#there's so much i actually WanT to write!! why am i not writing it!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leona-hawthorne · 3 days ago

Text

okay i have been waiting for this on the edge of my seat and i'm so fucking grateful that i finally got to sit down and read it (alone, of course, because my reactions were quite literally animalistic)

let me also add that the warnings themselves had me fucking moaning—alright now let's get into this!!

zoya, your writing truly has me in complete awe. "english is not my first language" okay and it appears that that literally does not matter at all because this??? this was a goddamn masterpiece.

(apologies in advance bc this is going to be an extremely long reblog)

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying.

okay, but this right here??? the way you captured mattheo's essence so perfectly, i’m obsessed. like, he’s not just reckless—he’s raw and magnetic, and that’s such a powerful way to describe someone who’s constantly teetering on the edge of chaos. it’s like you reached into his chaotic little soul and pulled out the perfect words. it’s giving “force of nature,” and the way you wrote it feels so vivid and alive, like i can see him and feel the tension he carries everywhere he goes. your writing is so sharp and evocative, i can’t stop rereading this bit.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

my babyyy, he craves trouble like it’s the only way he can feel noticed. it’s like he’s reduced his own worth to just being seen and perceived by others, even if it means chaos. love how you captured that desperation in such a short line.

every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

how do you set the tone so well?!? the imagery is wildly vivid—i can almost feel the heaviness of the space, like it’s got its own dark history!!

The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

oh this killed me—the tension between wanting something and being terrified of it. mattheo’s vulnerability here is chef's kiss, showing how much he's fighting against his feelings, even when he’s almost lost to them. such a perfect snapshot of their dynamic.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

okay i am genuinely so in love with this whole part, i had to reread it like 3 times 😵‍💫 the internal conflict is so palpable—like, he’s torn between wanting to control something that’s clearly already beyond his grasp, but also secretly wishing to surrender to the one person who can break him. the image of him physically pressing down on his chest to stop it??? i am actually crying, zoya. ugh, and the fact that he doesn't care whether he'd be hurt or cared for—he just wants her, FUCK he is obsessed.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you.

AHDHSFG his possessive ass actually enjoying sharing something??? aw he likes her 😚🤗

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand.

the way he kept laughing like a fucking maniac throughout the entirety of this fic OMG i can almost hear it in my head, he's so fucking hot.

his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there

I'M BLUSHING, idk if he's doing that solely because of the ritual but either way, the fact that he wants to reassure himself that she didn't go anywhere is making my heart squeeze in my chest 🥹

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence.

BITCH??!?! YOU ASSHOLE, hold my hand i'm scared ☹️

He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one.

this is so true—HE'S FUCKING MEAN, but i genuinely have never seen a more angelic man 😭🪽

Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

alr here we go (i'm horny now)

Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care.

well shit, now we're both hard, mattheo!! 🤜💥🤛 (i am drooling at the thought of this rn)

Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin.

no, you actually don't understand—this is so intimate, i can just imagine the silence and the only sound being their heavy ass breathing, its so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 also i think i would lose my mind if my nips were like JUST BARELY brushing against him, what a tease

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did.

idk if you've seen stranger things but this is making me think of when nancy and jonathan did the same exact thing and cut their palms. that scene and the matching scars and just them in general is so dear to me, so this is making me feel so many things rn

Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood.

okay mr vampire!! (this is so fucking hot i am literally struggling to function rn and i am lucky i didn't read this during ovulation 🙂‍↕️)

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?”

MY JAW DROPPED PLEASE OH MY GOD, HIM SPREADING THE COLD BLOOD ON HER STOMACH?? I CAN IMAGINE MYSELF JERKING AWAY OMF YES DADDY I LOVE IT

Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound...

i'm being so serious, this part will live on in my brain forever. him MIMICKING/MOCKING HER MOAN??? HE'S SO MEAN AND COCKY HOLY FUCK THAT WAS SO HOT

he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth.

spreading her own blood all over her body just so he can lick it off, oml can you spread my legs open next, mattheo? 😇 (jk, they're already spread)

The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger.

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

first, AJDGHFDJHDRFGJHAFGHJSRGFJHSRF him pressing her tits together just to SHOVE HIS FACE IN BETWEEN oh he's so down bad 🤭 also the "your tits..." BOY. he was so cocky and degrading before—now he's all pathetic and obsessing over her tits? ah, just what I love to see 😮‍💨

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

yes sir please spit in my mouth (he's so nasty and disgusting and i fucking love him for it)

YES PLEASE LET ME SUFFOCATE YOU BETWEEN MY LEGS MATTY PLS 🙏 "let him one day die like this" he is so obsessed god i love this so much

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

THE WAY HE CAN'T TEAR HIS FACE AWAY EVEN JUST FOR A MOMENT TO SPEAK AJDGSGDFHSDFG i would actually be dying at all the praise

clearly, i got a little carried away with this reblog (this is literally the longest reblog i’ve ever made 🧍🏻‍♀️), but what can i say? this was 6.3k words of art and i had to include all my favorite parts 🤷‍♀️🙂‍↕️

love you zoya!!!! 🫂🤍

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K. english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his.

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not.

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge.

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time.

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him.

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself.

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one.

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation.

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth.

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer.

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both.

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off.

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you.

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it.

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

“Shut up, Mattheo�� you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention.

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness.

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words.

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up.

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him.

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had.

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response.

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before.

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand.

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you.

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt.

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area.

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body.

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.”

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you.

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed.

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth.

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you.

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel.

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so.

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation.

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you.

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his.

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole.

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again.

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted.

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear.

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again.

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

�� please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle smut #smut #harry potter #my recs 💫

687 notes · View notes

the-moons-tears · 2 days ago

Text

Alhaitham x reader NSFW

Smuuuuuuut

HELP IM SO DOWN BAD FOR THIS MAN.

NSFW MDNI

this is from a poll I did a while back and never got to but now I am!! This guy goes from submissive to dom by the end god he’s so hot

ENJOY BC I LOVED WRITING THIS

Preview: "Oh…i was tired before, but now you've got me so riled up haven't you? how am i supposed to sleep with all this energy? you'll help me get tired again right?"

soft pillows and cream colored sheets shifted as the tired scholar fell on top of them. The akademiya used to require little of him, but the recent promotion to acting grand sage meant that now he had a lot to deal with. the amount of people asking him questions and creating a loud atmosphere was too much for him to handle. it wore him and his ears out to the point he had to just leave, heading straight home to his shared apartment.

kaveh was on a job and wouldn't be back for a few weeks, meaning alhaitham could actually find rest in his room. you were there that day working on a project of your own in the living room. Both men had said you could come over anytime, so you usually took advantage of that kindness when things got too busy at your own place.

Seeing al haitham open the door and go straight to his room made you curious. the project was practically done, so you decided to follow him back there. it was unusual to see him this tired, as he worked to be anything but that, so you wanted to ask him if he needed anything.

quietly, you opened the door to the grey haired man's room and peeked in, calling out in a soft tone, "haitham? are you awake?"

that earned a lazy wave of a hand, which you took as a sign to come in. when you scanned the room, you noticed he had taken his headphones off and placed them on a nightstand by the bed. ohh...something was definitely up. al haitham told you in the past, when you asked why he wore them all the time, that he had very sensitive ears. Loud noises annoyed and overwhelmed him, so the noise canceling headphones helped. with soft steps you walked over and tapped his shoulder, getting him to turn his head from the covers to look at you.

"can i do anything for you to make you less stressed?"

"yeah..." the handsome man grunted, "would you mind massaging my back? Pretty sure there’s a couple knots"

smiling, you let out a little huff before climbing up and over al haitham to sit on his lower back, your knees propping you up slightly. his jacket was already off on a nearby couch, leaving him in his plain skin tight top that very clearly showed all the muscles along his back. with your thumbs, you started pressing along his shoulder blades and wherever you felt there was a knot or a tense area.

he hummed when something felt good, letting out a bit of a grunt if you pressed in a really tense spot that needed to be worked out. occasionally, al haitham mumbled into the sheets, whispering things like, "mm...feels good there- maybe a bit harder if you can"

when you were pressing along his nape, continuing your expert work, you got an idea when glancing further up at his head. Those pink tipped ears were uncovered...and you were the only person he let touch them...

hand movements slowed on his nape and slid down his skin to suddenly press on his lower back and waist. immediately, his back arched up since it was unexpected, being a completely different pressure from what you had done so far. al haitham's hands reached back to grab yours out of instinct, but you moved your hands away at the last second. grabbing his wrist, you pinned them together on his lower back, putting weight onto him so it would be difficult for him to try to get up.

his face turned to the side as he tried to look at what you were doing. "what are-ahha-mm wait-"

as soon as he turned his face, you leaned down and started kissing those sensitive ears of his, nipping a bit. Alhaitham’s hips pressed into the mattress, and you could feel his fists clench in your grasp. it always made you feel giddy when the powerful and collected man was reduced to such a state because of you, squirming and trying to get more friction somewhere. Pretty grey eyelashes fluttered closed as he let you do what you wanted.

