#that the same hands that are used to destroy

[formulafanfics13]

You Can Barely Handle One of Us - OP81 & LN4 🔥

Masterlist

Summary A filthy, emotionally charged threesome between the reader, Oscar Piastri, and Lando Norris. It starts with teasing and turns into intense double penetration, power play, and overstimulation as they ruin her together, first one at a time, then both at once. The entire night is a worshipful descent into submission, ending with her completely destroyed, loved, and marked by both.

Warnings threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (f receiving + m receiving), fingering, face fucking, handholding during oral, praise kink, degradation, double penetration (implied), overstimulation, orgasm control, mild choking, facial + body cumshot, spit play, intense dirty talk, possessive behaviour.

"Tell the truth," Lando said, voice low, lazy, cocky as ever. "You've thought about it before."

She blinked up at him from the bed, naked and already a little breathless. Oscar was behind her, propped up on one elbow, hand trailing down her spine. "You've thought about both of us fucking you at the same time."

She flushed. Said nothing.

Oscar's mouth curled into the softest smirk. "Say it," he murmured in her ear. "You want us both, don't you?"

Still nothing. She couldn't speak, not with Oscar's hand between her thighs, already lazily circling her clit while Lando sat at the end of the bed shirtless, palming himself through his joggers, watching her like a meal.

Oscar dragged his fingers down lower. "She's soaked," he said, calm as ever. "I think that's a yes."

Lando grinned. "Good," he said. "Because we've got plans for her."

She didn't know who to watch.

Oscar was between her legs now, mouth buried in her pussy like a man on a mission, slow licks, two fingers curling deep inside, his other hand pinning her thigh down because she kept twitching.

And Lando? Lando was by her head. Shirtless. Kneeling. Staring down at her with a smug smile. "I've never seen you shake like that," he said, dragging one finger across her cheek. "Oscar always eat it that good?"

She couldn't answer. She was too busy crying out from the way Oscar sucked her clit, slow and vicious.

Lando leaned closer. "You wanna thank him?" he whispered.

Her mouth opened on instinct. Lando chuckled. "Guess that means you're ready for me." He slid his sweats down, cock already hard, already leaking. 

Oscar didn't look up. Just flicked his tongue harder as Lando pressed the tip against her bottom lip.

She moaned from both ends now.

"Go on, baby," Lando coaxed, rubbing his cock over her mouth. "Be a good girl and take it."

She did. Oscar groaned into her pussy as her mouth stretched around Lando's cock, the sound going straight to her core.

"Jesus," Lando hissed. "You see her fucking tongue? She's-fuck-so good."

Oscar finally looked up. "She's always good," he said. "Especially when she's full."

And then he slammed his fingers in deep, curling them just right, and she choked on Lando's cock as her orgasm ripped through her.

Oscar held her thighs open. Lando gripped her hair. And she came on Oscar's hand, mouth full of Lando, body shaking like it was being torn in two.

"Think she can handle more?" Lando asked once she'd come down, brushing her hair off her face.

Oscar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at her. "She'll take what we give her."

Lando grinned. "Good girl."

Oscar leaned down, kissed her once, slow. Then whispered: "On your hands and knees."

She obeyed. Head still spinning. Legs trembling. Oscar knelt behind her. Lando in front again. And when Oscar slid his cock into her from behind, deep. Lando just watched. "God, look at her arching," he said. "Oscar, you've fucking trained her."

Oscar grunted. "Look how tight she is. She's gonna lose her mind."

Lando reached out, tilted her chin up. "Show me."

She looked at him, wide-eyed, mouth parted, moaning as Oscar fucked her slow and deep.

Then Lando spit in her mouth. "Swallow."

She did. Oscar thrust hard. She screamed.

Lando laughed. "She's never walking again."

Oscar didn't stop. He picked up the pace, faster now, sharper, hips slamming into her ass, hands bruising her waist.

"You want Lando to fuck you too?" he asked, voice calm and filthy. "You want both of us inside you?"

She moaned. Oscar smiled. "Greedy girl." She was barely breathing by the time Oscar really started fucking her. Bent over in the middle of the bed, knees spread, hands braced on the mattress, her whole body jerking forward with every thrust of his hips.

And Lando? Lando was still in front of her. Still half-hard from her mouth, watching her with his bottom lip caught between his teeth like he was savouring the destruction. "Pretty little mess, aren't you?" he murmured, brushing hair off her face.

She didn't speak. Couldn't.

Oscar was deep. Hitting every nerve. Every angle. His grip on her hips was bruising.

Lando grabbed her chin. "Answer me."

She blinked up at him, glassy-eyed. "Yes-fuck-yes-please-"

Oscar pulled her back by the hair just enough to growl, "That's not a fucking answer."

She choked on a gasp. "I said please," she sobbed.

"Please what?" Lando asked.

Oscar slammed in hard.

She yelped.

"Please let me come," she begged.

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Did we say you could come again?"

She shook her head.

Oscar leaned over her back, one hand gripping her throat now, the other between her legs, pressing against her clit with two fingers.

"Then don't."

She whimpered.

"You come again without permission and you don't get either of us," Oscar hissed. "Not tonight. Not next time. Not until we say."

And then, he pulled out.

She collapsed.

"Fuck," she sobbed, forehead against the mattress, whole body shaking.

Lando moved in. Slid in behind her before she could beg. No warning.

Just one long, slow thrust as he groaned, "Oh fuck, she's still gripping."

Oscar watched from beside them, chest rising, cock wet, pupils dark as fucking midnight.

"You watching, Osc?" Lando panted. "She's squeezing me like she needs it."

"Of course I'm watching."

He reached over and gripped her chin, turned her face toward him. "You like that?" Oscar asked. "You like him fucking your pussy right after I've ruined it?"

She nodded, breathless. "Of course you do."

Lando's hands dug into her ass as he started to fuck her, fast, dirty, mean.

She screamed. "You're fucking loud," Lando muttered. "Didn't Oscar teach you any manners?"

Oscar just smirked. Then sat down in front of her. "Come here, baby," he said softly. "Put that mouth to good use."

She was already leaning forward, already wrapping her lips around his cock, already moaning from both ends. Lando in her pussy. Oscar in her throat. Both of them groaning. Both of them completely feral.

"Fuck," Oscar gasped. "She's still trembling."

Lando slapped her ass. "She's a fucking mess."

Oscar slid a hand into her hair, not rough, just there. Just owning it.

"You want to come now?" he asked. "Want to come with one of us fucking your mouth and the other buried in your cunt?"

She whimpered around him.

Lando groaned. "She's getting close."

Oscar tilted her chin, slow. Pulled his cock out with a wet drag and tapped it on her lips. "Look at me," he said.

She did.

"I want you to ask."

"Please," she begged. "Please let me come."

Lando slammed in hard. Oscar raised his eyebrows. "Louder."

"Please, Osc-Lan-I need it-"

They looked at each other. Then Oscar leaned down and said,  "Come for us." And she shattered.

Full-body tremble. Pussy clenching. Mouth open. No words, just sobs.

Lando groaned as she squeezed around him. Oscar stroked her hair. "That's it," he whispered. "Good fucking girl."

She collapsed to the side, completely wrecked. Lando pulled out slowly, dragging his cock against her inner thigh, breath shaking. Oscar was already brushing the tears off her face. "She's not done," he murmured.

"No," Lando agreed. "She's not."

Oscar grabbed her chin again. "On your back."

She obeyed. Oscar climbed between her legs. Lando knelt beside her. "You want both?" Oscar asked, smiling now, soft, sweet, so deeply evil.

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, please."

Lando leaned in. "Then we'll give you both."

She was barely aware of where she was anymore. Flat on her back, body flushed and trembling, cunt wrecked and dripping, and both of them still hovering like she wasn't done yet. Because she wasn't.

"You still want both of us?" Lando asked, kneeling beside her, palming his cock lazily with a smirk.

Oscar was between her legs again, one hand spreading her thighs, the other dragging slow circles over her clit until she whimpered.

She nodded. Barely. Breathless. Oscar smiled softly. "Good girl." Then he slid into her, one long, deep thrust, so slow and full it made her scream.

Oscar didn't blink. Just pushed her hips down, grounding her, fucking her at a steady rhythm that was devastatingly controlled.

Lando leaned over her chest, fingers trailing up to her jaw. "Look at me."

She did.

"Open your mouth."

She did that too, already knowing what he wanted.

Lando grinned. "Perfect fucking thing."

He slid his cock in, thick, warm, already twitching. And she took it. All of it.

Oscar was moaning under his breath now, every thrust pushing her up the bed, her body arching, her mouth full.

They were everywhere. Oscar's hands on her hips. Lando's hand in her hair. The wet sounds of her soaked cunt, her spit-slicked mouth, the groans from both of them like a fucking symphony of filth.

"God, she looks good like this," Lando hissed. "Can't believe you've been keeping her all to yourself."

"She's mine," Oscar said quietly, voice dark, possessive, wrecked.

"Then share better."

Oscar slammed in hard. She choked on Lando's cock. And still, she moaned.

Because the overstimulation had stopped being pain and turned into need.

Oscar shifted her legs wider, grabbed the back of her knee, and fucked her deeper.

Lando was gripping her jaw, fucking her mouth slow and deep.

Oscar leaned down over her. Kissed the space between her tits.

"You're doing so good," he whispered. "You're taking both of us like you were made for it."

"She was," Lando muttered. "Fuck, she was born for this."

Her hands clawed at the sheets. Oscar found her clit again. "You gonna come for us one more time?"

She whined, mouth still full of Lando, tears in her eyes, so close to the edge she could taste it.

Oscar rubbed harder. Fucked deeper. Lando pulled back just enough for her to breathe. "Come for us," he ordered. "Fucking do it." And she broke. Came harder than she ever had. Back arched. Legs shaking. Pussy clenching so violently around Oscar he groaned like a dying man.

Lando stroked himself faster, watching her face crumble. Oscar fucked her through it. And then- He pulled out. So did Lando. Both of them panting. And she was barely conscious, just moaning softly, tears streaking her cheeks, twitching like a live wire.

"You want us to come on you, baby?" Lando whispered, hand stroking faster now.

She nodded weakly.

"Use your words," Oscar growled, kneeling beside her now, jerking himself with his eyes locked on her cunt.

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, please, come on me-please-"

Lando groaned, voice cracking. Oscar swore under his breath. And then they both came, one on her stomach, one across her lips and chin, thick and hot and endless.

And when it was over? The room was silent. Just breath. And her. Ruined. Wrecked. Worshipped.

Oscar reached for the towel on the nightstand, already wiping her down gently, kissing her hip. Lando laid beside her, brushing her hair back.

"You okay, baby?" Oscar whispered.

She nodded. "Holy fuck."

Both of them laughed. And Oscar leaned in, kissing her softly.

Then Lando kissed her too, her cheek, her jaw, her temple. "Next time," Lando murmured, "you ride both of us."

Oscar hummed. "We'll take our time."

She just laid there. Glowing. Trembling. So full of love and cum she could barely breathe. And she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

[sevsevteen]

OMG ANOTHWR CARATINY!! I’m absolutely loving catching up with ur page every week, and thank you for taking my requests!! (The scoups fix was one of them lol)

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is the little ways 14th member might look out for the others, like always bringing extra food for Vernon or secretly setting reminders to stretch while producing for Woozi. Just the small things😊😊

-⭐️anon (imma use this cause im always in ur inbox LMAO)

AHHH CARATINYS UNITE 🫶 welcome to the club ⭐️ anon ^^ thank you for your requests !! i love to see it hehe — ive thought of a few headcanons for the little things oc would do, literal pure fluff argh

-- ★*☆♪

“Have you eaten?” You asked casually, sliding into the van beside Vernon. The early morning schedules made everyone a little sluggish, a little forgetful.

He blinked at you through his beanie, earbuds still in. “Huh? No, not yet.”

“Thought so.” You reached into your bag to pull out a small paper bag, handing it to him without much thought. Inside? A toasted egg sandwich, lightly buttered, with just the right amount of pepper and cheese. Vernon’s eyes lit up.

“Wait— is this—”

“Yeah,” you interrupted, pretending to scroll on your phone. “The one you always eye from Mingyu’s stash. Figured I’d save you the guilt.”

He chuckled, already unwrapping it, cheeks pink. “You’re my lifesaver.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pay me back by not eating anyone else’s lunch today.” Your lips curled up a little.

.

Everyone knew once Woozi was in the studio, time stopped existing for him. Meals? Irrelevant. Moving? Nonexistent. Breathing properly? Questionable.

So, you set up a quiet system.

You’d text him every few hours.

“Stand up. Stretch. I mean it.”

If he didn���t reply in 10 minutes, you’d call.

And if he still ignored it? You’d bribe Dino into barging into the studio with a protein shake in one hand and a reminder in the other.

Once, when you stopped by before your schedule to quietly drop off a bento box at the studio, you noticed it was still sitting cold when you came back four hours later.

You sighed, finding Woozi in the same position, one leg curled under him, back hunched, staring at his monitor.

Without a word, you gently placed your hand on his back, and whispered, “You’re going to destroy your spine.”

“I was almost done with this part,” he mumbled, not even looking.

You placed the bento beside his keyboard. “Eat. Even if it’s just a few bites. And I’m setting another alarm on your phone to remind you to stretch in an hour.”

You bent over slightly and tapped the corner of his phone screen. “Don’t even think about snoozing it, I have eyes everywhere.”

Woozi groaned, but muttered a thank you under his breath, already peeling open the lid. His smile was small - but real.

.

“Does anyone know my shoe size?” Hoshi’s voice rang out from his room, voice loud enough to travel through his closed door.

Mingyu looked at you from the other side of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he screamed back: “Why are you asking us? Aren’t they your own feet??”

The door opened, Hoshi’s head peeking out.

“It’s 270, Hoshi.” You muttered lazily, eyes only leaving your phone once to the man.

He grinned. “You're the best!” You felt Mingyu's feet nudge yours, his jaw dropped in shock.

.

You squinted at your screen, looking at how the group chat message stayed at a ‘12’ instead of the usual ‘13’.

A swipe of your finger brought you right to Seungcheol’s profile, pressing the dial button directly.

It rang thrice. Then:

“Hello?”

“Choi Seungcheol-ssi,” you spoke sweetly. “You’ve been online playing games for three hours. Get up. Drink water. Maybe move your limbs a little?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Don‘t call me that! And…how did you know I was playing?”

“Because I texted Wonwoo and he’s in your party.”

“Traitor,” Seungcheol grumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m not saying you’re old. But if you don’t stretch now, your back is going to sound like bubble wrap tomorrow.”

“I am stretching,” he insisted. “See?” A vague groan in the background followed.

You smiled. “Okay, whatever you say Cheol-ie. I’ll call back in an hour.”

.

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

💫: “Get out of bed, stretch, and get some air. You haven’t moved all day, have you?”

Wonwoo huffed out a laugh under his breath, thumbs flying across the screen.

🐈‍⬛: “Did you install security cameras in my room?”

💫: “Nope. I’m worse than that. I care and I nag.”

He grinned at that, tossing his blanket off and dragging himself up with a long sigh.

--

[returnofeternity]

thinking abt hooking up w jackie at a party as "an experiment". then suddenly the next party u go to shaunas POUNCING u bc u fucked jackie and she just has to have u now. jackie getting jealous and fucking u again. just.... jackieshauna not wanting to ruin their friendship so they have sex thru u leaving hickies on top of each other asking u what its like w each other adopting each others style to fuck u. - 🥸

shauna watching you and jackie whisper to each other across the room, growing even more pissed when she accidentally destroys and spills the red solo cup filled with vodka all over her shirt. shauna who uses the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one to clean herself up because it's more convenient! definitely not because it's right next to the room she knows jackie pulled you to! and she definitely doesn't listen in for a bit before going back to the party and sulking!

the next party is dizzying. you barely last 5 minutes inside, trying to find your friends and grab a drink, before shauna's pouncing on you. she makes sure to drag you near where jackie can see, her strong arm wrapped around your waist and leading you a room where she has to kick out other people who are trying to hook up. thinking of shauna being so rough while she straps you, but so gentle while kissing over jackie's hickeys. then she starts smelling jackie's perfume on you and gets rough :p just clamping her teeth over one of jackie's marks, eyes fluttering as she ruts into you and imagines you as jackie.

shauna's so rough compared to jackie. not that jackie wasn't rough as well, but shauna's rough-rough, while jackie was needy-rough. her hands wandered all over your body, molding you into whatever she needed it to be. shauna just takes. she bites and kisses over all over jackie's marks like she's trying to eat you and jackie alive.

"shauna, fuck, slow down." you grunt, holding onto the bed sheets tightly as she fingers you. your back arches off the bed when she shoves a third finger in, your hole throbbing around them like it's trying to swallow them whole. her free hand pins your waist down, and you can feel the memory of jackie's hand pinning you down the same way burn on your skin. it's like you can feel them both at once, touching you, marking you.

jackie's even worse the second time she fucks you. she sees what shauna's done to you when she comes over to your place, wanting to experiment again, and huffs at the bite marks covering up her work.

"did shauna touch you like this?" jackie mutters into your skin, her tongue drawing slow, antagonizing circles on your clit. it makes your thighs tremble, and jackie gets a power rush out of making you so needy for her as you paw at her head. you lick your lips and choke out a groan, mind blanking as she dips her tongue inside your hole. "n-no, rougher. she was rough." jackie imagines shauna being rough with you, wondering if she would be as rough with her body.

something something jackieshauna giving you their clothes so they can "fuck" each other when they fuck you. it doesn't take a genuis to understand that they're using you, so you take the bait. you pick up jackie's "forgotten" sweater she left at your place when it's time to meet with shauna.

she goes crazy when she sees jackie's sweater on you. makes you keep it on while fucking you nasty just so she can inhale jackie's scent and get off from it. she drools and smears her cum on it, grunting for you to not wash it before you give it back to jackie. she gets so hard she almost passes out when she sees jackie wear it a few days later and has to drag you away to fuck her feelings away.

you grab shauna's t-shirt that she left on your floor when you see jackie next. she's possessive and desperate and clawing at it while you finger her, her lips rubbing against the hickey's shauna left on your neck. she also makes you leave it on all night long, kisses down your chest with lipgloss on and stains it just for shauna <3

[revelboo]

I'm calling him Megabull for now on, seriously I love his design in cyberworld and that voice

Same 🤣

Night and Day

Cyberworld Megatron x Reader

• Growling as he flexes his servos, that constant status bar hovering just at the top of his vision is maddening. Mocking him as his health slowly ticks down. Needing energon. Hates it like he hates this place he’s trapped in, forced to play along to survive. Because this place only favors the strong, only rewards them with survival. And he draws his weapon at a rustling in the jungle, tense. An Autobot? Decepticon? Factions don’t matter here, everyone is an enemy. Points to claim. The thing that stumbles out of the underbrush, tangled in vines and nearly falling is just an organic. No health or status bar registering as he vents. No threat. Worthless.

• Falling, you stare up at the metal monster looming over you, a massive weapon leveled at you as your heart races. Because wherever you are, it can apparently get worse. Don’t even know how you got here, your memories confused. You’d always thought you’d do well under pressure, but you just freeze starting up at those glowing optics as the monster’s lip curls, your brain screaming to run and you can’t. And his hand flexes, the weapon disappearing in a flurry of pixels as the giant just turns and walks away. “W-wait!” Lunging to your feet and nearly falling again as you kick free of a vine, you jog after him because he’s the first person or vaguely person shaped thing you’ve seen in this place. “Do you know how to get out of here? I need to go home!”

• You’re following him. Wonders idly if you’re like the trees and rocks here, not worth any points to destroy. You don’t have a health bar, so you’re not competition. Though he’d given up on trying to figure out the rules in this place, adopting his own. “I wouldn’t worry. You won’t survive that long anyway,” he growls. Someone will take a shot at you on the off chance the system will offer a reward for killing you. He’s tempted, but not interested in wasting energon if you really are as worthless as he suspects. And another bar blips up in his periphery right before Chop Shop launches himself from the trees with a snarl.

• ‘Lucky. A morsel and energon,’ the new monster hisses, sharp denta bared as he lunges for the the big, gray mech. And you scream, trying to get clear as the first one snarls. “You forget yourself. Forget who I am?” The mech with the horns growls as his arm transforms and blasts the bug monster in the chest. Scrambling behind the gray one, you’re tempted to just run for it, but what if there’s more like him out there? Your mech lashing out again and again, denta bared in a snarl as the bug sinks his own sharp denta into his arm.

• Snarling as he blasts Chop Shop again, he realizes the Insecticon has been having better luck here than he has. Likely cannibalizing other Cybertronians trapped here. Intending to devour him, too. Furious, he roars and throws himself into attacking instead of defending. And the other mech tries to lunge past him, to get behind him to attack, and he growls, servos seizing the Insecticon, digging in hard enough to dent his plating as he belatedly realizes the bug was going after you, not him. Swinging the Insecticon, he slings him into the tree line, opening fire with his blaster in that direction. And an achievement notification pops up as a shield manifests, its weight making him stumble as it catches him off guard. And he stares at the word Defender hovering above him as his level ticks up. Venting raggedly as an energon cube appears, he reaches for it. Relief spilling through him as he’s replenished. So you are valuable after all. Smiling lazily, realizing he can use you as bait and be rewarded for ‘saving’ you.

• Heart hammering in your chest as a bottle of water and a sandwich just appear in the air, when you reach, they disappear as soon as you touch them. But your hunger and thirst fade away. Not creepy at all, you decide making a face. And the big, gray mech is staring at you sprawled on the ground. “Megatron,” he growls and you just blink. Is that his name? Scrambling to your feet, you jog after him when he starts walking away. He’d saved you from the bug, and he’s right. Without help, you’re not going to live long enough to get home. Mouth opening to call out your own name, you hesitate. Unable to remember what your name is as you run after him. Why can’t you remember?

