#old testaments here i come

[deliciouswastelandgoddess]

Usually I would be clamouring for Alecto to be released by now but I need to go through atleast 3 separate revision cycles for the previous books before I can even *think* about Alecto

[kidsomeday]

Look cancel me if you want but honestly I think the most realistic part of Trigun Stampede is Nai read The Bible and was like “you know maybe humans were a bad idea.”

[boygirlctommy]

hrrheggrgh anyone else just hate the christian concept of the afterlife with a passion or is it just me

[somedaytakethetime]

Continuing on with my re-writing of the Old Testament this is just a joke on the fact that I can't write short things today's edition: Inspiration Images! (part 1 of lord knows how many..)

So.. I've amassed quite a lot of inspiration images and I'm using all these writings as sort of an organisation list for what I want to (re)create for my own wardrobe. The focus today? Knitwear!

Let's start with the fancy stuff. My plan, because of my own levels of comfort, is looser fit sweaters for daily wear but I still want to have a few tight fitted "fancy" sweaters for formal things. I like to dress up for Christmas and New Year's Eve, but I'm a bitch that runs cold and because of that my plans for "fancy silky black dress or fancy silky black pants" needs to have something warm and cosy on top of it that still looks like part of the outfit.

(links: image 1, image 2)

(links: image 3, image 4, image 5 ) (side note: don't you just love how terrible old photos look in terms of quality now?)

As with everything that I've saved and will amass here: I'm not making all of these, only one or two, possibly three fancy things, but I'm undecide. Whichever I pick would be knit with long sleeves of course. And the colours I'm thinking are navy blue, black and possibly cream and off-white. Those seem well suited for the holiday seasons and they would match the idealised versions of fancy outfits in my head (black and champagne silky slinky fabrics). The bows and details I would likely do in neutral tones too that would contrast with the main colour of the body. Granted I might use fancy yarn with glitter thread running through it or something, just for a touch of whimsy and because.. I LIKE SPARKLES OKAY!?

Anyway, fancy out and basics in. Currently I own no basic coloured yarn. I have many colours, usually either bright or jewel tones, and I would need to add some creams and beiges along with actual dark neutrals to the stash. I'm not sure I'm going to use all the yarn I have either, most of it has been given to me by others and I'm just.. not into those colours... I might give them to someone else because I just don't want to spend so many hours of my life working on clothes that I have no urge to wear. But that's another problem for another time.

For the casual day wear I have some designs in mind:

(links: image 6, image 7, image 8)

(links: image 9, image 10)

(links: image 11, image 12 I have a massive crush on this blonde lady that poses for the Drops designs but shhh don't tell nobody, image 13)

(links: image 14, image 15, image 16)

Number 16 is my inspiration for this old rose sweater I'm currently working on. Number 14 I'm thinking of making in a bright cobalt blue I have and number 15 in bright green my mum has saved for decades now. Why? Those colours will definitely look better as a simple slouchy sweater. It's impossible to make them stripped because no other colour will downplay how BRIGHT they are so.. I just need to lean into being a Sesame Street Muppet.. I have plans for basic sweaters in muted shades, and a few slipovers too, granted this is where we get into my goal of knitting loungewear. I have a few ideas which will be interesting to achieve because I've never knit trousers or shorts before... but I need comfortable house clothes too.

In all what we're looking at currently is: more beige less neon (I'm going to end up either as the sad beige aunt or the moody navy aunt at the end.. it'll be a riot for my family to witness this metamorphosis from circus clown on LSD to depressed almond allergic to gluten..). More simple baggy shapes, less tight fitted things in weird stitches.

As for cardigans. Realistically? I don't need a ton. I wear them most in the winter, and I've learned they can't be tight fitted. I won't wear them if I can't wear everal layers underneath and while I love the 'cardigan as a top, tiddies easy and breezy' look I wouldn't torture myself like that in the winter.. I like my nipples were they are, they don't need to fall off... And with that in mind, here's what I'm looking at:

(links: image 17, image 18, image 19, image 20, image 21)

I'm thinking duality of making some in cotton for summer and others in wool. I get cold in the summer too so I need at least one cardigan to wear during those moments and wool? Not it. I don't wear my cardigans buttoned, I've learned that too, so in the past when I hated low v-necks? That's gone now because I prefer the look on an unbuttoned deep v-neck vs a high scoop or rounded neck. There's also these three.. I'll just link those (link 1, link 2, link 3) because in total honesty I'm not sure if I'll add these to the 'make' list or not. Link 1 and link 3 are colourwork cardigans and with 3? It's honestly just because I like her outfit and realistically how often will I wear an exact outfit like that? I can't even wear that bright white... and link 2 is a crochet cardigan. Now, I crochet so I won't ever rag on crocheted clothing, I have two crochet sweaters, but they took *ages* to make and they ate up so much yarn.. I'm just not a fan of how slow crocheting clothing is. It still looks super cute, but I just get bored quickly.

Now for my final act I've been thinking about summer too. It's too late to actually knit anything for summer now, but I want to make a few tops in cotton that I'll be able to wear during the summer. Only this year did I start wearing sleeveless and very short sleeved tops (I hate my arms, they're flabby and I have weird spots on my shoulders, not even to mention that I have a birthmark that's literally blue so it looks like a permanent bruise on my left shoulder..) and there's so many cute ones out there but I can't make everything so... narrowing down to:

(links: image 22, image 23, image 24, image 25, image 26, image 27)

I figured that number 23 I can make in a few solid colours, and maybe one or two stripped too so I don't need a ton of other designs besides that basic one. The same applies to the rest. I still need to figure out exactly how many knit summer tops I would realistically like and wear which is honestly the hardest part of all....

