smut-anarchy

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i’m so glad to hear you’re healing well. wishing you a smooth and restful recovery babes ;3

💋💋💋💋💋

thank u very much lovely

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I’m BAAAAAAAACK!!!

I am so sorry everyone! I had an emergency surgery that had many complications. I am totally fine, and healing very well. I have tons of messages to go through and those of you waiting on the OM Series will have your next chapter soon!

All my love! XOXOXOXOXOXO

- Angel

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Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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i can think of worst ways to spend eternity…😩

prince of darkness

the grim reaper doesn’t just take souls. he claims them. a dark, lust-filled Tom Riddle where obsession meets damnation. are you ready to give him your soul?

warnings: MDNI, DUB-CON, non-con elements, characters are 18+, dark themes death manipulation desperation demonic (otherworldly theme), potential triggers for emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, coercion, fear kink, power imbalance, gaslighting.

au. more.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

the air in the hospital room is wrong. heavy. stagnant. as if even the walls know what’s coming.

you grip your boyfriend’s hand—cold, lifeless, slipping further with every shallow breath he takes. his chest rises. falls. rises again. but each time, it’s weaker. less certain. the machines beep softly, filling the silence with their cruel reminders.

the doctors said there was nothing left to do.

you don’t believe them.

you can’t.

"please."

your voice is barely there, cracking, shaking, fingers tightening over his. you aren’t sure who you’re speaking to—a god? the universe? fate?

"please don’t take him from me."

silence answers.

your eyes burn, but you don’t cry. not yet.

instead, your mind drifts—grasping at something, anything. a whisper at the back of your skull. a thought you should have buried the moment it formed.

you could fix this.

it’s insane. impossible. the kind of desperate, reckless thing only a person on the verge of breaking would consider.

but you are breaking.

so, when midnight comes—

you go looking for something that shouldn’t exist.

the hospital chapel is cold. too cold. the candles flicker weakly, their glow failing against the press of the dark.  

you step forward.  

"if you’re real," you murmur, your voice barely holding steady, "if the stories are true—if there’s anything out there listening—i need you."  

nothing.  

the silence stretches.  

you swallow, your throat raw. "death. the reaper. the devil. whoever you are, i’m calling you."  

the air shifts.  

the temperature drops, ice blooming across the stained-glass windows. the flickering candles shudder violently, their flames nearly snuffed out. the shadows stretch. move. the room bends, folds in on itself—  

and he steps forward.  

not like an apparition. not like a trick of the light.  

like something that was always here, waiting just beyond sight, stepping through now only because he chose to.  

tall. dressed in black, the fabric clinging to him like a second skin, sculpted over sharp, inhuman perfection. the world bends around him, unable to contain him. but it’s his eyes that trap you—bottomless, consuming, swallowing you whole.  

he smiles.  

"you called for me."  

the weight of him nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.  

he moves closer, the air growing thicker with every step, as if the space itself is collapsing around him. you can’t breathe. you can’t move.  

"did you think i wouldn’t come?"  

you force your voice out, barely a whisper. "i—i need your help.  

his smirk lingers, slow and knowing. "of course you do."  

another step. you feel it in your bones.  

"it’s my boyfriend," you manage. "he’s dying. the doctors can’t—" a breath. "but you can. can’t you?"  

something flickers in his gaze. interest? amusement? he tilts his head, drinking in every desperate inch of you.  

"saving a life is no small thing," he murmurs. "tell me, little one...what are you willing to offer in return?"  

"anything."  

the word leaves you too fast. too easy.  

his expression darkens. not displeased. interested.  

"you mortals," he says, stepping closer still. "so quick to make promises. so eager to throw yourselves at my feet." his fingers brush your cheek, cold as the grave. "and yet, you don’t even understand what you’re saying."  

you flinch, but you don’t pull away.  

his touch trails lower, his thumb ghosting over your pulse, feeling the way it pounds beneath his fingers. he hums, pleased.  

"you’re terrified," he murmurs, almost thoughtful. "and yet, here you are. still looking at me like i’m your salvation."  

your throat tightens. "can you do it or not?"  

his smirk returns, slow and cruel. "oh, little one," he purrs, tilting your chin higher, forcing you to meet his gaze. "i can do anything."  

the weight of his words sinks in. thick. suffocating. final.  

"but," he continues, dragging the moment out, savouring you, "nothing is ever free."  

you nod. "take whatever you want."  

his eyes gleam.  

"careful," he murmurs, voice dropping to something ruinous, curling around you like smoke. "a soul isn’t given, little one."  

his fingers tighten. his breath brushes your ear.  

"it’s taken."  

the shadows move.  

they devour the space between you, winding around your wrists, your throat. your breath catches. you can’t move. the weight of him—his presence, his voice—presses down like a vice, unstoppable.  

"you belong to me now," he whispers.  

the words sink into your skin. unshakeable. true.  

your knees buckle, but he catches you—slow, deliberate hands settling on your waist, pulling you closer. your breath stutters as his fingers tighten, the fabric of your shirt twisting beneath his grip.  

"did you really think," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, "that i would grant you mercy and let you simply walk away?"  

the candlelight flickers. the walls feel smaller, as if reality itself is shrinking to make room for him.  

"you don’t understand," you whisper, panic creeping in. "i just—i just wanted—"  

"to save him," he finishes, mockingly sweet. "yes, i know." his lips ghost along the edge of your jaw, not quite touching, just enough to make you ache. "and now i get to decide what saving really means."  

your stomach twists.  

his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, slow and possessive.  

"how far are you willing to go for him?" he muses, his breath cold against your throat. "would you bleed for him?" his teeth graze your pulse. "break for him?" his hands tighten on your hips. "would you let me ruin you for him?"  

the way he says it—ruin—makes something hot coil in your gut.  

"i—"  

he chuckles. dark. dangerous.  

"shhh," he murmurs, and suddenly you’re against the wall, his weight pressing into you, shadows curling tight around your wrists. his hands move—sliding up your stomach, your ribs, exploring.  

"do you feel that?" he whispers.  

your breath catches.  

"that little heartbeat of yours," he purrs, pressing his hips against yours. "racing for me."  

you whimper—because it’s true.  

his fingers move at the hem of your shirt, slow and teasing, tracing idle patterns against the soft skin of your stomach. his touch is cold—unnatural, seeping beneath your skin, branding you from the inside out. a reminder of what you are now. who you are now. 

his. 

"you’re shaking," he murmurs, voice smooth and rich, edged with amusement. "is that fear? or something else?" 

your breath catches as his fingers slide lower, just barely dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, never quite touching where you need him to. he knows. of course, he knows. 

"you don’t have to answer," he continues, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath freezing against your skin. "i can feel it. the way your pulse stutters. the way your body betrays you."  

his other hand brushes along your ribs, inching higher. not rushed. not desperate. tom riddle doesn’t hurry. he takes his time. he unravels.  

"you wanted this," he murmurs, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. "don’t lie to me."  

"i—i didn’t—"  

his hand tightens on your waist. not enough to hurt. just enough to remind you who holds the power here.  

"you begged for me," he says, his tone dark, slow, merciless. "you whispered my name like a prayer, and now you want to pretend you didn’t mean it?" 

your throat feels tight. "i just wanted to save him." 

his laughter is low, knowing, cruel. 

"is that what you keep telling yourself?" 

his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice a whisper of death, of inevitability. 

"that this was for him?" 

his fingers move lower, slipping beneath your jeans, and your body betrays you completely. 

a sharp inhale. your thighs clench. 

tom hums, pleased. 

"poor thing," he murmurs, dragging his fingers against you, feeling how wet you already are. "you don’t even realise, do you?" 

you shake your head. "realise what?" 

his fingers slide deeper, dragging through the slick heat between your legs, slow and taunting. 

