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cosmal · 2 years ago

Note

cake — send me in a character and a prompt and i’ll write you a blurb!

eddie munson + soft!shy!gf’s love language is gift giving. maybe friends to lovers?

guitar pick

summary you come over late at night to give eddie a gift.

content eddie munson x shy!fem!reader

Eddie didn’t mean to scare you, really it was an accident, but it doesn't stop him from feeling bad. But he really didn't know you'd be at his door when he opened it up.

"I'm sorry," you gasp. Which is awful because he should be the one apologising. "Sorry, Eds, Wayne let me in."

"It's okay," he says and looks down at you. Tights tucked into your frilly socks at your feet. They wriggle into the trailer-grade flooring. "Sorry, are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm okay," you sigh, and then you blink slowly. Eddie remembers it's late - really late. And you're here, jacket over your pyjamas, and a beanie on your head.

"Y/N," he says and moves out of the way to let you into his bedroom. You move, and despite months of being together, you're hesitant about it. You scuffle along the ground and turn to make sure he's behind you. You wait for him to sit down before you do. "Did you walk here?"

"Yeah," you say quietly, taking off your beanie now you've settled. "Eddie, it's fine, don't worry about it." You only live around the corner. Still, it's 11pm and Eddie feels like he might throw up.

"Y/N," he says and tries not to sound stern, "baby, why didn't you call?"

"Because," you sigh, nibbling your bottom lip unthinkingly like always, "because, I got really excited to come see you and didn't even think about it."

Eddie scoots across the bed and nudges your thigh with his knee where he's got his foot tucked under him. "Excited, huh?" He wiggles his eyebrows and feels pleased when you duck your head down to look at your hands in your lap.

"Eddie," you say downwardly, swinging your feet over the edge of his bed. "Stop, no, not like that."

Eddie doesn't sound disappointed because he isn't. He doesn't care why you're here, he's just happy you are. He thinks if you'd come over just to see the stray cats and not him, he'd still just be as pleased. Just to see you is enough.

"Oh?" he asks, leaning his weight into you. You lean with him and Eddie has to hook an arm around your shoulder to stop you from falling into his pillows. You giggle with shy happiness that makes Eddie feel fuzzy. "What're you here for? I saw you five hours ago."

You lean your face into his shoulder, cheek all smooshed up against the sleeve of his sleep shirt. Some Tom Petty merchandise from the dollar bins at the thrift store behind the arcade. It's starting to smell like you. You hide yourself in his side and he can't see your face properly.

"I've got something for you," you say quietly, waiting for his response.

He shifts to rock you. "Oh really?" He finds it hard to hide his excitement.

"You gotta," you steel yourself and Eddie squeezes your knee, "you gotta promise you won't tell me if you hate it. I don't think I can take it," you say seriously.

Eddie tenses and then laughs gently. "Sweetheart, I would never. I'll love it, swears."

You sigh and reach into the inside pocket of your jacket. Pulling out a rolled-up bit of tissue paper, you hand it to him. You won't look him in the face.

Eddie carefully unravels the paper in his hand and drops the contents into his other palm. A long, silver chain with a plastic plate at the end of it. He flips it over to inspect it. It's a guitar pick.

"It's, uh," you say when he looks it over, "it's one of my picks."

You're only new to guitar, mainly acoustic, bass when Eddie can convince you to sit between his legs and teach you.

"Oh," he lets out a deep breath, deflating, "sweetheart, that is so cool. Like totally, amazing."

"Yeah?" You're so shy about Eddie feels like he could die.

"The best thing ever," he groans before he falls on top of you and down into the bed. You yelp, still just as demure now that he's hovering above you. He cages you in with his arms beside your head.

"Eddie..."

"Seriously," he leans down to kiss you on the cheek, "so cool," the other cheek, "thank you," your nose.

You fluster underneath his doting, pushing your face into where he's got his arms around you. "Do you really like it, Teddie?"

Teddie Eddie thinks fondly. Of course, he likes it. He loves you even more. "Really. Actually. Truly."

It takes you a second. You smile something ruining and roll onto your back. "Cool, 'cause I have a matching one." You pull a necklace from out underneath your sleep shirt. There, on the end of the chain is a guitar pick Eddie had given way back when you were still just friends.

Eddie drops himself into you and groans, long and suffering. "Jesus fucking Christ, baby."

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x shy!reader

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phas3d · 9 months ago

Text

Celebrity Crush Opposite || Slytherin Boys

type :: angst

tw/cw :: body image, insecurities

contains :: draco malfoy, tom riddle, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire

summary :: you freak out over your celebrity crush only for him to look completely opposite from them. this is a different version of THIS post i made a long time ago, sorry it's so late! - I love this idea so much omggg the angst?? the hurt?? insecurities??? GIVE IT TO MEEEE - 🐍 :: masterlist!