But for now that's it. I have so many other images and plenty of other things I need to reconsider either I'd actually make or not but I'll break that into other categories soon because it makes it easier in my brain. Next up, I'm thinking that looking at colourwork and add-ons is needed. I don't need all the beanies, scarves and mittens in the world given that I don't wear a ton of them. Plus.. socks. That I do need to make, I'm trying to make a switch to a me-made wardrobe so socks? Always a necessity. But maybe *neutral* socks now, Sunny, instead of all the neon oranges and blues you've made in the past, yeah?

[demigodofhoolemere]

11 And the vision of all is become unto you as the words of a book that is sealed, which men deliver to one that is learned, saying, Read this, I pray thee: and he saith, I cannot; for it is sealed: 12 And the book is delivered to him that is not learned, saying, Read this, I pray thee: and he saith, I am not learned. 13 Wherefore the Lord said, Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men: 14 Therefore, behold, I will proceed to do a marvellous work among this people, even a marvellous work and a wonder: for the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid.

Isaiah 29: 11-14

[joycrispy]

I'm seeing some confusion out and about over the title A Companion to Owls (generally along the lines of 'what have owls got to do with it???'), so I'd like to offer my interpretation (with a general disclaimer that the Bible and particularly the Old Testament are damn complicated and I'm not able to address every nuance in a fandom tumblr post, okay? Okay):

It's a phrase taken from the Book of Job. Here's the quote in full (King James version):

When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. --(Job 30:29)

Job is describing the depths of his grief, but also, with that last line, his position in the web of providence.

Throughout the Old Testament, owls are a recurring symbol of spiritual devastation. Deuteronomy 4:17 - Isaiah 34:11 - Psalm 102: 3 - Jeremiah 50: 39...just to name a few (there's more). The general shape of the metaphor is this: owls are solitary, night-stalking creatures, that let out either mournful cries or terrible shrieks, that inhabit the desolate places of the world...and (this is important) they are unclean.

They represent a despair that is to be shunned, not pitied, because their condition is self-inflicted. You defied God (so the owl signifies), and your punishment is...separation. From God, from others, from the world itself. To call and call and never, ever receive an answer.

Your punishment is terrible, tormenting loneliness.

(and that exact phrase, "tormenting loneliness," doesn't come from me...I'm pulling it from actual debate/academia on this exact topic. The owls, and what they are an omen for. Oof.)

To call yourself a 'companion to owls,' then, is to count yourself alongside perhaps the most tragic of the damned --not the ones who defy God out of wickedness or ignorance, and in exile take up diabolical ends readily enough...but the ones who know enough to mourn what they have lost.

So, that's how the title relates to Job: directly. Of course, all that is just context. The titular "companion to owls," in this case, isn't Job at all.

Because this story is about Aziraphale.

The thing is that Job never actually defied God at all, but Aziraphale does, and he does so fully believing that he will fall.

He does so fully believing that he's giving in to a temptation.

He's wrong about that, but still...he's realized something terrifying. Which is that doing God's will and doing what's right are sometimes mutually exclusive. Even more terrifying: it turns out that, given the choice between the two...he chooses what's right.

And he's seemingly the only angel who does. He's seemingly the only angel who can even see what's wrong.

Fallen or not, that's the kind of knowledge that...separates you.

(Whoooo-eeeeee, tormenting loneliness!!!)

Aziraphale is the companion.

...I don't think I need to wax poetic about Aziraphale's loneliness and grappling with devotion --I think we all, like, get it, and other people have likely said it better anyway. So, one last thing before I stop rambling:

Check out Crowley's glasses.

(screenshots from @seedsofwinter)

Crowley is the owl.

Crowley is the goddamn owl.

[pinkflower2003]

Hiii could u write about reader who just gave birth just a couple of weeks before but manages to attend her partner's (max verstappen) next race. obviously, since your baby is very small in the middle of the race, you need to breastfeed him and some “old-fashioned” journalists criticize that you have done it without hiding, which Max takes advantage of to defend yourself, which could be at a press conference or on social networks. If you're not comfortable writing about this I understand 🩷🩷🩷

a/n: Hi sweetheart! thank you for your request, I hope i've done this justice for you!

Max Verstappen x reader

The roar of the engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the electrifying energy of the race track were all too familiar to you. But today, everything felt different. Just a couple of weeks ago, you had given birth to your beautiful baby boy, and now you were here at the Grand Prix, determined to support your partner, Max Verstappen, as he raced towards another victory.

As you settled into your seat in the paddock, cradling your newborn in your arms, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and endless feedings, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You were a family now, and that was all that mattered.

Max had been over the moon when he found out you were coming to the race. He knew how much effort it took for you to be here, and he appreciated every bit of it. As the race started, you could see the determination in his eyes, and you knew he was going to give it his all, not just for himself, but for you and your little one as well.

The race was intense, and you watched with bated breath as Max navigated through the twists and turns of the track. Your baby boy, snuggled against your chest in a sling, slept soundly, oblivious to the excitement around him. But as the race progressed, he began to stir, and you knew it was time for his feeding.

Without a second thought, you adjusted your position and began to breastfeed your baby, right there in the paddock, none of the Red Bull employees batting an eyelid. It was a natural and beautiful moment, a testament to the bond between a mother and her child. You were focused on providing for your baby, completely unaware of the critical eyes that were watching and the camera's that were around, they couldn't see anything too revealing, of course, but you could feel the judgment anyway.

Later, after Max had crossed the finish line in a stunning first place, the media buzzed with excitement. But amidst the celebration, a few "old-fashioned" journalists had taken note of your public breastfeeding and had begun to criticize you for not hiding away.

As you made your way to the team area, you could feel the stares and hear the whispers. Some reporters even approached you, their questions laced with judgment. You held your head high, refusing to let their words affect you. You knew you had done nothing wrong.