"that you were never here for him," he whispers, lips brushing against your neck, his voice sinking into your skin like poison. "you were here for me." 

your breath stutters. his teeth graze your throat, sharp and deliberate. 

"say it," he murmurs. 

your eyes squeeze shut. "no." 

a low, warning sound rumbles in his chest. 

the next thing you know, his shadows are curling around your wrists, holding you still. his knee parts your thighs, pressing up between them, and the pressure is too much and not enough all at once. 

"say it," he commands, fingers curling inside you, forcing another whimper from your lips. 

you shake your head, biting your lip hard, trying to fight the way your hips are already rocking into his touch. 

"you really think you have a choice?" his breath ghosts over your lips, and his fingers thrust deeper, slow and devastating. 

your body betrays you again. a sharp gasp, the unbearable heat twisting inside you. 

tom laughs softly. "that’s what i thought." 

his shadows move—spreading your legs wider, pinning them open, holding you exactly how he wants you. 

"so sweet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out, dragging against every sensitive part of you, each movement slow, purposeful, designed to break you apart. 

"look at you," he croons, his free hand trailing up your stomach, your chest, curling around your throat. he doesn’t squeeze. not yet. just rests his fingers there, reminding you who owns you now. 

"dripping for me already," he murmurs, his voice mocking. "and i haven’t even fucked you yet." 

a flush burns through your skin. shame. desire. need. 

tom feels everything. he always does. 

"you hate that you like it," he whispers against your lips, his fingers slipping out of you just to drag through the slick wetness between your legs again, spreading it, teasing. 

he brings his fingers to your lips. "open." 

you hesitate. his eyes darken. 

"don’t make me ask again." 

your lips part, and he pushes his fingers into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, making you taste yourself. his gaze never leaves yours, watching as you suck, as your body submits without hesitation. 

"good girl," he breathes. 

heat coils tight in your stomach. 

his fingers slip from your lips, dragging down your body again, shoving your jeans lower, letting them pool at your ankles. you shiver, exposed, helpless, trapped between him and the wall. 

and then—he’s lowering himself. 

your breath catches. 

he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, slow, lingering, his lips too cold and too hot all at once. 

"say my name." 

you don’t know it. you shouldn’t. but the moment he says it, it’s already there, curling in the back of your mind like a whisper that was always waiting. 

tom. 

ancient. inevitable. the name presses against your lips before you even realise you’re saying it. 

and the moment you do? 

his smile sharpens. 

"you knew me before you even spoke it," he murmurs, voice dark and pleased. "because you’ve always belonged to me. haven’t you?" 

"tom—" 

his teeth scrape against soft skin, sharp and deliberate. 

"shhh," he murmurs. his fingers tighten on your hips, holding you still. "i’m not done with you yet." 

and then, his mouth is on you. 

a sharp cry rips from your lips, your body jerking against the shadows still holding you in place. his tongue cold, devastatingly skilled—fucks into you, slow and cruel, dragging against every sensitive inch of you. 

"you taste like sin," he murmurs, voice vibrating against you. 

your hips buck, but he doesn’t let you move. 

he devours you, licks into you like he’s starving, like he’s meant for this, like he wants to destroy you with pleasure. 

"you’re mine," he breathes against you, his tongue flicking just right, making your whole body shake.  

your hands claw at the stone wall, gasping, falling apart too fast. he won’t let you go until he gets what he wants. 

"say it," he demands, and his fingers slip inside you again, curling just right, fucking you with slow, merciless precision. 

you break. 

"i’m yours," you gasp, desperate, mindless, gone. "i’m yours. i belong to you." 

tom hums, satisfied, his lips pressing against the inside of your thigh one last time before he stands again, towering over you, his fingers dragging your slickness down your thigh. 

his smile is dark, knowing, victorious. "good girl," he murmurs.  

tom’s fingers move lazily over his belt, unfastening the buckle with slow, deliberate precision, as if he has all the time in the world. his gaze never leaves your face, watching the way your chest rises and falls too fast, how your body shakes even as you press yourself against the wall like you can somehow escape what’s coming. 

you can’t. 

his smirk deepens. he likes that you’re still pretending. 

he frees himself, the sight of it sending a fresh shiver through your already-ruined body. the weight of his cock presses against the front of his trousers, thick, aching, demanding attention, but he doesn’t hurry. he just watches you, drinking in your expression like it’s his favourite sin. 

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice smooth and cutting, filled with dark amusement. "still pretending you don’t want this." 

your throat is dry, your mind spinning. "i—" 

his fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet his. 

"careful," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, dragging it down just slightly, as if daring you to bite him. 

daring you to try.  

"you’re already mine," he says, voice a low, dangerous promise. "there’s no point in lying to yourself now."  

you shudder. his presence is too much, his body too close, his fingers too knowing as they slide down your throat, along the curve of your collarbone, tracing the shape of you like he’s memorising every inch.  

he leans in, his lips hovering just over yours, not kissing, just waiting, letting you feel the way his breath ghosts over your mouth. 

"you begged for this," he murmurs. "do you remember?" 

you swallow hard. 

his fingers curl around your throat, a light squeeze—not to hurt, just to remind you how easily he could. 

"tell me how you begged," he whispers, his free hand dragging down your stomach, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the mess he’s already made of you. 

you let out a broken sound, hips tilting forward into his touch despite yourself. 

tom smirks. "that’s right. just like that. so eager." 

he presses harder, his fingers teasing you again, but not quite giving you what you need. 

"tell me what you said," he orders. 

your cheeks burn. "i—" 

his grip tightens slightly around your throat. "say it." 

your breath shudders out of you. "i said i’d give you anything." 

his low chuckle vibrates against your skin, dark and pleased. 

"and here you are," he murmurs, his hand finally slipping lower, fingers spreading you open, teasing the aching, sensitive heat between your legs. 

"dripping for me. desperate for me. mine." 

your eyes squeeze shut as he strokes you, slow and cruel, dragging his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, playing with you like you’re something fragile and breakable and already ruined beyond repair.  

his cock presses against your stomach, hard and aching, and the realisation of how big he is makes something tighten deep in your belly.  

he sees it. of course he does.  

"you should be afraid," he murmurs, his fingers still fucking into you, slow and devastating. "but look at you."  

his grip shifts, his free hand sliding down your waist, your hips, his fingers pressing against the softest parts of you, mapping you, memorising the way your body responds to him.  

"you love this," he breathes against your lips. "the fear. the power. me."  

your whole body burns. your pulse races beneath his hand, a frantic thing, a desperate, helpless thing. 

he nudges your legs wider, forcing you open for him, the shadows around your wrists tightening just slightly. 

"say it," he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your slick heat, not pushing in yet, just teasing, making sure you feel every second of this. 

you whimper. "i—i don’t—" 

tom laughs softly, shaking his head. 

"you still think you have a choice?" 

his hips snap forward, and you feel him push inside, the stretch too much and perfect all at once, his cock forcing your body to take him, to open for him. 

a sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers clawing at the stone wall. his shadows tighten around your wrists, keeping you exactly where he wants you. 

his growl is low, pleased, satisfied, dark. 

"fuck," he breathes, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you still as he buries himself completely inside you. 

you feel every inch of him. the slow, devastating drag of it. 

"you’re perfect," he mutters, his lips brushing against your jaw, your ear, your throat. 

his fingers press against your lower stomach, right where he’s stretching you open. 

"do you feel that?" he whispers. "how deep i am?" 

you can’t speak. can’t think. your body trembles beneath him, every nerve lit with fire.  

"you take me so well," he breathes, pulling out slowly, dragging every inch of his cock against your aching, sensitive walls, before snapping his hips forward again, making you cry out.  