"plea-please more ah-" that voice started to break, the usual calm tone replaced with a more desperate one, something no one would ever believe the great acting sage would have. His occasional words were punctuated by a jolt of his hips into the sheets, making your stomach flip. Both of you knew where this was going

“Haitham, you’ve been stressed ya?” You whispered lowly, pressing your lips to his ear. his voice was practically singing, moans and soft whimpers grew louder as you tormented his weak spots. Alhaitham knew he could probably break his hands away to stop you, but did he really want that?

he let out a particularly loud sound when you licked the outside of his ear, hips stuttered into the sheets under you. It was easy to tell that some certain fabrics were definitely strained in some places. he panted and whined into the pillow his head rested on, his lips parted ever so slightly. grey brows scrunched together every move you made with your tongue along his ear.

"it’s- so much- other side...mmm~ please..."

Who were you to deny that lust filled plea? Turning haitham’s face, his eyes were wild. They were hungry, begging, having one goal in mind. gently, you brushed grey strands away, accidentally grazing across his ear. a muffled whimper came from his throat and you came back down.

his face tilted up and lewd whimpers erupted from his mouth, pleas to let him feel you while you kissed his ears, desperate hips driving into the sheets. Large hands shifted around in your grip, making it hard to stay in one place over him.

oh it felt good for you too. your legs straddled his lower back that occasionally rose and fell with his hips, causing some friction between the fabric of your thighs and center. Whenever you yourself made a noise, the sound would vibrate to his skin, making him go crazy, so much so that al haitham couldn't take it any longer. he needed to touch you like you had him, make you the one under him.

the handsome man broke his hands away and flipped onto his back. after grabbing your lower waist, he sat up with heavy breaths. his mouth latched on to your neck, his tongue worked relentlessly over a spot he knew was sensitive, toned arms moving to firmly wrap around your figure.

"cmon now~ you wanted to help me relieve stress…please let me…it’ll feel good for you too” that dominant manner of his returned pretty quickly, but who was complaining.

"but-i wanted to make this about you, you've been so tired..." you retorted. It was true, but you also just didn't want to stop teasing him with his weakness just yet. while he was kissing your neck, your fingers came to caress his face, thumbs brushing over his ears. Those rough hands dragged down your clothes, eager to get them off after what you had done to him.

"alright then...touch my body. bare hands on bare flesh? i need you please won't you touch me more?" lustful eyes hazily looked up at you, little smile spreading on his face when you nodded. before he laid back down, alhaitham removed his skintight black top and threw it to the side, not caring for where it landed despite his usually organized system of things. he then laid down with his chest and stomach wide open to you, his muscular arms up and underneath the pillow he rested his head on. Your hips now rested right above his hard on, and those eyes swirled with a consuming want, green gleaming from his embedded jewel.

your hands ran from his prominent collarbone to the v line by his hips, earning soft groans that vibrated through his steadily rising lungs. the soft padding on his chest was warm, you couldn't help but play with it. He laughed once, still finding your attraction to his chest as curious as the first time you saw him without a shirt, although you were staring long before.

while you leaned in to kiss his sensitive ears, your hands continued to roam up and down his sculpted form. for a while you stayed, making him lose himself, until you wanted more. Fingers worked down his body hastily, starting to play with the lining of his pants.

"Yeah come on-hah…" haitham’s voice sounded just as eager as you were, adjusting his hips for you to pull the fabric down enough. Slowly you set him free from the tight constraints, watching as his weeping cock throbbed when you pulled everything down. Your eyes stayed on his, catching his lips part when your fingers danced over his skin. Wrapping your fingers around the base, you gave an experimental squeeze. He jolted immediately, brows furrowing in pleasure.

“…you get so sensitive when you’re pent up huh haitham baby?” You gave another drag up his length, feeling the bit of precum at his tip drip onto your fingers. Thumb came up to his tip lightly, swirling around the swollen head. Haitham grunted lowly at that, watching you like a predator. Settling back in between his thighs, you watched his glistening chest rise, giving a long stroke as his lungs raised, noticing the hitch in his breath.

Bringing up a hand, you licked the ends of your fingers, bringing them back down to start working him. You made a mental note to do this more often, watching him fall apart in your hands. Steadily you worked his cock, letting his hips give you a pace that he wanted you to stroke him with. Weeping tip continuously gave beads of pre that helped you to lube your hands, creating a soft wet sound every time your hands went up and down him. His groaning whimpers filled the silence with it, bed creaking softly in the background as well.

You focused on his tip a minute in, watching his eyes scrunch shut, stuttering over an inhale. “God I needed this…needed you to help me de-stress…I thought about you doing this, but fuck~ didn’t think I’d get so addicted to it. Keep going come on a little faster~”

Speeding up accordingly, you let him buck into your hands. One hand worked his base in a sort of twist motion as the other swiped over his swollen head. His cock wasn’t so big that your hands had so much room to work, but archons he had girth, and you loved when it slid in and out of you the most. This might be close though, seeing how much you affect him.

You could tell he was getting close by his breathing, chest rising as his head tilted up to the ceiling, eyes still trained down at your diligently working hands. “Are you close haitham? Want to cum?”

You got repeated “mhmm”’s in whined response, making you speed up on him, feeling the muscles in his inner thighs against you tense. Leaning close, you bit the shell of his ear, and that was the final act. His hands gripped the pillow under his head as a sinful groan escaped him. His cock spit out rope after rope of pent up release, coating his toned stomach and your hands, reaching as high as his chest.

The shock of orgasm rippled through him, and it took a good few seconds for him to catch his breath. Bringing his hands out from underneath, they shot out to you. Rough hands grabbed your thighs and squeezed, head turning to capture your lips that were against his ear. The sloppy kiss consumed both of you, tongues swirling all over and in each other's mouths. Alhaitham tilted his head to fit with yours more, his tongue moving over the underside of your teeth and more.

calloused hands hastily glided under the shirt you wore and played with the landscape of your back, which made you groan into his mouth. he happily took it all in as his tongue ravaged your mouth. one hand was taken from under your shirt and put on the back of your head to push you into his lips more. the other hand moved a bit lower to your waist, bringing your hips to press you down onto him with passion.

Breaking apart, he sat up with you, smirk played on his god-like features. That look was deadly, and meant that you were far from done helping him. slowly, he put pressure between his still hard cock and your wet core. his hips rocked into you while he watched your face.

"Oh…i was tired before, but now you've got me so riled up haven't you? how am i supposed to sleep with all this energy? you'll help me get tired again right?"

those sheets were well messed up when you two continued into the afternoon. you had worked his energy up, so now he had to expend it. it was a mess of lust and passion and neither of you could push away the feelings. no one would interrupt. it was just you two in the creaking bed long into the dusk hours.

Guys bye-

77 notes · View notes

joels-darlin · 2 days ago

Text

A Very Merry Christmas Morning

18+ Only!

Pairings: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: sexual content, smut, fingering, teasing, pet names, Christmas smut hehe, no outbreak

Summary: Christmas Mornings spent with Joel are different than what you are used to and this year he wanted to give you an extra special present.

Word Count: 997

Author Note: Listen don't even ask hides. This might be heavily fuelled by beer and wine right now, as well as the delusions that have been living in my head rent free all day - believe me this is how I made it through.

I am also making the most of not being depressed for once, the itch to write smut has been killing me! Tbh I am particularly just feral in general right now whoops, no better way to channel it than writing about my husband. Its been quite awhile since I even considered writing smut, I am fairly rusty, but gave it a good crack so enjoy. I am actually proud of myself, I wrote this in a couple of hours.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and and Happy New Year! <3

Read on AO3

Christmas mornings had very much changed over the past few years. Once considered civilised chaos in the family home, had now become slower and more enjoyable after moving in with your long term boyfriend Joel and his daughter Sarah. She was a teenager now not often leaving her bedroom until at least midday, even on the most anticipated day of the year.