[swimming-karyss]

Sabo's fighting style analysis!! :D

Idk if this was done before or not, but I wanted to take some notes on Sabo's fighting style: I think it's really interesting, fun and rather unique! 

Let's get the obvious out of the way first - he's very strong, agile and fast. That’s a given. He breaks metal and bones with his bare hands.  His speed(both physical and of reaction) is something I especially want to commend – because it was emphasised a couple of times in the story! First in Dressrosa colosseum, as he was able to act against fighting fish and Burgess’ attack, and second, intercepting Burgess’s attempt to kill Luffy quite literally in a second!

Similar thing happened in the Reverie flashback: in an instant he evaded the guards. We don’t even see the jump itself – he notices the guards and in the next panel he’s already up on the rafter!(? Idk if thats the word) Not to mention, in that little time he managed to pick up Bonney as well!

Now, while I did say that he’s strong, he doesn’t usually rely solely on his strength to defeat his opponents. The first time we see him fight is the most fun one. The colosseum! Because in that fight he used a clever strategy - if you noticed he was actually directing Burgess’ attacks to destabilise the arena’s foundation and take advantage of it when targeting the colosseum’s core! Like - if you’ve seen hnk you should remember how Antarc broke down the glaciers - they first set weak points in the ice before dealing the final blow! (doesn’t only apply to fictional glaciers but I’ve seen a man ‘cut’ a solid piece of rock this way but I couldn’t find a video to show as an example😔) (no major spoilers in the video! only like. antarc's existence?)

He then used the broken arena to win the mera-mera no mi by a technicality! He didn't need to win by rules btw! The whole thing would be demolished anyway! He just decided to be witty and show off! He’s so silly, you can tell he is having a lot of fun. Literally being :D the whole time.

And using strategy and weak points in battle is the whole point of ‘finding a core’! His primary thing, that he even wanted to teach Robin ^^ And while even in childhood he was more level-headed and thoughtful in fights than, say, Ace, he’s still rather brash and daring. So it could very well come from his strategic and rational mentor - Dragon!

Ooh and look at him stealing that knife! And while that was to cut Luffy's ropes, in adulthood he often targets people's weapons first! That actually seems to be the RA’s signature - rather than overpowering their opponents with violence, they help and encourage regular people to stand up for themselves. Another reflection of Dragon’s disdain for war and likely also Kuma’s pacifism! The same way none of the captains use ‘normal’ weapons or conventional fighting methods, sometimes even preferring support roles. Hehe, you can see how the army and Dragon influenced Sabo’s character even through the fighting style! (actually, there’s a bit more about pacifism, but for now please just believe me that babo isn’t really allowed to kill)

But also Sabo doesn’t just get rid of their weapons in the fight with the marines, he uses the gun against the marine! The same way he takes advantage of Burgess attacks to destroy the colosseum. He uses these things to indirectly cause harm to his opponents! A roundabout way to bypass his mentors' pacifism "I didn't hurt them, they brought it upon themselves 🙄".

Also fun fact - Sabo’s dragon claw functions kinda similarly to Cipher Pol’s finger gun - they focus all the strength in singular points instead of spreading it on a wider surface. I vaguely remember this from a physics class - it may seem silly but it kinda does make sense?

And another thing which… may or may not be true depending on the interpretation. As I said, both his mentors are pacifists, and as someone who literally grew up surrounded by the RA’s values, I think Sabo actually doesn’t kill people.

Well, first of all, the main point of evidence - he originally intended to let Burgess go. The man whose actions led to Ace’s death. The man who tried to kill Luffy in front of Sabo. And yet Sabo lets him go and leaves with a smile. (Before Burgess intentionally riles him up, and Sabo loses his temper which he tends to do when his loved ones are involved. And that guy still survived didn’t he?)

Secondly, the Revs were so mortified at the news of Sabo killing king Kobra that it made it seem like it was the news of him dying again. Even with king Kobra being the good monarch that he was, the reaction seems too drastic for someone who has a history with killing people on impulse/driven by emotions/for fun.

And thirdly, he prefers to threaten people instead. In the sense he wants to appear threatening to his opponents. He tells Bastille that he can crush skulls easily without directly saying that it’d be his skull (well. Could depend on the translation) And after Fujitora’s meteor wiped out the marines he decided to aurafarm in front of the admiral with Bastille’s mask, even though it wasn't even him who actually defeated the guy.

Notably, the two times when he faces his opponents head on is with Fujitora and the second time with Burgess. Both times included stalling the other side

He is really similar to Usopp in that regard - but Sabo actually has the strength to go through with his threats. And while he certainly enjoys enacting violence and frightening opponents, he tries to not take lives. He tries to be a bigger person (which may or may not be a part of his willingness to become a symbol for the revolution, he tries to push many ‘unnecessary’ or ‘unsightly’ things down)

To conclude this part, we can see that what he lacks in raw strength Sabo compensates with wits, agility and observation skills - he targets weak points and takes advantage of the environment. But his fighting style also has some flaws: mainly is that he mostly has single-target attacks, and the only one which allows him to affect/impact a large group of people is heavily dependent on the battle ground and can be used only once in the same area.

And now to his mera-mera no mi abilities. In short: they suck- cough couhg I mean they could use some work, compared to Ace’s.

You can see that he’s really inexperienced with his devil fruit. In Dressrosa he’s only getting used to it, be it attacking or turning into fire. He mostly uses fire fist as his main offensive skill, but he does try experimenting - with… questionable results? Burning dragon fist flame dragon king tries to combine fire fist and dragon claw, the things he has on hand, probably the first things that came to his mind.

And while we see him practicing on the Baltigo, the next time he didn’t really improve or came up with any fun attacks. ’Rook check’ is really just a ‘fire fist’ with a fancy name so Sabo could be witty and show off his understanding of chess and strategy in front of the most important people in the world.

But all jokes aside, the mera-mera no mi complements his existing fighting style nicely, in where he lacks range and power his fire powers fill in. You know, the way Ace and Sabo would’ve covered each other’s blind spots and weaknesses. And I think that Ace is the very reason that someone, as intelligent, creative and strong as Sabo, didn’t make much progress with devil fruit abilities. Mera-mera no mi is not just a weapon, but also the only connection Sabo has left to his brother. And if Ace had freedom to explore his fire abilities and be as flexible with them as he wanted, Sabo needs to overcome his grief first before he could see the mera-mera as an extension of himself, not just a memento from his late brother which he just barely deserves to use. The reason Sabo uses ‘fire fist’ so much is because it’s the only ability he knows for certain Ace had - it is in his very moniker.

All in all, I hope this analysis helped you get a better look at Sabo! And one more thing - Oda, please please please let him out to fight more he needs enrichment (and I need more material on him to dissect)

[cultofcola]

There's nothing you can do.

Not even the Angels can help you.

Gods and Monsters were looking at her every move.

Vaenaera Valastrae was a girl created only because Lord Apollon had a vision. A War almost broke out amongst the Gods of Olympus, some accusing Apollon of acting like an irrational mortal, others agreeing with his decision. Lady Hekate was silent; the thought of one of her creatures being the reason of the End of the Civilisation left her astonished, even if it was bound to happen, at some point, like Merlin and Morgana centuries before. Apollon sat in his throne talking about a wizard who named himself a Lord, acting as if he was one of Them, and the mortal sky was filled of King Zeus' rage. A decision was made, and after many contracts between each other, the girl was sent to Earth as the third daughter of a pureblood family, as Queen Hera commanded. And with that, the Lilith in a white veil was born. The virgin prostitute. The equally dark force to destroy him. A nature's abomination destined for greatness.

[She looks up, then bites the god on the wrist] They created her. They sent her to that Land. They made her be eaten by the monsters who looked for her in the nights and made her soul rotten for everything that is running in her veins. The gods are the worst creatures alive, and she is their favourite daughter. [So, tell me, where did the blood on your palms come from? Self-divination, or sacrifice?]. Blessed be the daughter of Olympus, bound to eternal suffering to complete the cause of her conception. Child of sun [Apollo] and moon [Artemis], a beautiful [Aphrodite] danger [Poseidon], angry [Ares] girl filled with loyalty [Hera], pitilessness [Hades] young woman too mature [Demeter] for her age, someone who craves the desperation of what craziness will take [Dionysus], too smart [Athena] to even think clearly due to her witty [Hermes] thoughts, hardworking [Hephaestus] girl who will never finish what she started because of her aggressive spirit [Zeus].

Miss Vaenaera. Darling Vane. Haunted by dreams of Fire and Death since she was a small child, the warmth of her Mother felt like her only medicine. Her love never made the Prophet Child feel like a walking curse, even if no kid her age could use their minds to make the most rational old man act like an animal trapped in a cage; it was horrifying to assist what the five years old was capable of doing after she looked right at you in the eyes. Growing up, people were drawn to offer their lives for her…. And Mr Valastrae gladly used the Imperius curse to make sure no one talked about the 1967 accident. Why was she different from her sibilings? Why were her insides filled with poison meanwhile presenting as a Divine beauty? Why do her arms bend back in the Astral dimensions? Why is immortality afraid of welcoming her?

Were the whispers true? Were the Gods, worshipped in their temples, sending their Messiah? a Hero? This man who calls himself a Lord is seeking a girl he saw in his dreams: he said they are two faces of the same coin. He saw her dressed in fire. Fire was walking with her in every move. He was there when she spilled her first blood. She can't hide from him forever: He wanted his lamb, his Death Eaters wanted to make her one of them. They all want the unmaking of the Gods weapons, but were the ones searching for a liberator ready to fight? Bride, Daughter, Mother of Chaos: Vaenaera Valastrae felt everything except a girl.

Paris / France. Her room was full of notebooks filled with an ink so dirty that left her hands stained for days despite her trying to wash them continuously by rubbing the soap until she took off her skin. Letters she would never send, poems she would never make anyone read. A thousand stories, her story, words connected to each other in a such harmonious way that the pages are filled with tears scattered here and there. Lady Vane, of house Valastrae, is tortured. And she will always be. That's her destiny.

In her twelve years of living, she never left France. Smart in all of her lessons at the Private Education institution, youngest sibiling of the infamous Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Valastrae and favourite student of Madame Ormesson (teacher of good manners that Vaenaera knew since she was aware of her existence), she knew that her future was already written down on a contract signed by her Father, Lord of the House. He sold her when she was ten, and now she was scared of turning thirteen. All of her visions told her to let it happen. The Odd Girl of the Red Room in her dreams smiled at her and said it was for the better. Was she making the right decision to not use her depraved powers to make everyone forget about this contract?

She is terrified. The whispers were true. Aren't Messiahs destined to suffer?

It's the same thing that happened to her older sister, the middle child. Taken away from their Manor to live four years at the house of her future husband, to whom she had been designated since their parents found out that Lorien was a girl. Just as it had happened to Benoit's fiancée, her older brother and Heir, who had hosted his future wife in their Manor for four years. When Lorien turned sixteen, she married and left her first family forever.

1974. Now it's Vaenaera's turn. But she got it worse. Lorien never had to leave France, or to speak english because that's the only language her future husband could speak. Vaenaera knew that the Blacks were a very important family in the United Kingdom, but she didn't understand why they needed to took her that far away. Lord Orion Black told Father that they see her as a symbol. Divine beauty meets Pureblood nobility, and now she was about to go and live to Black Manor, London, and marry Regulus Arcturus Black when they turn sixteen. The Odd Girl of the Red Room said he was essential for the accomplishment of her Divine Decree: if he dies, her heart will turn into stone. A little treat for Lady Aphrodite, she said. And if after the death of the Lord-Man the Nature will not be balanced again, with a Divine Sacrifice, she will burn for Eternity.

That's her destiny.

[velvetghoul]

Say it Again

✦ oneshot

Reader x Toge Inumaki | MDNI

cw: brief fluff/comfort, spicy make-out scene, lap straddling, semi-explicit touching, whispered dirty talk, slow undressing, smut buildup, physical tension, soft dom energy, Toge talking rarely due to cursed speech pain, humor, Gojo interrupting mid-intimacy, door slamming, chaos, mild language, friends-to-lovers undertone, both are 18!

⸻

Rain hit the windows like static. The dorm common room glowed from the TV screen, where you and Toge stood poised with controllers.

Just Dance.

You were breathless already—shirt sticking slightly to your back, hair frizzy with movement. And Toge?

He was deadly calm. Focused. Barely blinking.

You always forgot how fluid he moved. Sharp turns, smooth arms, precise footwork. It was ridiculous. Sexy, really. But mostly ridiculous.

“I’m starting to think you trained for this,” you huffed as the next track loaded.

He didn’t speak. Just gave a half-smile and a thumbs-up. His throat twitched—like he wanted to answer.

You knew why he didn’t.

Every time he used real words, even simple ones, his cursed energy flared. It burned. Echoed in his ribs.

So mostly, he stayed quiet. Spoke only when necessary. Or when he really wanted to say something to you.

“You good?” you asked, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He nodded. A low grunt slipped out. Almost a word—but not quite.

The others trickled in one by one. Maki looked like she was seconds from turning around. “Absolutely not,” she said at the menu screen.

“Come on,” you pleaded. “Just one song.”

Yuta sighed from the hallway. “What’s going on—oh no.” He saw the controllers. “No no no.”

Panda shoved him forward. “You’re dancing.”

Eventually, they caved. Even Maki.

The lounge turned into a sweaty, laugh-filled chaos. Panda failed miserably at “Bang,” but Maki destroyed “Sucker.” Yuta had the grace of a wet mop but was weirdly charming.

But it always circled back to you and Toge.

You were too good together. Like you’d choreographed the whole thing.

His eyes tracked every move you made. When your shirt lifted just a little—when your hips rolled too slowly—when you turned and found him already there.

During a slower song, he stepped up behind you. Barely touching. Just heat.

His fingers brushed your waist once. His breath hovered near your shoulder.

Your heart hammered. He said nothing.

But later, when the others stepped out to grab snacks, you collapsed dramatically on the couch.

Toge dropped beside you.

You turned to him. “You always watch me like that when I dance?“

He blinked. Quiet.

Then, finally, voice rough, jaw clenched—he muttered:

“Yeah.”

Your breath caught. “Oh.”

His eyes flicked to yours. And then—

“Can’t help it,” he whispered. “You’re… distracting.”

You stared. His throat flexed again, like the words had cost him something.

“Toge—”

“Hurts,” he rasped. “But. Worth it.”

You wanted to kiss him. Right then.

Instead, you leaned forward, nudging your forehead against his.

“Tell me when it’s too much.”

He closed his eyes. Let his hand find yours on the couch cushion.

“Not yet,” he whispered. Barely audible. But real.

And when the others returned, loud and laughing, you two just sat there—foreheads still close, breath steadying.

You didn’t need music for this kind of rhythm.

The next day was quiet. Warm sun through the glass, a lazy breeze from the window. The world wasn’t ending for once.

Toge stood with Yuta near the courtyard steps, biting into some ridiculous mochi stick he’d snuck from the fridge. He didn’t say anything—just chewed with half-lidded eyes, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.

Yuta was mid-rant about cursed techniques when he saw you walking across the grass.

“…So I told him to reinforce his barrier—oh, you’ve got company.”

Toge turned his head, already holding one arm out.

The second you reached him, he folded you against his chest like it was instinct. His hoodie was still warm from the sun, and his scent—god. That same soft, warm scent that clung to him after sparring and showers. You pressed in, arms looped around his waist, and mumbled against his chest:

“You smell soooo good.”

Toge’s laugh was a low breath. Quiet. But real. He rested his chin on your head and hummed.

Yuta blinked. “Okay. I’m just gonna—go over there.”

Toge didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He just curled around you like gravity pulled him into it. You both stayed there like that a little too long for “just friends.”

Then he shifted a little—his fingers twitching against your spine.

“…Wanted to say something,” he mumbled, voice low, rough.

You leaned back just enough to look up. “Toge.”

He knew what you meant.

You held a finger up to his lips, gentle. “No.”

He blinked.

Then grinned. A rare, teeth kind of grin—mischievous and a little smug.

God, those lilac eyes. Bright in the sun, glowing with something unsaid.

You let your hand drop and cupped his jaw instead. His skin was warm under your palm. His grin faded into something softer—eyes fluttering a little when your thumb brushed the edge of his mouth.

He didn’t talk again. He didn’t need to.

He just leaned forward slowly, pressing his forehead to yours. Breathing you in. Like your scent was doing the same to him.

And when you finally pulled back and teased, “Don’t get clingy now,” he tapped your side twice and mouthed the word:

“Always.”

Without saying it. Without burning for it.

Just… meaning it.

The second you loaded up Just Dance again, Megumi made that face.

The pinched-eyes, crossed-arms, why-am-I-here face.

“I’m not doing this,” he said flatly from the couch.

“You say that every time,” you chirped, sliding the controller into Toge’s hand. “Then Yuji drags you into ‘Toxic’ and you secretly go full Britney.”

“I don’t—”

“YOU DO!” Yuji yelled from the kitchen, bursting in with a banana and pure chaos in his eyes. “Megumi’s a closet slay queen and I WILL EXPOSE HIM.”

Megumi looked like he aged ten years. “Please get hit by a bus.”

Toge was already warming up beside you. Lazy stretches. Hoodie tugged up just slightly over his waistband. You saw the way his pale skin peeked out beneath the hem—and caught him watching you notice.

You arched a brow. “You tryna distract me?”

He shrugged. Said nothing. But his hand drifted down to rest at your hip.

Yuta appeared, glancing at the screen, then immediately sitting back down. “Nope. Not after last time. My legs still hurt.”

Yuji? Already shirtless.

“LET’S GOOOO,” he screamed, flinging himself into a starting pose for “Bang Bang Bang.”

You hadn’t even picked the song yet.

By the time the beat dropped, it was absolute insanity.

Yuji danced like his life depended on it—every move exaggerated, hips too intense, sweat already flying. You were crying laughing while trying to keep up.

Toge? Silent. Precise. Hot as hell. Moving beside you like the song was written for your bodies to sync.

At one point, during a dramatic arm sweep, you collided into his chest. Instead of stepping back, he caught your waist. Kept dancing. His fingers pressed in, slow and intentional.

You looked up.

He was already looking down at you.

Cheeks slightly pink. Not from exertion. From you.

You swallowed. “…Cheater.”

He leaned closer—just enough for only you to hear.

“Not fair,” he rasped.

Your heart skipped. “Why?”

He didn’t answer. Just grinned. That stupid crooked one. And let go of your waist—only to grab your hand for the next step.

Megumi was suffering visibly by now. Sitting stiff as a board in the corner while Yuji performed like it was World of Dance.

“Why is he grinding on Panda?” he asked no one in particular.

“Because I’m irresistible,” Panda said.

Yuta threw a pillow over his face and mumbled, “Please end this nightmare.”

Meanwhile, you and Toge had moved on to “Boy With Luv,” and the way he looked at you during the chorus?

Like your hips were the center of the universe.

Like every shift, sway, or sweat-slicked curve you made was art.

You got close again. Too close. Close enough to whisper, “You still smell good.”

He let out a breathy, strained laugh. Like he wanted to say something flirty back—but it hurt too much.

So he reached up. Tucked a finger under your chin. Tilted your face toward his. Eyes soft, lilac glowing.

Then, real quiet, broken and husky:

“Keep dancing.”

And you did.

Until Megumi finally stood up and shouted, “I will curse every single one of you if you don’t shut this off in thirty seconds.”

Yuji: “TOXIC ROUND TWO???”

You and Toge: already loading it.

The game finally shut off—mostly because Maki threatened to crush the console with her bare hands.

Everyone scattered. Yuji disappeared to shower, humming “Toxic” like it was his personal anthem. Panda limped away dramatically. Maki went to punch something.

You and Toge drifted toward the hallway, both flushed, breathless, and grinning like idiots.

He slid down the wall near the training mats, legs outstretched.

You followed, plopping beside him—knees knocking.

Sweat clung to your neck. Your cheeks were flushed. Every part of you tingled.

“I’m never dancing with Yuji again,” you muttered, rubbing your calf.

Toge let out a raspy exhale that might’ve been a laugh. He rolled his shoulder with a soft wince.

Without thinking, you shifted—straddling his thigh to face him, one knee on either side. “Hold still. You’re tight right here.”

He tensed. But didn’t stop you.

Your hands pressed into the muscle of his shoulder. You leaned in a little. Focused. Tried not to notice how hot he felt under your thighs. Or the way his hand settled on your waist like it belonged there.

His eyes didn’t leave your face.

Lilac. Heavy-lidded. Hungry, maybe.

You smiled down at him. “You gonna talk?”

He blinked. Then, low and hoarse:

“No.”

That grin again. The one that said he could talk—but you told him not to.

You let your thumb swipe gently along his jaw.

“Good boy.”

And that’s when Megumi walked by.

He paused. Stared.

You didn’t move. Neither did Toge.

Megumi blinked slowly.

Then, with the most passive tone of disgust ever delivered in the history of mankind:

“Ew.”

He walked away.

You collapsed forward against Toge’s chest, wheezing. His laugh buzzed through his chest against you—quiet and breathless and real.

Later. Quiet dorm hallway. The sun was starting to set.

You leaned against the doorframe of your room, still in your Just Dance clothes. He was leaving—but slowly. Like he was waiting.

You called after him. “Toge.”

He turned. Head tilted. Curious.

You stepped forward. A little bold. A little nervous.