"fuck, that’s it," he murmurs, setting a slow, merciless rhythm, fucking you deep and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch, every stroke, every deliberate claim.  

"tell me who you belong to," he demands, his voice low and sharp, his fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still as he ruins you completely.  

your eyes flutter.  

"say it," he growls, his thrusts deep and hard and inescapable, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.  

"i—" your breath shatters.  

his hand slides lower, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing just right, just enough, pushing you too close, too fast.  

"say it, or i stop."  

a broken sob escapes your lips.  

"i’m yours," you gasp, voice wrecked, shaking, completely gone.  

tom groans, thrusting into you harder, the sound of skin against skin, the wet, filthy noises of your bodies echoing in the dim chapel.  

"that’s my girl," he breathes, voice raw and dark and victorious.  

"you were always mine."  

and then he makes you prove it. 

his fingers press against your lower stomach, just above the place where he’s already buried so deep inside you. 

"feel that?" his voice is low, mocking, dragging through the thick heat between you. "i’m so deep in this pretty little cunt, i can feel myself inside you." 

you don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t. 

you’re already falling apart, shaking beneath him, the stretch of him too much and not enough all at once. he’s big, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you, the slow, deliberate way he moves making it worse, making it unbearable. 

"fuck, you’re tight," he groans, fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still as he ruins you completely. 

your nails scrape against the stone wall, trying to hold onto something, but there’s nothing to hold onto—only him, only the slow, punishing drag of his cock, only the way he’s filling you so completely there isn’t a single part of you he hasn’t claimed. 

and he knows it. 

"taking me so well," he murmurs, his breath hot and cold against your skin, dragging his lips along your throat, your jaw, your cheek. "look at you. a perfect little mess. so wet for me. so fucking eager." 

you whimper, hips shifting against his, already desperate for more. 

tom chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "i should have made you beg for it longer," he murmurs, his voice low and cruel, hips snapping forward just a little harder, making you gasp. "you would have. in the end." 

he knows what he’s doing—knows exactly how to break you apart, how to push you closer to the edge, how to make you forget anything but him. 

his pace shifts, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, his fingers slipping lower, spreading you open with every slow, devastating stroke. 

"look at you, dripping down my cock already," he breathes, watching the way your body clenches around him, how easy it is for him to fuck you open. "so fucking good for me." 

a sharp moan rips from your throat, your body shuddering as pleasure coils tight in your stomach. 

he can feel it. of course, he can. 

"you’re close," he murmurs, sounding so fucking pleased with himself. "come on, let me feel it. let me feel this pretty little cunt squeeze me when you come." 

his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, circling just right, pushing you over the edge so fast you barely have time to breathe. 

a sharp cry, your whole body trembling, the pleasure so intense it nearly pulls you under completely. 

tom groans, thrusting deeper, fucking you through it, watching you fall apart with something dark and hungry in his eyes. 

"that’s it," he breathes, voice rough and raw, fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he snaps his hips forward faster, chasing his own release now. 

"you feel so fucking good," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, harder, deeper, inescapable. "so fucking perfect. like you were made for me." 

his hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back just slightly, enough for his teeth to scrape against your throat, for his breath to ghost over your ear. 

"you’re mine now," he murmurs, fucking you deep, slow, merciless, making sure you feel every inch, every stroke, every claim. 

your breath shatters, your body still shaking from your orgasm, but it only makes him thrust harder, rougher, filthier, dragging every last bit of pleasure out of you. 

"fuck—" his voice is low, desperate, his pace losing rhythm, his cock throbbing inside you as he finally lets go, slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, hot and thick and completely fucking inescapable. 

his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you take every drop of him. 

for a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, your body limp and ruined against the stone wall, his hands still gripping your waist like he’s not ready to let go. 

then, slowly, his lips ghost over your jaw, your cheek, your ear. 

"that’s it," he murmurs, voice rough and sated, fingers sliding down your trembling thighs, spreading you open again, as if admiring the way he’s left you dripping, shaking, completely wrecked. 

"you look so fucking pretty like this," he breathes, his thumb swiping between your legs, dragging through the mess he’s made of you. 

your body shudders at the overstimulation, but he only smirks, watching every little reaction, every twitch, every shiver. 

"you’re not done yet, little one," he murmurs, low and dark and utterly unshaken. 

his fingers tease you again, just barely. a warning. a promise. 

"we’ve only just begun." 

─────────────────────

the steady beep of the heart monitor is the first thing you hear.

soft. rhythmic. real.

you blink against the sterile white glow of the hospital room, your body aching, your head swimming. the chair beneath you is stiff and uncomfortable; your fingers curled around a warm, living hand.

his hand.

your breath stutters. your boyfriend lies in the bed beside you, chest rising and falling with a steady, even rhythm. alive. he’s alive.

his eyelids flutter before his gaze slowly meets yours. familiar. safe. confused.

"hey," he murmurs, voice weak and worn. "you stayed."

a strangled noise catches in your throat. tears spill over, hot and uncontrollable, as you lurch forward, clutching him too tightly, burying your face against his neck.

he’s warm. so fucking warm.

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget. trying to convince yourself it was just a dream.

the shadows. the ice in your veins. the cold weight of him inside you.

no. it didn’t happen. it couldn’t have happened.

you saved him. that’s all that matters.

you force yourself to pull away, swiping at your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. "i—yeah. of course, i stayed. where else would i be?"

a soft smile tugs at his lips before exhaustion takes him under again, his eyes slipping closed.

you exhale, shaking hands still curled around his, willing the weight in your chest to disappear.

it was nothing.

it was just a nightmare.

a breath. another.

you can almost believe it—until the air shifts.

it’s subtle. just a whisper of something wrong. the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, your stomach twisting.

a shadow moves in the corner of your vision.

your pulse stops.

slowly—too slowly—your gaze drags to the mirror mounted on the wall beside you. the reflection stares back. the dim hospital lighting. the crisp sheets. your boyfriend’s still, sleeping body.

and him.

standing behind you.

your breath catches.

he looks the same as he did before—perfect and terrible and so impossibly there—watching you with those bottomless black eyes, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth.

your chest tightens, throat constricting, fingers gripping your boyfriend’s hand too hard. but he doesn’t react. doesn’t see what you see.

because there is nothing there.

you squeeze your eyes shut.

"not real."

"not real. not real. not—"

a slow, quiet chuckle presses against your ear.

"sweet little liar," tom murmurs.

your lungs collapse.

you spin around, heart hammering, but—nothing.

the hospital room is still. silent.

your gaze snaps back to the mirror—but it’s empty.

just you.

just the bed.

just your boyfriend, alive and well.

your pulse thrums wildly beneath your skin, hands trembling as you pull them away from him, curling them into your lap. your nails dig into your palms, hard enough to hurt. hard enough to ground you.

it was nothing.

it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

the exhaustion. the grief.

that’s all.

you inhale slowly, pressing a shaking hand to your temple, trying to push him out of your thoughts.

but the burn of his touch still lingers on your skin.

your body still aches from the way he ruined you.

and somewhere in the deepest part of you, you know.

you can run. you can pretend. you can wake up to the morning light and convince yourself it was only a nightmare.

but tom riddle doesn’t grant mercy.

and when he comes for you again—

you won’t wake up at all.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭

[smut-anarchy]

gawd damn someone hold me back 😩😩

omg omg omg breeding kink w theo or/and tom plsplspls

theo’s breeding kink is baseline. engraved in his dna id think lol. tom’s only comes out when he’s so fucking feralized and dumbed out he isn’t thinking straight

[smut-anarchy]

[smut-anarchy]