You had always considered yourself an early riser, often up at the crack of dawn or even before your alarm; making the most of day. But Christmas Day was the one you allowed just that extra bit of time in bed, making the most of the fresh bedsheets you had swapped out the night before and enjoying the feeling of being cuddled up in the warmth of Joel’s arms. It wasn’t often that you got to spend time like this - life was busy.

The feeling of Joel shifting in bed had brought you to, craning your neck to peek at the clock on bedside table - the numbers 7:32am staring back. Rolling over you where met with the chocolate brown eyes of your man, a soft smile adorned across his face.

“Merry Christmas baby girl” he crooned, sleep still evident in his voice.

“Merry Christmas my love” you beamed back at him leaning over to kiss him softly on the lips. Except he was sneaky, sliding his hands into the back of your hair to pull you closer, deepening the kiss further, teeth grazing against your lips nibbling ever so lightly.

Joel knew what he was doing, knew your body like the back of his hand and could get you going with a simple kiss. As if on cue you felt the burning desire pooling in your lower stomach, evident that your matching pyjama shorts were now flooded in hot, wet arousal. He was no longer a want but a need. You still had a couple of hours yet before anyone needed to be awake, so why not make the most of it.

“Joel…” you whined softly, detaching your lips from his.

“Tell me what you need sweet girl” his southern accent now laced with desire.

“You, just you” you moaned softly again, his hands under your pyjama top roaming your body. The feeling of his callouses against your soft skin leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. You chose a good night to not wear any underwear. Joel continued, hands now traversing around the front of your top cupping both your breasts, squeezing ever so softly, making you moan. Taking it a step further by rolling your nipples through his thumb and forefinger, back arching involuntarily at his touch. Fuck me, this man. Joel loved how your body responded to his simple actions and had voiced that on many occasions - watching you squirm and writhe beneath him was one of his favourite things.

“Gonna give you an extra present baby girl” he whispered, the feeling of his breath tickling against the skin of your earlobe. Making a mental note to return the favour later on.

“Fuck darlin’ you are so wet for me” he said breathless. The teasing was enough and Joel had slid his hand inside your pyjama bottoms, legs parting instinctively for him. He was driving you insane, fingers lazily trailing over your entrance where the arousal pooled heavily. Collecting some of it he teased running the tips of his fingers through your folds and hitting your clit lightly, making you gasp in pleasure.

“Open up” he demanded. You did as Joel said opening up your mouth, sliding two fingers inside. The taste of you own arousal flooding your senses straightaway. Rolling your tongue you cleaned off the slick from his fingers. “Such a good girl for me aren’t you, love the taste of you” he groaned.

“Please Joel, more” you begged with anticipation, craving the feeling of his thick, calloused fingers inside your center. Joel gave in to your pleas and traversed his hand down your body, where in one simple movement sunk two fingers inside of your core. The sheer pleasure causing you to lift your arm and bite down on the material of your sleeve to cover a loud moan. Hopefully no-one else in the house heard that.

Curling his fingers slightly just to hit that sweet spot, he knew exactly what to do. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck Joel started biting and sucking on the skin there continuing to drive you absolutely wild, his tongue glancing over each area he marked. He continued to pump his fingers in and out at a steady pace, the sensation from his thick fingers nearly sending you tumbling over the edge. The sounds of your quiet moans and his fingers working away at your hot, wet core filling the room.

“Good girl” Joel muttered, the low and gravely tone sending multiple shockwaves of pleasure below, clenching around his fingers. If he kept calling you that you were done for. “Joel…fuck” you moaned, walls continuing to flutter and tighten around him, his fingers sinking deeper and deeper with every movement.

“Come for me darlin’ please” he begged. Moving to graze his thumb across your clit. All it took was a couple of swipes, your climax hitting fast and hard as Joel pumped his fingers faster inside of you; back arching off the bed as your quiet moans filled the room.

It took a few minutes to come down from the high. Laboured breaths of yours the only sounds bouncing off the walls of the room, core continuing to flutter and clench around nothing - Joel’s fingers now completely withdrawn as you lay in his arms.

“Well I know what I am asking Santa for next year Miller” you turned to smile up at him, small giggle leaving your lips. Making him grin in response, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

You prayed every single Christmas morning the the rest of your life was like this.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller fic

58 notes · View notes

perseephoneee · 3 days ago

Text

scarf [ficmas day 15] [isaac lahey x f!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

anon: Hiya! Can you write something for your Ficmas 2024 with Isaac and a scarf? (I know it's so obviously choice 😆) I will be very grateful. @mayfieldss : For ficmas you KNOW I have to ask for scarf with isaac lahey! I love you, you're the best. 💓

author's note: merry christmas you guys <3 i can't believe we finished this challenge (by we I mean me i was burned out at the end). every fic i wrote i was excited to share with you guys, and truly i am so thankful for every single person who reads these. i love writing, and i love writing knowing i'm improving someones day.

i'd love to hear what everyone is excited for this holiday season, feel free to drop an ask in my inbox or message me personally <3 love y'all

playlist:

buy me presents -- sabrina carpenter

cold december night -- michael buble

christmas song -- phoebe bridgers

Isaac always wore a scarf because despite it being in the seventies constantly in Beacon Hills, CA, it was his Mom’s and he liked to remember her. This sentimental fact did nothing to stop theo ther boys from relentlessly teasing him. Because men are idiots.

You witnessed it firsthand very often.

“I can’t take you seriously when you wear that,” Stiles shook his head, stabbing his fork into the cafeteria’s excuse for a salad. Isaac just flipped him off. Lunch was often like this.

“It’s in style,” Lydia defended Isaac.

“But with the leather jacket?” Stiles waved at Isaac’s outfit. “It’s like if a grandmother joined a biker gang.”

“This isn’t very Christmas spirit of us,” you chided. You had brought lunch from home and were not sad about missing out on today’s lunch specials. Stiles stole a carrot from you in protest.

“How much do you want to bet that Christmas will be ruined by something supernatural-related?” Stiles asked. You hit him with the back of your hand.

“Why must you be like this?”

“I didn’t get enough attention growing up,” Stiles smiled at you before swiping more food from your plate.

“I also didn’t get attention,” Isaac added. “Because I was–”

“Locked in a freezer, yes, we know,” Stiles sighed. “Still milking that?”

“Yeah, still milking that.”

“Very cute; your sadness goes with your scarf.”

You were about to yell at Stiles again when the bell rang. You gave Isaac an apologetic glance but he just smiled. He was a good sport, and could handle Stiles teasing. You don’t know how he managed to keep such a cool head with everything in his life.

You both shared the next class together, U.S. History and debated asking him. You sat together near the back of the classroom. As it was the last day before winter break, your teacher was playing a movie. A teacher’s cop-out to an actual lesson plan. You couldn’t disagree with your logic.

You ended up at the table first, like you always did. You were pulling out your journal and pens when Isaac finally came in, sitting next to you. You felt your heart skip a beat as he smiled at you. Neither of you got to say anything as your teacher started class, droning on about the ‘importance’ of the movie and whatever. You were a good student, but you did not care enough to listen to this spiel. Isaac agreed.

“I just want to go home already,” Isaac rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

“Me too,” you sighed, scribbling in your notebook. You doodled when you were bored. “Although I need to stop by the archives first.”

“Archives? Why?” Isaac asked, sitting back up. His knee bumped yours, but he didn’t pull away. You didn’t want him to.

“Just doing some research on whoever is committing human sacrifices,” you whispered. Your pack’s latest problem. You wondered if you would ever get a break from the supernatural. You also wondered if you even wanted to.

“It’s the holidays, take a break.”

“This thing won’t take a break.”

“You’re too good,” Isaac muttered. He said it the way someone comments on an art piece, with reverence and understanding. “I’m going with you then.”

“Isaac, it’s going to be boring.”

“So’s sitting at home,” Isaac took one of your pens, flipping it between his fingers. His fingers were nice and long, and you looked away before any unwanted thoughts came into your head. “Besides, I like hanging out with you.”