DRACO MALFOY (enemies)

He's always mocked you for stupid reasons, like how you write your "a"s or how you hold your spoon

Once again, he was making his way to your typical spot at lunch to make fun of you

As he scanned your table, searching for something to mock you form, he made contact with a photocard in your hands

"GOD I WANNA GET HIM PREGNANTTTTT!!!" You shouted loudly as you sobbed into your hands

Your friends, oddly enough, nodded along with you and respected your comment

Draco thought it was outlandish but he shrugged it off, his mind was too busy staring into the soulless piece of paper you were holding

One thing about Draco is that he's always been popular with girls in school, even if they thought he was ugly, he knew they would find him cute or at least his asshole personality would let people think they could "fix him"

But for some reason, this simple piece of paper put a knot in his throat as he felt a pang of insecurity strike in him

Surprisingly, he broke his streak of daily mocking as he sat at his table, disappointed and hurt

What hurt even hurt was the fact that you didn't even notice that he didn't mock you today

How could you not tell he's flirting with you!!! (he literally spat in your food one time and call you a fat pig)

As he went to bed that night, he stared at the ceiling, getting flashbacks of the photocard like he was a war veteran

The cute Asian man with dark hair was drastically different from Draco in every way

Race, hair color, eye color, body shape, everything!

He couldn't help but feel insecure in himself, after all you're one of his longest ever crushes

Genuinely thinks of dying his hair black until Lorenzo and Blaise beg him not to

TOM RIDDLE (friends)

You were one of the only people to understand Tom and his weird antics making you two become friends

In return for accepting his weird habits, he was forced to deal with yours whether he likes it or not

He skipped one of his classes in order to stay behind and work with Professor Slughorn on a new potion they were learning

You gave him your notes from class, a very common thing between you two except normally Tom was the one sharing notes

As he looked at your shit handwriting, he started to see a theme in it

All over your notebook were drawings of some random actor?

Tom doesn't know pop culture very well so he asked you who it was in your books

"Who??? WHO??!? HOW THE FUCK DO YOU NOT KNOW MICHEAL B. JORDAN???" You said as your jaw hit the floor "HE'S THE FINEST MAN ON EARTH?!?!?!"

"Never heard of him."

"You're gonna hear me scream his name once I get my rose toy"

Tom has never been a big fan of anything popular since he strives to be different from everyone in every possible way

But for some reason, this interest of your in Micheal B. Jordan made him want to research him further

When you left, Tom instantly started to research Micheal B. Jordan until 3 A.M

For some reason, Tom felt upset? (He's jealous but doesn't even know he likes you)

He feels possessive, as if he should steal your notebook and rip out all your drawings of him and burn them

Actually... he might do that,

But, he can't help but compare himself to Micheal

In his head, he thinks it's because you said he the most handsome man ever,

But anyone with common sense could tell it was from him liking you

Tom doesn't change himself after this news though, he's not a pussy and knows he's fine already

But, he does hope that one day you can call him the finest man on Earth

MATTHEO RIDDLE (classmates)

Although he didn't know much about you, he's always wanted to

So when he heard you shout at the top of your lungs when you saw something on your phone, he was quickly interested

He's tried to get close to you multiple times by befriending your friends, going to your usual spots, and more

But for some reason, you two couldn't line up

So he decides to just walk up to you and ask you straight up what you're looking at and spark a converstation

He walks towards you as you spam your fist against the table

You begin to make gorilla sounds and bang your chest, "OO OO AHH AHHH OOOO AHHH!!!!!"

(inspo by my queen brittany broski)

Andddd he begins to take a step away.... He can't just walk back to his desk now since it will be awkward

So he continues to walk past you, slightly scared and weirded out by your behavior

He looks at your phone only to see a random singer with dark skin and locs

Mattheo didn't even need to check himself to know that he had no similarities to the celebretry that you love so much

And instantly, he's bummed to an extreme level

He's so used to being every girls ideal type that he can't stand the thought of the one girl that he ACTUALLY likes have the complete opposite taste of who he is

But that doesn't matter to him too much, since he's fully confident that he can get you to like him with some time

He's the only guy who I think would understand that it's just a celebrity crush and that it's not the end of the world

Because he knows he's hot

THEODORE NOTT (classmates)

Although he's a massive fuck boy, he still gets crushes every now and then, and you were his biggest crush yet