NEW PFP NEW PFP

YOU NOTICED

[smut-anarchy]

those of you waiting on chapter 7 of the own me series i am soooo sorry 😭

i had planned for it to be posted today but my cat broke my laptop screen while i was writing it

im hoping to have it back tomorrow so hopefully i can edit and post tomorrow or wednesday

xoxo

angel

[smut-anarchy]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[smut-anarchy]

no one talk to me

im bby and now idk what to do with myself 😩😩

im supposed to be chill and act casual buuuut

OMG HIIIII WE’RE MUTUALS?!?? ILY 🫶

ur so cute bby

∧,,,∧ (  ̳• · • ̳) /    づ♡ ly bunchies

[smut-anarchy]

starting to suspect that tech bros actually just don’t know what reading is

[smut-anarchy]

😩😩😩

the way i would NEVA miss a day of his sermons

⋆˙⟡ you give cult leader!theo a blowjob during a sermon

hello, hi. here i am, with probably my favourite and the most challenging to write au. hoping that y’all will match my freak with this one.

warnings: 18+ mdni, cult dynamics (duh), power imbalance, religious terminology, public blowjob, mentions of gagging, praise

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; cult leader!theo

the whole main area of the temple is taut with anticipation as soon as teacher theodore walks onto his podium. he sits down onto his black leather chair, raising his hand to silence everyone, although it’s already pretty quiet – but now even the smallest of whispers die down. his calm gaze slowly drifts over the room, making every single one of your fellow believers shiver, and you’re no exception. you watch with awe as the man scans the room, and eventually, his fascinating blue eyes land on you.

"you, my dear," he drawls, his voice enveloping you like the warmest blanket and simultaneously igniting a fire inside your body that not a single soul can put out except for him. "come here."

excitement nearly bubbles over in your stomach as you stand up from the floor, trying to keep your legs from trembling – you have to show him that his choice tonight is worth it, that you’re worth the grace he’s shown you. as you approach him, you can feel the stares of others burning into your back, but you don’t mind them, you barely even notice – your entire being is filled with theodore, him, him, him.

your reverent eyes never leave his face as you kneel between his spread legs and kiss the back of his hand, your hands obediently resting on your thighs as you wait for your cue. you can’t help clutching the fabric of your white robe just a little as you feel the heat starting to spread in your stomach – but it’s all about him right now, and it always is.

theodore looks down at you, his gaze lingering on your awestruck face, and nods. giving your best to staying collected, you nod in return and lift your hands up to unbuckle the belt of his trousers. theodore watches you for a moment longer, and then his attention shifts to the room filled with the rest of the disciples. his soothing voice begins to waft through the air like silk and honest combined, and you try not to get completely lost in it. you have to focus. you have a task.

as quietly as you can, you pull the zipper down, then his trousers and briefs. his cock is already half-hard, which makes you simultaneously salivate, and your chest fill with pride – usually, the other girls and guys have to work a bit to get him to this state. you don’t know if it’s your luck, but you wouldn’t dream of questioning it; it’s your first time being picked for the pleasure purpose, and you’re determined to make a good impression in hopes of becoming a new favourite.

you lean in, your breath ghosting over theodore’s skin, and notice his cock twitch at the sensation. even the smallest movement makes you preen, but you try not to get lost to your selfishness. your hand comes up to grab him at the base, and you feel him harden more, his cock now standing straight in your hold. he’s so big – you’ve been dying to get a taste ever since you first saw it, but have been patently waiting for your turn until now.

your tongue sticks out to lick a wet stripe up to the tip, where your lips wrap around it. you give an almost tentative swirl, knowing that you can’t rush – the sermon can last up to an hour, and you have to draw it out until the very end. you don’t want to disappoint the teacher. you starts sucking in the tip, and your mind fills with the overwhelming sense of adoration – you still can’t believe that you’re the one given the honor of pleasing theodore tonight.

you fail to register the words he’s saying, which makes your cheeks heat up with shame – just because you’ve been chosen doesn’t excuse you from taking in the preachings. yet you can’t help yourself – his cock fits too good in your mouth, like it was made to slide right in and out. as you take him deeper, the tip hot and pulsating against the roof of your mouth, a wave of tingles washes over your belly. your hand itches to drop down between your legs, but you’re fully aware it’s not allowed. if you’re good and lucky enough, teacher theodore will give you release after the sermon is over. until then, he’s the center of your world.

as the minutes pass, your jaw starts to hurt a little from being stretched to its absolute limit around theodore’s thickness. your head slowly bobs up and down, the slick sounds of your saliva coating his cock quiet enough not to disturb the sermon, yet you’re sure the entire temple can hear them. this knowledge makes you proud of yourself yet again – they know, they should know that you’re the one making theodore feel good at this moment. you know you shouldn’t feel possessive of your teacher, yet you allow yourself the weakness, even if only deep inside your soul.

when theodore’s hand lands on the top of your head, you know it’s a sign. the sermon is close to an end, which means you have to speed up. a bit too excited, you take him in fully, making the tip of his cock suddenly hit the back of your throat. you gag, immediately knowing that you shouldn’t have – your eyes flicker up, meeting theodore’s ocean blue ones, and his eyebrow is raised. you’re unsure if it’s a sign of disapproval or amusement, for his expression is usually hard to read. you can’t apologize – you’re filled with him to the brim, but when his attention shifts back to the crowd behind you, you take it as a sign to continue.

you taste the saltiness of precum soon enough, and you can only hope that the timing is right. theodore’s hand tightens a bit in your hair, signifying the fact that he’s close – and he doesn’t stop you, meaning you’re doing a good job. your pace picks up, saliva dripping out of the corners of your mouth as his length disappears into the tightness of your mouth over and over again. you gag again, yet at this point it doesn’t really matter – theodore’s cock starts throbbing, and the warmth of his seed coats the walls of your throat. his voice never falters above you, but you can feel the way his fingers dig into your scalp, and it’s the most pleasant sting you have ever felt on your body.

as you lick him through the orgasm, throughly cleaning him up, theodore closes the sermon, dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand. you don’t dare to pull away until he tugs at your hair, his other hand softly caressing your chin, lifting up your face. you look up, your eyes filled with endless devotion. theodore takes in the sight of your swollen lips, your jaw which hands slack due to being open for so long, your glassy eyes that are nearly tearing up, and his gaze softens.

"you did well, darling. very well," he murmurs, and your heart grows a few sizes too big for your chest. you did well. his praise is all you could ask for yet could never dream of.

"meet me in my room in ten minutes. you deserve a reward, my dear."

if you weren’t on your knees already, they would surely buckle. you nod, accepting his invitation for what it is; you know the others will notice you heading to his house on the grounds later, and it fills you with a sense of accomplishment. it’s rare to earn yourself an honor of getting a reward from the teacher, and it certainly feels like a win. maybe, just maybe you could become a new favourite, after all.

[smut-anarchy]

holy shiiiiiiiiii 😩😩😩😩😩

i don’t even read stuff with Harry but this was so fucking hot

Freefall | D.M. & H.P

feat Draco Malfoy x roommate!reader x Harry Potter

SUMMARY: Secrets can only stay buried for so long in a cramped London flat. When the truth finally comes out, your relationship with your flatmates, Harry and Draco, will never be the same.

CW: MDNI 18+, college roommates!au, smut, mfm, slight angst, pining!drarry, going from friends/roommates to friends with benefits, dom!draco and switch!harry

AN: much more to come! I wouldn't call this a series, more like a collection of fics/drabbles/headcanons. my asks are open if there's anything you'd like to see!

masterlist

“Here, taste this,” Harry said, approaching the kitchen island where you were combing through your coursework, spoon covered in sauce held aloft.

You opened your mouth, not looking up from the passage on the Demiguise.