Max, who had been busy celebrating his victory, soon caught wind of the situation. He could see the distress on your face and the way some journalists were hounding you. Without a moment's hesitation, he made his way over to you, wrapping his arm protectively around your shoulders.

As you made your way to the post-race celebrations, a few journalists approached you. Most were congratulatory, but there were a couple of old-fashioned reporters who couldn't hide their disapproval. One in particular, a stern-looking man with graying hair, addressed you directly.

"Mrs. Verstappen, don't you think it was inappropriate to breastfeed in public, especially in a place like this?" he asked, his tone dripping with judgment.

You were taken aback, not expecting such a question. Before you could respond, Max stepped in, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Excuse me," Max said, his voice firm. "There's nothing inappropriate about a mother feeding her child. My partner is here supporting me, just like any other family member would. Breastfeeding is a natural and beautiful thing, and there's no reason she should have to hide it."

The journalist looked taken aback by Max's passionate response. "But don't you think it could be a distraction?" he pressed.

Max shook his head, his eyes blazing with determination. "The only distraction here is outdated thinking like yours. My partner and our baby are my biggest support. If you have a problem with that, then that's your issue, not ours."

The other journalists nodded in agreement, some even clapping in support of Max's words. The critical reporter retreated, realising he had lost this battle.

Max turned back to you, his eyes softening. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

You nodded, feeling grateful for his unwavering support. "Thank you, Max. I didn't expect that."

He smiled and kissed your forehead. "You don't have to thank me. We're a team, remember? Now let's go celebrate properly."

As you joined the rest of the team in the VIP area, the atmosphere was electric. The celebrations were in full swing, with laughter, cheers, and clinking glasses all around. You felt a sense of belonging and happiness that you hadn't felt in a long time.

Max took every opportunity to introduce you and your baby to everyone, proudly showing off his little family. The team members cooed over your baby, their faces lighting up with joy.

As the evening progressed, Max was called for the post-race press conference. He took your hand and led you to the front row, making sure you had the best seat in the house. You settled into your seat, your baby resting peacefully in your arms.

The press conference started, and the reporters bombarded Max with questions about his race, his strategy, and his thoughts on the season ahead. But inevitably, the topic shifted to his family.

"Max, congratulations on your win! We noticed your partner and baby in the paddock today. How important is their support to you?" one reporter asked.

Max's face lit up with pride as he glanced at you. "Their support means everything to me," he said. "Having them here today gave me the motivation and strength I needed to push through. My partner has been incredible, balancing motherhood and supporting me. I'm truly blessed."

Another reporter chimed in, "There were some comments about the appropriateness of breastfeeding in the paddock. What's your take on that?"

Max's expression grew serious. "I think it's sad that in 2024, we still have to defend a mother's right to breastfeed her child wherever she needs to. Breastfeeding is a natural, necessary, and beautiful act. My partner shouldn't have to hide or feel ashamed for taking care of our baby. I'm proud of her, and I support her 100% and I know the rest of the team do as well, if they're not distracted by it, why should anyone else be?"

The room filled with applause, the media clearly moved by Max's heartfelt words. You felt a swell of pride and gratitude for your partner, who was using his platform to stand up for you and other mothers.

After the press conference, Max returned to your side, wrapping his arm around you and kissing your baby on the head. "Let's get out of here," he whispered, his eyes twinkling with love. "I want to spend some time with my family."

You smiled and nodded, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. The three of you made your way out of the media area and back to the quieter parts of the paddock, sitting down in one of the areas that allowed you to be away from the hustle and bustle of the reporters.

As you sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for the love and support that surrounded you. You were a family, and that was the greatest victory of all.

[thebibliosphere]

(ID provided in Alt)

Lore of the Wilds by Analeigh Sbrana -- available for pre-order now!

A Library with a deadly enchantment.

A fae lord who wants in.

A human woman willing to risk it all for a taste of power.

In a land ruled by ruthless Fae, twenty-one-year-old Lore Alemeyu's village is trapped in a forested prison. Lore knows that any escape attempt is futile–her scars are a testament to her past failures. But when her village is threatened, Lore makes a desperate deal with a fae lord.

She convinces him that she will risk her life for wealth, but really she’s after the one thing the Fae covet above all: magic of her own.

As Lore navigates the hostile world outside, she’s forced to rely on two fae males to survive. When undeniable chemistry ignites, she’s not just in danger of losing her life, but her heart to the very creatures she can never trust.

Release day September 5th, 2023

More pre-order links are incoming as they generate.

----------

Hey booklr! I'm posting this on behalf of my friend Analeigh Sbrana (@literaryxqueen on insta), who doesn't have a Tumblr. Her debut novel, Lore of the Wilds, went live for pre-order this morning, and I'd love it if we could show it some love.

Analeigh tried for two years to sell her story to trad-pub, but the vibe was that trad-pub didn't want to take the risk on a Black Fae fantasy adventure set in a breathtakingly descriptive magic kingdom in a market currently flooded with white fairy romances. So, she took matters into her own hands and joined the ranks of self-pub.

Full disclosure: I worked on this book as a proofreader, and I loved every minute of it. I kept forgetting I was supposed to be working and reading ahead. I scheduled a week to finish reading it in did it in 3 days, and the only reason it took so long was that I had to actually pause and work on it 😅.

So, if you like:

-🍄cottage core -✨fairy core -📚light/dark academia vibes -🌈a diverse cast of lgbtqia+ Black characters -💘romance -🧝🏾‍♀️ being kidnapped by a fairy prince to tidy up his cursed/enchanted library and coming into your own magical powers as a result, then Lore of the Wilds might just be for you!

Here, have a sneak peek of what the physical books will look like:

(ID in alt) The book will eventually be available in eBook, paperback, and hardback--Ana's just having a time getting the links to generate. I'll post them as soon as they're live.