He's tried to flirt with you in the past, but he either stumbled his words or you just didn't understand what he was implying

So when he heard you across the room freaking out over some random actor, he was quick to run over and look

He got up so fast, doing his best to act natural as he pasts by your table

"For my birthday I want him to be oiled up with a bow on top"

Your crude humor was funny to him, he loved that you were unserious

As he passes by, he sees an older man with a fully grown beard and some wrinkles

He wouldn't be surprised if the man had children of his own that could ever be your own age

Although his face doesn't express much emotion, he couldn't hide how his eyes widened at that

He goes to his dorm and researches him to no end, finding out everything possible about the man only to get confused as to why you like him so much

It was a fully grown man with a wife and two kids, what appeal did he have?

Theodore is so lost and confused, he's not sure how to make you like him

He was hoping it would be Harry Styles, Chris Hemsworth, fuck it even Sam Smith - Because at least they were younger and looked attractive

But this was a fully grown man...

Theo feels so sad, thinking that he has no chance with you and sulks for the rest of the day

But his friends comfort him, reassuring him that he still has a chance with you since Theo could grow to be an old man with you

And that statement did make him blush a lil heehee

LORENZO BERKSHIRE (best friends)

Freaking out over hot people was something that he was used to girls in your grade doing

He never understood why people liked those different guys so much, but he didn't care since he basically looked like all of those celebrities in some way

But when he heard you playing the same edit audio over and over again, he needed to know who it was

And as he looked, he saw some random tan buff dude with a mysterious aura to him

You were basically drooling all over your phone

"I wanna stuff my face inbetween his man titties and suckle it like a starving baby"

Lorezno's brain was instantly able to picture that exact sentence, and he didn't like that at all

On instinct he cringes at your statement but laughs it off

As the day ends, he starts to overthink and compare himself to the guy you like so much

He was so much buffer, had a different skin ton, and even had a different hair color

Lorenzo has always been a bit insecure about his body since he was pretty lanky and lean which was the opposite of his friend group of Mattheo and Theo

He looks in the mirror whilst holding up a photo of of the random guy you like so much, picking himself apart

Once he finds out everything he needs to change, he breaks down first. but then gets to work

Pushing himself to fit your perfect type just so he can even have a sliver of a chance of being with you

thank you for reading ! 🐍 :: masterlist!

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore x reader #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo x reader

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brainrotandbedrot · 5 months ago

Text

okay. im a perfume nerd and i just can’t get this out of my head and these are all my own little brainworms so 🤪

perfume scents that every man in the 141 loves.

price is a classy man. but i also think he isn’t a huge fan of anything strong — he likes how you smell naturally. anything light, airy, a little floral but not like grandma rose perfume floral. price is the type of guy i see having fresh laundry scented candles in his house and a “fresh and clean” air freshener for his car. this man is tired and approaching middle age and he just wants his shit to smell good. including you. i hc something along the lines of maison margiela replica’s lazy sunday morning edt, glossier’s you edp, dedcool’s fragrance 03 blonde edp. for something more recognizable, gingham and sweet pea from bath & body works.

i feel like he’d also like chanel no. 5 just because of the name. his mum wore it. it’s sentimental for him.

notes: crisp fruits (pear, apple), light floral (jasmine, rose, lily of the valley, lilac), light musk, milk

gaz loves when you smell like a cashmere sweater. warm, sweet, but soft and homey. he wants to come home and just sit there and sniff you because you smell like a warm hug after a long day (it makes sense in my head okay). he’s the type to come along to sephora and ulta and hold the bottle while you spray the testers and he’ll tell you if something smells good (everything smells good, he likes seeing you smile & he’s paying anyway). philosophy’s fresh cream edp, ariana grande’s cloud intense edp, byredo’s slow dance edp, and skylar’s fall cashmere edp are all scents i think he’d love. i also feel like ivory cashmere from bath & body works is a given.

notes: almond, warm vanilla, berries (juniper, cranberry), cinnamon bark, sandalwood, light musk

johnny. johnny is a man of taste, okay? this man loves a unisex fragrance. (they all do. but like. johnny truly just loves a scent that is just a scent. no feminine or masculine packaging.) literally anything that smells good has his paws all over you. i feel like he’s a woody, earthy scents kind of guy. just smell like a forest and he’s head over heels. like le labo’s santal 33 edp, tom ford’s oud minerale edp, zodica perfumery’s eau de dallas edp, dossier’s ambery saffron and woody oakmoss edp. mahogany teakwood & into the stars from b&bw will also get this man’s heart rate wild.