And then just… reached for him.

Your fingers slid into his hoodie, tugging him gently closer by the collar. He let you. Stood there, so still, breathing shallow.

Your eyes met.

“Can I?” you whispered.

He nodded once.

Your lips brushed his. Soft. Hot. Lingering.

And then—just for a moment—you felt him breathe into you, like letting out something he’d been holding since the first round of “Bang Bang Bang.”

You pulled back just a little. Enough to see the flush high on his cheeks.

“You okay?” you whispered.

Toge opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then nodded. His voice rasped low, almost broken:

“Perfect.”

You kissed him again.

This time, no one said “ew.”

Not even Megumi. But only because he slammed his door shut first.

After midnight. You couldn’t sleep.

Too much adrenaline. Too much Toge.

You’d replayed that kiss at least seventeen times, every little twitch of his fingers against your hip, the rare heat in his eyes, the way he whispered “perfect” like he’d been saving that word just for you.

The knock at your door was barely there.

You opened it quietly.

He stood in the dim hallway, hoodie on, hair messy, barefoot.

Said nothing. Didn’t need to.

You stepped back, and he slipped in.

Your room was small, dark, warm. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a blanket. Toge stood in the middle of it for a moment, looking around like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be there.

You walked to him, took his hand, and pulled him toward the bed.

He climbed in first, back against the wall. You followed, curling beside him.

His arms wrapped around you instantly. One low on your waist, the other up by your shoulder, fingers slipping into your hair. You rested your head on his chest, heart to heart.

His body was hot. Warm in the way fire is safe when it’s close enough to feel but not burn.

He let out a low hum. Content.

You traced lazy shapes on his chest. He moved his hand from your waist to your back, rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

Still no words.

But every little shift of his body screamed I needed this. I needed you.

You tilted your head up. He was already looking.

You kissed him again—slow, sleepy, deep.

And when you finally pulled back to breathe, you whispered, “Still okay?”

He didn’t answer with words.

He just touched your face like you were the softest thing he’d ever held. Then curled his fingers into your shirt and held you tighter, breath slow, heartbeat steady.

And then— BANG.

“YO.”

The door slammed open.

“HEY HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN—OH.”

It was Gojo. Hair spiked, glasses askew, holding a half-eaten popsicle and no sense of personal space.

You both froze. Mid-cuddle. Mid-whatever.

Toge blinked. You stared. Gojo blinked back.

“Oh,” he said again, slower this time. “OH.”

Then, sing-song voice, already backing out:

“I’m not judging but you better be using protection!”

Toge threw a pillow at him. Missed.

You groaned. “I’m going to kill him.”

From the hallway:

“YOU’RE WELCOME FOR THE BIRTH CONTROL TALK!!”

Toge let out the softest, most exhausted grunt of pain you’d ever heard. You kissed his cheek. “Still perfect?”

He gave you the most tragic, sleepy, ‘of course but also please end me’ nod ever.

You turned off the light. He stayed all night.

Soft warmth. Deep breathing. Heaven.

Until—

“GOOD MORNING BESTIES!!”

The door slammed open again.

You shot up so fast you hit Toge’s chin with your shoulder. “FUCK—”

Yuji stood in your doorway, bright-eyed, holding three coffees and two taiyaki.

Then froze.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “…Wait.”

His mouth opened.

You pointed a threatening finger. “Yuji—”

He SHRIEKED. “YOU—SLEPT TOGETHER?? YOU SLEPT SLEPT TOGETHER??”

Toge, now sitting upright, blinked blearily. He reached for the pillow. Didn’t miss this time.

Yuji yelped as it nailed him in the chest and sent one taiyaki flying.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Why are you like this?”

Yuji clutched the doorframe like a housewife in a telenovela. “I thought we were FRIENDS. And you’re in here cuddling and being SOFT and DOMESTIC—”

Toge tossed the blanket over your head and curled back under it.

“I’m telling Megumi,” Yuji muttered dramatically.

“He already saw,” you mumbled under the blanket.

Yuji shrieked again.

Later that week It happened during training.

You were sparring—sort of. Moving slow, playful. Testing each other. He was too focused, circling you, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, eyes dark.

You jabbed. He blocked.

His palm skimmed your stomach.

“Distracted?” he asked—voice low, gravel-rough.

You froze.

Your breath caught. Your eyes snapped to his.

He was smirking. Barely. But it was there.

He said real words.

And they worked—no cursed backlash, no pain. He chose them carefully. Quietly. Just for you.

He stepped forward. Close. Too close. Chest brushing yours.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His fingers slipped around your wrist. Holding, not restraining.

“Blushing.”

You swallowed.

“I am not.”

His thumb traced the inside of your wrist.

You could hear your pulse. So could he.

“You are.”

“Toge—“

He leaned in. Mouth by your ear.

“I like making you nervous.”

Your brain? Offline.

Everything in your body? Fire.

He pulled back just enough to look at you—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide.

His mouth twitched.

“Cute.”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “You said you’d stop—”

He kissed your palm. You made a noise.

A small, broken, dying noise.

He took your hand gently and pulled it away from his mouth.

Then, whisper-soft:

“Want me to stop?”

You stared. Shook your head.

He grinned. Then kissed you again—slow, warm, fingers tangled in your hair.

And this time, no one interrupted.

The night spiraled exactly like it always did.

Yuji danced like a man on fire. Megumi almost stormed out (twice). Panda was the king of body rolls.

And Toge—

Well, Toge didn’t say a damn word.

But he danced with you.

Too close. Too smooth. Hands always on your hips. His breath brushing your neck during half the songs.

And every time your shirt lifted—every time your chest bumped his or you turned too slow—he watched.

Not like a friend.

Like someone who was counting the seconds until he could get you alone.

And when the others finally gave up and called it a night, when Yuji collapsed across the beanbag and groaned, “Bro I can’t feel my knees,” Toge didn’t even say goodbye. He just tugged your sleeve.

Didn’t stop walking until he had you inside your room, door shut.

No hoodie now. Just the t-shirt sticking to his chest. His skin was warm, flushed, a little damp.

You opened your mouth to say something smart.

But he was already crowding you—hands on your hips, mouth brushing your jaw, voice low:

“Still smell good.”

You froze.

He’d been quiet for hours. Hours.

And now, just like that, his words slithered into your spine.

“Better like this,” he murmured, thumb slipping under the edge of your shirt.

You grabbed his wrist. “Toge—”

“You always blush,” he whispered. “Right here.”

His lips touched just beneath your ear. Exactly where the heat bloomed.

Your breath hitched.

“Wanted you,” he rasped, finally pushing you gently back toward the bed. “Since the first time.”

You sat. He followed—kneeling, parting your legs to stand between them. His hands dragged up your thighs, slow and firm.

You looked up at him, dazed. “Then say it.”

He leaned in. Hands gripping your hips now. Face barely an inch from yours.

His voice—wrecked and low: “I want you.”

You tugged him down, kissed him—messy, deep, panting now. He pushed you back to the mattress, following your body down with his.

“More,” you whispered against his mouth.

He kissed your neck.

Then murmured, right into your skin:

“Gonna talk.”

You gasped.

“You okay?” he asked, soft, cocky.

You nodded.

“Gonna ruin you a little,” he whispered, thumb tracing the waistband of your shorts.

You moaned. “T-Toge…”

He grinned. “Say my name again please.”

Toge had you flat on your back, legs around his waist, mouth hot against your collarbone, voice whispering sins straight into your skin:

“Been thinking about you.”

“You always look at me like that when you dance.”

“You like it when I talk, don’t you?”

You were GONE. Melting. Your hips rolled up into his and he groaned against your throat, his breath shaky now too.

He kissed you again, deeper—hands already under your shirt. Fingers dragging slow.

“I’m gonna—”

BANG.

The door slammed open like the end of the world.

“YO, PARTY PEOPLE—”

Gojo.

Controller in one hand. Sweatband around his forehead. Fully uninvited.

“—WHO’S UP FOR—oh.”

Silence.

Toge froze.

Your brain caught fire.

Gojo blinked.

Looked at you. Looked at Toge.

Looked at the way your shirt was half-off and Toge’s hand was on your bare stomach and both of you were so very, very guilty.

“Ohhhhhhh,” he said again, slower this time, stepping back like he’d caught you mid-murder. “Okay. Okay. Carry on.”

He started to close the door.

Paused.

Stuck his head back in.

“…Just Dance?”

Toge hurled a pillow so hard it nearly shattered the doorframe.

Gojo vanished with a yelp and a thud.

You collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m going to rip out his vocal cords and use them as floss.”

Toge exhaled hard. Head dropped onto your chest. Completely still.

“…Not the vibe anymore,” you muttered.

He nodded against your ribs.

Then, voice low and so goddamn ruined: “I’m finishing this later.”

You grinned up at the ceiling.

“Promise?”

He kissed your hip through the fabric of your shorts.

“Promise.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

@starlitnotes @joyfulcherryblossomtale

[dem0nteef]

more random ex-catholic priest perpetua hcs because y'all asked so nicely

like many ex-catholics, might go out of his was to include meat in his meal on fridays. for my vampirism enthusiasts — yes, i think drinking blood would very much count as going against the restrictions of his old faith lol

once he does actually warm up to his new role and community, guiding the flock comes more naturally than he's expected. he has his uncanny mannerisms and a few odd traits that just cannot be masked, sure, but other than that he's just a really good shepherd lmao

for those unaware; catholic relics don't have to be bones. they might be scraps of fabric that people swear are confirmed to have been worn by the saint. or a splinter of wood from under their fucking foot lmfao. v doesn’t care about those. if he's to humour the concept of a relic, let it be solid. centuries old blood, heart tissues, teeth, hands—if it's not true, let it pretend via the way it looks.

feels genuinely grateful that none of ghost's songs sound anything like the hymns sung during catholic mass (melody-wise).

those two vastly different lyrics:

favourite book of the old testament? job, probably. maybe not favourite. just one that had never let him rest.

maybe the same way spillways would be his favourite song (or one of them, at least). not that he'd admit that to his twin. and maybe not favourite favourite, just... painfully familiar in the way music makes you feel heard. because the song orbits the motif of anger even when it feels wrong or ugly. that being said, you know he froze on the spot the first time he watched the spillways mv. because!! i feel like we do not talk about this often enough—

I loathe my very life; therefore I will give free rein to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul.

and that part of the book of job opens an excerpt that goes hard. because past that verse, job doesn't just declare "i am unhappy and this sucks" — he carries on to rightfully accuse god and name every torment he has unjustly put him through.

I say to God: Do not declare me guilty, but tell me what charges you have against me.

Does it please you to oppress me, to spurn the work of your hands, while you smile on the plans of the wicked.

Do you have eyes of flesh? Do you see as a mortal sees?

Are your days like those of a mortal or your years like those of a strong man, that you must search out my faults and probe after my sin though you know that I am not guilty and that no one can rescue me from your hand?

Your hands shaped me and made me. Will you now turn and destroy me?

because by that point job, despite all of his devotion, has lost everything. for a fucking bet. between the god and the devil, assumedly. and for the first time, he just lets god have it. "i hate my life now. you have made it this way. you have taken everything and i don't think you're even capable of comprehending the weight of that — i don't think you see how cruel it is for you to expect me to bear it and punish my slightest wince when i can't escape your will and you have made me this way."

and it's one of the very few examples when someone that dares question or call god out on his bullshit finishes their story still standing. either way, i think v would appreciate the song very much but perhaps not feel ready or able to ever perform it himself.

likes st francis :) or rather used to like, back when that still mattered. he visited the basilica di san francesco d'assisi before his ordination. it was a warm autumn and the gardens were quieter. seeing giotto's frescoes moved him in ways he would not admit.

fucking hates st thomas aquinas.

would bite paul the apostle. or burn his letters. loathed having to memorise them, let alone interpret them to the faithful in a way he himself believed to be helpful and not laced with the author's personal bias and/or sense of superiority.

probably has an unofficial list of his favourite churches. not on paper, just internally, and mostly not for any sentimental reason, just the buildings he's really liked or found pretty.

might also have a little imagined list of the sacred places he'd give the umbra treatment lmao

[naxalbari1967]

Israel Is the Empire’s Last Fortress in the Arab World

Western powers did not fall in love with Israel because they cared about Jews, democracy, or shared values. They loved Israel because it served a purpose. From the moment of its creation, Israel offered imperialism exactly what it needed in the Middle East: a loyal outpost armed to the teeth, hostile to anti-colonial movements, plugged into global finance, and willing to do the dirty work the West did not want to be seen doing. Israel is not just a country. It is a geopolitical project. A colonial watchdog. A forward operating base. A Western aligned ethnostate sitting on top of oil routes, radical movements, and strategic chokepoints. Its job was always to break the back of Arab unity, sabotage Third World socialism, and keep the region too fragmented, too unstable, and too intimidated to ever challenge Western extraction or corporate dominance. That is why the West loves Israel. Not because it is good. Because it is useful.

From the start, Israel was a settler colonial mirror of Europe itself. It was founded not just by survivors of genocide but by ideological Zionists who believed in colonizing land with armed pioneers, displacing natives, and building a new society through force. That is the same template the British used in Kenya and Rhodesia. The same one the French used in Algeria. And Israel knew it. The first Zionist settlers studied British colonial manuals. They mimicked the language of bringing civilization to the desert, even though the land was already alive with people and history. That framework made Israel instantly legible to Western colonial elites. It looked familiar. It sounded right. It followed their logic. It was not a challenge to empire. It was the continuation of it under new branding.

When the British left Palestine, they did not destroy colonial infrastructure. They handed it over. Israel took the legal frameworks, land seizure laws, and counterinsurgency methods the British had used to crush Arab revolt in the 1930s and used them again, this time as an independent state. The Nakba was not just a spontaneous war. It was a carefully orchestrated campaign of expulsion, ethnic cleansing, and military dominance, justified through the same civilized versus savage dichotomy that Europe had been using for centuries. And when the dust settled, the Western powers recognized Israel immediately. They gave it arms, loans, and diplomatic cover. Not because they believed in Jewish safety but because they saw a strategic ally in the heart of Arab land.

The timing was not a coincidence. After World War II, the Middle East was boiling over with anti-colonial revolutions. Egypt under Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal. Iraq overthrew the British backed monarchy. Syria was wobbling between military coups and Baathist socialism. Palestine was a powder keg. Oil had turned the region from a colonial backwater into a centerpiece of global power, and Western powers had to choose. Either lose control to Arab nationalism, or insert a proxy that could tip the scales. Israel was that proxy. A garrison state armed for war. A place where white Europeans could settle, militarize, and serve as a permanent threat to any Arab regime that stepped out of line.

This is why the United States, Britain, and France did not just support Israel. They armed it. Funded it. Protected it. In 1956, Britain and France literally teamed up with Israel to attack Egypt after Nasser nationalized the canal. That war exposed the declining imperial reach of the old European powers, but it also made something else clear. Israel was not just defending itself. It was an extension of colonial power. That pattern never changed. In 1967, Israel’s preemptive strike destroyed Egypt, Jordan, and Syria’s air forces on the ground. It seized huge swaths of territory. And the West cheered it on. The United States started pumping in more aid. NATO allies opened the floodgates of weapons transfers. Israel became a cornerstone of Western military architecture in the Middle East. Just like Turkey to the north and Saudi Arabia to the east. All dictatorships. All repressive. All serving Western interests.

But Israel was not just a military asset. It became a tool of psychological warfare. Western media portrayed it as a democracy under siege surrounded by irrational, violent Arabs. That framing did two things. It erased Palestinian suffering. And it gave the West moral cover for propping up apartheid, occupation, and war crimes. The Israeli soldier became the poster child for Western civilization defending itself against the chaos of the Third World. It was imperial porn. A way for the United States and Europe to indulge their fantasies of toughness and innocence without getting their hands dirty. Every Israeli bombing raid, every checkpoint, every assassination was repackaged as self defense. As if Israel were just a small house with a big gun trying to survive in a bad neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Israel exported counterinsurgency tools around the globe. It trained Latin American death squads, helped South Africa during apartheid, sold surveillance tech to dictatorships, and advised on torture methods used in United States black sites. Mossad became a brand. Israeli weapons companies made billions selling battle tested gear. Tested, of course, on occupied Palestinians. For Western powers, this was perfect. They got to support a technologically advanced ally that could fight their enemies, experiment on colonial subjects, and sell the results back to the empire. That is not an alliance. That is subcontracted colonialism.

And let us be clear. The West never loved Israel out of guilt for the Holocaust. The same countries that claim to stand with Israel today were the ones that closed their borders to Jewish refugees in the 1930s. The United States turned away ships full of Holocaust survivors. Britain locked Jews in camps in Cyprus. After the war, Europe’s goal was not to protect Jews. It was to get rid of them. Zionism gave them an excuse. Let them go to Palestine. Let them fight Arabs instead of asking for reparations. Let them build a nationalist state far from Europe’s shattered conscience. That was not solidarity. It was strategic displacement. And when Israel started pulling its weight militarily, the West rewarded it. Not because it was moral. But because it was effective.

Israel’s role today has not changed. It is still the front line of empire. It still receives more United States military aid than any country on Earth. It still gets cover at the United Nations while it bombs refugee camps. It still licenses its security tech to every fascist regime that can afford it. It still fragments the Arab world, sucks up resources, and destabilizes any movement for regional independence. And every time the United States needs a war tested, a drone system trialed, or a resistance movement crushed, Israel is ready to perform.

The Western love for Israel is not about shared democracy, religion, or history. It is about control. It is about empire. It is about having a nuclear armed, heavily surveilled, militarized enclave sitting on top of Arab oil and resistance. Doing what Western powers used to do directly. Now outsourced to a nation that built itself in their image. Israel wins wars because it was designed to win them. And the West cheers it on because it built Israel to do exactly that.

[parnashiamparapio]

Forever theirs.

Pairing: vminkook x reader.

Contains: psychotic behaviour, a lot of smut, possessiveness, obsession, yandere behaviour, gore, killing, oral sex, rough sex, threesome, three men sharing same woman. Rich vminkook, countryside girl. Gore, knife using, vomit, BDSM, spanking, sucking, killing.

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Summary: A young woman from the countryside, comes to the city of seoul for study - at her aunts and beckmes an obsession not only one but three deadly, insanely handsome and rich bachelors. They will do anything to make her theirs. Either With their wealth, charm, and determination. They will stop at nothing to bring her into their lives, even if it means shattering her innocence and leaving her forever changed. Forever their's even if it includes - killing people.

Chapter eleven.

Guess who?

I saw them entering inside and I knew this wasn't going to end well. Jungkook was already seething in anger. His gaze fixed on my light pink mark on my neck that was given by Jungwoo.

His hand shot into my hair, fingers twisting cruelly at the roots as he yanked my head back, slamming me further into the wall. I gasped, a sharp sob choking in my throat from the sudden pain.

“You like to test my patience, huh?” His voice was low—harsh and shaking with rage. “Not just mine—but theirs too?”

His breath hit my cheek, warm and sharp like smoke from something burning.

I flinched hard, trying to pull away, my hand clawing at his wrist, desperate to free myself. “J-Jungkook, stop—please,” I whispered, tears stinging behind my eyes.

But his grip tightened.

“You let him touch you?” he snarled, eyes now flicking between my face and the mark on my neck like he couldn’t decide where to destroy first.

Taehyung and Jimin stood close behind him.

And the worst part wasn’t that they didn’t stop him—

It was that they already knew what had happened.

Like this wasn’t new. Like this was a conversation they’d already had, and Jungkook was just the one to deliver the punishment.

Their calm was terrifying.

Jimin had his hands in his pockets, lips pressed into a faint smirk, while Taehyung tilted his head slightly — not curious, not angry, just watching. Measuring. Like a judge in a courtroom that never offered mercy.

“You let Jungwoo mark you?” Jungkook’s voice cracked now, quieter, more broken beneath the fury. “Mine. You belong to me. We own you.”

The word we shattered me more than his grip ever could.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream.

Could only choke out another broken sob, hating the way my body trembled — not from pain — but from fear, and something else I couldn’t name.

"Maybe it is time to show the real us," Taehyung spoke, awfully calm. Staring deep into my eyes. My heart dropped more. This isn't going to end well at all.

A low rumble chuckle left Jungkook’s lips near my ear. "God," he murmured. A sick satisfaction was building in his dark eyes. "Fucking finally."

What are they going to do?

It is going to be bad.

Bad bad.

Before I could even step back, Jungkook's hand tangled in my hair, yanking harshly and dragging me forward. Another choked sob escaped my throat.

Taehyung and Jimin followed behind like shadows, silent. Watching.

We reached a door near the far end of the penthouse—one I’d never noticed before.

My heart beat louder with every step.

Jungkook punched in a code, his nostrils flaring with harsh breaths, and the door clicked open.

He didn’t slow down. Just dragged me inside.

Cold air hit my skin as we stepped into the dark hallway beyond.

A staircase spiralled down.

Basement.

I didn’t even know the penthouse had a basement.

And my instincts were screaming now. Screaming that I shouldn’t be here. Jungkook pushed me forward, and I stopped breathing seeing the person in front of me.

Jungwoo was there.

Tied to a chair.

Barely conscious—his head hung low, blood trailing from his busted lip down his chin.

I blinked.

No—stared.

But I couldn’t even recognise his face anymore.

Bruised. Swollen.

It didn’t look human.

A sick wave of nausea slammed into me. My knees nearly buckled.

His hands… they were tied too. Crusted in blood, twitching weakly.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. Just air. Just disbelief.

Then—

A breath, warm and slow, touched my ear.

Jungkook.

Back pressed to mine, arms loosely around my waist, like this was all some twisted game.