Harry chuckled, feeding you the bit of sauce. You smacked your lips, tasting the marinara Harry's made one hundred times. “Needs a bit more garlic,” you said. “But otherwise perfect.”

“You always say that,” Harry teased, rolling his eyes as he turned back to his sauce. There was something so warm about Harry, so safe, with his fluffy black hair and broad shoulders, his easy smile and quick wit.

“It's always true,” you argued, taking a sip of your wine to hide your smile.

Music from one of his muggle records filled the air, something acoustic and folksy that added to the peaceful vibe of the flat, carefully curated by yourself and your other roommate, Draco. The two of them needed a sanctuary after every they endured, and your shared flat became exactly that. A safe harbor from the chaotic world.

“Need a refill?” Harry asked, glancing at your almost empty glass, always trying to take be helpful.

“Trying to get me drunk, Potter?”

“Are we drinking?” Draco strode out from his room, his platinum hair still damp from the shower, dressed in a Slytherin crew neck and sweatpants. Your mouth went a little dry at the sight of him, the clean smell lingering on his skin, and you swallowed the rest of your wine.

“Someone is,” Harry chuckled, flashing you a cheeky smile.

Draco entered the kitchen, moving around Harry to grab a wine glass from a tall cabinet, his shirt riding up a bit to reveal the smooth skin of his lower abdomen.

“Ow! Fucker,” Harry hissed, shaking out his hand. “Damn stove.”

Draco snickered, pouring himself a generous glass of wine and topping up yours. “Distracted, Potter?” he teased, and a a flush crawled up Harry’s neck.

“Leave him alone,” you chastised, beckoning the spectacled boy towards you with a crooked finger. “Or else he’ll stop cooking for us.”

“Maybe for Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, placing his hand in your outstretched palm.

“Well, can’t have that. I’d starve to death.” Draco smirked, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of wine.

“Episkey,” you cast, healing the burn on Harry’s finger with a swipe of your thumb. “There we go,” you hummed, grinning at him.

“T-thanks,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

“How convenient, having our own pretty nurse at home,” Draco said, winking at you when you flipped him off.

Harry playfully checked Draco’s shoulder when he returned to the kitchen, and Draco muttered something in Harry’s ear, making him roll his eyes with a coy half-smile. They dove into conversation about their shared Auror classes, drastically different than your own courses for your Magical Creatures degree.

You turned back to your work, trying to tune them out and ignoring the increasingly familiar feeling of otherness that trickled in. Harry and Draco had a past that was inextricably entwined, two sides of the same coin, and their bond often left you feeling like a third-wheel in your own flat. Usually it didn't bother you, but the feelings had grown stronger and stronger over the last few weeks, creeping into almost every interaction with them and sucking the joy out of it. Tonight, it sat like a stone in your stomach.

You missed them, even though they were only a few feet away from you and you occupied the same 900 square foot space.

After a few minutes, Draco sidled up next you, leaning over your shoulder to read your notes. “Still studying, love?” He asked, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear.

You suppressed a shiver. Draco loved nothing more than to get a rise out of you and Harry, and you weren’t in the mood to stroke his ego.

“Yes, I am,” you replied, voice more clipped than you intended, and you caught him and Harry share a look over you head, fueling your irritation.

Draco didn’t push, retreating back to his place in the kitchen. He and Harry continued to mutter to one another and exchange meaningful looks while Harry finished up dinner, acting as if you weren’t there at all.

Sometimes, if felt like they could read each other's minds, shared a connection deeper than words. Like two great trees with tangled roots, communicating in a language only the two of them understood.

Just when you were about to gather your things and hole up in your room for the night to wallow in self-pity, Harry set a plate under your nose, piled high with pasta.

“Added extra garlic for you,” he murmured, giving you a soft smile, and some of your irritation unwound.

“Thanks,” you said, a bit sheepish about your attitude.

“Course, can’t let you go hungry,” he teased, turning back to make his own plate.

Your heart gave a weak trill, but you quickly squashed it down. You were being silly, you all were just friends, roommates. They didn’t owe you anything, least of all a place in their hard-earned inner circle.

Their lives were full, and there wasn’t room for you.

After dinner, you retreated to your room to shower, trying to pull yourself together. They had enough going on in their lives; the last thing they needed was your drama on top of everything else.

But no matter what you told yourself, the feeling lingered, sour on your stomach and bitter on your tongue.

Hair towel dried and dressed in a PJ set, you ventured back out into the living room. It was empty, but the large window leading to the fire escape was cracked open, low, masculine voices floating on the air.

You debated making yourself a cup of tea and leaving them to it, but your curiosity won out. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and lifted the window, stepping out onto the small balcony.

Harry was leaned against the railing, hands stuffed in his hoodie, and Draco was perched on the iron steps leading to the next floor, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

To your surprise, the air was thick with tension, heavy like an incoming storm. Draco's shoulders were up to his ears, the smoke from his cigarette hanging like smog in the London streetlights.

Was it because of you?

Harry moved to help you down, his hand steady and strong in yours, and closed the window behind you. “It's cold out here,” he cautioned, noting your still damp hair. “Is that blanket warm enough?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile of thanks. “Am I, uh, interrupting?” You asked, looking up at Draco. He looked so handsome in the low light, shadows sharpening his jaw, the cherry of the cigarette making his light eyes glow.

He shook his head, taking another drag.

“Course not.” Harry rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, leaning against the railing once again. He wasn't nearly as good of a liar as Draco.

“What were you talking about?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

“Just school stuff—”

“Nothing—”

They spoke at the same time, interrupting each other, then fell quiet again.

“Uh-huh,” you crossed your arms over your chest. “Don't stop on my account,” you said, sitting on the window sill and pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

But, as you suspected, they stayed mum, exchanging a glance you couldn't decipher.

You wish it didn't, but it made you feel so alone, so…jealous. You craved their closeness more than anything.

“If you tell me what's going on, maybe I could help,” you offered.

Harry’s eyes softened. “Everything's okay. Please don't worry about us.”

“Of course I'm going to worry about you,” you countered, the edge of your voice betraying the hurt feelings you were trying to shove down.

Harry frowned, concern drawing his dark brows together. “I know, but…”

Draco stubbed his cigarette on the steps. “Come here,” he said, extending a hand to you.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

Uncertainty made your heart beat quicken, but you placed your fingers in Draco’s palm. He drew you up and between his knees on the steps, guiding your hand to wrap around his middle. The warmth of his body overruled your hesitation, and you leaned into his chest, head resting on his shoulder.

He smelled like smoke and his amber body wash, and something new fluttered to life in your belly.

“Potter’s right,” Draco murmured, his voice resonant in his chest. “You shouldn't worry about us.”

You didn't reply, unable to articulate why ‘us’ bothered you so much. Just another reminder that there was them, and then there was you.

You glanced up at Draco, finding his eyes not trained on you, but on Harry, molten like fired glass, and your hurt deepened. You tried to pull away, but Draco locked an arm around your shoulders, his gaze flicking down to yours.

You turned away, averting your eyes.

“Please don't be upset,” Harry said, a twinge of worry in his voice. “We just don't want you too—”

“We're trying to protect you,” Draco said.

You pulled back, and Draco let you, though he didn't let you step out from between his long legs. “Protect me from what? Memories?” You asked, looking to Harry.

“Memories are powerful,” he said. “They're a burden. We’re a burden, and we don't want to put that on you.”

You stared at him. “A burden?” You hissed, pulling away from Draco fully to face Harry. “How could you think that?”

Harry couldn't look at you, his eyes on the ground. “We said we would never make your life harder, pile our shit onto your shoulders after you were kind enough to open your home,” he muttered. “You don't deserve that.”