notes: bergamot, oud, amber, musk, sandalwood, cedarwood, spices (cardamom, ginger), fir balsam

simon is a gourmand man. change my mind (you can’t). this man will get a whiff and have to stop himself from nibbling on you like a cat. or he doesn’t. you just smell too good, love. i don’t think he has a specific preference in terms of general scent, but anything that smells yummy has him drooling. sweet, warm, similar to gaz but more in the food direction than the cozy warm direction. i think le monde gourmand’s crème vanille edp, kayali’s yum pistachio gelato intense edp, billie eilish’s eilish 1.0 edp, sol de janiero’s brazilian crush cheirosa '71 fragrance mist. sweet whiskey and viva vanilla from b&bw are also delicious to layer with.

notes: gourmand (warm vanilla, brown sugar, marshmallow, caramel), amber (and ambery musk), florals (jasmine, orange blossom), nutty (almond, hazelnut, pistachio)

sorry simon’s scent notes are so long gourmand fragrances just have so many and they all smell good

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #cod x you #gender neutral reader #task force 141 #141 x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #gaz garrick x reader

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slytherinslut0 · 21 hours ago

Text

quiet reckoning. chapter one

summary: mattheo comes to visit. it’s strange, being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes.

warnings: just a ton of fucking angst. complicated, self destructive mattheo who’s finally coming to terms with how he pushed you away when you were younger simply because he couldn’t stand being second to tom in your eyes. the acceptance doesn’t make it hurt any less. get the tissues. cry with me please.

masterlist & other chapters.

Life these days holds a strange, silent kind of peace, interrupted only by the faint sound of water rushing over stone—the creek that runs quick along the forest edge. In your early summer afternoons, the trees form a leafy wall of emerald and ochre, and they sway with the breeze that brushes the hair back from your cheeks.

You sit cross-legged in the dirt, hands buried in soil as you pull vegetables out of your garden in prep for the approaching cold months. You love how earth has its own signature scent: damp, fertile, alive. Somehow it makes you think of Tom—his manor, with its towering windows overlooking manicured grounds, its own gardens sprawling wide. His manor with its grand, sweeping staircases, polished black floors.

Everything was pristine, almost oppressively so. Even the walls seemed haughty, disdainful of the cobwebs that clung to the corners.

Tom had never let you stay long enough to tend to those.

But his gardens—those had their own softness, a quiet beauty that only fully revealed itself after dusk when the moonlight cast everything in silver. I loved you there, you reminisce, and the ache has a name in memory—longing. I wish I could have loved you there longer.

And now you're here, a few years after Tom told you never to come back to him—here where the ache feels smaller, further away. Here where there’s no temptation, where the air smells of earth and moss and freedom, and the silence holds its own kind of comfort. Mattheo visits sometimes, wandering into the quiet when your absence grows too thick, when too many of his owls have gone unanswered.

"He'll visit soon." He always tells you. You start to hate how much he lies to you.

"Don't pretend," you said once, and his mouth stretched into a thin, humourless smile.

"Alright," he replied. "I won't."

So now, when he comes to visit, he doesn't say it—he just sits next to you. He doesn't talk much. Neither do you. Life here is quiet—few neighbours, even fewer visitors. A woman brings you pastries from time to time and the town grocer knows your name, but most days you pass unbothered. You tend the garden when the days are warm, work on the cottage when it's cold.

When it's raining you read books and pretend they're not the same kind Tom used to keep.

On a day in early October, Mattheo sits next to you on the porch and you hate that you notice how he doesn't look at you the same way Tom did. It's something lighter, something less cloying. Sometimes you think of how unfair it is that he can taunt you silently like this—how he can remind you of the chocolate streaks in Tom's inky hair, the depth in his dark eyes. How he can remind you that he holds all the same features as his brother, just without the weight.

As the sun sinks slowly through the trees, casting pink and orange across the sky, you turn your face to the creek, watching the water ripple over stones and rocks, and you think of how young you loved them—the way your love grew different when you weren't looking.

Mattheo was chaos, always had been. I could have helped him find himself. But that thought feels hollow, and it's always followed by another. If he would have let me.

"It's strange to think that this is your life." Mattheo speaks after a while of not. He lights a cigarette, and you reach for it when he passes it to you. "You could have done anything."

You inhale the smoke and close your eyes—thinking of how cigarettes taste like fire and ash and the last time Tom had taken your hand.

"Maybe this is all I ever wanted to be." You reply, spinning the cigarette between your fingers. "At peace."

He glances at you in the fading light—the way the sunset casts shadows in the hollows of your cheeks, makes the gold of your earrings look darker against your hair.