Please do consider giving LoTW some love. It's such a fantastic book, and I'd love to see it thrive where trad-pub left it to fail. Thank you 💖

[notaplaceofhonour]

as a Jew I find the antisemitic trope of the Wandering Jew endlessly fascinating and there’s a version of it that lives rent free in my head that I can’t get out

because yes, we have been cursed—not by G-d, but by man; not for anything we’ve done, but for libel against us—and the curse antisemites have forced on us is that we must wander forever. we don’t get a home, here or there. we aren’t allowed to put down roots in diaspora, but we aren’t allowed to return either; regardless of which we do, the nations try to drive us out and impose their sentence on us: you must wander some more

there is a deconstructed version of the Wandering Jew that I want to reclaim, not as a testament to our sin but as a witness to the nations’, how they’ve treated the wanderer in their midst. on some level, a witness to how the nations treat all wanderers: Jew, Roma, bedouin. but ultimately, a testament to the libel & persecution we as Jews have endured & persevere through

this Wandering Jew is a weary old immortal forced to wander by hatred that goes before him through the nations, who has seen those nations come and go, empires rise and fall, and bears witness to our plight through every one, waiting for injustice to be righted so he can finally rest

[theloyalpin]

Help a 27 year old Palestinian avoid selling his kidney so he and his family can safety evacuate to Egypt

LINK TO THEIR CAMPAIGN: HERE

please continue to share this and or help if you’re able so he and his family can escape gaza and safety get to egypt. i donated a few days ago and just received an email update. he was literally offering to sell his own kidney because they were not receiving donations before someone posted about it on twitter and i’d like for them to reach their goal asap.

today’s update + a new video of diab thanking us:

I want to extend my deepest gratitude to each and every one of you for your incredible efforts and generosity. Thanks to your collective support, we have not only reached but surpassed our second benchmark goal of £20,000. The total amount raised now stands at £28,967, leaving us with £41,033 to reach our ultimate target.

While this remaining sum may seem significant, I'm heartened by the fact that the majority of donations received over the past two days have ranged from £5 to £50. It's a testament to the power of community and the willingness of individuals to come together for a common cause.

For those who are unable to donate at this time or have already contributed and are unable to do so again, please know that there are still valuable ways to support our campaign.

One of the most impactful ways you can help is by sharing our campaign with your network. Whether it's through email, text messages, or on your social media platforms, your efforts in spreading the word can make a meaningful difference.

Together, we can continue to raise awareness and funds to support my family in reaching our goal. Your continued support and generosity are truly appreciated. Thank you for being a part of this journey with us.

- his video (already includes captions btw):

he starts by greeting us with “hello, my new family.”

i am diab and my family is in danger. we have recently divided the family into two halves, each in a different place so that we don’t all die and one of us survives. i would like to point out that there has been a threat to enter rafah and central camps. i say to my dear supporters, thank you for your support. you are doing an ethical work that embodies humanity. please, i invite you to continue supporting me and sharing my campaign because the dream is close and our salvation is very near.

diab ends with “don’t forget me and grant my family life. thank you. thank you always and forever.” ❤️

Update as of May 23rd 2024: Diab is now less than 10k away from his goal !! Please continue to like and share even if you cannot contribute financially 💘

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Not One of your girls.✦ 」

[part1][Theodore Nott × reader] [p2]

Summary: Theodore Nott was the love of my life, the one I'd trade my whole world for. But this summer, I yearned for a different role in his life, even if it meant becoming just one of his girls

Warning:fluff, angst, smut, strong language.

Words:6.5k

Tears? I don't think I had any left. It felt like I'd spent the past month in a self-imposed exile, navigating the city with a map etched into my memory solely to avoid him. Ignoring calls, dodging mutual friends. I'd become a ghost in my own life, flitting from corner to corner, hoping i won’t see him, anything to escape the phantom touch, the memory of his smirk.

Lana's call shattered the fragile peace I'd constructed. Her voice, usually bubbly with gossip, held a worried tremor. "Something's definitely wrong, (Y/N)," Lana had pressed over the phone, her voice laced with concern. "You sound… empty.”

I'd lied, of course. "Just the summer blues, Lani. Missing you like crazy."

"Uh-huh," she said, skepticism thick in her voice. "Well, guess what? I'm finally coming home! You gotta come get me from the airport, promise?"

"Of course," I said easily, even when the thought of the airport twisting the knife in my gut.

“Theo's picking me up, you wanna come with him ?"

"Actually," I hesitated, hating the way my voice betrayed me, "I was kind of thinking maybe I could… tag along with Chris?"

There was a beat of surprised silence, then a slow, knowing chuckle from Lana. "Whoa, okay, didn't see that coming. You sure you don't want me to ask Theo?"

The name sent a fresh spike of pain through me. "Theo? Absolutely not. Have you seen the way he drives?…" I trailed off, unable to voice the truth – anything but Theo.

A pang shot through me as I descended the stairs, catching sight of Mom lost in thought, staring at the picture of Theo, Mattheo, and my brother as kids. They were all smiles, dirt smudged on their faces, a testament to countless childhood adventures. A ghost of a smile touched my lips. "I miss him too," I whispered, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Mom jumped slightly, startled from her reverie. Her eyes softened the moment they landed on me. "(Y/N)! Honey, I was just about to check on you. Your father and I were getting worried sick." She took my hand, her concern evident in the gentle squeeze.

"Just… thinking," I hedged, forcing a smile onto my face. The last thing I needed was to worry them. "Everything's fine."

Mom eyed me skeptically. "Are you sure? You haven't been yourself lately."

"Just hitting adulthood, finally," I joked, trying to lighten the mood. Mom chuckled, swatting my chest playfully.

"Dinner at the Nott family tonight, don't forget," she announced, and my smile faltered.