He chuckled, low and mocking.

“See?” he whispered, voice sickeningly sweet. “See what I’m capable of?”

His head tilted, lips brushing close to my cheek.

“Or maybe…” he exhaled, “what you are making us do.”

Tsk. Tsk.

Each sound like a dagger through my chest.

He’s guilt-tripping me.

Only if I pushed Jungwoo harder and ran away, would this not have happened at all.

He’s manipulating me.

Taehyung’s footsteps echoed.

I turned my head in time to see him calmly removing his coat, his expression blank.

Methodical.

Unbothered.

He rolled up his sleeves. One fold. Then another. My breath hitched.

No.

This wasn’t over.

His fingers wrapped around the handle of something sharp. A tool. A blade. No — a knife. Gleaming under the low lights, cold and ready. He walked past me without looking, his eyes fixed on Jungwoo.

My stomach twisted violently. I couldn’t breathe.

“No,” I gasped. “No, please—don’t—”

I shook my head, hard and fast, eyes welling with tears. My entire body screamed to move, to stop it, to do something—but I couldn’t.

I closed my eyes tightly, as if that would make this disappear. As if not seeing it would somehow unmake it. Just a nightmare. Just a sick, cruel.

But then I felt fingers on my chin.

Jimin.

He gripped my face, forcing my head up, tilting it so I had no choice.

“Open your eyes,” he said lowly, voice cold as winter steel.

I whimpered, resisting. He tightened his grip.

“Open them.”

My lashes fluttered as I cracked them open through tears. My vision blurred, but I saw enough.

Taehyung was standing over Jungwoo now, who was bloodied and barely conscious, half-pinned to the floor by Jungkook’s boot. His breath was ragged, panicked — he was pleading. Begging. It didn’t matter.

Taehyung raised the knife.

And I could feel the moment the pain left Jungwoo and entered me.

I tried to look away — Jimin wouldn’t let me.

“Watch,” he hissed. “And learn what happens when someone touches you that isn’t us.”

His words carved themselves into me more deeply than any blade.

I couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop the way my heart tried to claw its way out of my chest.

Somewhere inside, something shattered. I didn’t know if it was fear or guilt.

Or the last fragile thread of the person I used to be. I'm watching someone getting murdered.

Taehyung's eyes seemed to glaze over as he dragged the knife across Jungwoo's lips, the sound of Jungwoo's screams echoing through the room like a nightmare come to life. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as I watched, my mind reeling in horror at what was happening.

But Taehyung's expression remained calm, almost serene, as if he was simply going about his business without any concern for the pain he was causing. He pulled back, revealing the bloody gash on Jungwoo's lip, and I felt a scream building in my throat.

He almost cut his lips off his face.

He stabbed him.

Right in the chest.

One.

A sickening sound of blade meeting flesh. A gasp — not mine — his.

Two.

A sharper cry. Wet. Final.

Three.

Everything blurred.

I broke.

My knees gave out beneath me, crashing onto the cold floor. I turned away shaking, trembling, destroyed — but I could still hear it. The sound of something being taken. Ended. Silenced.

The sobs came in waves now. Uncontrollable, endless. My body folded in on itself as I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth, trying to stop the sound.

But it was too late.

It all spilt out.

The vomit hit the floor beside me, bitter and burning. My body convulsed, not just from sickness — but from grief, from shock, from guilt. From everything.

My cries weren’t soft anymore. They were loud, broken, and ugly. I couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t—” I gasped, clawing at the front of my dress like I could tear the feeling off me. “I can’t breathe—I—please—”

But no one comforted me.

No one told me it was over.

Behind me, the silence was heavy. And that was worse than the sounds before.

Taehyung dropped the knife like it bored him.

Jungkook didn’t even glance at Jungwoo’s crumpled body — his eyes were still on me.

And Jimin?

Jimin knelt beside me slowly, gently brushing my hair back behind my ear like he hadn’t just made me watch someone die.

“There, there,” he murmured, voice soft like lullabies laced with arsenic.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Taehyung crouched beside me, slow and graceful, as if he hadn’t just stabbed a man in front of me.

As if this were intimate.

He raised his hand — still slick with Jungwoo’s blood and dragged it across my neck. Right over the spot where Jungwoo’s lips had touched me.

I flinched. My breath caught, but my body didn’t move. I couldn’t move.

He smeared it down my arm, across my collarbone, slow and deliberate like he was painting me. Marking me. Claiming me.

My skin burned, not from the blood — but from the weight of their obsession.

“Exquisite,” Jungkook murmured behind him, voice low and drunk on something darker than desire.

I couldn’t hear him.

Not really.

Everything was muffled — like I was underwater.

Like my body was here, on the cold marble floor with blood on my skin, but my mind was already somewhere else. Screaming. Running. Disappearing.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Jungkook continued, his voice vibrating through the silence, “with his blood on your body.”

Taehyung smiled.

Not cruel. Not joyful.

Just pleased.

Like this was all going exactly the way it should.

My breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. I wanted to scream — to scratch the blood off me, to tear them off me — but I was trapped in my skin.

I wasn’t a person anymore.

I was a possession. A symbol. A thing that had to be taught a lesson.

My eyes stared at the floor, unfocused, tears streaming silently now.

Something inside me had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

I was scooped up by Jimin, and he held me like the most delicate thing he had ever held. He carried me like I weighed nothing. I buried my face in his neck.

Trying to calm myself down. But it was so hard. Jungwoo's face kept replaying inside my mind like a movie on repeat. Again and again. This isn't supposed to happen at all. This isn't what I signed up for.

I cried silently.

Jimin carried me like I weighed nothing, setting me gently on the edge of his bed — a softness that meant nothing anymore. I didn’t fight. What was the point?

He removed his coat with a flourish, tossing it to the side before turning toward me again with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

I crawled backward slowly, as if the wall behind the headboard could somehow open and swallow me whole. I wanted to disappear. To vanish.

To not exist.

“Let’s play my favorite game, shall we?” Jimin’s voice was syrupy sweet, mocking — as if this was a party trick, not a punishment.

Jungkook followed suit, tearing off his tux jacket, his eyes dark with something hungry, something unkind. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the bold lines of his tattoos — inked sin wrapped in muscle and silence.

My chest rose and fell in heavy, panicked heaves. My breath wouldn’t stay even. My ribs hurt.

Then—

“Guess who?” Taehyung said, his voice calm, smooth.

A cruel glint of amusement in his eyes. Like this was a game they’d played before. Like he knew I wouldn’t win.

“W-What?” I whispered.

I barely had time to react.

A sudden squeal escaped me when Jungkook grabbed my ankle and yanked me down the silk sheets toward him — my body dragged like a doll’s. Tears immediately rushed back, my lip trembling violently.

The blood.

Still on my skin.

Cold. Sticky. His.

I whimpered, trying to wipe it away with the back of my hand, but Jungkook’s grip didn’t let up.

Then I saw it — glinting between his fingers.

A silk cloth.

Black.

Smooth.

Blindfold.

“No,” I whispered. “No, please—”

“Shh,” Jimin cooed, brushing a thumb across my wet cheek. “It’s just a game.”

My heart thundered. My lungs refused to expand. My body trembled, caught between fight and freeze.

But it didn’t matter. They already knew I couldn’t escape.

I was blindfolded before I could scream again.

And in the dark, they laughed.

Jungkook placed a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth — deceptively gentle, like it meant something.

Then he tore my dress. I bite my lips hard to not scream again.

The sound of fabric tearing. The cold rush of air against my skin. I cried out again, hands blindly reaching for something — anything — to shield myself, to hold onto, to stop this.

Another kiss.

This one pressed to my throat.

Where Jungwoo had kissed me.

Where blood still stained my skin.

Jungkook’s lips lingered there, too long. Too purposeful.

Then—

His teeth.

A sharp sting.

I hissed, gasping as my head fell back against the pillow. The silk blindfold wrapped too tight, trapping me in the dark.

"The rules are simple," he whispered into my neck. His breath was warm, thick with something cruel and intimate.

"You just have to guess who’s fucking you,” he giggled. Not like a man. Like a child. Giddy. Deranged. Possessive.

"And if you're wrong…"

His tongue dragged lazily up the column of my throat.

“…there would be a punishment.”

My body trembled violently, every nerve raw.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

What kind of psychic is this? I screamed inside my head.

How the hell am I supposed to guess when all three of them touched me the same — like they owned me. Like they knew every inch of me already.

There was no safety. No space to breathe. No rules that protected me  just theirs.

Jimin’s voice hovered nearby, amused, calm. “She’s shaking already. I wonder how fast she’ll break this time.”

Taehyung said nothing. But I felt his presence — a shadow standing still, watching, waiting.

I clenched my fists into the sheets.

Don’t speak. Don’t cry. Don’t give them what they want.

But I already had.

My body betrayed me. My voice betrayed me.

And now…

My silence was all I had left.

Another hand wrapped around my wrist tying it with another soft cloth - almost felt like a tie. Another gulp passed my throat my chest heaved. I don't understand the rules. I don't want to be part of their games. I don't want to be part of their anything.

Lips travelled my bare thighs.

Another hand went to my waist, playing with my panties band. I tried to wiggle out of the tight knot.

"Don't fucking do that," Taehyung growled, I gulped softly again.

I don't even know whose hand is whose. Because of the blindfold who's touching me? An audible gasp left my mouth when my panties were torn apart.

"P-please don't do this," I cried out softly.

"P-please don't do this," I whimpered, repeating softly again.

"Oh, but we are," Jimin's voice dripped like honey laced with venom. His fingers traced down my neck. "Keep begging. That only makes us want to do more."

A mouth kissed the edge of my collarbone - slow, then rough. I gasped, jerking, but another hand gripped my thigh, spreading me slightly.

"You want to guess who's touching you right now?" Jungkook asked lowly, his voice like a dare against my skin.

I shook my head. "No-please-"

"Wrong answer." A harsh slap landed on the inside of my thigh. I bit my lip hard to muffle a cry.

"Try again," Taehyung hissed. "Who just did that?"

I swallowed. "...Jungkook?"

Another slap. Harder.

"That was me," Taehyung snapped. "Guess wrong again, and I'll use my belt."

Lips brushed against my shoulder now - soft, almost teasing-and another voice murmured, "What if I slide in while you're blind like this? Would you even know it's me?"

"Stop-please-don't-"

"Oh baby," Jimin chuckled darkly. "You lost the right to ask for mercy the moment you let someone else touch you."

"I did not let him touch me," I cried out. "- I-I should have pushed him I know. I know." Another sob left my mouth.

"He's dead." I hiccuped softly. "What else do you guys need?"

Silence.

Then crack - another sharp spank tore through the air, the sting blooming across my skin like fire.

I jolted with a choked gasp. My wrists strained hard against the ropes, but all it did was make them burn more.

"You don't get to play the victim," Taehyung said, voice flat, dangerous. "He touched what's ours. That's not something we just let go."

"It won't happen again," I whispered, trembling. "I swear-"

"But it already did," Jungkook murmured darkly behind me, his chest brushing against my back. "You smiled at him. You let him near you. You looked happy."

"I wasn't happy-"

"Shut up," Jimin cut in, grabbing my jaw hard. "Don't defend him. He's dead now. You're ours. That's the only truth that matters."

"I'm not defending him," I cried out. Trying to put some sense into this monster's head. But does that matter?

My blindfold got all wet from my tears.

The darkness was scaring me.

More scary were - they.

Their hands were everywhere again holding, gripping, teasing - and I couldn't stop the shiver that wracked through me.

"Keep lying to yourself," Taehyung muttered, dragging his fingers down my spine. "But your body knows better. It's responding even now."

"You hate us for this?" Jimin whispered, lips brushing my ear. "Then say it. Say you hate how we punish you. Say you don't want us."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I will never say it. I can't. I don't want to.

Jungkook tsked.

"Fine," he murmured, my legs were spread and I felt lips instantly on my clit. My back arched. Another choked cry left my mouth.

The lips continued to tease me, sucking and licking my vulva with a rhythmic intensity that left me breathless. I felt a wave of pleasure wash over me, despite my initial horror and fear.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, and I tried to push away, but his grip on my thighs only tightened. I sobbed again, my body wracked with sobs as I tried to process what was happening. The lips continued to work me over, sending shivers down my spine and making my core throb with need.

I felt a hand slide up my back, fingers digging into my skin as Jungkook's voice whispered in my ear, "You like this, don't you?"

The lap on my clit got faster. I breathed out, arching back.

I heard a few curses. Left Jimin's and Taehyung's mouths.

"Fuck..." Jimin muttered.

"So beautiful," Taehyung's voice followed, rough with restraint, like he hated how soft he felt in that moment.

Then - warm lips pressed gently against mine. A soft peck, almost sweet, in contrast to everything they had done.

I froze.

"Relax," Jimin whispered beside me, his thumb stroking my cheek. "You're doing so good."

Another kiss landed, this time to the corner of my mouth. And then my collarbone. Slow. Reverent.

"She cries, and it ruins me," Taehyung said, like he was confessing something dirty. "I hate it."

"I love it," Jungkook whispered, dragging his nose up and down on my clit. Inhaling deeply. "Her tears... her shaking... fuck. She's perfect like this."

"Don't talk like I'm not here," I whispered weakly. A soft moan left my mouth as I felt my pussy lips being sucked.

It's Jungkook.

Jimin chuckled, sliding a hand through my hair. "You're always here, baby. Right in the centre of our fucking world."

The blindfold stayed on, but I could feel them now - not just their hands, but their need. Their obsession. Their softness, buried deep beneath the cruelty.

I wasn't sure if I was being worshipped or ruined.

Maybe both.

I felt close.

A whimper left my mouth. "Let go of me, my sugar," Jungkook whispered against my pussy. I came undone around his mouth. My chest heaved.

Jungkook's lips attached to my clit again, sucking every drop. Every. Single. One. Of my already sensitive clit.

In a flick, I was flipped onto my stomach.

A gasp escaped me as my cheek pressed to the mattress. I gripped the sheets softly, weakly, as my breath came in short, uneven pants. My legs trembled - and I felt the air hit my exposed skin, my back marked and burning, my ass raised, displayed.

"She looks beautiful like this," Jimin muttered, voice low and breathy, "all fucked... and bloody."

My stomach twisted violently.

Not my blood.

I couldn't breathe for a moment - a wave of nausea washed over me.

Jungwoo.

I whimpered.

"Don't think about him," Jungkook said darkly from behind. "He doesn't exist anymore."

His hands slid down my waist, thumbs digging into the bruises they put there.

"This is how you should be," Taehyung added, voice quiet - almost too quiet. "Not touched. Not smiled at. Not shared. Just... ours."

My heart pounded harder, tears threatening to spill again.

"You crying again, pretty girl?" Jungkook cooed, and I could hear the grin in his voice. "Arch a little more. That's it... fuck, you're perfect like this."

I wanted to scream.

I felt a tip rubbing on my anus up and down. I gripped the sheets more tightly. My head was pushed on the pillow. Before I beg them to stop. He slid it.

A scream left my mouth only muffling inside the pillows.

He pounded. Fucking me wholly and completely. He pounded his cock in and out grabbing my hips. I cry softly.

"Who's fucking you?"

Jungkook's voice curled into my ear like smoke, hot and low.

I shook my head, crying - broken little sobs leaving my mouth in rhythm with the brutal pace slamming into me from behind.

I didn't know. I couldn't know.

My mind was fogged, my body burning, stretched, and shaking. The blindfold stayed tight, the air thick with sweat, blood, and something darker.

"Answer me, baby," Jungkook whispered again, his hand slipping under to grip my throat gently, just enough to keep me in place. "Or you know what happens."

My lips quivered. "I-I don't know..."

The thrusts didn't stop. Hard. Deep. Punishing.

But not cruel - not like before. Just relentless.

"You better guess," Jungkook said from the front, brushing my hair out of my face. "Even if you're wrong... It's fun watching you suffer for it."

Taehyung's voice came from somewhere behind, cold and sharp: "One wrong answer, and we start over."

My mouth opened.

"J-Jimin?"

Silence.

The pace stilled for a second - then suddenly a harsh slap cracked across my ass.

"Wrong." Taehyung's voice came from the side, not behind.

I cried out as the thrusts resumed - even rougher now.

"That's strike one," Jungkook said, biting down on my shoulder, low and smug. "Two more... and I'll make you scream until your throat gives out."

"Guess again," Jungkook urged sweetly, his thumb brushing over my lip. "And this time... think carefully."

I whimpered. My body was trembling from every angle. I was being held, touched, taken - and I didn't even know who was inside me.

And that terrified me more than anything.

"Taehyung." I sobbed softly.

I heard him curse. "Fuck, yeah baby. I'm fucking you." Taehyung growled, panting pounding inside and out of my hole. I felt another hand go to my already sensitive clit.

Another whimper left my mouth.

He pinched the clit.

"Who's doing it?" Jimin whispered, I bite my lips to control my cries. I opened my mouth only a weak breath left. "J-Jungkook?" I whispered.

He pinched it harder.

I cried out.

"Wrong," Jimin murmured kissing my bare shoulder. I came undone again.

Taehyung pulled out, and I slumped. I was slowly turned away. They threw away my bra. Lips attached to my nipples. Felt a hand slide up my stomach, fingers tracing the curves of my body as Jimin's voice whispered in my ear, "You're so responsive, aren't you?"

The lips on my nipples continued to work me over, sucking and biting with a rhythmic intensity that left me breathless.

I felt a tongue twirl around one nipple, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me, while the other nipple was massaged with a gentle touch that made me moan.

They removed the tie from my wrist.

Jungkook gently kissed the sore wrist, pecking it as if they weren't doing something clearly out of their minds. Like they didn't make me watch Killing Jungwoo.

Killing him.

Smearing his blood on my body.

Punishing me when he's the one who touched me first.

I felt a finger slide inside my clit. I gulped again, arching my back. My toes curled. My chest heaved once again. They are far from done.

I felt a finger slide in alongside the thick length already inside me - stretching, filling, making me cry out into the mattress.

My back arched instinctively. There was no space left inside me, no air in my lungs, and still... they weren't done.

Far from it.

They were going to keep going. Keep fucking me. Keep pushing. Until I broke.

Until I told them who was who.

Until my body learned to recognize them without sight - by touch, by rhythm, by pain or pleasure.

I breathed out softly, a whimper riding my exhale.

Another kiss was placed on my lips. Gentle. Almost loving. Like I wasn't being wrecked, punished, used - like I was theirs.

"You're close," one of them whispered, brushing their nose against mine. "Aren't you?"

Another finger pushed in - deliberate, slow, maddening.

"You'll come when you guess right," another voice added. "Not before. You don't deserve to."

I let out a sob, half a moan, my body twitching. I was too full, too sensitive, too lost.

"I'll keep you like this for hours," Taehyung murmured. "Until your brain finally knows which of us is inside you."

My mouth trembled. I could barely speak.

"J-Jimin," I whimpered, I felt a smile against my lips. "That's correct." Jungkook chuckles kissing me deeply. Sliding his tongue inside my mouth.

"Come for me, angel eyes." And I fall apart again.

I heard another belt unbuckling.

A fresh wave of dread rolled through me. My legs trembled, my wrists limp, my skin sticky with sweat, tears, and more.

I knew it then - this night wasn't ending.

They didn't stop.

They fucked me.

My brain.

My body.

My everything.

I came undone - again, again, again. God knows how many times. At some point I stopped counting. I stopped thinking.

All that remained was the sound of skin against skin, the sting of slaps, the pressure of fingers, mouths, cocks - and their voices, always in my ears, demanding more, taking more.

I don't know when my voice gave out.

I don't know who was inside me last.

The only thing I remembered... was the blindfold finally being removed.

The room spun. My eyes burned.

And Jimin leaned in, brushing his lips against my ear.

"Don't forget," he whispered, voice dark and slow, "I made this cunt yearn for me."

Then everything went black.

———

[anythinggoesbutme]

That Dress

Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane

Warnings: suggestive themes, tension, mild angst, language, heavy romance.

Summary: after a fight with grayson, lyra goes out in a revenge dress. but the only person she really wants to destroy is him. and the only one who can’t look away? also him.

Song: “Freakum Dress” — Beyoncé

Word Count: 1,863

Tag List: @anintellectualintellectual @aria-filomena @angelnextdooor @runningoutofink8 @saythewordheiress @lyrrrr @laurencelovesbooks @sp3ncerre1dsw1fe

It starts with a dress.

Not just a dress — the dress.

Lyra Kane had bought it long before Grayson. Before the Hawthorne name wrapped around her like a second skin. Before she knew what it felt like to have someone worship her and claim her in the same breath.

It had been an impulse buy after a heartbreak, a piece of black silk that had no business staying hidden in a closet. It clung to her curves like it had been stitched directly onto her skin. Sequins scattered along the bodice caught the light in shards and flashes, and the thigh slit climbed high enough to make her mother’s ghost weep.

She hadn’t worn it in years.

But tonight felt different.

Tonight, she was done with polite dinners, polite nods, polite kisses pressed to her temple as Grayson moved through rooms full of donors and dignitaries. She wanted the man who shattered glass in private rooms, who bruised her lips with a single look, who reminded her she wasn’t a painting in a gilded frame — she was a wildfire.

Lyra slipped into the dress, the fabric sliding up her thighs in one fluid motion. She adjusted the straps, feeling her skin prickle as if already aware of his hands, his mouth.

She turned to the mirror.

Dark curls tumbled over her shoulders in deliberate waves, each one shaped by a hot iron and her restless fingers. Her eyes were sharp, outlined in dark liner that winged upward like the blade of a dagger. Her lips, painted a deep red bordering on black, parted slightly as she appraised her reflection.

