hector as a trans woman boils down to say "i think women are soft, naive, stupid, weak, kind and compassionnate, and men cannot be". It's already a very vomit-inducing take insulting both genders, but then you take into accounts what actually happens to Hector: him being tricked, used, abused, beaten, dehumanized by every character he interacts with and never taken seriously, even by the man who hired him as one of his GENERAL. Oh, and treated like a literal pet, too! Called as such by Lenore herself! And it gets worse. Because the narrative itself sees nothing wrong with that (exactly because he's a man :)). Just... why would you see a man being treated like a pet, not human and not even an adult, and think "ah, yes. A woman." ?? I'm sorry but I can't, in good faith, approve of that. What kind of vision does it mean you have of women and trans women?

So not only headcanoning N!Hector as a trans woman is an insult to women and tells more about how YOU view them than anything else (consciously or not), but it also serves to completely rip Hector off of his masculinity and insult men as well. As if a man couldn't suffer the way he did. As if a man could not be kind or naive without being compared to a child. As if a man had to have short hair or beard or drink beer or whatever you think a man is supposed to be like and how a woman is supposed to be like.

Oh, and special shoutout to that one tumblr user I will not name that literally said "how can you not headcanon Hector as a trans girl. She's literally a doggirl ok"! It's is the most awful take I have EVER seen and I want to throw up all over your blog! Literally, how dumb does one have to be to see a gentle, pretty man being treated like a dog for kinky points and go "not only is this a girl, that's also a doggo! Woof woof!" I swear to God.

Sigh... so, yeah. This far, I have yet to see anyone headcanoning Hector as a trans woman and not making me want to throw up in my mouth, considering how the character is. But there's one more thing! The narrative.

The narrative can also be used for headcanons, and often is. "What is this character and their story about?" "How is the [media] portraying them?". "How are we supposedd to feel about the character/story/actions?" In N!Hector's case, despite him having potential... the narrative is just humiliating him through and through. He gets tricked by everyone, mocked for his harmless personnality, his mistreatment happens out of pure sadism and to elevate the Girlbosses, and he gets used for horny points. He is just a victim durîg the whole show, and when you THINK he's FINALLY going to do something... nope! He vaguely help bring back the Big Bad Guy (wich ends up being useless i swear to god N!Hector's life is joke lmao killme) while falling for his abuser! Getting back at her by protecting her, I guess! ^^

So what was his character and story about? A misunderstood man... who exist only to be used and tossed around and never get justice nor is allowed to fight back. You can't even say he's a plot device because the plot itself mocks him and could have worked well, if not better without him. (Isaac going after Carmilla directly instead of going after Hector and choosing last minute to kill Carmilla while he's at it would have made a little more sense, though he still would have went after the wrong people, but that's another story) Definitely the kind of character I love to see having his masculinity revoked and called a woman! Not insulting at all!

See, it is very difficult to headcanon a character as trans... especially when you don't think about it through. Wich people like that one user calling Hector a "doggirl" did (that was a whole other level of victim blaming holy shit. Shows once again how men's and males' trauma and suffering are not taken seriously enough). What is happening to Hector here happens to many other characters in other medias, and to stay in Netflixvania, it is happening with Alucard as well. Because people are cowards and won't headcanon the big grumpy hairy guy as a trans woman, they have to headcanon the gender-nonconforming character and, by doing so, actually gender-conform him ❤️ (i mean it as a half-joke. you do you, but I think this is a clear proof of how the gender norms have a big place in your mind)

I think I would have less problems with lots of these if they weren't called "headcanons". Let's be honest, many will think of a character as trans because THEY'RE trans and it's their blorbo, and MAYBE think of justifying it further afterward. That's not how HCs work, you're just projecting. And you know what? It's fine! It's not a bad thing in itself! Make a pre-existent character trans if it's fun for you! If it makes you feel better! I mean I'm worried of N!Hector is the one you relate to the most. But it doesn't matter if others don't like it, because it's a content made for you, by you! But don't call it a "headcanon" (or claim it as canon directly, wut) and try to justify it when there's nothing in canon even slightly hinting at it being potentially true, or working, or making sense for the character. Don't call it "headcanon" when you're literally genderbending a character. Please. Think things through.

Also, remember when I talked about a proper headcanon does not contradict actual canon? Well. The male character you call a trans woman going by "he/him" the whole time kinda contradicts your idea. It's as if you "headcanoned" a character who has been seen only being attracted to the opposite gender and in love with someone of the opposite gender as being gay. Sure, you can say that's a closeted trans character... but then you better have solid reasoning for thinking that, once again. Or, you know, you could assume that you genderbend the character for fun (and i don't mean "turn it into a cis character of the opposite gender", i mean keep them trans, but don't pretend to base your vision mostly on canon). Would be less insulting than saying "this weak pretty man is actually a woman because he's weak and pretty, canon told me". I prefer someone who owns up to the fact they don't care about canon and just want to have fun rather than someone who implies they care about canon by using "headcanon" and then give poor and insulting arguments.