"Oh, no, Mom, I… I actually promised my book club I'd be there tonight," I stammered, desperately searching for an excuse. "And you know Lana's still at camp, I think you guys should go without me."

My mom's brow furrowed in confusion. "Book club? Since when? And Lana? Honey, is everything alright?"

The playful glint in her eyes betrayed her. "My little (Y/N) is finally done with her crush on the Nott boy?" she teased, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

My cheeks burned. Forced cheer felt hollow on my tongue. "Mom, stop it! I was a child."

Memories flooded back – seven-year-old me, a torrent of tears streaming down my face, demanding to know why I couldn't marry Theo. "Why can't you just ask Dad to talk to Mr. Nott and arrange something? We'll be perfect together!" I'd sobbed, clinging to her leg. Mom had knelt then, wiping away my tears, and promised she'd think about it when I grew up.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she leaned down to kiss my cheek. "Alright, sweetie. I'll get your back tonight. Have fun at your book club."

The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, meticulously applying a full face of makeup and curling my hair into perfect waves for a nonexistent book club. My reflection in the mirror mocked me – glitter practically danced across my eyelids in the afternoon light, Crisscross Backless Ruched Glitter

Bodycon Dress a stark contrast to the sweatpants I'd worn all day.

But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures. My parents wouldn't question a night out if I looked the part, makeup a dead giveaway. It was a flimsy cover, but hopefully good enough.

Reaching for my lipstick holder, the answer was clear as day. Red. Classic, bold, unapologetic red. It was the perfect armor for the night – a stark reminder to myself that beneath the hurt, beneath the carefully constructed lie, I was still (Y/N). The same girl who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it. Maybe Theo didn't see me that way anymore, but that didn't mean I had to lose myself entirely.

Tonight, I was reclaiming my power, one red lip at a time.

Three clicks of the shutter button later, and I deemed myself a goddess incarnate. The glitter shimmered under the lamplight, the perfect complement to the bold red lip. Caption time. A mischievous grin tugged at my lips.

> Now he's thinkin' bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so

"Well, hello again, Instagram," I muttered, hitting post with a flourish. It took less than a minute for the validation to flood in.

> @BlaiseZabini: it's me I'm him.

> @LanaNott: girllll save me please save me.

> @MattheoRiddle: who !? C d ?

@EnzoBerkshire: is he why you dumped all of us for (planning a murder).

@christiannott: pretty.

The school crowd joined in the comments their comments a mix of compliments and playful questions. I couldn't help but grin at Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo's antics.

Just as I settled on popcorn and a night of "The Devil Wears Prada" indulgence, my phone buzzed with a notification I wasn't expecting – a DM. My heart hammered against my ribs. It was from him.

> Theo (hopefully future husband): what kind of bookclub are you at?

I cringed at the outdated nickname in my phone (quickly changing it to "Theodore Nott").

Ignoring the actual question (because seriously?), I left him in read and hit play on the movie. Let him stew in his curiosity for a while.

But just as Meryl Streep was delivering a particularly scathing line, my phone buzzed again. A new message from Theodore Nott.

> theo: answer Y/N

The audacity of this man! I rolled my eyes, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and with a triumphant smirk, sent a single reply: A middle finger emoji .

A blaring ringtone ripped me from a dream .Groaning, I fumbled for my phone, squinting at the caller ID. Lana.

"Hello?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.

"Girl, what the heck? I knew there was something you were hiding! You gonna tell me everything when I arrive?"

I flopped back against the pillows, belatedly registering the popcorn scattered on the duvet and the movie paused mid-scene. My mom must have tucked me in after I dozed off.

"Sure," I mumbled, still foggy and not entirely sure what there was to tell Lana anyway.

"I told Chris he'd wait for you at eight," she chirped.

Eight? Panic jolted me awake. I fumbled for the clock – it was already six.

"Why'd you wake me up now then?" I whined, sleep clinging to me desperately.

"First, how could you sleep when your best friend is finally coming home? Two, because you're taking forever to get ready!"

I rolled my eyes, fighting the urge to sink back into the blissful oblivion of sleep. "Fine, fine," I conceded.

A quick shower later, I threw on a pair of comfy shorts and a t-shirt. Kissing my dad, who'd made a valiant effort to whip up breakfast ("Scrambled eggs are your favorite, right?").

My phone buzzed. Theodore Nott. My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic rhythm. I looked from the window – his car, sleek and black, was parked at the curb. No sign of Christian's Porsche.

"What the…" I breathed, a mix of anger and confusion swirling in my gut.

"I need to go, Papa," I mumbled, throwing him a quick kiss.

Reaching his car, I yanked open the door. "What are you doing here?" I spat, my voice laced with ice.

Theo didn't even glance at me. "Get in or go inside. I don't have time for this."

"Where's Chris?" I demanded, my jaw clenching.

He finally met my gaze, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "Business trip came up. Now get in."

There was no reasoning with him. With a silent snarl of frustration, I climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut with enough force to make the fancy car wince. Not sure if Theo possessed human emotions, but I was pretty sure the love he had for his car was unquestionable.

"Great," he sighed, muttering a curse under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like "Accidenti!" – a mild Italian curse .

The rest of the ride was a tense standoff. I turned on the radio, defiant and childish, only for him to shut it off with a curt gesture. I shot him a fiery glare, then turned it back on, louder this time. The audacity of this man!

He cursed again, a string of angry Italian this time, but I drowned him out with the music, burying myself in my phone to avoid further interaction. The drive, thankfully, wasn't long and soon the familiar sight of the airport terminal loomed ahead.

Theo pulled into the airport garage, his face a mask of irritation. I flung open the door, slamming it shut for good measure. His glare was met with an equally icy stare from me. A quick glance at my watch told me it was 9:55 – hopefully Lana wouldn't make me wait too long. Anything was preferable to another minute in Theo's company.