“That’s what friends do,” you said, throat thick with frustrated tears. “I thought we were friends.”

Harry's head snapped up, pain evident in his eyes. “We are friends,” he insisted, pushing off the railing to approach you. “That's why we—”

“We,” you scoffed. “You don't get it, Harry.” You turned away from him, only to bump directly into Draco's chest, his expression hard.

“You really want to know what we were talking about?” He asked, jaw feathering with tension.

“That's not—”

“It is, though. Isn't it? You're feeling left out.”

You flushed, turning away from his too-perceptive gaze, but he caught your chin with his hand, forcing you look up at him.

“Malfoy,” Harry warned.

“No, if she wants the truth, she'll have it.” Draco shot Harry a look, and the other boy made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Draco looked back at you, a reckless sort of intensity in his eyes. “Potter here was telling me about how he asked you to taste the sauce just so he could feed it to you. It's why he made it in the first place.”

“Draco,” Harry snapped, and your eyes widened in shock.

“And then I told him that I liked your new body wash—coconut or something? And that I wondered what it tasted like on your skin.” He backed you against the brick wall, his body warm and solid against yours. Your heart was beating so loud, you almost couldn't hear him. “That the reason I came out here was because the fucking smell of you, hot and wet and naked in the shower, was driving me mad, and I was this close to charging into that bathroom and eating you for dessert.”

You were stunned silent, staring up at him in complete and utter disbelief. He wanted you? They both wanted you?

“Draco, I—”

“You wanted to know the big fucking secret, darling. That's it. We're both completely and utterly obsessed with you, sick with it.” His breath was hot against your cheek, the rumble of his voice swirling around the shell of your ear and making you shiver, that flutter you felt earlier building to a twister of want, the clarity sudden and striking.

You were jealous and hurting because you wanted them.

“We haven’t said anything because—because we don't want to ruin the one friendship we have that isn't rooted in our past,” Harry added, wringing his hands together. “We don't want to lose you, or make you uncomfortable.”

Draco moved to step back, uncertainty creeping into his expression, and a bolt of fear pierced your heart. No, no, no. You grabbed him without thinking, letting your blanket fall to the ground

“You couldn't lose me,” you admitted. “I want you both too.”

“You want us too?” Draco asked, skeptical eyes searching your face.

“Please,” you whispered.

He immediately folded, crushing you back against the wall, and crashed his mouth to your in a rough, desperate kiss. He groaned low in his throat, the sound turning your core to liquid, and drove his tongue into your mouth, swiftly taking control of the kiss. You were putty in his hands, flayed open for him to claim, to ravage with tongue and teeth. It felt like you were flying. Like he'd picked you up and dropped you over the edge of the roof. Plummeting. Freefall.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he rasped, kissing down your jaw and lapping at the place where your pulse surged under your skin. In a quick movement, Draco spun your around, his back to the wall with your back pressed to his front, his arms bracketed around your middle.

Harry was standing there, eyes wide and cheeks pink, his grip tight on the railing behind him.

“Harry,” you whined, voice pitching higher when Draco's mouth found the sweet spot under your ear.

“I—”

“Bloody hell, Potter. Fucking kiss her.” Draco ordered, and Harry surged forward like he was waiting for permission. His hands reached up to cradle your face as his lips connected with yours. Harry's kiss was softer, more timid than Draco's. A question, rather than a command.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie, drawing him closer as you licked along the seam of his lips, tasting wine and his honey lip balm as he parted for you, gliding his tongue along yours.

“Fucking finally,” Draco purred, his hand sliding under your shirt to splay across your stomach, pressing you tighter against him. “How's she taste, Potter?” He asked, his other hand coming up to rest against your throat.

“Like heaven,” Harry murmured, breath hitching when you nipped at his lower lip. He pressed himself harder against you, squishing you between their bodies, and you gasped, hands flying up to tangle in Harry’s unruly hair.

Harry grew a bit bolder, licking into your mouth with hungry strokes. Your hips canted forward, your pussy practically begging for attention, and you felt Harry's erection press against your hip, throbbing beneath his pajama pants.

“What a good girl,” Draco cooed, his hand sneaking higher to cup your breast, his thumb grazing your taught nipple. You moaned into Harry's mouth, arching your spine to press your chest into Draco's palm. “Being so sweet for us.” Draco tightened his hand around your throat, grinding his erection into your ass.

Harry's hands wandered south, pawing at your curves over your pajamas until he gripped your ass, rocking your more intentionally against him and Draco.

Draco hissed through his teeth when Harry's hand grazed his cock. You thought maybe it was an accident until you felt Harry smile, the slightest quirk of his mouth, as he brushed Draco's cock again.

“Inside, now,” Draco rumbled, shifting off the wall and send you and Harry stumbling forward.

Harry steadied you, a hand on your hip. “Is that what you want?” He asked, searching your face.

“Yes.” You nodded, tugging him in by the hoodie strings for a quick peck. “I want you,” you murmured against his lips, and he grinned.

“Come on, then,” Draco called, already inside, a hand extended to you. You took it and he hauled you inside, placing a hand over the bottom of the open window so you didn't hit your head in your haste. Harry clamored in right behind you, shutting and locking the window while Draco guided you to sit down on the couch, his lips on yours again.

Harry sat on the other side of you, shirking his hoodie. Draco leaned you back to drape across Harry's thighs, pushing up your shirt to kiss across your hips. Harry tugged the shirt over your head, exposing your chest to them.

“So pretty, sweetheart,” Harry murmured, his fingertips grazing over your ribcage, the other draped over the back of the couch. You felt like you were burning, desire spreading under your skin like a brush fire.

“Lift your hips for me, love,” Draco said, looking up at your through blond lashes. You obeyed, leaning more of your weight onto Harry, and Draco hooked his fingers into your waist band, sliding down your pants and panties in one go.

It struck you how normal this all felt. How comfortable and right.

Draco spread your legs, fingertips dimpling into your tender skin. His lips connected with your inner thigh, feather light and teasing as he trailed closer towards your dripping pussy.

Harry's hand cupped your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples lightly, just enough pressure to make you squirm, head falling back onto the couch. His eyes bounced around your body, like he couldn't decide where to focus his attention.

“Merlin, please,” you whined when Draco kissed just north of your clit, smirking against your skin.

“Please what, baby?” Draco asked, resting his cheek on your thigh.

“Please touch me.” You tangled your fingers into Draco's hair, nudging him closer to your core. “Please.”

Harry groaned above you, his cock kicking against your shoulder. But he continued his leisurely ministrations, following Draco's lead. Their easy, instinctual dynamic made your head a little fuzzy, your pussy ache.

Draco hummed, gliding his thumb over your slit, collecting the honey waiting for him. You moaned, hips chasing Draco's touch, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Holding your gaze, he swiped his tongue over his thumb, tasting you. You loosed an aggravated huff, squirming between them.

Harry shushed you, petting your head like you were an unruly kitten. “Stop torturing her, D,” Harry said, glaring down at the blond.

Draco tsked. “But don't you want a taste?” He asked, dragging two fingers through you before lifting them to Harry's mouth.

Harry’s eyes widened, going a bit glassy, and he nodded. Draco smirked triumphantly and fed his fingers between the other boys lips. Harry moaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he sucked your slick off Draco's long fingers, his tongue twining around his knuckles.

You whimpered, thighs clenching around Draco.

“Can you blame me for wanting to savor this?” Draco murmured, slipping his fingers from Harry’s mouth and bringing them back between your legs. He eased his middle finger inside of you, pumping slowly and watching your face crumble in pleasure, a broken moans spilling from your lips.

Harry placed a hand behind your head, lifting your face to his for an eager kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, heady and sweet, and you tangled your fingers into his hair, drawing him closer, kissing him harder.