He frowns. "You don't look at peace."

No, you think, taking another drag. I never really have.

You pass the cigarette back to him, watching the smoke drift in the breeze. He doesn't say anything else, so you don't either.

Instead, you watch the dark start to close in, the sky turn into an endless stretch of indigo, stars winking to life somewhere above the trees. The fireflies come out eventually, when the night is quiet and heavy and the world turns a little sleepy. They flutter around in the trees and grass like faeries—like stars that've made their home on the ground—and Mattheo watches them with a furrow in his brow.

You wonder what he's thinking, then think better of it at the bitter twist of his mouth. He always thought they'd burn.

"Why do you still come here?" You question. He turns to you, and when his eyes meet yours that's when you realize you'd verbalized the thought. "To sit with me."

Mattheo shakes his head. "I'll need another smoke to answer that."

So he pulls out another cigarette and lights it. The first inhale is long, and the exhale makes you blink. You look away and pretend like his response doesn't make your stomach twist.

The stream moves a little darker in the moonlight and the pine trees shiver with a gentle breeze that smells like soil. You feel the comfort in it—in knowing that all of this has been here longer than you ever have, and that it'll be here long after you're gone.

Perhaps that's precisely what you chased. A home in something steady.

"I come to remind myself you're okay." He says after a long silence, staring at his hands. "Sometimes it feels like you're dead."

You blink again. He's more perceptive than you remember.

"I'm still here," you remind him, but he laughs without humour in it.

"Sure, you're there," he replies, before another pause. "But you're not really living."

He says the words casually, like they're a fact. You think they're meant to hurt. He's right—it's a thought that comes quietly, the way most unwanted thoughts do. You over look at the river, the fireflies, the dirt under your fingernails—you try to feel the chill in the October breeze, the soft moss under your feet. You try to be alive.

"Why do you think that?" You ask even when you know the answer.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, and then exhales—casting his hair grey when the smoke drifts over his face.

He looks older here, when the night stretches over him. It reminds you how much has changed.

"Sometimes I think you're here to punish yourself." He says, passing you the cigarette again. "You say you come here for peace, but this isn't peace like a person should have. It's just an absence. Silence, and isolation, and nothing else." You glance down at his hand resting on his knee beside you, shadows deepening in the lines of his palm. He watches you. "I wish you'd stop hating yourself for what he's become."

A lump forms in your throat—you remember Tom as a boy, the way he'd hold magic in his palms and make lights dance just to make you laugh. You remember the way he once looked at you, quietly and gently in a way that made you feel safe within crumbling walls offering cold stone decorum. You remember one of the last times at Hogwarts, once things took a turn, when he held more than just magic in his palms—when the lights danced only to burn you instead of make you laugh.

You wonder what it says about you, that you loved him in both.

"I don't hate myself, Matt." You mutter, more conviction than truth. "If I'm punishing myself at all, it's for giving him something to hurt."

He doesn't say anything for a while, so you think briefly that his silence is agreement. You and him both know that there is a lot to hurt about, when it comes to Tom.

"You didn't give him anything." He rebuttals with certainty. "He was who he was before you even knew his name."

It's easy to forget that sometimes, the way he had been all sharp edges even when you'd first met. The way he'd pulled you and his brother through crumbling, damp, narrow hallways with something far too assured for a six year old. Something that made you want to follow him forever—something that whispered; I'll never let anything hurt you.

You exhale a plume of smoke. The fireflies look like falling stars when you close your eyes.

"Sometimes, I think I made him human." You say, and immediately wish you didn't. It's a weird thought, but one that comes unbidden. "Others, I think I made him evil."

It tastes like acid the moment you say it aloud. I made him evil. You think back to all those nights in the quiet, the way you taught him how to confide in you, the way he looked at you as if you held some answer he couldn't find on his own. You remember the secrets he shared, the way he softened when no one else could see. You remember how long it took him to get there.

But you remember the darker moments, too—moments when you didn't pull away, even when you should have. Moments you whispered reassurances instead of warnings, when you offered comfort instead of caution. Maybe, in those silences, you fed a need that shouldn't have been nourished, let him believe his ambitions weren't dangerous, only misunderstood.

You wonder if, in being the one person who never condemned him, you gave him permission to be what he became.

"And me?" Mattheo turns to you. You glance at him, the hard line of his mouth and his eyes that look more black than brown in the night— "did you make me evil too?"

You're both quiet for a moment, the only sound is the stream, the only motion is the flutter of the fireflies.

"I don't believe I made you anything." You say finally, letting him take the cigarette back from you. "I suppose you only became who you wanted to be."