She looked dangerous. And that was exactly the point.

She slipped on strappy stilettos, black and thin as a whisper. Her perfume — rich, dark, a little sweet at the finish — wrapped around her like a warning.

She didn’t want to go out. She wanted him to stop her.

And she knew he would.

She found him in his study, hunched over his laptop, papers scattered in organized chaos around him. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, veins standing out along his forearms. His hair, always a little too neat for her liking, was mussed just enough to tell her he’d been dragging his hands through it.

He looked up when she stepped into the doorway.

For a moment, he just stared.

His eyes traveled from her face to her neck, down the line of her collarbone, to the sharp cut of the dress that framed her breasts, to the slit that left her leg bare up to her hip.

He didn’t speak.

She let him look. Let him drown in it.

Then, slowly, she leaned her hip against the door frame.

“You look busy,” she said, her voice smooth as velvet, carrying that slight edge she only used when she wanted him to lose control.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.

“What… what are you wearing?” His voice came out lower than she expected, already frayed at the edges.

She tilted her head.

“A dress,” she answered, lifting a hand to adjust a curl that didn’t need fixing.

He stood, abruptly, the chair scraping behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going in that?”

She let out a laugh, light and lethal.

“Out,” she said. “Maybe dinner. Maybe a club. Who knows.”

His jaw flexed, his hands curling at his sides.

“With who?”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room now, every sway of her hips deliberate, each movement designed to cut him open and lay him bare.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes followed her every movement, darkening with each step.

She stopped inches from him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“I could go anywhere,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his forearm, up to his shoulder, across the tense line of his neck. “Anyone could look at me tonight. Anyone could touch me.”

Before she could finish the thought, he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but careful.

“No.”

She arched a brow, lips parting slightly in a silent invitation.

“No?”

His breath came faster now. His fingers tightened.

“You don’t get to walk out of here looking like that.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against the shell of his ear.

“Then stop me.”

The air between them snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

He slammed his mouth onto hers, a violent, hungry kiss that left her dizzy. His other hand slid to her lower back, pulling her against him so hard she gasped.

She tasted desperation on his tongue, anger and fear and a need so sharp it felt like drowning.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into her mouth.

She broke away first, her breathing ragged.

“Prove it,” she panted, her eyes sharp and dark. “Prove I’m yours.”

A sound tore from his throat, half growl, half something far more primal.

Then, without another word, he pushed her backward until her spine hit the wall.

He kissed her again, rougher this time, his hands sliding down her sides, over her hips, fingers hooking under the slit of her dress.

He dragged his mouth down her jaw, to her throat, biting just below her ear, hard enough that she knew it would leave a mark.

She let out a strangled moan, her fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Mine,” he murmured against her skin. “Only mine.”

She laughed, breathless and wild.

“Say it again.”

His mouth found her collarbone, sucking a bruise into her skin, his breath hot and harsh.

“Mine.”

She gasped, her hips rolling forward against his, her thighs parting slightly, inviting him closer.

He slid his hands up, pushing the fabric of her dress aside. One hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple through the thin lace of her bra. She arched against him, a cry tearing from her lips.

“Mine,” he repeated, lower, darker.

He pushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder with his teeth, biting the curve of her shoulder, dragging the fabric down slowly.

She shivered, her head tipping back against the wall, her hands clutching at his hair, his shirt, anything to keep herself grounded.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifted her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her heels digging into his back, her dress riding up so far it was practically gone.

He carried her, stumbling down the hallway, knocking a framed painting crooked, sending a vase crashing to the floor.

They didn’t care.

He dropped her on the console table, the wood creaking under her weight, decorative objects scattering to the ground.

She didn’t pause. She grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving faint red lines.

His hands slid under her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge. He tugged her panties aside with impatient fingers, slipping two fingers inside her without warning.

She cried out, her back arching, her hands flying to the edge of the table to steady herself.

He watched her face closely, every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every clench of her thighs around his wrist.

“You like that,” he murmured. “You like being ruined in our hallway.”

“Yes,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “God, yes—”

He curled his fingers inside her, his thumb pressing to her clit in slow, devastating circles.

She was shaking now, her breaths shallow and desperate, her head thrown back, curls tumbling down her back.

Then he pulled his fingers out suddenly, and she nearly sobbed at the loss.

“Grayson—”

He shushed her, smirking, licking his fingers clean as she watched with wide, dark eyes.

Then he undid his belt, shoved his trousers down just enough, and pushed inside her in one sharp thrust.

She cried out again, louder this time, echoing off the hallway walls.

He paused, forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.

“Mine,” he whispered again.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yours. Always.”

He pulled back, then drove into her again, harder. The table rattled with each movement, her thighs tightening around him, her nails clawing at his back.

Their moans and curses tangled together, rising in pitch and volume.

She felt him everywhere — his hands on her hips, his teeth on her throat, the hard length of him filling her over and over until she thought she might shatter completely.

She clawed at his hair, tugging his mouth back to hers, kissing him as if trying to devour him whole.

His pace grew erratic, desperate, each thrust harder than the last.

“I’m close,” she choked out, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Come for me,” he growled, biting her lower lip.

It only took another few strokes before she fell apart, her vision going white, her body shaking violently around him.

He cursed, low and guttural, and followed her over the edge moments later, his hips stuttering, his head dropping to her shoulder as he spilled into her.

They stayed like that, trembling, clinging to each other, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex and perfume.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at her face, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone.

“Menace,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

She laughed weakly, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

“You like menaces,” she murmured.

He kissed her again, slower this time, reverent.

“Only when it’s you.”

Later, he carried her to their bedroom.

He set her on the bed carefully, as if she were made of glass.

She tugged him down beside her, curling into his side, her leg thrown over his hip.

They lay in silence for a long time, their breathing slowly syncing, the room humming with aftershocks.

After a while, she sat up, slipping off the bed.

He watched her, his gaze soft now, the storm receding but not gone.

She found the dress where it had fallen in the hallway and slipped it back on, adjusting the torn strap.

She looked at herself in the mirror across the room.

Her hair was wild, her makeup smudged into something more primal than glamorous, bruises and bites scattered along her throat and chest.

She looked devastating. She looked alive.

Grayson stood and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“You’re not wearing that out,” he said quietly, his voice still rough around the edges.

She met his eyes in the mirror, her lips curving into a slow, satisfied smile.

“I know,” she said. “I never planned to.”

He kissed her again, his lips lingering against her skin, hands tightening around her waist as if to anchor them both.

She leaned back into him, her eyes fluttering closed.

In that moment, she knew she had reminded him of something essential.

She was his — but more than that, he was hers.

The dress was just a weapon. The real power had always been her.

And tonight, he remembered.

[annawritesblog]

Bed chem (f.c.)

Summary: Franco and Y/N can’t leave each other alone. Always teasing and mocking each other, but that night the mockery turns to something else.

A/N: I’ve been obsessed with Franco lately and there is nearly not enough content of him, so I decided to write one myself. There might be a part 2 of this if you’re interested;) jealous!franco, implied mature content, praise!kink if you squint

Franco never had to try hard in order to get girls. Well at least until now. Y/N was something else, with her killing confidence and chatty personality, he immediately swept Franco off his feet. He couldn’t quite explain how or when it happened but it definitely did.

After being promoted to full time driver at Alpine, the boy noticed Y/N instantly. Standing tall and trendy next to Kika in the garage, he wanted to talk to her. And oh did they talk. They had a dynamic like no one else: flirty insults here and there, stolen glances and snarky remarks. That’s how they liked it. Were they dating? Absolutely not. It was just a flirty friendship. As Y/N would put it.

The whole Alpine garage knew when those two get together there’s no mercy.

“You know, I’m not an f1 driver but I’m pretty sure you should drive ON the track.” Y/N said and Franco instead of getting insulted felt a warmth running through his body. He needed her real bad.

“Oh yeah, princesa? But if I were to stay on the track, you would be missing me right now.” He stepped closer to her and the girl looked up at him with innocent eyes. Franco couldn’t lie, he was lost in those eyes and had to fight really hard not to kiss her right there and then.

“Oh so deeply. What would I even do without you?” The girl teased her and ran a hand through his race suit.

Before Franco could have had any reaction, the young girl turned around and walked off. All eyes were soon fixated on the mysterious girl who walked with such confidence it could destroy many models’ ego.

After the race had ended and all media duties were finished, Franco drove back to his hotel and tried forgetting about Y/N. He wondered whether she would be at the after party and if she were to attend, what would she wear. God, he is so sick.

“You really want her, don’t you?” Pierre asked him as they were sitting in the hotel lobby. He didn’t even need to explain who he was thinking about, it was clear to Franco.

“Fuck yeah.” The boy sighed and took a sip from his whiskey. “She’s driving me crazy, but I love it.”

“You sure you don’t just want to mess around?” Well, it was a valid question.

It is kind of strange imagining Franco -the driver who flirts with reporters and admits on camera that he has done it in a car-, in love. Even to him it was odd. He was so used to girls only being attracted to his job rather than to him, but now it was different. He felt a real connection with Y/N, something he hasn’t experienced in years, or maybe ever.

“I’m sure, mate. I know what I want.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Go get her.” Pierre patted his back and stood up as the two young girls arrived.

The sight in front of Franco was indescribable: Y/N wore a rather short dress with heels that defined her toned legs just right. Her hair was blown out and her red lips made Franco imagine things he shouldn’t have.

“Beautiful, ma cherie.” Pierre kissed his girlfriend and they started heading towards the front door.

Franco didn’t really know what to say. This wasn’t hardly the time to tell her he’s fallen for her, but he couldn’t just stay silent. At the same time, no words were expressive enough to describe how majestic she looked.

“Have I managed to break Franco Colapinto?” The girl laughed as she put her room key into her clutch.

The brunette boy grabbed the girl by her hips and wrapped his hands around her. He didn’t look into her eyes, instead he inspected her from much closer and that damn dress didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Y/N’s breath was caught up in her lungs and she suddenly didn’t know how to react.

“You have managed to make me speechless, what’s what you’ve done, carino.” He pulled her even closer and whispered in her ear. “Nunca antes había visto a una chica tan hermosa, princesa.” She had no idea what that meant, but she assumed he was more than pleased with her looks.

Franco left a small kiss on her neck and Y/N couldn’t hide the goosebumps forming on her entire body.

This moment ended way too early for her liking, but Franco held the door open for her and in just a few seconds they were rolling down the streets of Barcelona.

The club was packed. Mainly with f1 personnel and drivers but also a few fans who managed to get tickets.

Y/N had never been to a place like that before. This truly wasn’t her world. She preferred to stay at home with a good book, but the rare occasions she decided to go out, she went all out.

“Let’s get this party started.” Lando Norris yelled as he hugged the two Alpine drivers. Of course, he was the life of the party.

“Come on, let’s get something to drink.” Kika took Y/N by the arm and they headed straight to the bar.

Franco decided to let loose and quickly found his fellow drivers. He held conversation with a few of them and the minutes were passing fast.

He didn’t even notice that Liam had disappeared. Although, soon enough he was informed by his former teammate.

“Mate, Liam is drinking with your girlfriend.” Alex shouted over the music and pointed at the bar where Y/N was laughing at something Liam said.

His blood boiled. No like, actually boiled. He wanted to go over there and do, well something. He soon realised that would just put him and them in an awkward situation so he decided to wait. Hopefully they won’t get any closer.

The pair of them had arrived on the dance floor. Heads were turned, but none quite like Franco’s. Liam stood way too close to her. He even leaned in and whispered something in her ear, just like Franco had done an hour before that. The girl smiled and Franco swore he could hear her laugh even through the loud music.

Suddenly, Liam grabbed Y/N by the waist and started swaying with her to the music. Franco wanted to look away so badly, but he just couldn’t. He eyed the young driver from afar.

Y/N had a few a drinks which definitely made her loosen up, but she was smart. Her every move was well thought through. Every move of her hips, every laugh she let out in the presence of Liam had a purpose. And it was to tease Franco.

That was the dynamic really. At least that’s what Y/N thought. She thought they were messing around, always flirting but never actually stepping over the edge.

She looked straight into Franco’s eyes. While the Racing Bulls driver was dancing dangerously close to her. Franco stopped dancing a while ago and his lustful eyes were fixated on Y/N. Their intense eye contact had meaning, it was talking without words.

When Y/N smiled at him dangerously, he knew he had to finish what he barely started. Make her his.

Without apologising, he stumbled through the crowd and straight to where Y/N and Liam were dancing.

“Hey man, having fun?” He asked and Liam immediately turned red and stepped away from the young girl.

“Yeah, good fun.” Liam looked at the Alpine driver who was determined to stay alone with Y/N.

“Me and Y/N were just about to go. Right, carino?” He looked possessively at the girl who had his whole heart.

“I’m in the mood to dance though.” She looked innocently, but Franco knew what she was doing.

“But I need to get you in bed by 12, remember?” Liam looked awfully uncomfortable and wanted to disappear but having stood between them it was quite impossible.

“I can get in bed by myself thank you very much.”

“I know, you’re a big girl.” He stepped closer and Liam was finally out of the picture. “But how else would I show you who you really belong to?” He pulled her close, his bulge right in front of her butt.

The girl didn’t answer, she just moved to the rhythm of the pop music that was playing, trying to ignore the fact that she was becoming hot. Her ass moved just right and touched just the right place. Franco’s grip on her hips tightened and he breathed on her neck.

“Was it funny to you? To see me raging while you laughed with him?” He nibbled in her ear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She played dumb but oh did he love it.

“No? So you’re not a fucking tease?” Her smell was intoxicating and all he wanted to do was take her right there. “And you’re not grinding on me right now like a good girl?” She almost wanted to moan at his dirty words.

“Franco-“

“Yes, princesa?” He knew exactly what he was doing. “Do you want to go home and let me show you whose are you?” His voice was deeper and his accent thicker, and god did it turn her on.

Y/N didn’t answer, but took his hand and started walking towards the exit with him. As soon as they were out in the fresh air, the f1 driver pushed her lightly so her back was met with the wall in the alley.

She was breathing heavily. So was he. God, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His white shirt slightly wrinkled, his hair a mess and his face was flushed.

His hands travelled to her waist and without hesitation, he kissed her for the first time. It was slow and passionate, but demanding. He wanted her to know that no one could make her feel this way. His tongue glided over hers and Y/N let out a silent moan. Her hands found his hair and pulled on it slightly. He was devouring her. Like he’d imagined for weeks. And God, she tasted even better than he’d imagined.

Franco pulled away and looked at the girl in front of him who wasn’t so chatty anymore.

He attacked her neck and bit the skin there lightly. Just enough to make the girl cry out and leave her wanting more when he pulled away yet again.

“What are you doing?” The girl managed to ask.

“If you think I’m fucking you in an alley, you’re wrong, hermosa.”

“Then take me home, Franco.”

“If I do, I won’t ever let you go, you know that right?” He turned serious which made Y/N’s heart flutter.

“Kind of don’t want you to.” She kissed him and he realised he wasn’t going to let her go ever.

She was his. And he was hers. From that moment on, they were each other’s truly. Psychically or not, he was down bad for her.

[moon-child-goddess]

Pretend part 1

Mattheo Riddle X Gryffindor reader

Part 2

Tumblr won’t let me post it all in one so it will be split up in 2 parts about 10k words each. I edited this story so many times that i hope it still makes sense.

Summary: Readers friends (Rory and Lyra*) accuse her of secretly dating their longtime crush. So, she does what any desperate girl would do, she comes up with a fake dating scheme to make them believe her.  Mattheo agrees to help, as long as she helps him.

There is limited use of y/n, and Mattheo uses princess/Sweetheart

*I made up characters for this story, because I just felt like Hermione wouldn’t act the way I wanted the characters to.

Warnings: Slow burn, Cursing, Fake dating, Emotional manipulation (By friends), Toxic friendship, fist fight, mentions of blood, moments of anxiety isolation and betrayal, mentions of underage drinking.

A red letter drifted down like a bird’s feather caught in the wind, it landed right in front of me. It was likely a letter from my dad ensuring I had gotten back to school safely. He was a little overbearing when it came to my safety.  Especially with everything going on in the wizarding world lately.

My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach when I took in the details of the neatly folded paper. The seal on it wasn’t my father’s crest. It was the same one that had shown up at my house all winter break. I stared intently at it, hoping I was just sleep deprived and it was really a letter from my father. 

I tore my eyes from the wax and turned my head to the table that was next to mine. And sure enough, he was there. Thaddeus. Watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.

An unladylike groan escaped my lips.

I almost threw my forehead down onto the table in front of me out of defeat. The only thing stopping my dramatics was my half-eaten plate of food.

Thaddeus had been Rory’s crush since our second year, and a member of our inner circle. He was a very charming boy, and a little bit of a player. Apparently, the word no was not in his vocabulary. I had made it clear that I wasn’t interested, but he didn’t seem to care about or understand the word.

Rory—who was sitting next to me— frowned and asked me what was wrong.  I looked back down to the offending unopened envelope in my hand.  

This would hurt her. In more ways than I could ever allow.

I should set it on fire and just find a way to get him to leave me alone.

Before I could destroy it, she snatched it straight out of my hand.

“Rory no! Leave it.” I frantically tried to rip it away from her.

“It obviously is hurting you. So-“Her words faltered as she scanned the text once, twice, three times. As if she needed to check the words on it were real. With each passing second a heavier tension built between us.

Was the dining room suddenly silent?

Blood was roaring in my ears.

Panic was settling into my bones.

“I can’t believe you would do this y/n. I- I thought we were friends.” Rory whispered, crushing the paper.

“I didn’t… I am not… We are.” My sentences were short and panic-stricken.  

“Then what is this?” She held the letter up, her voice thick with disbelief “Is this why you wouldn’t see us during winter break? Or wanted us to come over?”

I watched Lyra take the crumpled paper from Rory, and her smile fall into a tight frown.

It was a universal rule—girl code—not to go after a guy your friend liked. But I wasn’t going after him. He was coming after me. And now, I was stuck trying to explain this without making myself look like the bad guy.

“Rory, you know I was with my family in Rome. My dad-”

“That’s really despicable y/n. This goes against the friend code.” Lyra cut my explanation off with a sharp tone.

This was not going well.

I understood them, I too would be hurt if I was in their shoes.

“I am not dating him!” I shouted, slamming my hand down on the table. The water in my cup splashed over the rim. “I rejected him a hundred times. He won’t leave me alone. I would never do this to you!”

Right when I said the last word Thaddeus dropped down next to me, his arm sliding around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing to be doing in front of everyone.

“There you are love.” He said with a grin. “I was thinking… you and me Hogsmeade Saturday?”

“Rory, I swear.” I began, trying to push him away. But he tightened his hold, as if claiming me.

As if his letter hadn’t caused enough damage.

My friends exchanged disgusted looks; their faces twisted in ways I had never seen before. I could feel my heartrate picking up. It was banging erratically against my ribs begging me to get out of this situation.

Was the air in the room getting thinner? I don’t think I can breathe anymore.

I was at a complete and utter loss on what to do. My friends were furious with me, making me the villain in this situation. When Thaddeus was the real problem here.

Why weren’t they directing their anger at him for harassing me. Shouldn’t they be on my side. Granted there was a letter that said merlin knows what. But still I was their friend. They should know I would never.

All at once the three of them began talking over each other, their voices rising in volume and frustration. All trying to be heard over one another. And the dining hall, well they were beginning to notice the kerfuffle happening. The volume of my friend’s conversation took over the room.

It felt like a hurricane of words, and I was caught in the middle of it, unable to escape. Like they were giants towering over me, shouting words that didn’t even make sense, as if I were too small to be heard.

It just kept going.

No stop in sight.

“I have a boyfriend.” I shouted without much thought.

The room fell dead silent.

What the hell was wrong with me? That was the best I could come up with?

“You do?” Rory, Lyra, and Thaddeus all spoke in sync, their voices a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“Yeah.” I doubled down; I had already dug the hole I may as well lie in it.

“Who?” Rory asked, clearly skeptical.

"We weren’t really planning on going public yet," I explained, hoping to sound convincing. "He’s not comfortable with the attention."

“Then, and I mean no offense why date? You are the most popular Witch in the wizarding world because of your dad.” Rory’s brow rose as she spoke.

Oh, merlin she knew I was lying.

"I meant… we just don’t want people all up in our business."

Lyra was the next to cut in.  “Why didn’t you tell me…us? We are supposed to be your best friends.”

Because it’s not real.

Was lying to keep my friends worth it? I was going against every moral code I had.

“He is my boyfriend, so I have to respect his wishes.” I mumbled, feeling a tidal wave of guilt crash through my body.

I couldn’t stand being yelled at anymore. So I left the table before I could lie any further.

Task for today:

Find someone who will be willing to fake date me for a little while. Someone who won’t tell every person they know or use it to blackmail me later. Someone who would also want to keep us a secret from the world.

That was the problem though. Most of the male population here have been trying to get a chance with me. Which meant they would not be the type to keep it a secret. They would brag loudly to the school.

Which is why I didn’t date. My first boyfriend’s – only one I ever had— parents sold a lie filled story to Rita Skeeter. It was devastating. And my father lost it, doing everything in his power to bury the article. I learned a hard lesson that day.

I spent my whole day during classes mentally scanning the student body, looking for a potential candidate. One by one I eliminated them.

Too loud—would blab instantly.

Too cocky—would brag to anyone who’d listen.

Too much of a show-off—no one would believe it.

By the end of the day, I was down to a quiet Hufflepuff boy—or throwing myself off the astronomy tower.