Sometimes Isaac said things like that, and you wondered if maybe he liked you the way you liked him. How could you not like him? You liked him before he was a werewolf and was just the quiet, lanky boy in your class. You liked him after he turned and started hanging out with your friends. He was always kind to you and always remembered the things you said when no one else did. You hoped that maybe one day he might feel the same. You weren’t always so sure.

“Okay,” you whispered back, a small smile on your lips. He grinned. He took your journal from you and put it in the middle of the desk so you could both doodle. You drew a whale. He drew an elephant. You drew a gecko. He drew Stiles being electrocuted. You took the pen out of his hand. He wrapped his own around yours to take it back. Sometimes, you really hated him.

The end of class came sooner than you imagined. You and Isaac decided that the rest of the school day was stupid (you both had two periods left, and both were filler classes), so you decided to skip out. You had driven to school in your parent’s hand-me-down Honda and decided to head out to the Beacon Hills library where the archives were. You weren’t sure if you were going to find anything, but you thought maybe you’d try. Sometimes, the best answers lay in the past.

You regretted bringing Isaac to the library about twenty minutes into being there. He was all anxious energy, as you researched. He asked you a ton of questions, moved around, and overall was a distraction. It didn’t help that he took off his scarf and jacket, so he was just in a t-shirt. A t-shirt that had shrunk in the wash and, therefore, hugged his body a little too well. The urge to climb in his lap and make out with him right then was overwhelming. You started thinking about things like the Vietnam War and statistics to quell your lust.

While you didn’t find anything in the archives, you did find some books on the history of human sacrifices and another on pack dynamics that you thought might be interesting. You checked both out and ignored the look of the librarian as she read the titles. Isaac stifled his laughter.

You were about to ask Isaac if he wanted to grab some coffee before going home (any chance to prolong your time with him), but the question caught in your throat as you regaled who was leaning against your car.

Ethan and Aiden were waiting for you both, or maybe just Isaac. You were never sure how much of a priority you were to your enemies. You assumed you were low on the totem pole.

“Lahey,” Ethan called out, stepping out of your car. Isaac gently pushed you behind him.

“Ladies,” Isaac grinned. “What can we do for you today?”

The twins bristled. “In the spirit of Christmas, we wanted to give back to the people who got us where we are today,” Aiden drawled. Your blood chilled at the connotations. “You destroyed our ride; we destroy yours.”

You very much did not like this idea.

“This isn’t my car, sorry,” Isaac shrugged.

“It’s hers,” Ethan pointed to you. You wanted to yell at him, but Isaac refused to let you come out of behind him. “And she’s important to you, so we thought it would be the same thing.”

You would’ve spent more time pondering that comment if Aidan hadn’t proceeded to smash in your windows. You yelled at them, your voice carrying across the parking lot. Isaac growled, rushing forward and pushing Aidan away. Both twins laughed like this was a joke to them. You were in disbelief and anger over the state of your car and knew you couldn’t afford to fix it, especially with extra expenses around the holiday season. You also were angry that these three idiots were having a fight out in the library parking lot.

“Hey!” you yelled, attempting to get them to break it up. Shockingly, Isaac was holding his own against the alpha twins. Unfortunately, he was still losing. Ethan grabbed the scarf from his neck, dangling it in front of him. You cried out as Ethan ripped it in half. This was only going to end badly, you knew that. Especially as Isaac turned right after, with the twins following.

You were no match for three werewolves; you were barely a match for a full-grown human man. But you needed to get Isaac out of here before people started noticing and before he got himself killed. You rushed to your car, avoiding the glass and looking in your center console. You found what you were looking for. You gathered up your courage and rushed back to the twins. You sprayed the pepper spray at Aidan and blew your air horn at the same time. All three covered their ears in pain while Aidan cried out about his eyes. You felt smug satisfaction. That was for my car, you asshole, you thought.

“You three need to knock it the fuck off,” you growled out. They all turned to look at you, resembling wounded puppies. “You’re acting like children and, in the process, damaging Isaac’s property and my property.”

Ethan had the audacity to look slightly ashamed.

“No wonder you guys were omegas,” you seethed. “You act like bitches.”

You grabbed Isaac’s arm, pulling him away from them. You had no idea where you were going; you just wanted to get away from the parking lot until they were gone. You decided to drag him behind the library. You leaned against the back wall while he paced around.

“I’m sorry about your car,” Isaac cursed. He still hadn’t turned back, his voice raspy. You shook your head.

“Not your fault,” you picked at the threads on your sweater. “I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s bullshit,” Isaac growled, kicking at the sidewalk. You let him work through it.

“I’m sorry about your scarf,” you said earnestly. He was still breathing heavily.

“If I wasn’t a fuck up, if I hadn’t harassed them, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart broke at his harsh language. You walked over to him, blocking his pacing. He was forced to look at you, golden eyes and all.

“You are not a fuck up, okay?” He tried to look away, but you grabbed his hand, pulling him back. “You are wonderful, and knowing you have been a gift. You are not responsible for their behavior. You are responsible for your own.” You reached a hand up to smooth the space between his brows, his wolf side subsiding. “You are worth it.”

You watched the gold fade from his eyes, the blue returning. It looked like the sun hiding behind the ocean. You didn’t break eye contact; even if it made you feel uncomfortable, you held on. You needed him to see you were serious. Isaac brought his hand to your face, thumb tracing over the apples of your cheeks. You shuddered at his touch.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he murmured. You choked on your words. He cradled his face with both of his hands, kissing your forehead. Your breath was shallow as he kissed your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. You opened your mouth to his, already desperate to have him in every way. He was gentle with his kisses as if you were a treasure he didn’t want to break. He licked your teeth, and you felt your breath hitch. You sighed when he applied more pressure. Your lips followed after his when he pulled away. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he chuckled.

“I really enjoyed that,” you hiccuped. Isaac brushed your hair back, hands drifting down your arms to your waist.

“Me too,” Isaac grinned, kissing your cheek. “We should do it more often.”

“I don’t usually put out on the first date.”

“Hey, I’m not that easy,” Isaac raised a brow, and you laughed. “But I think we can arrange something like that.”

You managed to get a vacuum from the library, citing ‘vandals’ as your reason for needing it. They were very polite as you and Isaac cleaned up the stray glass and taped trash bags over the windows so you could drive home. You told your parents the same reason, and they fortunately didn’t blame you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset because all you could think about was your kiss with Isaac. You called Lydia to tell her the news and to tattle on her boyfriend. She was elated that you guys finally did it (“Allison and I had a pool on who would make the first move”) and aggravated with Aidan. You hoped that she yelled at him.

Isaac texted you at the end of the night that he was going to take you out the next day. You agonized over what to wear (you settled for something nice but still casual). He ended up taking you to a double screening of “Die Hard” and “Scrooged.” You ended up making out in the back of the theater.

You had dates throughout the rest of the week. You had no idea how to define your relationship (there had been nothing official yet), and you were too afraid to ask. You wanted to be his; you felt like his. You knew there would be no one else for you.

Isaac invited you over for Christmas dinner. Your parents were heading out to a dinner party and were fine with it. You knew Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski would also be in attendance. You felt welcome into a family you weren’t 100% sure was yours.

You arrived at 6pm on the dot, wearing a maroon red dress with tights. Isaac answered the door in a dark button-up you haven’t seen on him before.

“Merry Christmas,” you smiled. He leaned down, kissing you. You had to pull away before you made out on the McCall’s porch. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself, huh?”

“Not when you’re dressed like that,” Isaac looked you up and down. You scoffed, but your heated cheeks betrayed you. Isaac let you in the front door and to the living room where everyone was. Melissa and Noah were preparing dinner while Scott and Stiles drank Martinelli in the main room. They greeted you upon entering. You handed them both their gifts.

“I can’t believe you and Isaac are dating,” Stiles scoffed, unwrapping your gift by tearing through the paper. “He doesn’t have enough class to keep a girl like you.”

You waited with bated breath to see if Isaac denied the dating claim, but he just wrapped his arm around you instead.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Isaac coughed. Stiles glared at him.

“That analogy would require me to have Lydia, which I don’t.”

“Shocker,” Isaac raised his brows. You elbowed him. Stiles laughed when he saw the collectors editions of Sherlock Holmes you got him. You sat down on the ground next to him so he could give you a hug.

“You’re so good with gifts,” Scott whistled as he beheld the jacket you thrifted for him.

“It’s my superpower. You guys are werewolves, I’m actually Santa,” you grinned. Isaac sat down next to you.