You think, quietly, that it's a kinder fate than the rest.

He huffs a laugh. "So you think I wanted to be an asshole."

He's joking, you think. Or he's bitter again, resentful. You're sure he wanted to be whatever Tom would accept him as—though you'd never say those words out loud.

"I think you wanted to be loved." Is what you settle on, and the words tear your throat apart as you speak them. "Just like I did."

He hums, noncommittally, and lights a third cigarette.

You wonder why you still know that he's bitter even when he's not saying the words—why you still know that he only hums that way when something hurts, or when it's a truth he can't bring himself to admit.

"You found it now, haven't you?" You fill his silence with another sentence you wish you didn't say. "You're engaged."

You watch the embers from the cigarette tip light up the hollows of his cheeks, the way it burns his eyes gold as he takes a drag on it.

"Yeah," he nods into the night. "I'm engaged."

Something selfish in you aches at that.

"Then why do you come here and look at me like you're lonely?" You try to ask it casually, but you don't think you manage it. You see him tense when he realizes how well you still read him. "What is it you're missing, Matt?"

"I don't know." He looks at you in the dark, his expression lost in the shadows of his hair. "Sometimes I think it's you."

It's an answer like a knife, because you've known all along that he feels the same way you do—that the loneliness stays and the regret never really dissipates—that the 'what-ifs' linger long after they shouldn't.

"I'm not your girl." You remind him.

It sounds empty when you say it, but he made it clear when you were younger that he wanted it this way.

"You never were."

He looks away after that, to the stream, and you wonder if it has ever felt hollow like this.

All the lights seem very small suddenly, the moon, the stars—you're not sure where his vulnerability is coming from, all these years in passing. You assume it’s the old saying—absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"But you wanted me to be." It's more of a question.

"For a time, when we were kids." He gives you honesty that surprises you. "Sometimes I think I still do."

Why?—you want to ask, suddenly, desperately—and wonder at the cruelty of the thought. Asking that would be the worst kind of question. Why do you want me?

You think you know all the answers already. They sit bitter at the back of your throat.

"So that's why you come here." You say instead, shivering with the wind that brushes over you. "To remind yourself of all the reasons you still feel empty."

There's a dark sort of humour to the sound he lets out, one that makes your chest ache. He turns to you again, and his hands shake when he lifts the cigarette.

"It's not you that makes me feel empty, princess." He whispers. "It's the absence of you."

You look at him, then—really look. There's something strange about being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes. Despite the nickname, he’s not joking. It’s the kind of confession that tastes like a fist, like a punch that breaks bones.

I know, you think. I wish it could have been different for us.

"You need to stop coming here." There's no spine in those words. They're putty between you. "Just like Tom told me to stop, I'm now telling you."

He's quiet, watching you as the embers of the cigarette flicker over his fingers.

"I'll stop," he pauses, and you see the pain in his throat as he swallows. "When he finally comes to you."

That, you think, will probably never happen.

"So you'll come here forever." You say, and his mouth twists in a silent, bitter smile.

"I guess I will."

You don't have a response to that. It's not a choice he makes so much as it is his reality, and you, of all people, could never fault him for that.

So instead of words, you lean to rest your head on his shoulder, same way you did when you were kids. You sit together, watching the moon and stars and the stream and the trees and everything else around you that reminds you you're alive, even if you don't feel it. You think of his fiancé, you know she'd never understand. This is childhood love in its most vulnerable form—and you thank him for it, silently, for reminding you that you're not alone. Even if you're sure you are.

He leans his head sideways, on top of yours—a gesture almost automatic.

"I still think of you in the summer." He mutters into your hair. You close your eyes and remember the sun, the way it once felt like it touched your bones. "The summer when we were nine. Swimming in the river at night. Those stupid bugs that I thought were made of fire." He pauses for a minute, looking around, and you think he's done talking, until he isn't. "I suppose I do understand why you chose this life."

You remember that summer, too. Small children swimming in a river that was all silver shadows under the moonlight, chasing fireflies like stars. No parents to call you home, no rules except the ones of your own.

Somehow, that's not your favourite memory of him.

"And I think of you in the fall." You say, listening to your own voice sounding distant. "The year just before Hogwarts. When the leaves turned red and orange and gold. When you raked them into a pile for us to jump in."

He hums. "I tried to kiss you that fall."

"And Tom fought you for it."

"And he won." Mattheo's voice sounds distant too, almost lost. "He always won."

It's strange, thinking of autumn when you think of Mattheo, but it fits—he's just as fleeting. Beautiful, easy to fall into, but always gone too soon, leaving a chill in his place.