Relief washed over me when I spotted her, a blur of pink and blonde hair bouncing through the arrivals gate. Her shriek echoed through the terminal as she launched herself at Theo, who caught her in a hug. They looked…comfortable. Happy.

"Look what I got you!" Lana exclaimed, pulling back and revealing a silver bracelet with a delicate Larus bird charm. It was beautiful. My gaze flickered to Theo, who offered a small smile.

"Do you like it?" she chirped, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Of course," Theo replied, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "It's perfect."

Then she was on me, engulfing me in a suffocating hug and babbling a mile a minute in a language that sounded suspiciously like excited Italian. It took a moment to decipher her words.

"Look! I got us matching Larus bird bracelets!" she chirped, holding up another identical bracelet.

I smiled as I took it from her, sliding it onto my wrist. "Thanks, Lana. It's beautiful."

"So, you took good care of her for me, like I asked?" Lana's voice turned teasing, her eyes flitting between Theo and me.

Before Theo could even open his mouth, I shot him a withering look. "You have no idea," I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Back in the car, Lana dominated the entire ride with a nonstop stream of chatter. I plastered a smile on my face and offered occasional nods, punctuated by the stolen glance at Theo in the rearview mirror.

Finally, we pulled into my driveway. Lana turned to me, bouncing with barely contained excitement. "Get some sleep, (Y/N)! We're all hitting the beach tonight – no excuses! We'll pick you up at ten, right Theo?"

My heart sank. Theo and I hadn't spoken a single word the entire ride, and the last thing I wanted was to spend another evening in his company.

"I—" I began, but Lana cut me off.

"No buts, (Y/N)! I'm serious," she said, her voice losing its playful edge. Her puppy-dog eyes were impossible to resist. Plus, the thought of disappointing her was unbearable.

With a forced smile, I nodded in agreement. "See you at ten," I mumbled, stepping out of the car I shut the car door with what I hoped was a significant bang (earning a "Hey!" from Theo and a giggle from Lana).

stormed up the steps and into my house. Reaching my room, I flung myself onto the bed and screamed into my pillow.

With a mission in mind, I flung open my dresser drawer. I pulled out the beach dress I'd bought with Mom, the one she'd teased me looked straight out of a goddess painting. "Playing Aphrodite?" she'd chuckled. Maybe a little Aphrodite action wouldn't hurt.

Packing was simple – a book for lounging, my makeup bag (waterproof mascara, a must!), sunscreen (just in case), and a water bottle. An extra layer? Nah, I was channeling beach goddess vibes today.

The pièce de résistance, however, was hidden beneath the dress – a hot pink bikini .

My phone buzzed on the nightstand – Lana calling. I swiped on another layer of lip gloss, the vibrant pink a perfect match for my mischievous mood.

Theo was already waiting by his car, a scowl etched on his face. I marched up to him, a mischievous glint in my eyes, and tossed the beach bag through the air. He caught it with a surprised grunt, his scowl deepening, a single word escaping my lips, "Catch."

A quick hug for Lana later, I slid into the backseat. Reaching for my phone, a notification from Marco, the cute Italian boy I'd met last year while visiting Italy , made me grin. He'd liked my recent post and even sent a DM.

"Hey, Lana," I began, tapping away at my phone, not taking my eyes off the screen as Theo threw the car into gear. "What does 'Mi sono perso nei tuoi occhi' mean?"

Lana's voice squeaked from the front seat. "Oh. My. God. He said… he said he's lost in your eyes! (Y/N), who on earth did you message?" Her voice rose in excitement, her body practically contorting as she tried to snatch a peek at my phone.

I playfully shoved her away as she tried to grab my phone for a closer look. "Stop it lan," I laughed, trying to mask the flutter in my stomach.

"Isn't a little soon to be moving on, (Y/N)?"

My jaw dropped, mirroring Lana's shocked expression in the rearview mirror. My eyes stung with a sudden wave of hurt. "What the actual—move on from what?" Lana sputtered, her voice a mix of outrage and disbelief.

"Can you mind your business, please?" I snapped at Theo, my voice tight with anger.

"Actually, it kind of is," he snapped back, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "You're stuck with me for the entire day, remember?"

"Since when did you care about anything I did?"

The car swerved slightly as Theo tightened his grip on the wheel. "I care about you not getting hurt," he growled.

"Hurt? From a harmless compliment?" I spat. "Maybe you should worry more about the real hurt you caused, Theo."

Lana's voice cut through the tension, sharp and laced with genuine concern. "What? What do you mean, (Y/N)? What hurt did he cause?"

"I—" I started, the words catching in my throat."I didn't mean myself," the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

He looked at me then, his gaze flickering to the tears welling up in my eyes.

I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my AirPods, the familiar comfort a lifeline in the storm. Cranking the volume to full blast, I shut out the world, focusing on the music that pulsed in my ears. I stared out the window, the world blurring into a watercolor mess.

The car jolted to a stop, and I practically leaped out before it even came to a complete halt. Grabbing my bag, I stormed towards the beach, the setting sun painting the sky in fiery hues. The familiar sight of the carnival near the shore grounded me slightly.

Enzo, was the first to spot me. He erupted in a whoop, and I practically dived into his welcoming embrace. The rest of the group soon followed, a cacophony of greetings washing over me.

Blaise, ambled towards me, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. I promptly blocked him with a hand on his chest. "You, Blaise, are officially banned from my life for at least another month."

"Come on, (Y/N)! I already took enough abuse on my beautiful face that night from that..." he trailed off, his eyes flicking towards Theo.

"Not a word," I hissed, cutting him off before he could spill the beans. "Don't you dare say a thing about it, or you're dead, Blaise. I swear."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a resigned nod. "Alright, alright, secrets are safe with me." He slunk away, plopping down on the sand beside Enzo.