“I didn’t know Santa was hot.”

“I have to keep my identity a secret, or I’ll never get any work done,” you responded. Isaac smiled, leaning in and kissing your cheek. Stiles made gagging noises.

“I hate seeing you happy.” You and Scott both hit Stiles at the same time. “I was kidding.”

You pulled out your gift for Isaac, handing it to him. Instead of unwrapping it, he grabbed your hand pulling you up.

“We’re going to exchange gifts elsewhere,” Isaac announced. “My Christmas gift to you is not kissing her in front of you guys.”

“You’re so gracious,” Stiles mumbled.

“Happy for you, man,” Scott was too busy trying on his jacket to look at you guys. You hid your face in your hands as Isaac dragged you towards his room. You hadn’t been in it before and already had butterflies in your stomach when he closed the door behind you.

“Did you have to say that?”

“I speak only truth,” Isaac said. “Plus, I do really want to kiss you.”

He didn’t give you time to explore his space before his lips were on yours. You grabbed his waist as he cupped your cheeks, backing you up slowly. Your knees hit the bed as his lips trailed from yours to your neck. You moaned as he nipped your pulse point.

“Isaac,” you breathed, attempting to push him away. You would let him divest you of your clothing if it was any other day, but today, you were cognisant of his family downstairs.

“I just like kissing my girlfriend,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. “Is that a crime?”

“I’m your girlfriend?” you asked, voice small. His gaze softened.

“Yeah, if that’s okay…”

“It’s perfect,” you beamed, kissing his cheek. “Now, open your gift before we get too distracted.”

Isaac grumbled as he pulled away from you but grabbed the gift that had been discarded when he started kissing you. You hid your smile as he unwrapped it. Unlike Stiles, he spent a little more time being delicate with it. His breath caught as he saw what it was. He sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the box in his lap as he unfurled a darker blue cashmere scarf. You sat next to him as he caressed the material.

“I know it’s not your Mom’s,” you murmured. “But I thought it would look nice on you.”

“It’s perfect,” Isaac sighed, folding it nicely and setting it aside. “You’re perfect.”

He kissed you again, this time gentler but no less passionate. He imbued every word that wasn’t created into that kiss until you felt your head spinning, and you thought you might fall over into the abyss with him. He pulled away with difficulty.

“I do have a gift for you,” Isaac said, hesitation in his voice. He pulled something out of his pocket, putting it in your hands. You opened them to see the car keys. You looked up in disbelief.

“Before you ask, no, I did not buy you a car,” Isaac held up his hands in defense. “I can’t afford that. However, I found out that Derek was attempting to get rid of one of his older cars because he had a ton for some reason, and I offered to do maintenance around the apartment complex for three months in exchange for the vehicle. Plus, after I told him it was Aidan who destroyed it, he was pretty amicable.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you beheld your kind boyfriend, who had gone out of his way to replace something and, in exchange, became beholden to someone else again. You didn’t have words for the love fueling you right now. You just pulled him close, clutching him in a hug that almost knocked him over. You breathed in his sweet scent, holding him close.

“You are amazing,” you grinned, pulling away. “Thank you, Isaac.”

His cheeks turned a cute shade of pink as if he had no idea how to process your love. He looked down at your entwined hands, hiding a smile. You bit your lip.

“I could think of one more Christmas gift I could give you,” you whispered, hand trailing up his thigh. “If you’re up for it.”

Isaac looked up at you immediately, his breath catching as you traced over his jawline to his collarbone.

“Yes, I think I’d like that gift,” he grinned, pushing you farther back on the bed and kissing you.

He was the best Christmas gift you had ever received, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

taglist: @alice3612 @rafecameronswhore @evasmlp

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #my writing #ficmas #ficmas 2024

45 notes · View notes

himluv · 2 days ago

Text

Hard Truths (redux)

As promised, here is an update to my fic Say My Name (Say it Twice). Merry Christmas! This is a rework of my first attempt at writing Lucanis back in November, so while there is some overlap here, there's a ton of new stuff too. Enjoy!

SNIFFFF! Sweat and salt and coffee. Lucanis. Sulfur, too. Candles, burned low. Powder. Ash. Rough velvet on calloused fingertips. Press to the stone. Won’t forget. CANNOT. HIDE!

Yessssss. Good! They will know. I. Am. Here!

“Hey, Lucanis?”

Sniffff. Brimstone. “No Lucanis. Only Spite!”

“Ugh. You again?”

“Yessss. Always here. Waiting.”

“Right. That’s not creepy at all.”

Brimstone. Calm fire. No fear. Why no fear? “You don’t. Fear us. Why?”

“I’m Rivaini. Spirits don’t bother me.”

“Demon! Not spirit.”

“Sure you are. Now, let Lucanis go.”

“No!” Must get out. Go, go, gogogo!

“Hey, Taash. What’s going on?”

SNIFFFF. Campfire and berries. ROOK!

“Demon’s back.”

“I don’t think he ever leaves, actually.”

“Then he’s acting weird.”

Sniiiiiiffffff. “Smells like… melon and woodsmoke.”

“Hey! No! No. Sit your ass back down.”

“I’ll handle this. Maybe make sure the eluvian room is blocked?”

Brimstone. Gone! Just Rook. Just. Us! “Now. We get to talk.”

“When demons say they want to talk, that usually means they want to bargain.”

“Lucanis. Made a deal. He hasn’t kept.”

“What deal?”

“Break our chains. Kill. Escape our prison. And Liiiive!”

“Isn’t that what happened?”

“NO! I want out!”

“‘Out’ to where? Tevinter? Orlais? Nowhere’s safe for a possessed man.”

“No! No! He promised! Tell him! Make him–”

–Lucanis blinked in the familiar dim of the pantry, the candles lower than they should be. Much lower. But even in the low light, Rook shone like a star. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes cast to the side as if to give him privacy.

“Rook?”

“You were sleepwalking,” she said.

Ah. Of course. He noticed the chill in his neck now, the telltale sign that Spite had been in control. He looked down at his feet. “Spite was sleepwalking.”

“He didn’t go anywhere,” she said. Her tone was light and reassuring. “Nothing happened.”

This time. But how many times could he lose control before someone got hurt? Before she got hurt? Just imagining Spite touching her, hurting her with his hands made his skin crawl.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” he said. “Again.”

She took a step closer and he finally looked at her. Her eyes were clear, her expression earnest and soft. She always seemed to carry so much softness for him.

“Nothing I’m seeing makes me want to look away.”

How? How could that be when he could barely stand looking in the mirror? How did she always say just the right thing to make him feel like he wasn’t completely drowning?

He shook his head. “How do you always do that?”

“Do what?” There was a teasing lilt to her voice that he now recognized as flirtation, but Lucanis couldn’t quite bring himself to match it.

“Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom.” He frowned. “You deserve better than to deal with my mess.”

Rook leaned against the wall, her hands behind her back. “You’re more than what you’re going through. And, you wear it well.” She gave him a smile so tender, a look so openly fond, it made Lucanis ache.

Time and again she had shown him that she was there. She’d been by his side since the Ossuary, unwavering in her support. Her actions and her words proved her trust in him, despite everything. She offered her hand, her heart, over and over again. And no matter how conflicted he felt, no matter how many times he drew close just to pull away, she never gave up on him.

It made him wonder… could he be the man she seemed to think he was? Could he be the man he wanted to be, for her? Could he be what she deserved?

Lucanis took slow, intentional steps towards her. Finally, they would address this thing between them. And he would give her every opportunity to see reason and turn away.

He shook his head once. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said.

She watched him approach, eyes bright with curious warmth. “Sometimes a bad idea is better,” she said. Still teasing him.

He was a small man – he had no qualms about it, it let his targets underestimate him – but Rook was even shorter. He placed his palm against the wall, just above and to the right of her head. He leaned into the wall and looked down at her.

She tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, and the challenge in her eyes sent fire up his spine. She had no idea what she did to him.

“You like to walk a little too close to the edge,” he countered.

She reached for him, so slowly, and for a moment Lucanis thought she might hook her finger through his lapel chain and pull him in for a kiss. His stomach flipped at the notion, but she stopped just short of actually touching him.

“So do you,” she said.