"Sometimes I think it's because he knew he could." You build off his thoughts. "And sometimes I think it's because he just wanted to prove it."

He shrugs. "Either way, I still lost."

It's such a mournful way to reminisce, you think, for the children you used to be.

"And what now?" You ask.

He exhales slowly, and the smoke looks like a mist in front of you. "I suppose now we both lose."

And that, is the most honest thing he's said all night.

You turn your face into his shoulder, the way you had when you were younger. You close your eyes, and for a moment you imagine being a child again—back in the days when love was simple and nights were endless. Back to a time when you didn't know things you should and all you had were each other's shoulders to lean on in an orphanage dirtier than the forest before you.

"We lose together, then." You offer, a half-whisper.

"Yeah," he answers, just as quiet, just as lost. "We lose together."

There's a bitter kind of contentment in that, you think. You're sure that's a terrible thing.

You take a few moments to brace yourself for the shift in conversation, and then—

"How is he?"

"He's fine." Mattheo understands what you aren't asking. "The leader he always wanted to be."

You close your eyes again and hear the stream running steady, moving around rocks that have been shaped by years of its presence. You ignore the ache in your chest.

"He's happy?"

You don't have to open your eyes to know that Mattheo smiles bitterly. "He's as happy as someone like Tom could be."

There are several beats of silence, the kind that holds too many unsaid things. You feel it in Mattheos exhale that there's something he isn't saying. You don't press him on it. You sit together like this for a while under the sky—watching the way the dark clouds move, the stars shift.

You think about childhoods that never last. About fireflies and streams and boys you loved.

"Tell me something true." You murmur as the midnight grog sets in. "Tell me something that'll warm me through winter."

Mattheo pauses, silent, and for a moment you think he's not going to answer.

"I've loved you most of my life." He mutters finally, into the top of your head. The words feel like a breath of summer, in a quiet, dark night. "That's the kind of truth that could melt an iceberg."

It's the sort of declaration you could only share in the cover of the night, in the silence of a forest. Not the sort of admission that would ever survive daylight. I've loved you most of mine, too.

"And a lie?" You reply.

His fingertips run through his hair, almost idly. You suppose he's looking back into memories of fleeting autumn's and summer sun, the time he tried to kiss you and the day he pushed you away. He doesn't answer the question for a while. You wonder if he doesn't have an answer, or if he just doesn't want to say it.

And then, finally, quietly— "I'm happy for him."

You close your eyes again. That, you think, is the cold truth of winter.

You turn your face again into his shoulder for a second time tonight, but you keep your eyes open. You can feel the weight of your childhood on your shoulders, the trees and the creek behind you, and the silence that follows his lie.

Suddenly, you're furious—a fire tearing through regret. You wish Mattheo hadn't chosen booze, fights, and empty escapes. You wish he'd let you love him properly before pushing you away. You wish he hadn't always resented Tom—hadn't always felt second best in a way no amount of reassurance could fix. Yet somehow, you just can't fault him for any of it.

He's always known you loved Tom first; he's carried that like a wound.

"Ask me to lie to you." You say as you swallow your anger.

There's an exhale. You're sure Mattheo's watching the trees, the wind as it runs quietly past.

"Lie to me."

You tilt your head up to the sky. You try to remember that fall, you try to feel what it was like to be a child again, and to believe in a future that wasn't shaped by the past. You think of his fiancé.

"I'm happy for you." You whisper.

From the corner of your eye, you know he smiles bitterly again, but he responds with nothing more than his unsteady breathing. You're both silent like this for the rest of his stay, together under the moon that's watched you both change.

"I'll be back in a month," he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear as time stretches thin.

He has to go before the sun rises, before dawn coaxes him into staying. You consider, if only for the flicker of a second, letting him.

"I'll see you then." You lean back and look up into his eyes, searching into the gold buried deep. If you look too long, you think you may see his broken heart. You make yourself smile anyway. "Write to me."

"Even if you don't write back." He replies with a nod.

The cold air makes your eyes water. For a moment he's still, like he may pull you into him and drown you in all the things he feels. Instead, he puts a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with one of his hands. The lighter casts an orange glow over his face that makes him look pale and tired again, like the boy you'd met in an orphanage that was so much dirtier than the forest before you.

"Good night." He murmurs, and you feel his thumb brush your cheek before he apparates back to the life you left behind.

And now, alone under the black sky, you take a deep breath. Then, you exhale, go back into your cabin and you try not to think about all the things you've lost.