Across from me, Theo sat his gaze boring into me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. He kept staring,His gaze was intense, burning into mine like he could see right through me, so I used the tried and true method – a good old-fashioned middle finger.

He met my gesture with a head shake, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he lit a cigarette.

The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air as our friends settled in for the evening. Inside, I felt a storm brewing – a mix of anger, hurt, and a strange, unidentifiable longing.

"Alright, guys! Who's up for truth or dare?" Lana's voice boomed, shattering the fragile peace.

"Childish," Mattheo scoffed.

"Pleeeease?" Lana pleaded, batting her eyelashes at him. He caved with a sigh, a lovesick smile playing on his lips.

"Actually, I have a bottle," I announced, reaching into my bag and pulling out my water bottle.

"Always prepared, sweet (Y/N)," Draco teased, blowing me a kiss. I countered with a playful air kiss.

"Not playing," Theo mumbled, blowing another smoke ring into the air.

"Coward," I whispered, not sure if he heard me. But apparently, he did.

"What did you say?" he challenged, his gaze hardening.

"Coward," I repeated, my voice gaining strength with each iteration. "Coward, coward, coward." I batted my eyelashes with a saccharine smile. "Want me to say it louder?"

"Okay, enough," Mattheo interjected, shooting a warning look at both of us. "You're playing, and you're going to stop."

Enzo, grabbed the bottle from me. "Let's get this party started, then! Spin it!"

The bottle wobbled and spun, finally landing on Lana with a triumphant thud.

"Truth or dare?" Enzo grinned.

"Dare!" she declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I dare you to reveal one of (Y/N)'s secrets," he challenged, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Lana's jaw dropped.

"It's okay, Lani," I mumbled, "Choose whatever you want, babe. No secrets here."

"Holy moly, you're not scared?" Blaise exclaimed, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I don't regret anything I do," I declared, holding Theo's gaze. "If it was a secret, it means I didn't want it out there enough. So, not worth keeping."

My defiance sent a smirk across my face, but inside, I was a mess. Theo muttered a barely audible curse under his breath.

Lana, ever the drama queen, paused for effect. "Well, you definitely have a thing for Italian! You might not have said it, but I just know..." she leaned in conspiratorially, "...saying one simple phrase in Italian would have you blushing like crazy, thinking it's a marriage proposal."

A roar of laughter erupted from the group, even Theo cracking a small smile.

"Buongiorno, bella," Blaise cooed in his best Italian accent, earning another round of laughter and a playful shove from me.

We continued playing truth or dare, the mood a strange mix of tension and laughter. The bottle finally landed on Blaise, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper, "Remember our little agreement, (Y/N)?" I pursed my lips, silently mouthing, "Don't cross the line." He winked, then addressed me in a louder voice, "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," I declared, a defiant edge to my voice.

"I dare you to take your dress off " he started, his voice trailing off dramatically.

A collective groan went up, except for Mattheo who smirked, and Enzo who playfully swatted Blaise's shoulder.

"What are you? a ten years old? You think I'd run away crying?" I challenged, a spark of defiance igniting within me. In one swift motion, I slipped out of the flowy beach dress, revealing the hot pink bikini underneath.

A low whistle escaped Blaise's lips. "Damn, girl! No wonder poor Cedric stood no chance. You could've driven him crazy with that bod."

I winked at him, relishing the surprised look on Lana's face. "Something to consider," I joked, trying to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside.

Theo, however, seemed less amused. "For f*ck's sake," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a hint of something I couldn't decipher.

Blaise smirked. "What's wrong, Theo? Can't handle the heat?"

For a second, I thought Theo was going to kill him. He clenched his jaw, his gaze burning into Blaise. "Just finish this stupid game already," he growled.

The tension was thick enough to choke on, and I decided to take back control. I snatched the bottle, spinning it with a flick of my wrist. As if mocking me, it landed squarely on Theo.

"Truth or dare?" I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. Meeting his gaze was like looking into a stormy sea – the pain, confusion, and maybe even a flicker of longing swirling within.

"Truth," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you regret anything… right now?" Each word felt like a shard of glass in my throat, but I forced them out.

He held my gaze for an agonizing moment, then let out a ragged breath. "No," he finally said.

The answer hit me like a physical blow. It was the confirmation of what I'd already suspected, yet it still managed to shatter the fragile hope that had flickered within me.

We played two more rounds, the air heavy with unspoken words. Lana, seemingly oblivious to the tension, had dozed off, her head resting on my lap.

"I'm taking her to bed," Theo announced, bending down to scoop her up gently.

The sunrise was painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows on the beach. I closed my eyes, needing an escape from the whirlwind of emotions. "Going for a swim," I mumbled, a hollow ache settling in my chest.

Without waiting for a response, I raced towards the water, the cool waves washing over me as I plunged into the ocean. The salty water stung my eyes, but I didn't bother to brush it away. Here, in the vastness of the ocean, I could finally let go of the facade of bravado and let the tears flow freely.

I swam until my muscles screamed in protest. Exhausted but strangely calm, I watched as the others retreated to the house, leaving me alone with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Pushing the wet hair out of my face, I waded back to the beach, shivering as the cool morning air hit my damp skin.

Walking towards the back of the house, the first rays of sunlight warmed my back. I turned a corner, and just like that, I slammed into a solid wall of muscle. It was Theo.

I stumbled back, heart hammering against my ribs. "What are you doing here?" I snapped, the anger a shield against the vulnerability I refused to show.

"Enough, (Y/N). Stop this foolish game," he said, his voice low and intense.

"Foolish game? Don't you dare call my life a game, Theo," I spat, fury bubbling up inside me.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab my waist. Before I could react, he'd captured both my wrists in one of his large hands. He was close, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, his cologne a familiar scent that sent a shiver down my spine.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, caught between the fear of getting hurt again and the undeniable pull I felt towards him.