Mierda, her lips. He wanted to know how they’d feel pressed to his. Wanted to taste the coffee on her tongue. If he was being honest, he wanted anything she would give him. He was a man standing on the edge of a cliff – it would take the barest touch to send him over the ledge. He would fall helplessly in love with her, and she had no idea.

He looked right at her, his tone soft but serious when he said, “at least I know when I’m doing it.”

They were so close. The closest they’d ever been. Lucanis felt her warmth radiating against his body, smelled the hint of smoke in her hair and the coffee on her breath as she leaned closer. Her eyes closed and her chin lifted.

Here she was, trusting him, offering herself to him as he leaned over her. It was a scene right out of one of his romance novels. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned into her, noting the beautiful spray of cinnamon-colored freckles across her nose, then closed his eyes. She was perfect.

And he… was not. He was a man on the edge of a cliff. If he fell, he would take her down with him. Mierda, what was he thinking?

Lucanis opened his eyes and turned his face away from her. It hurt to do so, to get this close only to stop. Again. Maker, what must she think of him?

“I…” he couldn’t look at her as he stepped back. “Need to clear my head.” He glanced up at her, saw the confusion and concern in her eyes, and though he wanted nothing more than to make her smile again, he kept walking away. With his palm now pressed to his waistcoat he gave her a tiny nod. “Excuse me.”

Then he turned and hurried out of the room, ignoring the weight of her gaze on his back. He brushed a hand through his hair, tugged at his waistcoat, desperate to feel composed. It took surprisingly few strides to cross the dining room, climb the stairs above the kitchen, and step out onto the landing outside the dining hall. He took a deep, shaky breath and quelled the urge to rub at the constant itch behind his eyes.

This wasn’t like him. He felt jittery, out of control. Perhaps all the coffee mixed with the sleep deprivation had finally gotten to him?

She makes you nervous, Spite sneered.

Lucanis said nothing. There was no point lying to Spite, it would only encourage the demon to keep talking. Surprisingly, Spite remained quiet while Lucanis stood staring out at the blank expanse of the Fade. He needed the height, the perspective, and to breathe. It took a few minutes, but finally his heart settled some in his chest.

Finally, the demon asked, why?

Lucanis sighed. “Why what?”

Spite growled, irritated at having to explain himself. Rook. Makes. You. Nervous. WHY?

Lucanis winced as the word rebounded inside his skull. “You don’t have to shout.”

Spite made an unconvinced noise.

“And besides,” Lucanis said. “You know why.”

Make it make sense. We. Like. Rook.

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose. “A little too much.”

Ahhhhh. Spite sniffed, as if savoring something delicious in the air. Scared.

Another truth he’d have to let lie between himself and the demon.

Let her in and get cut deep. See inside then turn away. Won’t. Want. You! Oooh, or worse, she does want and then she di–

“Enough!” The word echoed out into the Fade, silencing the demon. “Enough,” Lucanis whispered. He didn’t need Spite to help him overthink all the ways kissing Rook could go wrong.

Want more than kissing.

The most surprising truth of them all. Lucanis could count the number of people he’d felt genuine attraction for on one hand. The only one he’d ever tried to pursue had misread him so completely he’d just given up.

As much as he longed for romance, he just wasn’t good at it. Love was something meant for characters in novels, or people like Teia and Viago. Not him.

If not love. What?

Before the Ossuary, Lucanis would have had an answer to a question like that. The Crows. House Dellamorte. Mediating peace between Illario’s ambitions and Caterina’s wishes. He liked being a Crow. He was good at it, and had never wanted more, a fact that had vexed Illario and pleased their grandmother.

And it was all gone.

Caterina was dead. In his current state, Lucanis was not fit to take her place as she’d desired. Illario would become First Talon, like he’d always wanted. If Lucanis somehow survived this contract perhaps House Dellamorte would allow him back. Perhaps the future they had fantasized as boys might actually come to pass. Perhaps he and Rook…

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Bah!

Lucanis sighed and shook his head. Then he and the demon walked back to the pantry in silence. And in that silence was another, terrifying truth.

For the first time in his life, Lucanis Dellamorte didn't know what his future held.

#lucanis dellamorte #embria aldwir #taash dragon age #spite dellamorte #rookanis #lucanis x rook #himluv's writing tag

29 notes · View notes

castdust · 2 hours ago

Text

birthday surprise.

✵ MINORS DNI ✵

✩ pairing : daniela avanzini x reader

✩ about : daniela planned a surprise party for you.

✩ genre : slightly nsfw

✩ warning : lap dance, sexual themes, implied sex

✩ a/n : so this is my first time writing kind of theme and i’m listening to a good ass playlist while writing this, pls leave some thoughts for this. ALSO MDNI ! | 1611 words !

It’s your 22nd birthday party that was shaping up to be something special. Daniela was determined to make the day unforgettable, and she wasn’t alone in her efforts. The couple’s shared friend group—Lara, Manon, Megan, Yoonchae, and Sophia—had rallied together to plan the perfect celebration at the shared apartment. Balloons, fairy lights, a banner with ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!’ in shimmering blue letters—all the essentials were there. Daniela, however, had a secret plan tucked away for later that night.

It started innocently enough. The girls had been huddled around the coffee table, folding party hats and tying ribbons to gift bags. Megan, who had the energy of a caffeinated puppy, was the first to break the silence.

“So, Dani, what’s the big birthday gift?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Daniela froze for a split second but recovered quickly. “Oh, I got her that new game she’s been talking about. The… uh, action one.”

“Ghost of Yōtei?” Sophia chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t she say she already pre-ordered it herself?”

Daniela pretended to focus on adjusting the streamer she was taping to the wall. “No, no, it’s not that one. It’s… um, a different game. She mentioned it the other day.”

Manon, ever the observant one, smirked. “You’re lying. I can tell.”

“I am not lying!” Daniela snapped, though the pink flush creeping up her cheeks gave her away.

“She’s definitely hiding something,” Lara said, chuckling as she blew up another balloon. “Come on, Dani, spill. What’s the real gift?”

Daniela sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up. “You guys are impossible. Fine, fine. It’s a surprise. You’ll just have to wait and know.”

“Ooooh, mysterious,” Yoonchae teased, nudging Daniela with her elbow. “But you’re not off the hook. I’ll figure it out, just watch.”

Daniela rolled her eyes playfully, but inside, her mind raced. She couldn’t exactly tell them her actual plan: wearing the lacey, dark red lingerie she had bought a week ago and giving you a private lap dance once everyone was asleep. She could already picture your reaction—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and that little laugh you do when you’re overwhelmed. It was going to be perfect.

But for now, she had a party to host.

By the time the decorations were up, the room looked magical. Fairy lights twinkled across the ceiling, and the coffee table was loaded with snacks, a homemade cake, and a small stack of gifts. Y/N was out with her older sister for the afternoon, blissfully unaware of the chaos at home.

“Alright,” Megan said, clapping her hands together. “What’s next on the agenda?”

“Music,” Manon suggested, pulling out her phone. “Something upbeat to set the mood.”

“Not too loud, though,” Lara warned. “We don’t want to scare her the second she walks in.”

As the playlist filled the room with soft pop beats, the group began rehearsing their plan: surprising Y/N the moment she opened the door. Megan insisted on throwing confetti, while Sophia volunteered to hold the cake.

“Dani, are you sure this isn’t too much?” Yoonchae asked as she adjusted the bow on one of the gifts.

Daniela shook her head, smiling. “Not at all. Y/N loves this kind of thing. She’s going to feel so loved, and that’s the whole point.”

“Aw,” Sophia said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Look at you, being all romantic.”

“You’re lucky to have her, you know,” Lara added. “Y/N’s one of the good ones.”

Daniela’s smile softened. “I know. That’s why I want today to be perfect.”

The girls went to their said places as they heard the keys rattling outside. Y/N finally arrived at the apartment and thought that the girls were out since it was dark inside the apartment.

As she walked inside—the lights turned on, a bunch of confetti were thrown, and the girls jumped out, yelling, “SURPRISE!”

You stood frozen in the doorway and jaw dropped, your dark hair slightly windblown and your leather jacket still half-on. “Oh my god,” you breathed, your wide grin lighting up your entire face.

Daniela stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Dani,” Y/N said, your voice filled with awe, “you did all this?”

“Well, we all did,�� Daniela corrected, gesturing to their friends.

Your eyes glistened as she looked around the room. “This is amazing. Thank you, guys.”