The thing is, Hufflepuffs are all about honesty. I seriously doubted one of them would go along with something like this. Plus, what could I even offer him? If someone were going to help me, they’d want something in return. And his family? Wealthy as hell. Nearly as wealthy as my dad. So, money was not going to cut it.

I was stopped in front of the library door looking through the student body once again. My breath hitched – just for a second— as if my lungs had forgotten their rhythm.

The perfect person was walking my way.

Mattheo Riddle. He was exactly who I needed, and someone who would want to keep our relationship a ‘secret’. Afterall he was the pride of Slytherin. I could work with this. 

And if the rumors were true, he was looking for the Cursed Saphire Serpent. 

I was in possession of my late uncle’s journals. They were tattered, and barely held together from my many reads through them as a kid. He had clues about it being hidden here at Hogwarts. So, I could try and help find it.

“Move princess.” Mattheo’s cold, mocking voice sliced through my thoughts, dragging me back to the present.

Heat rose to my face, after being caught staring at him. But then I processed the nickname, Princess.

He knew my name. We shared classes. But it was always Princess, spat out in that stupid cold tone of his, as if I didn’t matter enough to be called by my actual name.

One of his brows raised when I didn’t move. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I could move. My body was frozen with anxiety. I needed to talk to him alone.

“Are you deaf, princess? I said move,” Mattheo’s voice was sharper this time, and I felt a tight knot form in my stomach.

With a huff I took a small step to the left. It was enough room for him to squeeze by.

“Can we talk? Please?” My words tumbled out before he passed me, so much for doing this gracefully.

I couldn’t let him leave. I needed to ask… no beg for his help.

He kept walking, completely ignoring me as though I hadn’t spoken at all.

That’s fair. We had hardly ever spoken to each other before.

But I was desperate.

“Riddle. I need a quick word.” My tone was bordering on frantic. “It will benefit you, I promise.”

I sounded like a mad woman or a stalker.

He turned back to face me, with that same bland dead inside expression of his. Did he ever smile?

“I have something you want,” I added, trying to keep his attention.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly but that gave me no insight into his emotions.

“Can we go somewhere more private?”

Mattheo didn’t blink. Just stared at me like I was an annoying gnat he couldn’t get rid of. He didn’t even move a muscle.

I was about to cut my losses and back away. He was borderline terrifying.

“Fine.” With a tilt of his head, he gestured for me to follow him.

We walked down the corridor in silence until we reached a hidden marble alcove, tucked away from the prying eyes of the student body. There was a small window that framed my favorite spot to sit and be alone. It’s where I would go to escape the world.

Mattheo leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed me coolly, waiting for me to speak.

My anxiety was back. I should just apologize and walk away. This was stupid. So so so stupid.

But my friends. I was doing this so they would see I wasn’t interested in Thaddeus.

I nervously picked at my nail beds as I studied the floor, trying to find my words.

“Princess.” He was growing impatient with me.

“I need you to fake date me.” Finally pushing the words out. 

I started chewing on my bottom lip gauging his reaction.

His eyes flashed with a moment of surprise—just a flicker, but it was there. Then, it was gone, and his expression became cold again, as if he’d never heard me speak.

“No.”

Okay.

My hands were clammy, and my pulse was picking up at a frightening rate. This was going terribly.

“Please, I will do anything for you.” I pleaded.

Apparently begging was something I stooped to now.

His gaze hardened as he narrowed his eyes at me. “Why?”

I took a long deep breath, steeling myself to explain.

“It’s a long story. You know Rory?

He blinked before nodding.

“She has been my best friend since our first year. And she has had a crush on Thaddeus well since always. But then Thaddeus started harassing me. At first, it was just some flirty lines, but now it’s crossing into harassment.—"

“Where is this going?” he interrupted, voice flat with the tiniest bit of curiosity peeking through.

I am beginning to think this was a bad choice. His emotional range was on the same level as a dementor.

“Right, so…Rory really likes him. She thinks that I am with him, because he sent me a love note that she opened. Then Lyra looked at it, she got mad too. Thaddeus came and made everything worse.” I was talking to him like he was my therapist. “And then everyone started to yell at me, demanding to know how I could do that to her. But they wouldn’t listen to me about Thad harassing me.”

“And you call them friends?” He inquired bordering on judgmental.

“Yes.” My frustration was sharp. “Anyway, I told them that I have a boyfriend. Which, obviously, I don’t So they started pushing, asking who and why I never told them. That brings us here.”

I pulled at my tie nervously, glancing up at him. Mattheo didn’t say a word, just watched me. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“Why me?” His voice was low, an edge of suspicion there.

“Because you are a Slytherin. Which would explain why I never said anything to my Gryffindor friends.”

He snorted. “That’s a shitty answer.”

Then he started to walk away.

“Wait! Please.” I lunged forward grabbing his forearm.

He stilled, and I could feel the tension in his muscles.

“I heard you are looking for the cursed Sapphire Serpent. I may be able to help you with that.”

The cursed sapphire serpent was a rumor – a fairytale if you will. It was said that if your heart’s desire was pure, it would grant whatever wish you wanted. If your heart wasn’t pure, the consequences are dire. Hence the name cursed.

“How do you know about that?” His voice came out barely above a whisper.

He was acting like I caught him with is hand in a cookie jar after being told no.

“I hear things,” I replied, trying to be the unemotional one now. “Plus, your friend Theo, he is loud.”

Mattheo studied me for a long moment, his brown pools calculating (Calculating what though?) I pulled into myself, trying to disappear in the corner. Attempting to hide from him.

“Well, princess,” he finally said, his tone shifting just a little. “You might have just earned yourself a deal.”

He held out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

I hesitated before slipping my hand in to his.

We spent the next two days tucked in hidden areas of the school, Plotting our next move. I had spent both of those days trying to convince him that ‘soft-launching’ was the safest, and most subtle move to make. Bottom of Form That showing up on a random Tuesday all lovey dovey would look suspicious. Especially after I just told my friends about this supposed boyfriend.

Lyra would call bullshit the second she saw us. And Rory would start asking questions right away. Questions neither of us had answers to. It would all crumble. This was the easier and safer route. And if we played our cards right no one would be the wiser.

I really, really hated lying. It was complicated and messy.

But if I told them the truth, they would hate me and start yelling at me again. It was a lose, lose situation. No matter what they would be hurt. But maybe this will help them see that I was not dating Thaddeus and our friendship meant something to me. That I would never do that to them.

I glanced over at Mattheo, who was laying lazily across my blanket under the tree. His arm was slung over his eyes, shielding them from the afternoon sun. He was looking as uninterested as ever.

"What’s the point of all this?" his voice thick with boredom.

I rolled my eyes, merlin give me patience. “To make people think we are actually a couple.”

I had explained this to him over five times already, but apparently it was going in one ear and out the other.

“But we are so far away no one is going to see us.”

“Exactly,” I shot back. “The school knows I like to sit here alone. They see two people in my spot, voila—we’re soft launched.”

“Soft launched?”

Seriously? He had to be doing this on purpose.

“Yes,” I said, exasperated. “It’s like this little wink to the world: ‘Hey, look, I found someone I like, but I’m keeping it private. You don’t need to know who, but trust me, I’m happy.’”

“That makes no sense,” he said, still half-laying down, his fingers fiddling with the grass.

I sighed and rolled my eyes again. Mattheo was so stubborn sometimes.

“Do you want the hundred and one questions?”  I asked, now irritated. “When did you start dating? Where was your first date? How did it all happen—”

He held up a hand, cutting me off. “Ok I get it. We need to come up with a story.”

I groaned. That was going to be a fun task. I wasn’t sure how to make up a romantic story, I had been single for a long time.

“Let’s just say we met late one night at the astronomy tower and have been sneaking around since.”  I suggested.

It was easy and nothing to crazy.

He shook his head causing some curls to fall out of place. “You want people to believe we are infatuated with one another. Not awkwardly tiptoeing around. People won’t believe it for one second.”

“Why not?” I raised a brow at him.

“Well, we are two very different people. You are the princess of the wizarding world. And me? I mean that is self-explanatory.”

He wore that irritating smirk he got when he knew he was indisputably right. I was beginning to miss his stoney expression.

“I am not the princess.” I snapped quickly.

He let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, but you are. Your father’s the richest wizard alive. He holds influence over the Ministry. You’ve had people trailing you since you were a child—Rita Skeeter’s been writing about you for years. Third and fourth years, you even had bodyguards. You’re basically royalty.”

I gave him a glare flipping him off as a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. He wasn’t wrong. My father had nearly refused to send me to school that year. But still, I wasn’t the princess.

Nobody seemed to see that I was an ordinary girl. I was put on this inescapable pedestal. All I wanted was a simple quiet life, I didn’t ask to be born to the richest family.

“I’m not.” I muttered again. “I am just like every other girl out there.”

He gave me a dry look. “Tell that to the rest of the world. You’re the Wizarding World’s golden child, everyone’s been watching you for years, just as much as the one and only Harry Potter.”

I grunted, trying to shake the different headlines out of my head. “Fine. So, I’m a ‘princess’. But that doesn’t change anything.”

He grinned, clearly delighted by my discomfort. “Now you see why we need a good story, princess.”

I was regretting everything right now. That stupid nickname was going to be used far more than I wanted to hear.

I frowned, squinting into the sun. A thought occurred to me. “Okay. But we fit every romance trope out there the enemies-to-lovers type.”

“We weren’t really enemies,” he pointed out, his voice dry.

He was right. We never interacted unless it was for class. They wouldn’t believe the ‘after hating each other for so many years, we passionately hooked up.’

Why was this so hard?

“Then what do you have?” I gestured to him, my eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration.

He didn’t hesitate, his dark eyes lighting up. “We met in the astronomy tower one evening. That’s believable because you go there at least twice a week.”

“How do you know that?”

He shook his head before continuing.

“We spent that night talking about anything and everything. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So, I came back the next night, hoping to see you again.” The way he spoke was so believable. “You were there waiting for me. You deny it was for me and claim you liked the view of the sky, but we both knew it was for me.”

I bit my lip, hanging on to every word like they were a spell.

He paused, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a half smile as he continued. “For weeks we kept meeting there, talking, getting to know each other. I couldn’t stop. It was like I became addicted to you. You were always on my mind.”

My heart skipped a beat. Damn it, this would work. It was like a synopsis of a romance novel.

“Then one night, I asked if I could kiss you. You said yes, of course. That was when I knew I was a goner. I knew I was yours. We kept meeting in secret because you knew your father would never approve.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned into silence.

“You know,” I said slowly, “my dad wouldn’t care if I dated a ghost. So long as I was happy.”

Mattheo gave me a knowing look, his expression softening for just a moment. “You know your dad would definitely freak out if he knew you were dating me. Not with my dad’s reputation.”

I sighed running my hand through my hair. He wasn’t wrong. My dad would flip out for like maybe an hour. Not because he was a Slytherin, but because rumor had it his dad was a big part of the death eaters.  The second Mattheo and I were a public couple, I was going to get a letter… and maybe a visit too.

Maybe to everyone else Mattheo Riddle was the last person I should be involved with. But he was the perfect candidate to get me out of this mess.

He fit everything I needed to make this seem believable.

Mattheo was looking at me now, with a softer expression creeping into his eyes. He looked relaxed. Almost comfortable. It threw me off, but I couldn’t deny that something inside me stirred.

I quickly shook the thought away. “We need rules,” I blurted out suddenly.

“Rules?” His stoney expression took over. 

I nodded firmly. “To protect us from heartbreak when you inevitably fall in love with me and set boundaries.”  

I tried to laugh it off, toss the words out like a joke, because him falling for me? That wasn’t ever going to happen.

He shrugged, laying back down, eyes focused on the blue sky.

 “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I’ve never been the one-woman type. The whole traditional dating thing? Not really me.” A beat passed, then more quietly, “But I’m all for boundaries… if that’s what makes you feel safe.”

There was something in his voice, it was almost too casual. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

I shook the unease settling in my chest off. “Rule number one—no touching.”

Mattheo blinked and looked at me like I was the stupid one. “No one’s going to believe we’re together if we don’t touch.”

Unfortunately, he was right every couple had some sort of PDA.

“Okay, fine. But no kissing. That’s rule number one, then.” I crossed my arms, staying firm on that one. “This will only last for about a month or so. we don’t need to make it that convincing.”

“I can work with that.” He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I won’t kiss you on the lips.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut in smoothly.

“A kiss on the cheek won’t kill you. It’ll help sell the story.” His tone was light, almost teasing, but something in the way he said it made my stomach flutter—something I absolutely ignored.

“No feelings, that is rule number two.”

I wasn’t sure if that rule was for me or him. I didn’t want a committed relationship, they always seemed to be messy.

He nodded; the teasing look on his face faded. “I think we will be fine on that one.”

“Okay then.” I muttered. Slightly offended at how quick he was to reassure me. “Rule number three, no hooking up with anyone else. No other girls while we are together. If we’re going to make this work, there can’t be any rumors poking holes in our story.”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow. “You really thought this through, huh?”

I shrugged. “Just trying to cover all my bases.”

He shifted, leaning on his elbow as he turned toward me. “Alright no other women, what else?”

I leaned back on the blanket relaxing, “No telling anyone about this. No one gets to know the truth.”

Guilt pricked at me. Making him lie to his friends wasn’t sitting right with me. But the alternative to someone slipping up would be disastrous. I could hear the whispers, and see the headlines over this plot.

“I’m telling Theo and Pansy,” he said, firm. “You’ll have to trust me on that.”

The look he gave me left no room for negotiation, so I sighed. “Fine. Just… make sure they keep it a secret.”

He gave a ‘well no shit’ look.

“We keep it casual, walk to class together, sit together at meals. Make people envious of our relationship.”

 “It’s not about putting on a show. It’s about creating just enough doubt to make it believable. To make my friends believe it.”

We fell into a heavy silence staring up at the blue sky.

“I will lend you my uncles journals, and help you find the sapphire serpent in return. Meet me here tomorrow and we will begin.”

Mattheo sat up fully, eyes meeting mine. “Same time?”

I nodded in response taking a deep breath of fresh air, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety.

Mattheo stood reaching a hand out to help me up. “See you tomorrow then, Princess.”

I let go quickly, trying to ignore the way the feeling of his touch still lingered. “Remember the rules, Riddle.”

“No women. No kissing. No feelings.” He smirked walking away.

“Thank you.” I called out to his back.

One month. I can do it for one month.

Then everything would go back to normal. Well relatively normal.

I will save my friendships. The only constant people I ever had growing up in the public image.

We were at my spot the next afternoon. I had hauled a bag with my uncle’s journals across campus. They usually never ever left my room, so I was a little stressed about them getting damaged.

We were sitting close together, hunched over one of the tattered journals. The ink was faded in some placed, and smeared in others. As if time tried to erase my uncles words but hadn’t quite succeeded. Mattheo’s shoulder brushed against mine every so often, but neither of us moved away.

“Your uncle had the handwriting of a madman,” he muttered, squinting at the page. “What even is that word?”

I tilted my head to the side, our faces nearly touching. “That’s ‘transference.’ See the loop on the f?”

He glanced sideways at me. “You’re terrifyingly good at reading this.”

“I had to get good,” I said, flipping to a bookmarked page. “He was obsessed with magical theory, and cursed items. There are entries in here that don’t even make sense unless you’ve read his earlier work. It’s like a puzzle box—layers on layers.”

The page I skipped to had a detailed drawing of a snake coiled tightly, looking almost regal. Its body was inked with meticulous detail—scales glinting in black and deep blue where the paint hadn’t faded. It was beautiful. I loved this page as a kid. I would flip to it and just stare, imagining it slithering through secret passageways, hiding in shadows. Back then, I hadn’t realized it was a drawing of a magical object.

Mattheo leaned back, eyes scanning the open page with a bit more reverence now. “Do you think that drawing is true to size?”

That was a good question. How big was this thing?  It couldn’t be too big, or Someone would have found it by now.

“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly. “He never mentioned its dimensions. Just that it is Important. And... protected.”

The sun was starting to set, dipping behind the treetops, casting long shadows across the pages. The air had turned crisp, and I pulled my sleeves over my hands.

“Here,” I said, carefully closing the journal and holding it out to him. “Take it. Maybe you’ll spot something I missed.”

He didn’t reach for it right away. His expression was one of shook and confusion as he looked at me.

“You trust me with this?”

“I do.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

He looked at me again, and for once, the usual blank glare was gone. The edges of his expression softened. Just enough it made my breath catch.

“Why?”

“Because I owe you,” I said. “And... I know you won’t run off with it.”

His fingers brushed mine when he took ahold of it. He held on like it was a cherished item to himself.

Then he looked back up at me.

And for a heartbeat, everything shifted.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to.

“let’s meet here again. We can look through them some more, and talk about the next steps to this fake dating plan?”  A faint smile tugged at my lips as I added, “People are already starting to whisper about me being with someone, so... it’s only natural to take the next step.”

The great hall was buzzing with the usual morning chatter and quills scratching frantically from the students trying to complete forgotten assignments.  I was sitting at the far end of my favorite table, nibbling on a piece of jam toast.

Rory and Lyra hadn’t shown up for breakfast yet, but they have been avoiding me for the last few days.

Mattheo had even asked about it once. I’d brushed it off, and said I just needed space from them. I wouldn’t tell him that it hurt they were ignoring me.

They both slid into the seat in front of me, wearing identical smiles. I swallowed the bite I was chewing on and just stared at them. 

Rory leaned forward first, resting her chin on her hands like she was studying a specimen. “So,” she began, voice light but sharp, “there are whispers of you being seen with someone.”

I took a slow sip of tea instead of answering, trying to buy a few seconds. This was inevitable. It was the whole point of the soft launch, after all.

Lyra was quick to butt in. “Which is so unlike you. You are not the sneaky type.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I gave them a bland look. “Maybe I’ve grown mysterious.”

Rory snorted. “Mysterious? You used to color-code your Potions notes and then ‘accidentally’ leave them where we’d find them. You’re about as mysterious as a Howler.”

I fought a smile. “People change.”

Lyra and Rory let out a short laugh, before speaking at the same time. “Who is this mystery person?”

My smile finally came out when they spoke together.  It felt like nothing happened these last few days. It felt almost normal. 

Lyra gasped. “Oh my god. Who is he? Tell us it’s not Thaddeus.”

And just like that the happiness I felt disappeared.

“Its not.” I bit out nearly choking on my drink. “We still don’t want to be public yet its nice being the two of us.”

Mattheo and I had been going back and forth on how to "reveal" the fake relationship. He wanted to make it a scene. I didn’t. So far, that has gotten us nowhere.

 “Oh.” Rory muttered. “But now I am even more curious. You’ve been sneaking off between classes.”

“I have just been studying with some company.”

Not a lie. Mattheo and I were, technically, studying. Even if it was my uncle’s half-mad journal entries and not schoolwork.

Lyra gave me a slow, fake-sweet grin. “Studying. Under a tree… with someone whose name you won’t tell us?”

They were relentless. And frankly, enjoying this too much. I leaned forward, mirroring Rory’s earlier posture.

“Aren’t mysteries so much fun?”

Rory gave me a look. “We are your friends, why hide it from us.”

I paused, then gave her the truth I could share. “Because… I kind of like the peace. No one watching. No rumors. No expectations. Just quiet.”

They exchanged a look.

I stood, grabbing my things and plastering the fake smile on my face. The one I trained myself to wear in public.

I glanced at Mattheos table he was halfway through a conversation with Blaise.

but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were on me.

And when he realized I’d caught him staring, he didn’t look away.

Not right away.

Once I was out of the hall and beyond the other students’ eyes, the smile fell. I exhaled hard, letting out a groan as I slumped against the cool stone wall.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

I hated lying.

I hated that Rory and Lyra were mad.

And I hated that Mattheo was getting pulled into the mess. He didn’t deserve it.

I paced the length of my room. Again. At this point I was going to pave a path into the stone floor.

My dormmates have already gone to dinner, giving me space.

Space they didn’t know I needed.

Today was the day Mattheo and I had agreed to ‘announce’ our relationship. The day my friends would get to meet the mystery man I was supposedly dating.

And I was panicking. Just a little bit.

It wasn’t too late to go out there and call it off. To go out there and tell Mattheo this was a mistake, and he was free to tell the school I had lost it. They would probably believe him. They always believed the crazy stories Rita was publishing.

I was at an age that I should be solving my problems without spinning lies, like some second-rate drama queen.

I would keep my promise and help him find the sapphire serpent. It was the least I could do.

I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and groaned. My hair was…wrong. There was too much product in there. And it looked like I was trying too hard—because I was.

Should I shower again?

Pretend to be sick?

Crawl into bed and hex the door shut?

No. No.

I needed to face this. I needed to let Mattheo off the hook. He didn’t owe me this kind of chaos.

Before I could change my mind for the hundredth time, I forced myself to leave out the door. I hated lying, it was always so complicated and messy.

The hall was empty. There was an eerie silence to it for this time of night. The torches flickered lighting my path to the dining room.

“There you are princess. I was beginning to think you were getting cold feet.”  A familiar voice pulled me to a halt.

I jumped back, nearly knocking a suit of armor over. It was a little odd that our magical school didn’t have a spell on these things to keep them together. I wouldn’t have been the first person to cause one to fall apart.

Mattheo was leaning against the wall like he hadn’t been waiting for over half an hour. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly, and a smirk playing at his lips. Like he knew I was chickening out and found that fact mildly entertaining.

He was staring right at me as if he could read every frantic thought racing through my head. Maybe it was written all over my face. I was never any good at hiding how I felt. My dad always told me how terrible of a poker player I would be.