I get that lots of people with these headcanons don't have bad intentions and don't realize how fucked up their reasoning (or the simple fact of calling N!Hector a damn DOGGIRL- sorry i'll never recover from that) is, but still. As much as I respect everyone's right to do whatever they want with characters in their own little corner, caring about nothing but having fun, I've been needing to vent about this issue for a while now. Being an ally or a trans person yourself doesn't prevent you from spreading stereotypes, I'm afraid.

This problem of "i'm using poor and stereotyped arguments that is more insulting than anything to justify my idea" could apply to autism headcanons too, btw. And probably other things as well. Just. Please. Think about what you're writing. Think before you talk.

[bluemantics]

do u have any fics u think are like REALLY funny

Oh my gosh absolutely I do have humor tagged fics. When I write fanfics I try to make them funny, so when I read, I definitely look for the same! I put stars next to my faves.

If you want to check out my romcom klance fics and support me, they're here (coffee shop au) & here (hsm-ish au) /nf.

1. skin hunger by hiuythn

Canonverse | T+ | 12.5K

Keith is touch-starved to the point of stupidity. Lance helps. Lance tries to help. Lance tries.

2. the meaning of donuts by Katranga

Canonverse | T+ | 14.7K

The next few days were filled with Lance informing everyone, multiple times, of their “new” friendship. “We’re friends now, did you hear? Keith and I are friends.” Over and over, big smile, loud voice. Looking between Keith and whoever he was telling like he expected a round of applause. Or confetti. Or a parade. What he usually got was somebody making a crack about bonding moments, which prompted a tight, put-upon sigh on Keith’s end. And Lance would look at him fondly, and Keith would have to bite his cheek to distract himself from how much he wanted Lance to lean over and kiss him.

3. The Open Space of Desire by Prevalent_Masters *

Modern AU (river giuide x climber) | E | 44.8K

Keith’s doing just fine, thanks. So maybe he dropped out of college and maybe he doesn’t have what one might call “direction” in his life, but so what? He’s got a job he doesn’t hate, he’s got enough friends for his liking, he’s got Shiro, he’s got climbing on the weekends, he’s got the hookups with closeted college boys every once in awhile, and he’s fine. Happy. He doesn’t need anything to change.

That is, until he almost accidentally gets into a bar fight with an infuriatingly attractive river guide and then starts seeing said river guide everywhere and it turns out he's less infuriating but still definitely attractive, and, well—maybe Keith hasn’t been doing that fine. Maybe one thing can change.

4. Eyes So Pretty by stormie2817

Canonverse | T+ | 2.8K

When the paladins and their friends gather for a night of drinking and relaxing, Lance indulges a little too much and says some rather interesting things about a certain paladin....

5. The Loverboy Trials by PM_Writes

Canonverse | M | 20.8K

He can tell Shiro is struggling to remain collected. “And why do you think Keith is your…sex…god?” And geez, that would be so much funnier if this wasn’t so disturbing.

The representative leads them to the back of the council room where she pulls aside a large curtain. Behind it, a huge mural stretches to the ceiling.

It looks exactly like Keith.

6. you’re lucky that’s what I like by zencetera

College AU | T+ | 4K

Lance rescues a hamster from certain doom.

or, Lance has Keith wrapped around his little finger and doesn’t even realize it.

7. Billy Ray is my boyfriend by VertigoReader101

Youtuber AU | G | 6K

It was moments like these that made Lance forget about his fears of telling everyone about his boyfriend. It was moments like these that he wanted to whip out his camera and share the love of his life with the world.

8. A Keithmas Carol by YouAreInAComaWakeUp (Nikanaiko) *

Bluemantics commentary: I adore Nikanaiko's writing more than literally any other klance author's. While I didn't laugh out loud while reading many fics, I always lose my shit for their work, SO PLEASE CHECK IT OUT.

Christmas Carol AU | T+ | 28.5K

Keith has read A Christmas Carol. Keith knows how A Christmas Carol is supposed to go.

This is not how A Christmas Carol is supposed to go.

9. suite on you by adelfie

College AU | T+ | 12K

Accident-prone Lance McClain learns that his grumpy suitemate, Keith, has one rule: to leave him alone. Lance would really like to follow that rule. Really. But his clumsiness has other plans.

10. It Never Rains on Saturday by TheLegendOfChel *

Video Game AU | T+ | 22.7K

In the magical kingdom of Altea lies an ominous tower filled with monsters. Every day, adventurers battle through the tower’s levels in a never-ending quest to slay the Demon King who lives at the very top.

Lance, a talented archer, is one such adventurer. However, Lance doesn’t want to kill the Demon King.

Lance wants to marry him.

11. Keith Kogane Tries to Keep Up With a Professional Chef | Back-to-Back Chef | Bon Appétit by eggyeggplant *

Bluemantics commentary: I'm in shock this one isn't more popular since it is one of the funniest fics I've EVER read for ANY fandom. If you read this one, please give the author extra love, comments, kudos, etc.

Youtube AU | G | 3.5K

Actor Keith Kogane appears in a YouTube video with an old friend Lance McClain in an episode of Back-to-Back Chef where they attempt to make simple carbonara but they keep getting distracted by flirting with each other.

Hope these make you laugh anon!