The party kicked off with laughter and chatter. Y/N opened her gifts one by one, her face lighting up with each surprise—a new sketchbook and drawing tools from Lara, a custom hoodie from Manon, a set of scented candles from Megan, a cute plushie from Yoonchae, and a limited-edition vinyl from Sophia.

When it was Daniela’s turn, she handed Y/N a small, wrapped package. Inside was, indeed, a game—but not the one Y/N had been expecting.

“Black Myth: Wukong?!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing in your seat. “Dani, I’ve been wanting this for ages! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Daniela said with a wink, ignoring the knowing looks from her friends.

As the evening wound down, the girls sprawled out across the living room, talking and laughing. Lara and Manon debated the best pizza toppings, while Megan tried to teach Yoonchae a TikTok dance. Sophia, ever the responsible one, started tidying up.

“Alright, I think I’m going to crash,” Yoonchae announced, stifling a yawn.

“Same here,” Sophia agreed. “This was a long day.”

One by one, the girls retreated to their rooms—the living room, once filled with noises, is now silent with Daniela and Y/N sitting on the couch. The two stayed up and didn’t notice the time had gone by, as Daniela looked at the clock she noticed that it was almost midnight and it's time for her final surprise gift to you.

The apartment wasn’t really that big, but it consists of 3 bedrooms and lucky enough, Dani and You are sharing a bedroom and lucky for Dani that the girls' rooms are not close to the said shared bedroom.

The two reached the bedroom and Y/N flopped onto the bed, sighing contentedly. “Today was perfect. Thank you, My Love.”

Daniela leaned against the doorframe, her heart pounding. “I’m glad you liked it,” she said softly.

“I didn’t just like it. I loved it,” Y/N replied, turning to face her. “You always make me feel so special.”

“Well,” Daniela said, a mischievous smile creeping onto her lips, “the night’s not over yet.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What else do you have planned?”

“Close your eyes,” Daniela instructed.

Y/N obeyed, her curiosity piqued. Daniela slipped into the bathroom, quickly changing into the lingerie she had hidden in her drawer. The dark red lace hugged her figure perfectly, and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She wore her bathrobe and went out of the bathroom.

When she returned, Y/N was still lying on the bed, eyes shut and a playful smile on her lips.

“Okay,” Daniela whispered. “You can open them now.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, she sat up straight, and looked at Dani confused as ever, but she had the slightest idea of what’s about to happen. Daniela walked towards you and guided your hand towards the belt of the robe.

“Unwrap me like i’m one of your presents” Dani whispered with a hint of seduction and you did as you were told, she stepped back and took off the black robe. Your jaw dropped for the second time that day.

Daniela was wearing a dark red lacy lingerie that hugs her curves perfectly and you just couldn’t take your eyes off her. Dani watched you gawk at her and it just makes her more confident than ever.

“Darling, my eyes are up here” she says as you grow more flustered by the minute. The atmosphere around the room grew hotter and the tension between the two girls grew stronger.

Y/N couldn’t say anything—her voice felt like it got stuck on her throat, her mouth kept opening and closing but no words were spoken.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dani joked as she sat on you. You nodded your head slowly as your hands instinctively moved to her waist and hers on your shoulder. “Do you like it, my love?” Dani asked.

"Dani...I do and it’s actually driving me insane" Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniela smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Happy Birthday, baby."

Y/N adjusted the way she sat on their bed, “You look… incredible.”

“Good,” Daniela replied, her fingers tracing the outline of Y/N’s face. "This is just the beginning," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr.

Y/N’s heart pounded against her ribs. "This is… incredible," she whispered, her voice thick with desire.

Daniela leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear. "Let's make it unforgettable."

Dani stood up and picked a song from her playlist then she began to dance.

The lap dance was a whirlwind of sensuality. Daniela moved with a grace and fluidity that left Y/N breathless. Her body swayed, her hips rolled in a mesmerizing rhythm. Y/N’s hands roamed over Daniela's skin, tracing the curves of her body, reveling in the feel of her beneath her touch.

The air grew thick with anticipation, the silence broken only by the slow sensual music and the occasional whisper-praising of Y/N.

The 'game' Y/N had been anticipating turned out to be far more exciting than she could have ever imagined. Daniela's birthday surprise had exceeded all her expectations, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

#daniela avanzini #daniela avanzini x reader #katseye daniela #katseye x reader #katseye #katseye scenarios #lara raj #manon bannerman #megan skiendiel #sophia laforteza #yoonchae #x reader

29 notes · View notes

dawnfelagund · 5 hours ago

Text

Back in 2019, I wrote a blog post called The Inequality Prototype. As part of it, I counted a bunch of stuff related to the Valar and looked at how those metrics differed based on gender. At the time, I thought it would be interesting to extend this work over the entire Silmarillion, namely looking at who speaks in the text and who doesn't. For Tolkien Meta Week, I began this work and am collecting my analyses related to it here. It is very much still a work in progress and will likely take me years to complete, but I'm going to post interesting data as I discover it.

This project, like all of my data projects, is available to use under a CC license for others who want to play with the data: View the data | Copy the data | Methodology, progress, etc.

---

Dialogue does not occur evenly across The Silmarillion. While a little over 5% of the words in The Silmarillion as a whole are used in dialogue, this is very unevenly distributed across the chapters, with some chapters about half dialogue and six chapters containing no dialogue at all.

There is a lot more work to be done to tease out trends and patterns that might have some meaning, but just glancing at the graph above, some of those patterns do begin to emerge. First, dialogue increases as The Silmarillion progresses. In the second half of the book (calculated by chapter, not page or word count), only two chapters have no dialogue and only four chapters (inclusive of those two without dialogue) fall below the median of 5.3% dialogue. Put another way:

In the first half of chapters, 71% of chapters are below the median.

In the second half of chapters, 29% of chapters are below the median.

Why is this? My tentative theory is that we see the book moving from the realm of the mythic—from events that are passed down through the oral tradition and ancient written traditions—and into the historical, where the narrator has a greater array of sources, including eyewitness testimony, and begins to write with greater immediacy rather than the arm's-length style of myth and ancient history.

What I am curious about: As I dig deeper into these data, will I see this theory bear out in which episodes or characters/groups are granted actual dialogue? In other words, will characters and peoples lost to the mists of time speak less, as I would expect? Or will the type of dialogue (e.g., a formal speech that may have been preserved vs. an extempore conversation that would not) vary based on narrative distance? I have documented in the past that the narrator of The Silmarillion uses the "it is said/told/sung" construction more with characters who are less accessible, so there is evidence that Tolkien manipulated writing style based on what his narrators' access to various sources. Does he use dialogue similarly to communicate that "mythic distance"?

There are also chapters that are more expository in purpose (Valaquenta, "Of Beleriand and Its Realms") that do not contain dialogue. Without digging deeper into the chapters themselves, most of those without dialogue that aren't similarly expository are chapters where the material would be less accessible to Pengolodh as a narrator. Whether this bears added scrutiny remains to be seen!

Finally, in discussing these data on the SWG's Discord, polutropos noticed something interesting, which is that the chapter with the most dialogue—"Of Aulë and Yavanna," where almost 57% of the words of the chapter are given over to dialogue—was not in fact written by Tolkien. As document by Douglas Charles Kane in his book Arda Reconstructed, "This chapter is completely manufactured by Christopher, though using his father's own writings" (page 54). Where Kane usually includes a chart pointing to the source for each bit of The Silmarillion, his chapter on "Of Aulë and Yavanna" contains no such chart because, while he is able to document where ideas came from, Christopher actually wrote the chapter.

Interestingly, "Of the Noldor in Beleriand" is the chapter with the second most dialogue and, according to Kane, "The changes made in this chapter are among the smallest anywhere in the published text" (page 154). So Tolkien does sometimes write dialogue-heavy chapters—though without data to back me up (yet! it's coming!), most of that dialogue appears to come in the form of lengthier speeches, not necessarily the debate/conversation format of Of Aulë and Yavanna."

The biggest impact of the dialogue-heavy "Of Aulë and Yavanna," I suspect, will emerge as I dig more into the data on gender and who speak in The Silmarillion. Yavanna is one of the women who speaks the most in The Silmarillion, but almost all of her dialogue occurs in this chapter. If this chapter is constructed by Christopher, how does that impact the amount of speech women are permitted by Tolkien? Polutropos' observation spurred me to plan to document the source of the various dialogue sections: Are they original to Tolkien's writings or added? Kane, interestingly, is critical of Christopher Tolkien in Arda Reconstructed for what he perceives as Christopher removing women characters from the text. In this instance, we see a significant example of the opposite: a woman's role is not only expanded, but she is given an opportunity to speak.