Draco added another finger, scissoring you open and massaging your gummy walls with precision. His lips found your clit, nursing gently, and pleasure bloomed through you, a burgeoning glow in your belly. You gasped into Harry's mouth when he tweaked your nipples again, tugging his hair hard enough to make him whimper.

Draco kissed up your body, his fingers still fucking into you, and dragged his tongue along your cheek, a silent question. You turned your head to kiss him, his nose and chin covered in your slick. Harry nosed closer, licking at the mess along Draco's chin, and he turned, catching Harry's lips in a sloppy, almost competitive dueling of tongues. Harry groaned when you licked and kissed down his neck, Draco's fingers still coaxing soft moans from your lips.

You grabbed at the hem of Draco's shirt, struggling to pull it off in the tangle of limbs, and Draco chuckled, sitting back on his heels. He withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean before standing up to undress himself.

Harry shifted behind you, tossing his t-shirt aside. You sat up, shifting to straddle him, the only thing separating you the thin fabric of his pajama pants. You'd seen Harry shirtless countless times, his tanned skin drawn tight over lean muscles from years of Quidditch and Auror training, but having him spread out beneath you, yours to enjoy, made your cunt quiver with anticipation, your mouth fill with saliva.

Harry flushed under your gaze, averting his eyes from your openly appreciative expression. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, in a trail towards his ear.

“You're gorgeous, Harry,” you murmured, rolling your hips over the thick bulge between his legs. He groaned, hands moving from your thighs to grip your hips.

“Isn't he?” Draco hummed, taking a swallow of wine while he watched the two of you, an almost predatory glint in his eye. “Was always jealous that I never filled out like that.” He chuckled.

“Oh, sod off,” Harry said, breathless as you slowly rocked against him. “You were always the hot one.”

“Never said I wasn't,” Draco smirked, setting the wine glass down.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him with a kiss, drawing his attention back to you.

His hips bucked up into you, his cock so hard it had to be painful. Desperate to be sheathed inside you. You were ravenous for him too, plagued by the absence left by Draco's fingers. The grinding grew more intense as your need mounted, rough and sloppy in a way that had the two of you whining into the kiss, waiting for…something.

Draco leaned on the back of the couch behind Harry, smoothing your hair from your face. “You look unbelievable right now, darling,” he murmured. “So perfect for us. Right, Potter?”

Harry nodded, his face buried into the crook of your neck, calloused hands like a vice on your hips.

“You want to fuck her, Harry?” Draco combed his fingers through Harry's dark waves, tugging his head back against the couch.

“Merlin, yes. Want to fuck you so bad, love,” he panted up at you, glasses fogging from the heat of his body.

“Yes, please, Harry. Need you,” you moaned, your swollen clit dragging against his cock in a way that made you see stars.

“Go on, then. What are you waiting for?” Draco purred, knowing damn well you were waiting for his permission, even if you didn't quite know why.

Both you and Harry were too far gone to respond to his teasing. Harry wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you up so he could free himself from his bottoms. You couldn't see what he was packing from your position, but when the head nudged your entrance, it felt like a fist prodding at you.

“Holy fuck, Harry—” you gasped, grabbing onto Draco when the head breeched your pussy, Harry grunting beneath you at the tight fit.

“Seven bloody saints, baby. S'fucking tight,” he groaned, his face buried in your tits.

“Relax, love,” Draco soothed, caressing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You can take it.”

“Fuck, fuck—ngh, it's too big,” you cried, even as your pussy stretched around Harry’s length, accepting him inch by torturous inch.

“It’s alright, darling. You're doing so well already.” Draco placed a tender kiss to your forehead. “Isn't she, Potter?”

“M'trying to be careful, baby but f-fuck,” Harry grated, his hips stuttering up, a flicker of pain making you whimper. “Sorry, sorry. You just feel so good.” Harry kissed up your sternum, his free hand coming up to angle your head down towards him. “Just a little more,” he murmured, your forehead resting on his. His chest rose and fell in a deep breath, and you mirrored him, breathing in tandem through the final stretch.

Your full weight settled onto his hips, his cock buried inside of you, and you both moaned as the pain morphed into pleasure, lips connecting an airy, breathless kiss.

You flexed your thighs, lifting up on Harry's cock before rolling back down, gasping into Harry's mouth at the delicious, full feeling.

“Fuck, just like that,” Harry moaned, using his grip on your hips to help you slide up and down his cock. “Merlin, you're so fucking sexy.”

Your head tipped back on your shoulders, moans spilling freely as Harry started bucking up into you, cockhead kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust and making your eyes cross. You could feel him everywhere, ecstasy humming along your nerves and sweetening your blood, the sound of your sopping pussy squelching around him wonderfully lewd.

Lost in Harry, you hadn't noticed Draco move until you heard him moan, the sound scraping through his teeth. You glanced over, seeing him stretched out in his chair, his fist wrapped around his cock and stroking slowly, watching you and Harry through heavy-lidded eyes.

It wasn't as thick as Harry’s, but long and slightly curved, the head and angry pink and shiny with precum. Draco spit onto it, lubricating himself, and your whole body reacted to the sight, clenching hard around Harry as a fresh gush of arousal surged through you.

Harry cried out, his rhythm faltering for a moment, and Draco smirked, knowing what affect he had on you.

“Shit, m’not gonna last much longer with you squeezin’ me like that—f-fucking hell,” his voice fractured into another moan when you clenched around him again, watching Draco synchronize his hand to Harry's thrusts, keeping pace with the two of you.

Fuck, it was so hot being caught between the two of them. You were the clearly at the center of their desires, but you could tell they craved one another too, got some satisfaction out of sharing you. Whether it was for pleasure, or some twisted game between old rivals, you couldn't quite tell.

You were teetering on the edge of release, Harry's hunger coupled with Draco's restraint ratcheting you higher and higher.

“Come for me, love.” Harry grabbed you by the hair, rougher than he had been, and forced you to look at him while he pounded up into you. His eyes were lust-blown and wild, cheeks flushed and brow sweaty. “Need to make you come first. C’mon, sweetheart, please—yes, baby, just like that—fuck, fuck!”

The coil in your stomach snapped at the same moment Harry's cock kicked against your walls, the first jet of release splattering against your cervix.

“Fuck, Harry!” You cried as the orgasm tore through you, bright and blissful. You clung to him, your spasming pussy making you both gasp and whine in pleasure as he continued working you over his cock. Milking himself with your limp body until the ecstasy finally dissipated.

You both collapsed back onto the couch, chests heaving and sticky with sweat. Harry drew you in for a kiss, his lips plush and tender, and you melted into his embrace, limbs heavy and thoughts sluggish.

You felt cool fingers run down your spine, making you twitch and whimper with sensitivity.

“Not done yet, are you, sweet girl?” Draco asked, urging you to turn over onto your back with a hand on your hip.

You obliged, settling with your back pressed against Harry's chest, legs falling open as Draco kneeled onto the couch. He loomed like hunter over a fresh catch, eyes shaded with desire, cock standing proud between his legs.

His fingers glided between your slit, collecting yours and Harry's combined released and pushing it back inside of you, pumping his fingers slowly into your messy entrance.

You mewled, head falling back onto Harry's shoulder as pleasure warred with overstimulation, the muscles in your legs trembling as your hips rocked into his palm.

“Shit, Draco,” Harry said, breathless as he watched Draco toy with you. “So fucking hot.”

Draco smiled, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his cock, smearing the mix of fluids over his shaft. “I'll corrupt you yet, Potter,” he teased, then looked down at you, eyes burning. “Come here, darling.”

You instantly sat up and leaned towards him, drawn like a magnet. Helpless to disobey. His fingers carded through your hair and fisting at the base of your scalp.