You try not to think of the boy you've loved for far too large a part of your life and how it changed the boy who's loved you for far too large a part of his. You try instead to focus on what you have—walls and peace and solitude, something certain that won't disappear when it rains.

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sinsirellaxx · 3 days ago

Note

ok chat my birthday was a day ago so i gota ask.. slytherin boys celebrating ur birthday? (esp tom pspspsps)

Slytherin Boys – how they would celebrate your birthday

Warnings: None – this actually turned out to be rather wholesome?

A/N: Sorry for the long and sudden break – took me a while to find somewhat of a new routine. And I am so sorry anon – I don't know how old this ask his but anyway: happy (extremely) belated birthday! I hope you had an amazing day! Have fun reading ❤️

Enjoy!

Mattheo …

… who would try to bake something just because he knows how much you love chocolate cake.

… who would almost cry because the finished cake looked borderline poisonous before running into the kitchens to threaten ask the house elves to bake him a cake for you.

… who would surprise you in his dorm after kicking the other boys out and threatening them to hex them if they disturbed you.

… who would be laying on his side on the bed with a bow around his hips and the cake in front of him.

… who would lie about the cake – telling you he made it for you. “Happy birthday, babe. I made this for you.”

… who would smirk as he told you that he is your present, while wiggling his eyebrows and pointing at the big red bow on his crotch.

… who would roll his eyes when you raised your brow at that, quickly giving you your real present before calling you his “materialistic queen”.

Theodore …

… who almost forgot about your birthday. He found out when he saw your girl friends sing happy birthday for you loudly in the Hall.

… who immediately skedaddled out of there, pissed at himself for forgetting your birthday.

… who’d skip classes to go to Hogsmeade (he almost got caught) and buy you your favorite things.

… who’d sneak into the kitchens right before dinner to steal food just so he could prepare a picnic for you.

… whose heart hurt when he saw your angry face until you noticed the picnic.

… who’d brag about him being the best boyfriend and telling you he’d “never forget, amore”.

Lorenzo …

… who would plan a surprise party with all of your (and mainly his) friends on the night before your birthday.

… who’d created a list of presents that you might like – to ensure you’d only get things you like.

… who’d whisk you away after the time hit midnight to give you his present in private – he wanted to be the first.

… who’d dance with you in the privacy of his room, kissing you after ending the dance before leading you back to the party.

… who’d roll his eyes when the party guests called him a greedy b*tch for stealing you away

Draco …

… who would make sure to remind you daily leading up to your birthday that it’s your day, so you better let him spoil you.

… who’d sneak into Honeydukes to buy your favorite sweets, because he wants to be the one to treat you to everything you love.

… who’d insist on picking out the perfect dress for you and make sure it fits perfectly, so you’d look flawless on your special day.

… who’d act like he’s so annoyed when you point out his thoughtful gestures, but secretly feels a bit proud of himself.

… who’d give you a gift wrapped in luxurious paper, telling you it’s not something you can ever buy for yourself.

… who’d be way too proud of how good you look in the dress he picked out for you and won’t stop staring at you all night.

… who’d get a little possessive when other guys look at you, making sure to remind them that you’re his with a sharp look or a possessive hand on your waist.

Blaise …

… who’d be the one to organize the most relaxing and intimate birthday evening, knowing that you just want peace and quiet.

… who would definitely take you out to a quiet dinner at one of the hidden spots around Hogwarts that only a select few know about.

… who’d give you a thoughtful gift that was well beyond your expectations, something sentimental that shows how much he listens to everything you say.

… who’d take a walk with you after dinner, talking about everything and nothing, making you feel like you’re the most important person in his world.

… who’d quietly ask you if you liked the gift, and would be slightly insecure until you reassure him you love it.

… who’d smirk slightly when you thank him and call him your "birthday savior," secretly feeling proud he made your day special.

Tom …

… who’d remind you about your birthday days in advance because he doesn’t forget important dates, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

… who’d act like he couldn’t care less about celebrating, but when the day arrives, he’d still find a way to make it unforgettable for you.

… who would make an effort to give you a gift that only someone who truly understands you could choose – something meaningful, intellectual, and thought-provoking.

… who’d take you to a secluded spot in the castle and tell you how much you mean to him in a rare moment of vulnerability.

… who’d whisper softly, “I trust you, more than anyone else,” as you both share a moment in private, far from prying eyes.

… who would give you a small, carefully selected token that’s symbolic of how he feels about you, something with deeper meaning that you’d never expect from someone like him.

… who’d leave you with a kiss on your forehead, a touch of possessiveness and longing in his eyes before disappearing, making sure your birthday is something only the two of you share.

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