#silmarillion #tolkien #silmarillion: who speaks?

34 notes · View notes

woolieshubris · 22 hours ago

Text

So, you've been sent bait: A Guide for Internet Posters and Readers

Disclaimer: I am simply an autistic internet poster with a special interest in human interaction, abuse patterns, and internet culture. I am not a scholar and I do not have a degree in these things. While I have done research into the topics of cancellation, online abuse, and harassment, I am far from an expert.

Introduction:

I've seen this happen dozens of times before. A semi popular blogger will suddenly seem embroiled in a controversial topic, receiving harassment and accusations of some pretty terrible things. It goes on for about 24-72 hours, and then poof, it seems to be completely over, (however, of course, it can be brought up again without warning.) This can be emotionally damaging for the blogger, for the supporters of that blogger, and for the shock waves it will undoubtedly send into the greater community. This also further spreads discourse and popularizes harmful ideologies to people who might have previously never heard of them. The targets are almost always trans women, (with transmisogyny doing most of the cancellation legwork) and it seems to always have the goal of turning fellow trans people against the target. (Though, of course, I've seen this done with autistic creators, nonbinary creators, ect. Trans women are just the most popular target.)

Now, the goal of this guide is to help people understand how this happens, be able to recognize the patterns of a targeted harassment campaign, and be able to try and prevent it in the future. I'll be writing this as a guide to the target, however, I think it's important for lurkers/readers to also be able to recognize these patterns so they too can avoid being manipulated into falling into these pitfalls. A large portion of this harassment initiative is to use "useful idiots" in order to do most of the legwork. As a reader, you must avoid becoming a useful idiot, (which I'll be referring to as fools from now on) and you must be able to tell when other people are being used in this manner as well. This is the most effective way to protect people from unwarranted harassment campaigns.

Section 1: Bait

Types of Bait:

You've been sent bait, but you aren't sure if it is actually bait, or a genuine question from a fan. You don't want to ignore someone's valid concern, so you answer it even though you might not be sure. This is your first mistake! If you think it might be bait, it's best to treat it as such. Think of bait asks as toxic waste. If you aren't sure, it's much better to be safe than sorry. If you receive a bait ask, your best bet is to delete it and not respond at all. Yes, it will probably rattle you, and you'll probably feel bad about deleting the question, but you need to understand that it doesn't matter. If this person was asking a genuine question, they would understand if you don't want to answer. If they get annoyed or angry at your lack of answer- they were likely asking it with the intent to hurt you.

The first type of bait is bringing up a controversial topic.

While certain topics (like queer rights, abortion, Palestinian freedom) do actually matter in the real world and I would believe are worth responding to or making your position clear (as long as it is something you do have an opinion on) this does not mean all controversial topics are equal. Many topics that are "hot debates" online do not matter in the real world. (for example, proship vs antiship). Regardless of the validity of the debate, if it doesn't matter in the real world, it likely isn't worth publicly stating your opinion on those things. That is why people who are active in those movements try to make these things seem like they have real world consequences- to try and make their debate more valid and easier to pull more people into. The real goal with many of these topics is not to try and have a reasonable discussion. The goal is to try and pull as many people into them as possible. If they can successfully get ANY response out of you, then they win. Their debate is now broadcasted on your platform. Their thoughts, arguments, philosophies are now spread to thousands of people instantly. Even if you respond with an answer like "huh?" "what?" or "what does this mean???" they still win. Your acknowledgement of the debates existence at ALL is a win for them. They get to publicly platform their beliefs on your profile. If you respond at all and express even the slightest hint of an opinion, then they will have an entire section of fools that can now send you messages about this topic. Death by a thousand paper cuts. This is the most common type of bait, and the reason is simple. Internet debates can suck in people and can quickly rot peoples brains. Like sleeper agents, people will automatically start trying to chime in the moment they see the hints of any debate. If you fall for this debate, the best thing to do is delete everything, block main players and wait it out. With any luck, it will be completely forgotten by the end of the week.

The second type of bait is an accusation.

Again, while some allegations or accusations are worth responding to, if it is completely false, not responding will be your best bet. If you do respond at all, the allegation and your name will be linked in peoples minds. Even if you deny it, people will be confused as to why it was brought up at all. They might even think that you are lying or deflecting. Responding to the accusation at all is treated as a confession. If this accusation is something you've heard before, it would be worth looking into the source of the claim- someone might be spreading lies about you. However, if this accusation is something you've never received before, it is almost certainly bait. They are trying to make you look bad. Just delete them. If this is something you are receiving from a specific person, ask them about it privately. Never respond to false accusations on your public platform unless you know the source of the accusations. If you have to respond to them, you need to link to the accusation in full, not vaguely describe them. When you vaguely describe them, then you are putting the duty on the readers to find the accusation- they'll read it on the accusers terms- putting the ball directly into the accusers court. If your reader reads it directly from the accusers, then it will automatically make your refutation look dubious by comparison. Make it easy for the reader to see the full accusation and point out the absurdity of the claims. By laying out all of the information clearly, the readers will be able to easily figure out that the claims were bogus. In future confrontations, your supporters will likely even respond to the accusers for you, now that they fully understand the arguments against you. Supporters love to correct people, and this can help you significantly- just as much as it can hurt. It's a double edged sword, so if you point it in the right direction, it can help protect you against false accusations.

The third type of bait is confusion.

This type of bait is a bit harder to spot, and it's usually blended with the other two types. This type of bait is deliberately confusing. The confusing nature is what makes it such effective bait. A vague message can be read a thousand ways, and as long as one person can spin it in a way that makes you a "horrible person" then that can quickly become the narrative. If you receive a question that you do not understand, you have no reason to answer it. If you can't answer, simply not acknowledging it at all is the smartest thing to do.

How to deal with bait:

As I've stated in the previous sub-sections, the first time you receive any type of bait, you should ignore it. The intentions of the bait may differ, but they all need to be treated in the same way- with no respect at all. Anyone who tells you otherwise is someone who wishes for you to be hurt or a fool. If you receive it more than once, try blocking the person. If you continue to receive it, then that means that in all likelihood it's more than one person sending you the bait, and it might not be bait after all. However, you should proceed with extreme caution. You do not respond to the bait- you figure out the source of the questions and answer it on your own terms. Simply making a post like "Hey, for the record, I support dolphins." will go over a thousand times better than a post that goes like "'Why do you hate dolphins?' I don't." If you are receiving bait, another way to deal with it is by turning anonymous asks off and looking into the blogs of people sending you the bait. Search terms relating to the question they asked. If it's something they seem to get into a lot of internet fights over, block them. The approach you must always consider bait with is that all of the bait asks you receive are sent by one person trying to seem like a group of people. This is on purpose- they want to intimidate you into answering. This is why blocking and turning off anonymous asks can be useful tools. It forces them to unmask themselves.

Footnote 1: The response by these bait people is often "keeping on anonymous asks allow people to feel safe in asking these important questions." Your safety is more important. This is just trying to guilt trip you. Fools will also often respond similarly. After all, it can sound compelling. However you are not a publicly traded company. You do not need transparency. You do not have body guards or multiple employees. You are a singular person with a right to privacy and safety.

Summary

In this section, we discussed the main types of bait: controversial, accusatory, and confusing. We also talked about the best way to deal with each type, as well as the pitfalls of responding to each type, and how to deal with a larger harassment campaign.

If you personally have fallen victim to any of these techniques, either as a fool or a poster, I can understand how you might feel- however the important aspect of these types of bait is that they can and do trick people. If they didn't work, they wouldn't be used. It is not your fault for falling for it- it is completely on the perpetrators of this abuse. However, I hope this guide can help people to protect themselves or recognize when these things are happening to them.

#long post #so you've been sent bait #this is a series im writing on dealing with harassment and bait- im doing this partially because #ive seen this used to harass many people i respect #and also because i think it might be nice to have a tumblr specific guide using tumblr internet culture #many of these types of guides are specific to twitter or less anonymous social medias like instagram #i would greatly appreciate any feedback or reviews! this is a work in progress and i want to make sure i cover all bases

37 notes · View notes