“Show me that pretty little tongue,” he ordered, grabbing the base of his cock and causing it swell even larger.

Your mouth fell open, tongue lolling out, and you heard Harry curse behind you, getting a clear view from the mirror against the wall.

“Such a good slut for us, hm?” Draco traced the edge of your lips with his cockhead, smearing release across your mouth, taunting you. “One cock isn't enough for you?”

You shook your head, batting your lashes up at him, wanting to give them both a show. To please them.

“Salazar’s sakes, love. Better stop looking at me like that, or I just might run out of patience,” Draco warned, tapping your tongue with his cock.

“I think she might like that,” Harry chuckled, kissing along the curve of your shoulder.

“I think you might be right, Potter.” Draco dragged you forward, driving halfway into your mouth.

You fastened your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks while you lapped at his velveteen skin. You could taste yourself, and what must be a mix of the two of them, and your eyes rolled back into your head, a pulse of arousal making your pussy clench and drip.

Draco cursed under his breath, moving you up and down his length by your hair, watching with rapt attention as you drooled and slurped around him, going completely brainless on his cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good. If your cunt feels half as good as your mouth—shit,” Draco moaned, holding you still so he could thrust into your throat, just hard enough to make tears spring in your eyes.

“Better, I’d wager,” Harry said, reaching around to grope your tits, making you moan around Draco's cock. “Wraps around ‘ya like a glove.”

Draco grunted, suddenly pulling you off of him. He crashed his mouth to yours with nearly as much fervor as the first kiss on the balcony, all tongue and teeth . He eased you back onto Harry's chest, using his other hand to line himself up with your center.

In one thrust, he bottomed out inside you, Harry's efforts ensuring your were pliable and ready.

“Fuuuuck,” Draco moaned, his head falling onto Harry's shoulder. “So fucking ready for me, baby. Weren't you?”

You nodded, crying out when he withdrew then slammed back into you, nails raking down his back at the intensity.

“That's it—good girl, such a good little slut f’me.” He wasted no time setting a brutal pace, fucking you hard into Harry while you screamed beneath him, lost in the dizzying, brutal pleasure. Draco fucked you out of your mind while Harry kept your body rooted in place. Murmuring sweet praise in your ear, coddling you like an angel, while Draco fucked you like you were anything but.

Harry's hand slid down between your legs, quick fingers working your puffy clit. “Doing so well, lovey. He's not being too rough, is he?”

You shook your head, nails digging into Harry's veiny forearm. “N-no—feels good.”

“Merlin, this cunt is a dream,” Draco growled against your ear, nipping at your skin when you fluttered around him, his words drawing a visceral reaction from your body. “Ours, now, yeah? Potter and I’s pretty cunt?”

“Yes, yes! Fuck, Draco—m’gonna come.” You clung desperately to them, trying to find purchase in the raging storm of pleasure, but it was quickly sweeping you away, dragging you under.

“That's it, give it to me—fuck!” Draco cried out, bottoming out inside of you when his release slammed into him, the heavy kick of his cock sending you over the edge. You came hard, feeling yourself bear down on him to an almost painful degree as you entire body locked up, vision swimming from the tears pooling on your eyes.

Harry shushed you, pressing kisses into your hair. “You can take it,” he murmured. “We've got you.”

“Fucking hell, love,” Draco panted, rocking his hips into you as you rode out the waves of pleasure, the weight of their bodies keeping you from squirming away when overstimulation kicked in.

“Draco—fuck, ah, too much,” you whimpered.

“Sorry, baby,” he cooed, catching your lips in an apologetic kiss. “Could stay wrapped in your forever,” he murmured against your lips, and you felt your heart flip, heat spreading in your cheeks. Draco stole a final thrust before slumping back onto the other end of the couch, chest heaving, softening cock glistening with your combined release.

If you weren't wrung out like a sponge, you'd clean him up with your tongue.

Harry slipped out from behind you, grabbing his wand from the table to magically clean the three of you up and put his pants back on. “Are you alright, love?” He asked, draping a blanket over your shoulders and sitting beside you, suddenly sheepish again.

“I'm exhausted,” you replied with a breathy chuckle. “Good exhausted.” You amended when concern flickered across his face. “Are you okay?”

“I'm good.” He glanced over at Draco, still prone with his eyes closed. “I think you may have killed him.”

Draco lifted an arm, flipping Harry off, and you giggled. He sat up, not making any move to cover himself. “We should set some ground rules.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to relax for a second?”

“It's for her benefit,” Draco bit. “This could get…messy.”

You nodded in agreement, a tendril of worry curling around your spine. Draco was notorious for one night stands, was that all this was?

“It stays between us, firstly,” Draco said, and you and Harry nodded in agreement. “Potter and I living together kept the Daily Prophet open for weeks. A sex scandal is the last thing we need.”

“It's a flat thing, nothing else,” you said, getting ahead of what you were sure was coming. “Roommates that fuck.” It was safer that way, less complicated.

“Flatmates with benefits,” Harry gave a wry chuckle, though it didn't meet his eyes.

“Group only, or…?” You glanced at Draco, and he looked back at Harry.

Harry shrugged. “I'm okay with splitting off now and then.”

Draco's jaw feathered, but he didn't argue.

Shit, this really could get messy. But you were too relieved to care. Now that you'd had a taste of them, there was no way you could turn back. And it seemed the men were in agreement, even if the details were a bit murky.

“So, we have a deal?” You asked.

“Deal,” they said in unison, and you shook on it, a clumsy arrangement of three hands.

Flatmates with benefits, how hard could that be?

Thank you for reading!

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Fan fiction reviews

Imagine you have a coworker who likes to bake. Every week, they bring in a batch of delicious, homemade cookies and leave them in the break room. Next to the plate of cookies is a sign, “If you like my cookies, could you please just leave me a note and tell me what you like about them? The more feedback you leave about what you like, the more incentive I have to bake.” A hundred coworkers walk by and take a cookie. One person leaves a note. “Great cookies! Bake some more soon!”

The next week, once again there are cookies in the break room with the same sign. Once again a hundred people take a cookie and only one person leaves a note. “Nice! More soon!”

Week Three- Once again, a hundred people take a cookie. No one leaves a note.

Week Four- One hundred people take a cookie. No note.

Week Five- There are no cookies. Someone leaves a note. “Where are the cookies? I loved them. Please, please bake some cookies.”

Week Six- There are no cookies. Ten people leave notes. “I miss your cookies. They were my favorites. I loved the chocolate chips. My friend really liked the way you had almonds in the cranberry ones.”

Week Seven- Motivated by the wonderful notes, the baking coworker stays up late to bake the best batch of cookies they have ever made. That week, a hundred people take a cookie. No one leaves a note. 

The co-worker gives up baking for their colleagues.

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Please, if you like the fan fiction that you are reading, let your authors know. Stories are abandoned for a myriad of reasons, but it is very, very hard to stay motivated when you receive no positive feedback. If there is a story that you like, whether it is a completed one or a work in progress, please leave an up-lifting comment or review. By doing so, you’re providing that writer with motivation to spend their time and energy creating more stories for you.

And that way, you both win!

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◦˚~ MAROON DIVIDERS ~˚◦

Requested by: anonymous Info: these were all made by me. please reblog/like if use!

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Hi! I just wanted to let you know I’m obsessedddd with your Mattheo series!!! Every chapter is so well written and just super captivating! I’m so impressed with your work, I can’t waittt for the next chapter!! You’re so talented, I also know nothing about poker but the way everything was written seemed like you knew exactly what you were talking about! Thank you for taking the time to write and post on here!!!

🥹🥹🥹

this made me so happy i can’t even explain what this means to me ilyyyy

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