“I was getting cold feet.” I muttered, pulling down at the nape of my neck with both hands. “Mattheo this is... It’s stupid. Reckless even. We shouldn’t do this. You can tell everyone I have completely lost it. Honestly, that might be doing me a favor.”

He pushed off the wall and started walking toward me with slow, confident steps that made my heart trip. His eyes danced over my face, sharp and observant.

“You do realize,” he said calmly, The complete opposite of me. “It’s a bit late to back out now. People are already spreading rumors. If we stop now, it won’t just be your friends that hate you.”

Why was he always making valid points? I hated that.

“I just…” I swallowed my voice cracking, “I don’t want to lie, that’s not me. This whole thing was a bad idea, and I should have never followed through with it. I’m so sorry for dragging you-“

“Sweetheart.”

The word stopped me. It wasn’t said in a teasing or smug tone. It was spoken so softly that it didn’t sound like him. Not the version I knew anyway.

He was right in front of me now, close enough I could smell his cologne. It was dark, and woodsy, with a faint trace of something sharp like cedar or smoke. It suited him too well.   

“I chose this,” he said, voice low. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m here because I want to be. We’ll get through it—together.”

I glanced down at my feet no longer able to meet Mattheo’s eyes. My hands trembled slightly as I attempted to fix my tie for the hundredth time.

His hands gently covered mine, halting my frantic movements.

“You look perfect.” He interrupted, speaking so certainly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Not a compliment— Just a truth he fully believed.

He didn’t let go of my hands right away. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary.

I sucked in a breath. Oh merlin. This was going to be an excruciating time if I started romanticizing Mattheo Riddle.

We are friends now. That was all we would or could be.

“We both know there is way too much product in my hair.” I muttered.

He smirked, and victory buzzed under my skin. I was determined to earn a full smile before our time together was over.

“Maybe. But you still look better then anyone else in that bloody hall.”  

I rolled my eyes and scoffed; the sound barely made it past the lump in my throat.

Then without a word, he held his arm out to me like some ridiculous old school gentleman from a storybook.

“You ready to be the hottest couple in Hogwarts rumor mill.”

He didn’t pressure me as I started at his hand. Just patiently waited for me to think through every negative thought. 

And merlin help me, I took his hand.

“Let’s give them something to talk about.”

The energy in the great hall shifted the moment we stepped through the doors. Heads turned to us.  Conversations stopped. Forks froze midair. Somewhere to our left, a goblet clattered to the floor and rolled under a table, completely ignored.

Mattheo didn’t flinch or look fazed. He walked us ahead like we had always been a couple, and it was our classmates that were losing their minds.

He slid an arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer to him.

Like he was placing a claim.

It was grounding me. Or maybe it was setting me on fire. That had yet to be decided.

“Breathe Princess,” Mattheo murmured under his breath. His voice was low, just for my ears.

“Do I look like I’m about to throw up?” I muttered, lips barely moving.

He glanced down, the ghost of a grin playing at his mouth “A little. But it’s charming.”

I elbowed him lightly in the ribs. The quiet laugh he let out surprised me—it was real. Unforced.

As we approached my table,  my heart launched itself into my throat the anxiety coming back full force. Rory’s mouth was hanging open practically on the floor, and Lyra... Lyra looked like she’d just seen a ghost commit a fashion crime. Thaddeus? Well, he just glared. If he glared any harder, his eyeballs would pop out.

Mattheo’s hand was now hovering over my lower back; not touching- but it was close enough that every nerve in my body was hyper aware of it.  He helped me sit in my usual spot, like a perfect attentive boyfriend.

His arm brushed against mine as he reached for the potatoes making himself a perfect plate of food.

How was he so nonchalant about this?  

Nobody dared to say a word. For a long, awkward beat, the only sound was the clink of silverware. Mattheo took a slow sip of water like he wasn’t enjoying every last second of the chaos.

“You’re kidding me.” Rory was the first to break.

Lyra leaned closer across the table; eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are we being pranked?” she asked, slowly blinking at me like I might turn into someone else if she stared hard enough. “Please tell me I’m on the wrong side of a Polyjuice accident.”

I calmly buttered a roll. “Its not a prank. We were not planning to go public yet, but… well the rumors were getting out of hand. So here we are.”

Like I hadn’t started those rumors on purpose.

Lyra’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Mattheo Riddle? You? With him?” She folded her arms, expression twisting into disbelief. “Mattheo Riddle? You’re dating him?”

Mattheo, to his credit, just raised a brow, clearly entertained. I felt a flicker of something—protective, maybe.

Rory’s attention sharpened, like she was ready to call me out on my bullshit. “Since when are you two a thing? He smells like smoke and bad ideas. The opposite of you.”

Mattheo gave her a look that was halfway between a smirk and a warning. “Thanks, sunshine.”

I took a deep breath trying to tamper my irritation, and double check what he smelled like. That same smell hit me instantly dark, and way to appealing.

“I think he smells just fine.” I said sweetly, stealing a bite of his potatoes.

He didn’t stop me.

Where was this sudden confidence I had coming from?

Lyra made a strangled noise. “You’re actually sharing food?”

“We’re in love,” Mattheo said flatly, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “We share everything.”

The cheeky bastard winked.

I almost choked on air.

What was that?  

I looked into his brown eyes. They were teasing but held a note of support.

I cleared my throat, fighting to keep the blush off my face.  

“As you can see, I’m very committed to one person,” I said, aiming the words directly at Thaddeus.

Thaddeus, who had been eerily silent since we sat down, finally looked up. “Didn’t he put a Slytherin fifth-year in the Hospital Wing last week?”

Mattheo laughed. Not loudly. Not mockingly. Just enough for everyone to know he enjoyed the reminder “He deserved it.” 

“This is why I didn’t say anything,” I shot back. “You’re judgmental.”

And not because the relationship didn’t exist a week ago.

“But Mattheo Riddle?” Lyra still looked astonished.  

They were acting like he wasn’t sitting right in front of them. When did they get to be so mean? 

I shrugged. “What can I say? I have a thing for dark hair and morally questionable goals.”

Mattheo coughed, clearly suppressing a laugh.

The girls looked at each other, then back at me. Then, finally, Rory sighed and reached for her juice.

“Well. At least it’s not Thaddeus,” she muttered into her cup, like I wasn’t meant to hear it.

I caught the flicker in Mattheo’s expression. It was gone before anyone else could see it.

No more questions followed.

They didn’t need to ask.

Because silence, in a room full of whispers, is sometimes the loudest thing of all.

Cold wind bit at my skin as I made my way up the endless stairs to the astronomy tower. My sweater was doing little to keep me warm, but I ignored it. I clutched on to one of my uncle’s older journals to my chest. The pages in this one were more brittle and tucked in between two fading entries was something I had missed as a child.

A coded note.

My uncle’s handwriting was rushed, and messy. The letters S. Serp underlined three times. It had to be a code for Sapphire serpent.

Mattheo was already there waiting, leaning up against a stone ledge with that casual calmness that made it impossible to tell if he’d been there for five minutes or fifty.

I’d sent him a frantic note the moment I found the passage. I wasn’t even sure he’d come, so the fact that he beat me here was a little surprising.

The moonlight that was filtering in made his features look sharper, more carved out. 

His eyes trailed down my figure and zeroed in on the book I was clinging to.

“You found something,” he states. Not a question just a fact.

I nodded, heart still pounding from the climb— or maybe it was the fact that we were alone up here, where no one could overhear. Or see us.

“I think it’s a cipher,” I said, offering the journal. “Old magic, maybe. Or maybe just paranoia. I can’t make sense of it.”

He took the book carefully, his brow furrowing as he scanned the page. I brushed against his side when I stepped closer to look at it with him.

“Looks like a substitution pattern,” he murmured, finger tracing the odd symbols. “But he’s layered it—coded the cipher within a cipher. That’s clever.”

“Paranoid,” I corrected. “He didn’t want anyone finding this. Not even me. There are warnings scribbled all over the margins—about how dangerous this object is.”

Mattheo tilted his head. “He didn’t count on you being smarter than he was.”

Heat crawled up my neck at the compliment, and I mumbled a quiet thanks.

“Want to help me crack it?”

He smirked. “Do you even need to ask princess?”

I smiled at him before sitting on the floor.

We worked in silence, hunched over the journal, our heads close enough that I could feel his warmth beside me. The goosebumps from the cold earlier had long since faded. The only sounds were the rustle of parchment and the occasional scratch of ink as he jotted translations on spare notes.

“If you look here. I think these symbols match”

Our fingers brushed as I went to point at the markings.

The touch was electric, and I froze.

His eyes found mine, and something subtle shifted in the air. Like an invisible thread was pulling tighter. His usual guarded sharpness had softened. He was giving me a curious look. Like he was trying to solve me too.

I cleared my throat, trying to push the moment away. Back into something less dangerous.

“We should call it a night.”

He nodded and rose to his feet. Like the gentleman he was he extended a hand. It was rough with callouses, yet soft at the same time. I was beginning to notice how he always held my hand with a careful tenderness, as if he was afraid to break me. 

The lines were already beginning to blur for me, and we are only a week into this.

“I have a weird request,” he said as I brushed the dust off the back of my skirt.

“That can’t be good,” I whispered. “What’s up?”

“My friends want to meet you.”

I blinked. “Huh? I thought you told them about our deal.”

“Only Pansy and Theo. The others are curious. Want to make sure you haven’t mind-controlled me into liking you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… threatening.”

He gave a small laugh. “They’ll like you. You’re smart and you don’t scare easy.”

“I do scare,” I said softly. “I just don’t run.”

That earned me a slight lift of the lips from him a little closer to a smile—half a millimeter more than yesterday’s.

“If I agree,” I said, eyeing him carefully, “what exactly does this entail?”

“We do game nights, Every Thursday.”

I blinked. That was only two days away.

“Game nights,” I repeated, like the words didn’t quite make sense coming from him.

He shrugged. “Everyone thinks we’re plotting dark rituals down there. But, mostly we cheat at cards and insult each other’s taste in music.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Maybe I could handle game night.

Bottom of Form

I slid into my personally assigned seat, flipping open my textbook just as Mattheo dropped in to the chair next to mine. He was sitting closer than usual, his knee brushed against me. Before I could adjust my seat, he dropped his arm to the back of my chair. His fingers grazing my shoulder.

I shot him a sideways glance. “Hi?”

We had talked about sitting together and being cute enough to sell the story. But this? This was something else. I glanced at Lyra with wide eyes—she just winked at me.

“Morning, princess,” Mattheo said, voice low and easy, giving no hint that anything was out of the ordinary.

“Everything alright?” I asked, suspiciously.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Thaddeus at the table beside Mattheo, watching us with a thunderous expression. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched.

Oh.  

That’s why.

My stomach twisted. I quickly looked away and went back to the person next to me.

Mattheo leaned in his mouth brushing close to my ear.

"Relax, love," he murmured, voice like a secret only I could hear, "you're making it obvious you want to kiss me."

My brain short-circuited. I was pretty sure I looked like a fish out of water, gasping for a logical reaction.

He let out a silent laugh and leaned back like he hadn’t just set my entire nervous system on fire.

During the lecture, Mattheo kept leaning over, whispering stupid jokes in my ear, trying to make me laugh. And he succeeded. Barely biting back, a giggle became a full-time job.

At one point, Thaddeus loudly cleared his throat. Which, naturally, made Mattheo smirk and casually tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingertip trailing along my jawline like he owned me.

By the time class ended, my head was a complete mess. I shoved my things into my bag with shaking hands, desperate to escape the weird, magnetic tension of it all.

Mattheo caught my wrist before I could bolt.

“Where are you going, princess?” he drawled. “I thought I was walking you to your next class.”

I didn’t say anything, just followed him out into the corridor, repeating this is fake in my head like a prayer.  It was a prayer I needed answered. 

Once we were a few steps away from the classroom, I blurted, “What was that about?”

He shrugged, impossibly nonchalant, even as his arm dropped casually over my shoulders again, pulling me a fraction closer.

“What was what about, princess?” he asked, his tone infuriatingly innocent.

“All the touching. And the being so...” I waved my hand around uselessly. “Boyfriendly.”

Mattheo gave me a slow, wicked smirk—the kind that made my heart stutter and my knees a little less reliable.

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against my arm. "Just making sure Thaddeus knows he has no chance sweetheart.”

He said Thaddeus's name like it was poison on his tongue.

I made a strangled noise, caught between outrage and something I didn’t know the name of yet.

When we rounded the corner, Lyra was perched neatly on a bench. Rory popped up behind her with a smile I hadn’t seen in a while.

They both looked between Mattheo and I, eyes sharp, and their smiles sharper.

"Y/N, come sit with us! We have missed you," Rory said brightly, looping her arm through mine before I could answer.

Missed me? They'd spent a week pretending I didn’t exist. But this—this was why I was doing this. So, I wouldn’t be alone. So, I could still have them.

“Can you not hang, or are you too busy being Mattheo’s shadow now?” Lyra added with a sweet smile, nodding toward the dark-haired boy beside me.

I let out an awkward laugh, stepping away from Mattheo instinctively. He didn’t let me go far, his hand dropped possessively to the small of my back, his scowl firmly back in place.

Lyra tilted her head, smiling just a little too sweetly.

"So happy you're finally found someone,” she said. "It must be... exciting for you."

I frowned. Was she mad at me for not telling her about my ‘boyfriend’. She could get catty when she was upset. Rory and I had seen it a few times.

“Come on,” Rory chirped. “Tell us everything. We’re dying to hear about your secret little romance.”

Behind me, Mattheo let out a low chuckle I couldn’t quite decipher, squeezing my hand briefly before letting me go.

I was reluctant to leave him—but this? Them?

I missed this. I needed this.

As Rory and Lyra pulled me along, talking a mile a minute, I tried to convince myself everything was fine. That I wasn’t imagining the edge in their smiles, the way their compliments felt like paper cuts instead of hugs.

It didn’t matter.

This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

To be wanted. To be part of something again.

I ignored the tight feeling curling low in my stomach and forced a smile, laughing along as they asked question after question, pretending not to notice the way Lyra’s gaze flicked over my clothes, the way Rory’s laughter was just a little too loud.

Mattheo was waiting by the portrait hole when I emerged, lounging against the stone wall with that casual, careless confidence he always wore like a second skin.

Without a word, he reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

“You ready?” He murmured.

I nodded, letting him lead the way.

We walked in comfortable silence through the twisting corridors, our footsteps muffled against the ancient stone.

“I heard a rumor,” I said lightly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

He hummed, a low, noncommittal sound, waiting for me to continue.

“That your common room and dorms are... underwater.”

“They are.”

He gave me an odd look, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Have you really never been?”

“Nope. I don’t really go to parties outside of Gryffindor,” I admitted with a shrug. “People are always watching me... and I hate it.”

He looked at me then — not with pity, but something closer to understanding.

We stopped in front of what looked like an ordinary stretch of stone wall.

I opened my mouth to ask if he was lost when, a serpent unfurled across the stones, its silver body gleaming as it carved a path upward and revealed a hidden door.

I stared wide eyed.

Mattheo chuckled under his breath.

“We’ll have to change that. Slytherin always throws a party after every Quidditch match. And sorry to say it princess, but we’re going to beat Gryffindor in two weeks.”

I pursed my lips and shook my head, earning a smirk from him — the kind of smugness that seemed woven into the very fabric of his house.

“But first- Welcome to Slytherin, princess.” His thumb brushed a lazy circle over my knuckles, sending a little thrill up my spine.

Inside, the common room was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

I moved slowly, my steps tentative as I drank it all in — the low, ambient lighting casting a soft green glow across the stone walls, the rich velvet furnishings, the dark wood polished to a gleam.

It was nothing like the bright, cozy chaos of Gryffindor Tower.

The luxury wasn’t bright and warm. It was cold, sharp and somehow still inviting

Mattheo kept pace with me patiently, his hand never leaving mine as I paused every few steps, spellbound.

A burst of laughter echoed from another room ahead, snapping me out of my trance.

Right. This wasn’t a sightseeing tour.

I twisted the sleeves of my sweater between my fingers, nerves buzzing under my skin.

“Relax, princess,” Mattheo murmured near my ear, his hand brushing the small of my back. “They already like you.”

“Already?” I whispered back, skeptical. “They don’t even know me. Not really. Just the version the people whisper about.”

He only smirked, steering me forward through the stone archway.

The conversation inside the room faltered when we stepped into the room. A few people lounged across deep armchairs and low sofas. There was a battered deck of cards abandoned mid-game.

Theo gave me a lazy two-finger salute. Blaise nodded once, studying me with calm curiosity.

And then Pansy Parkinson — perched cross-legged in a velvet armchair — straightened, her dark eyes flashing with amusement.

She looked me over like she already knew every secret I was trying to hide.

Which, technically, she did.

“Well, well,” Pansy drawled, rising gracefully to her feet. Her dark hair swung around her shoulders as she sauntered toward us.

“Bringing an enemy into our home now, Mattheo?” Draco teased from his spot on the floor, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth.

I smiled sweetly and shot back, "Don’t worry, I’m house-trained."

A few chuckles broke out.

Behind me, Mattheo let out a low, warm laugh. The sound curling around me.

Pansy linked her arm through mine like we were old friends.

“She’s cute, Mattheo,” she said breezily over her shoulder. “Too cute for your brooding self. I approve.”

I let out a nervous laugh, but it was impossible not to be disarmed by her easy, teasing energy. She tugged me toward the circle without giving me a chance to hesitate.

“This one’s staying,” Pansy announced to the others. “I’m declaring it.”

Theo groaned dramatically. “We don’t get a vote?”

“No,” Pansy said sweetly, flashing him a saccharine smile.

I sank into the seat next to her, feeling oddly at ease.

It was strange — how natural this felt.

There was no undercurrent of competition, no sharpness hidden behind compliments like there was with Rory and Lyra lately.

This felt lighter.

Easier.

Pansy leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry, we’re all rooting for your fake love story.”

She winked, making me choke on air.

Mattheo had sprawled into a nearby armchair, one arm lazily draped over the back of my seat. When our eyes met, he grinned — slow and satisfied — like this was exactly where he’d always wanted me to be.

Pansy wasted no time dealing me into whatever chaotic card game they were playing. Explaining the rules, if they could even be called that. They made zero sense, and I just nodded. I would figure it out along the way.

“Don’t listen to Theo," she said pointing at him. "He cheats.”

“I do not!” Theo protested indignantly from across the table. “I just play creatively.”

Enzo arched a brow. “You literally hexed my cards last week.”

I laughed again. They were so free down here away from all the other students. It was like seeing a whole other side to them.

And for once I was sitting in a group of people and didn’t feel alone.

Theo waved it off “Semantics.”

As the game went on, I realized it wasn’t about winning. It was about how fast you could outsmart or out-insult your friends — and somehow, weirdly, I fit right in.

Pansy would nudge me whenever it was my turn, grinning wickedly when I played a clever move.

Blaise grumbled when I beat him.

Theo spent half the next round fake-plotting his revenge, dramatically slamming his cards on the table like a sore loser.

I was laughing. Real, full body laughing.

Mattheo moved in closer. He wasn’t playing, just sitting with us. Hovering nearby, one arm draped lazily over the back of my seat. Every time I leaned forward to grab a card, he would hook two fingers through my belt loop and tug me back to him gently.

The third time he did it, I caught him smirking at me.

I narrowed my eyes playfully.

He gave me a slow blink and the tiniest lift of his chin, a silent challenge:

What are you gonna do about it, princess?

Pansy noticed, because of course she would.

She leaned in and whispered so I was the only one who could hear her, “He’s not usually this bad. He’s never liked someone before.”

I stiffened.

Liked someone?

I opened my mouth to set her straight, but Pansy just winked at me again and stole a card from my hand when I wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until after the third round — after Theo had flipped the table dramatically because he lost again, and Pansy was gathering up the cards — that Mattheo finally stood up, stretching lazily.

He offered me his hand.

“C’mon, princess,” he said easily. “I’m walking you back.”

I hesitated, still trying to catch up to the whirlwind of emotions buzzing inside me.

“Oh you don’t-”  I cut my words off when he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

When I glanced at Pansy, she only smiled, not the sugary kind I got from Rory and Lyra, but a genuine one.

I slid my hand into Mattheo’s.

His fingers closed around mine, firm and sure, as he tugged me gently toward the door.

I glanced back once and waved at the others — the laughter still echoing behind us as we stepped into the shadows.

The corridors stretched around us, quiet and drenched in moonlight.

Mattheo’s hand was still loosely tangled with mine, his thumb tracing absent circles against my skin. Neither of us rushed the walk back.

The silence between us wasn’t heavy.

“You are close to solving the cipher, aren’t you?” he said after a while, voice low enough that it barely stirred the air between us. 

We haven’t talked about the serpent in a few days. I had spent my evening hunched over my notes trying to figure out the key. 

“I think so,” I admitted. “I can almost see the full pattern now. It’s layered, twisted in on itself, but it’s there.”

Mattheo sighed before slowing his steps, pulling me to a stop in front of the portrait of the fat lady. Moonlight pooling around us from a window nearby.

His dark eyes met mine.

“We can look at it together this weekend.”

I nodded without hesitation.

“Please. I think its starting to all look the same.”

Mattheo’s hand slipped from mine, but only so he could tilt my chin up gently, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t demanding. It was careful — almost reverent.

“You are the only one I can trust with this.” he murmured. His voice was low, rough around the edges.

My breath caught in my throat.

If I leaned up, if he leaned down — it would take nothing. A breath. A thought.

“I won’t let you down, Mattheo,” I whispered. “I swear it. I’ll find the Serpent.”

His thumb traced a slow, burning path across my cheekbone. For half a heartbeat, I thought he might close the distance between us.

I saw the moment he thought about it too — his gaze dropping briefly to my mouth, his fingers twitching slightly against my skin. But then he inhaled sharply through his nose and stepped back, the loss of his warmth almost painful.

His mouth curled into a crooked smirk, but his eyes were still dark and serious.

“I know you will, princess,” he said softly.

I managed a shaky smile, my heart still hammering against my ribs. I pulled away heading to my room.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting soft golden light over the Gryffindor common room.

I was sitting crisscross on the floor in front of the oak coffee table, parchment and books scattered around me like fallen leaves.

Mattheo lounged on the couch behind me, one arm propped lazily on his bent knee as he studied my notes.

Studying was generous. I’d caught him staring more than once. His dark brows drawn together in a look that was entirely too serious for decoding ancient riddles.

“You’re brooding,” I said without looking up, tapping my quill thoughtfully against my chin.

He grunted in response, staring at my poorly drawn symbols.

“This symbol keeps repeating here,” he murmured, tapping a jagged rune.

“You’re worse than usual,” I added lightly not letting his mood go, casting him a sideway glance. “What is it? Am I solving it too slow for you, oh great Riddle?”

He didn’t answer.

“I think you should be the one to figure it out anyway.” I teased. “Your last name is Riddle, and this is a Riddle.”

Still nothing. Instead, he tilted his head, scanning the page. His jaw tightened.

After a minute, he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. His gaze shifted—off the parchment, to the fire—and then down to me.

“It’s not that,” he said quietly. “I’m grateful. For all of this. For you helping me.”

I set the quill down carefully and turned to face him. 

“Then what?”

For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to answer. Then, silently, he slid off the couch to sit beside me on the floor. He was close—close enough that I could feel the tension radiating from him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. Rough around the edges.

“I don’t like your friends.”

I blinked. The air between us seemed to freeze.

“That’s... blunt.”

I sat up straighter, hands curling into fists on instinct. They weren’t his friends—he barely interacted with them. Where did he get off judging them like that?

“You don’t even know them.” I said sharply.

“They’re not good to you.”

Mattheo said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“They don’t see you, not really. They want things from you. Status. Attention. Whatever it is, it’s not you they give a damn about.”

The words hit harder than I expected. Like a punch straight to the gut.

No one had ever said that to me before.

Not even me — not out loud. 

My dad wasn’t a fan of theirs either. It was why he didn’t want them coming to Italy with us during the break. I had assumed it was his trust issues, but maybe it was more than that.

A lump formed in my throat.

“They aren’t that bad.” I tried to argue, but it came out hollow.

“Princess, I’m not saying this to be cruel.” Mattheo shifted, facing me now, his expression open in a way I rarely saw. “I just want to make sure you are happy.”

“Why?” I snapped.

It wasn’t any of his business.

He hesitated. And then, almost too softly to hear, “Because I care about you. More than I should.”

My breath caught.

This is fake. He probably means as a friend.

But all the time we’d spent together had blurred that line. I kept forgetting we weren’t actually together.

Behind us, the fire popped. The parchment rustled as I shifted, suddenly nervous. All I could hear was the stutter of my own heartbeat.

His hand came up to my face, cupping it.

“You deserve better,” he said, quieter now, like it hurt him to say it.

The door creaked open behind us. Whoever was coming in was loud and demanding attention. I looked over Matheos’s head.

Rory. Lyra. Thaddeus.

Thaddeus had his arm slung casually around Rory’s shoulder, and she was giggling like he’d just said the cleverest thing in the world. Lyra trailed behind them, bored and beautiful as ever. My heart cracked at the sight. At one point, I would’ve been with them. Maybe not laughing—but still… included.

Their laughter died when they saw us on the floor. Mattheo and I probably looked like the loving couple we were pretending to be.

“Quite the studious students you are.” Rory drawled, lips curling in a familiar smile. “You two are always studying.”

“Got to keep those grades up you know how my dad can get.” I said, trying to sound light.

Thaddeus gave a slow grin, his gaze flicking between the two of us. “You look cozy.”

“Very cozy.” Lyra echoed.

She flopped onto the couch like she owned it.

“So, cozy.” Mattheo mocked under his breath.

I shot him a shut up look and slipped into the smile I always wore for them. “We’re two people who like each other very much. So yes, we’re cozy.”

“What are you working on?” Rory asked, peering at the ciphers scattered in front of us.

“A complicated puzzle.”

“It looks weird.” She frowned.

“You’ve always liked weird things,” Lyra added reaching over to boop my nose. “It’s cute.”

Mattheo’s silence beside me was deafening.

“You should come out with us this next weekend,” Rory said breezily, changing the topic. “Hogsmeade. Drinks. Normal people things.”

Lyra clapped her hands. “Yes! Saturday night.”

This was my chance. He needed to see they weren’t that bad—that they did care about me.

“Hogsmeade sounds good. Drinks sound fun,” I turned to Mattheo. “You’re coming too.”

He lifted a brow. “I am?”

“Please it will be fun.” I pouted.

I saw his resolve waver. He tugged gently at my bottom lip with his thumb, shaking his head.

“You should come. We want to know more about our bestie’s boyfriend.” Rory chimed in, smiling.

Mattheo’s jaw ticked.

After a beat, he nodded once. “Ok sweetheart, I will go.”

Rory’s smile widened. “This will be fun.”

Thaddeus gave a too-wide grin. “Can’t wait.”

The conversation drifted into shallower waters—last weekend’s party gossip, someone’s new broomstick. I barely followed it. All I felt was Mattheo’s silence beside me, and the way his presence felt like a wall between me and everyone else.

When they finally left, their perfume lingered.

I turned to Mattheo.

He was already watching me.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I know we didn’t agree on weekends.”

He didn’t smile. But his gaze softened. And for now, that was enough.

“Oh—Pansy wanted me to give you this.” He held up the book she and I had talked about at lunch.

He stood up, lingering for just a moment.

“And game night. Thursday. Don’t forget—Blaise and Pansy really want you there.”

I smiled at the idea of being wanted.

PART 2

[saechnn]

𐔌 . ⋮ Jinu POV Playlist Ideas! .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

I’ve already made like 1 playlist with this man with like 1k songs I cannot make more 💀

It could also be used for fanfiction so feel free to use these and tag me :D

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

🔥 NSFW / Sensual Vibes

Dark, seductive, teasing energy. Great for slow R&B or sultry alt tracks.

pov; his claws trace your skin, but he never breaks it... yet (I’ve already done this one^^)

pov; jinu’s voice in your ear, saying you’re his and only his

pov; it’s just you, him, and the lights off backstage

pov; demon boy's got a praise kink and you're the star tonight

😢 Angst / Heartache / Guilt

Inner conflict, broken love, redemption themes, slow ballads, haunting vocals.

pov; he lets you go... but stares until you're out of sight

pov; he’s a demon who was never meant to love you

pov; you forgave him, but he’ll never forgive himself

pov; his hands are stained with things he can't tell you

pov; jinu’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore

💘 Romantic / Soft / Vulnerable

Sweet moments, secret kisses, hidden feelings, soft lo-fi or indie tracks.

pov; jinu calls you “angel” like he means it

pov; he fell first, you fell harder

pov; jinu holds your hand like it’s a lifeline

pov; when you sleep, he lets himself look at you like he used to

pov; demon boy brings you flowers and hides them under your pillow

💥 Enemies-to-Lovers / Tension

Power struggles, danger, flirt-fight dynamics, dark pop or electric rock.

pov; he’s supposed to kill you, but your smile ruins him

pov; “we’re not on the same side,” he says, pulling you closer

pov; jinu’s lips taste like betrayal and blood

pov; it’s always “I hate you” right before he kisses you

pov; when he pins you against the wall, it’s not to hurt you

🖤 Villain Arc / Possessive / Dark Obsession

Intense, manipulative, twisted love, with cinematic or gritty beats.

pov; he’ll destroy the world before he loses you

pov; jinu watches you like a lion watches prey

pov; “I made you mine the second you said my name”

pov; demon boy’s obsession is the only thing keeping you alive

pov; he’d kill for you—he already has

✨ Stage Persona / Idol Fantasy / Fame

Glamour, confidence, mystery—perfect for synth pop, hyperpop, K-pop remixes.

pov; you see him on stage, and he sees only you

pov; you're his secret muse no fan will ever know about

pov; “they love me, but I love you” – jinu, in your dressing room

pov; his mic is off, but he sings every lyric to you

pov; jinu catches your eye in the crowd and forgets his next line

🌙 Supernatural / Gothic Fantasy / Cinematic

Dramatic orchestral, eerie ambient, or haunting lyrical tracks.

pov; jinu’s demon form kneels to you like a lover, not a king

pov; your soul hums when he touches you

pov; you’re the light he was never supposed to see

pov; cursed to love you in every life, never touch you in any

pov; the prophecy said he’d ruin you. he didn't think he'd care.

(alr that’s all the POVS) :(

THE CHOKEHOLD THIS MAN HAS ON ME

[woofyway]

⭐️ Marine Blood ⭐️

- A fight between pirates and marines leave the pirate world looking at Vam like a traitor after the public discovery of his family. Oit wants to talk about it, but the words don’t come out quite just right to be a consoling message. -

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse, and Self Hate

Words: 2,151

Enjoy!

Vam looked out to the sea, pondering as he drummed his fingers against the wooden railing of Oit’s ship. He stood in the same spot near the steering wheel that he and Oit would always stand to talk, silently hoping that maybe at some point they would. The Ranbo had been destroyed in the fight, taking several blows by marine cannons before they could even get to it, leaving Vam and his crew to take shelter on the sea with Oit’s crew. They were upset, of course, but they had to cut their losses and get a new ship at some point. That’s easier said than done when most of their belongings ended up on the ocean floor with it. Vam sighed, trying to think of how they could even achieve that. He can’t say he’s never been jealous of the big ships when he can only afford something so small.

The crews mingled amongst each other about the events of that evening. What was supposed to be an entertaining and relaxing night before they had sailed off in different directions resulted in the marines deciding they’d rather make sure they weren’t going anywhere. And, with Vam’s luck, encountered none other than the admiral himself. Of course, in any pirates case no one wants to run into him, but, for Vam, it was much more personal than anyone could have known. To know why now, Vam’s got people looking at him like a traitor, being convinced that he was really a marine this whole time.

Oit stared up at the second level where Vam was facing away from everyone with a blank stare, lost in thought. He looked back at the crews who seemed content, and then back at Vam before deciding he was going to try to talk about what happened. Quietly, he made his way up the short wooden staircase, being reminded how much they actually creaked under his footsteps. The sound alerted Vam, who slightly turned around, and smiled once he saw Oit.

“Hey, you - uh - want to talk about what happened back there?,” Oit walked up next to the other captain, also leaning himself against the railing while tilting his head slightly. “The fight between us and the marines.”

Vam giggled, and looked back out to the sea. “Those red-coats always have somethin’ to do, it looks like,” he paused before turning to Oit excitedly. “Could’ve been worse, though! Did you see how many of them we took out?”

Oit’s expression became a slight smile with a chuckle before sighing, and placing a gentle hand on Vam’s back, causing the man in question to look back at Oit with confusion. “I’m…talking more about you and the admiral and Haihe.”

“Oh yea, I almost got to throw ‘em straight off that cliff into the ocean! They sure put up a good fight, but alas, I came out on top as usual. They still got away though, but I roughed ‘em up pretty good! Although she did a few shots on me, that hurt like hell.”

“Vam - that’s not really what I mean. Not to mention they got you pretty good too, like you said, don’t forget you technically shouldn’t even be standing right now…”

“What do you mean then? We just managed to end nearly a quarter of a marine army with just us two crews! What else is there to talk about?,” Vam laughed, rolling his eyes. That didn’t last long though, Oit was getting frustrated at the attempts at side-stepping the question.

“Vam! I’m talking about the fact that they’re your father and sister,” Oit replied with an unusual stern tone, at least being toward Vam, it was. It scared him sometimes, he had to admit.

Vam squinted with a fake smile, and chuckled halfheartedly. “A-And?”

“Vam, that’s a pretty big deal, especially now that so many people know, and it put a target on your back. I’d hate for that to cause anything to happen to you,” Oit stated sincerely, gently grazing his fingers against the wood as he took a breath.

“Well that’s just people bein’ judgemental! And you know I don’t get bothered by that! And even then, so what if we’re related? I mean…sure we have our history, but…,” he trailed off, as though he remembered something he didn’t want to.

“But?,” Oit asked, removing his hand from Vam’s back.

Vam didn’t say anything, but anyone could see just how bothered he actually was talking about it. His hands now gripped the railing while he caught his breath that Oit hadn’t even realized was barely there. “Vam, I mean this as nicely as possible, but I’m sure you understand why people are skeptical or your intentions-“

“Intentions? What intentions? Sailin’ the world, performin’ wherever I go, and just bein’ free? Those intentions that are so insignificant to anyone around me? Oh please-!,” Vam caught himself for a second, and then turned completely to Oit with a hard stare of concern. “You…don’t actually think I’m sidin’ with the marines, do you? Do you actually think I’m like that?”

“No! No - listen, I just want to make sure you know-“

“That I know what?,” Vam backed up, becoming defensive at his words. “That I know that I’m blood related to quite literally some of the worst people on this planet, and that they’re responsible for some of the most cruel doin’s to pirates? Yea, I’m aware.”

“That’s - That’s not what I mean, Vam, you know that. I want you to be safe, and people will be after you because they know that they’re related to you. People make assumptions based on such small things like that! I’m sure you’d know!,” Oit almost yelled, but caught himself before he could let his worries get the better of him, or catch the attention of the others. Oit placed a hand softly over his own mouth, not daring to keep talking.

“What’s that supposed to mean? That I’d know,” Vam squinted. The other didn’t say anything, making the tension even worse. With every next word, he jabbed a finger into Oit’s chest. “Oit. What. Is. That. Supposed. To. Mean.”

“I don’t mean that as an insult-,” Oit tried to say.

“But that’s pretty insultin’,” Vam rolled his eyes.

“I mean you, of anyone I’ve ever met, or at least that I can remember, are the master of breaking social norms, and living your life without a care for how others perceive you. And I love you for that, but this is different from that. This is people seeing that you even have a connection in the first place, and, just based on that, think that you’re using your fame to get the marines into the pirate world,” Oit explained, taking Vam by the upper arms, and looking him dead in the eyes to make sure that the other man was listening. He was, but evidently he couldn’t see the sincerity behind it.

“…Is it them that think that? Or you?,” Vam forced Oit’s hands off of him. “Gods, I can’t believe - !”

“I just said I didn’t think that about you!,” Oit expressed, exasperated. He threw his hands in the air, ready to give up the conversation because it went in an entirely different direction than he had hoped. Perhaps it was his terrible wording, but Vam could have at least assumed that his lover, of all people, wasn’t trying to be mean about it. More than anything, Oit assumed Vam being so angry was coming from deeper than his words. Something that happened between him and the admiral.

“Well you’re makin’ it hard to believe,” Vam muttered, leaning forward onto the railing again with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, facing away from Oit. The other bit his lip, and thought for a second before speaking up again.

“He’s obviously angry at you for being a pirate. Did something else happen?,” Oit asked softly, trying to avoid escalating the conversation again as fast as it did. Unfortunately Vam didn’t answer him, so he continued. “He doesn’t seem like the fatherly type, but, of course, I have a bias in that because I, nor any pirate, trusts him.”

“He wasn’t,” Vam mumbled.

Oit nodded, and also leaned onto the railing the same way, mimicking Vam’s pose. Neither of them continued to speak for a few minutes, taking a moment to collect themselves before trying again. Surprisingly, Vam was the first to speak.

“He raised me and Haihe for most of our life. We had a mother, but…he killed her for bein’ a pirate. It’s ironic how that went; their love had been forbidden because he was a marine, and she was a pirate, and then betrayed and killed her for bein’ one when he had a moment of realization that the two don’t go together,” he explained, hanging his head down and speaking barely above a whisper to avoid anyone else hearing him. Details of his life he would never share to the world because it ruined his flashy, eccentric, and positive persona. “He almost didn’t spare me either, but he was more determined to raise her and I into bein’ marines instead. To use that moment as a learnin’ experience, but, if anythin’, it terrified me of the marines. Not so much my sister somehow.”

Oit silently listened to the story while it nearly brought him to tears knowing that his boyfriend had suffered so much at a young age. He wasn’t sure if he, himself, had, but he certainly had a small luxury of not remembering so. He didn’t reply, assuming there was more to tell, and he was right. Vam continued.

“He tortured me every day from the age of eight. Everythin’ I ever did or said was wrong, so I got beaten or starved for it repeatedly. Eventually I just…stopped talkin’, and didn’t do virtually anythin’ unless I had my father’s permission. To eat, to sleep, to go to the bathroom-,” Vam chuckled sadly at that last part. “Truthfully…up until I was sixteen, I made a pretty damn good marine, and it got him off my back for a bit, but…it didn’t last. I resented him, still. I thought about how my mother was a pirate, and that it felt wrong where I was. So, I left. I escaped within an inch of my life, but I made it away from the marines to start my life over while my sister resided at his side.”

Oit’s eyes welled with tears as his voice got caught in his throat. Vam didn’t even cry, but he had such an uncharacteristic look of despair all over his face with depressed, glazed over eyes looking at nothing in particular like he was looking internally at the memories he wished he didn’t have. Well…actually there should be something missing in there. As far as what Oit heard from Sigmund when he met him, everyone usually only loses something important in their memories unlike Oit who lost his whole self. It made him think. That’s a conversation for another time, though.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry that you thought I was thinking you were going to betray us,” Oit apologized sincerely, taking a light hold of Vam’s sleeve, making the other look at him out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t have any context to your relationship with your family, and even with the fight between you and then back there, I wouldn’t have guessed that it sank so much deeper.”

Vam rolled his eyes. “No one is goin’ to know, but let it be known I’m not the only marine-blood pirate to exist. I don’t take on like my father, I prioritize my mother and her beliefs. But, of course that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“To the rest of the pirate world, no,” Oit answered honestly, hanging his head in defeat. “You’re a marine to them, whether…whether you say you are or not. Even my crew is becoming skeptical of you being here, but I’m not going to let them change my mind.”

Vam turned to him. “And if they do?”

Oit stared in shock at the question, wanting to deny every bit of it. “They won’t, I promise. You have my word, Vam. You’re a pirate, no matter how everyone else sees you.”

Vam stood up straight with an unamused head tilt before shaking his head and starting to walk away to the front of the ship, putting on a fake smile and practically bounced down the stairs to greet the others. Oit attempted to follow him before deciding to let him be, seeing as talking didn’t seem to help. Why did he have to be so confrontational about it? Why did it have to sound like he thought Vam had bad intentions? Why did he even open his mouth in the first place?

[bforblitz]

Screeee I need more Snow Elf headcanons. *clanking around empty cup*

I got you buddy 👍

Snow elves are on average the same height as Nords (so 6’0” or 182.88 cm)

They have a third eyelid that prevents snow blindness, like polar bears

Eye colors are usually shades of blue or purple. The Snow Prince is said to have bright lilac eyes, so purpler eyes were seen as desirable

Hair color is extremely varied, it’s just that white is the most common. Red hair was seen as very attractive

Skin tones are also varied. though paler tones of pink or blue are most common, it’s also not uncommon to see darker and more saturated Snow Elves

Snow Elf body temperatures run lower than most other races and they think extreme cold is good weather. The cold resistance a lot of Nords have is from very very distant Snow Elf ancestors

Skyrim was a lot colder back then, so locally farmed produce was seen as a delicacy and a gift from the gods (they imported from the Ayleids or Chimer a lot as well)

A lot of Nord cuisine is based on Snow Elf cuisine. Falmer scholars will often passionately argue that horker stew was actually originally Snow Elven

The sun and sunlight are venerated in their religion because long nights are common that far north + warmth = we can grow some food

Magnus is the Sun, but Auriel is the one who brings forth the sunlight. Magnus is instead seen as the vessel for his light

The Eye of Magnus is a highly scared artifact to the Snow Elves and they were understandably not very happy when the Nords got their hands on it

Snow Elves made liberal use of stalhrim in their architecture and mined most of mainland Skyrim dry of it. Only Solstheim’s deposits remain because they were owned by the royal family

And the reason there isn’t a lot of Snow Elf structures in modern Skyrim is because the Nords usually destroyed or slowly rebuilt them to access the stalhrim

Solstheim was the seat of power. Castle Kartsaag is built on the remains of the Snow Prince’s palace

Speaking of which, it’s customary for the Snow Prince to not cut their hair until they assume the throne. Then, during their coronation, they shave it all off to symbolize their dedication to the people (which is why the Great Statue of Irkngthand is bald)

Falmeris (like Dunmeris/Ald Chimeris) is unintelligible to other Elven languages because of stark grammatical differences. The Altmer use “Falmeris” the same way English speakers say “it’s Greek to me”

Serious songs and poetry written in Falmeris don’t rhyme, which usually indicates humor or a lighter tone

There’s a debate in the Falmer research community on whether “Auriel” or “Auri-El” is the appropriate Tamrielic spelling for the Snow Elven god (“Auriel” proponents say the Snow Elves probably didn’t have the brief pause the hyphen indicates, “Auri-El” backers say it better aligns with other Elven spellings)

Snow Elf weaponry and armor is mostly made from moonstone with a little bit of ebony

Their currency is often mistaken for old Chimer currency because they’re both made from ebony. It doesn’t help that one has Azura’s Star and the other has Auriel’s Sun, which look very similar