"That?" he said, his voice laced with frustration as his gaze flickered down to the pink bikini clinging to my curves. "Is this what you're doing? Whoring yourself out?"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Whoring myself out?" I mocked him. "Why do you even care, Theo? You made it perfectly clear you don't give a damn what I do, who I'm with, how I act."

He looked at me, his jaw clenched tight. "You will go inside," he said, his voice a low growl. "You will stop whatever you are doing, and you will not… whore yourself out like that again. Understood?"

The possessiveness in his voice, the way his gaze lingered on my body, sent a jolt through me. But I wouldn't let him control me.

I yanked my hands free, taking a step back. "You have no right to tell me what to do."

His eyes narrowed, but then he shifted his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it landed on my lips. My breath hitched, my body reacting instinctively to his silent scrutiny.

He cleared his throat, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. "Y/N," he warned, his voice a husky whisper.

Then, before I could even process what was happening, he leaned in.

A mischievous grin spread across my face. "Were you watching me swim?" I asked, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

He didn't answer, his jaw clenched tight. But something in his eyes, a flicker of heat, betrayed him.

"Just making sure you didn't drown," he finally muttered, his voice gruff.

I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. "So that's why you're so… hard right now?" I teased, my voice dripping with playful innocence.

He glared at me, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes.”No,”.

I could feel the tension between us, thick and palpable. Theo's breathing was ragged, his words barely coherent as I teased him, my hand brushing over his stomach under his t-shirt.

"Are you sure?" I whispered, fluttering my lashes at him with a practiced innocence.

"Yeah," he managed to force out, his voice rough and unsteady. I saw his Adam's apple bob with a swallow as my hand grazed lower, sending a jolt through him.“Fuck y/n”

A smirk played on my lips as I traced a finger along his jawline. "Is that what you say when you… touch yourself?" I teased, my voice dripping with a sweetness that seemed foreign on my tongue. "Do you think of me?"

He looked at me, his gaze intense, his reply barely a gasp. "No."

"No?" I feigned surprise, leaning in closer. "So, you don't want me to help you now?" I purred, my voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "You don't want me to…" I trailed off.

"Get on my knees, right here, right now?" I finished suggestively.

He didn't respond, his breathing ragged and shallow. I pressed on, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I would let you," I breathed,"I would let you take me right here, right now. You could do whatever you wanted to me, anything at all."``

"Would you want me to do that?" I whispered, feeling his hand grip the wall for support.

I grabbed his hand and put on the heat between my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as his fingers grazed me, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. "See, I'm so wet already," I breathed, he leaned down, urgency in his kiss. I met him halfway, the taste of him both familiar and forbidden.

We broke apart, gasping for air. Before his lips could find mine again, I distracted him, freeing one hand and guiding his face towards the sensitive skin of my neck. His lips and tongue danced across the exposed flesh, sending shivers down my spine.

With his hair caught in my hand, I pulled his head back, then sank to my knees in front of him. Looking up at him, I whispered, "Can I, please?"

"Fuck," he muttered, nodding reluctantly.

I unbuttoned his jeans, looking up at him as I lowered his boxers. "You're so hard, Theo," I remarked, meeting his gaze. "It must be painful, isn't it?"

As I took him in, I continued in a feigned innocence, "You know, I've never done this before, Theo. Never been on my knees like this for someone before."

"But I'll do it for you," I whispered, locking eyes with him. "Because I'll do anything for you, even if you hurt me. I don't care."

I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, feeling him twitch in response. He cursed, and I pulled away, planting soft kisses along his length. "So, you didn’t think of me doing that when you masturbate?" I asked, my voice teasing.

"I did—fuck, I did, and I hated myself for that," he confessed, his voice strained with desire.

I started to slide my mouth down his shaft, tasting the salty precum that had already leaked out. He moaned, his hands tangling in my hair as I took him deeper, swirling my tongue around him.

"Oh, fuck,", his praise spurring me on. "That feels so good, baby. You're so good at this."

I started to move my head up and down, taking him deeper with each stroke. I could feel him getting harder in my mouth, and I knew he was enjoying this.

"Yes, just like that," Theo said, his voice strained.

I started to suck harder, using my tongue to tease the sensitive skin of his cock. I could feel him getting closer to the edge, and I knew I had to keep going.

I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, my fingers gripping him tightly as I began to move my head back and forth. I took him deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of my throat. I could feel him pulsing in my mouth, and I knew he was about to cum.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned, his grip in my hair tightening.

I continued, sucking harder and faster, bringing him to the edge. But just as he was about to release, I pulled away abruptly.

"What —what the fuck?"

I stood up, pushing my hair back with a smirk. "So, you believed that?" I asked, seeing the confusion and frustration in his eyes.

"Believed what?" he asked, breathing heavily and clearly confused.

"That night, did you actually believe what I said?" I taunted, tracing his face lightly with my fingertips. "I just said what I had to get what I wanted, Theo. And it worked. I had you. It was… fun."

I continued, reveling in the power shift, "so actually you were one of my boys, all wrapped around my finger."

"I would pull my jeans up if I were you," I advised with a finality that hung heavy in the air.

Every word that tumbled out of my mouth was a lie, a carefully woven tapestry of deceit designed to inflict the same searing pain I felt. I wanted him to see himself reflected in the cruel mirror of my words, to understand the depth of the wound he'd left gaping in my heart.

I turned away, heading back to the house and eventually to the shared room with Lana. Once in the bathroom, I started the shower and sank to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me, as I let out a sob that wracked my entire body. The pain of his rejection, the guilt of my actions, the hurt of my unrequited love – it all came crashing down upon me in a wave of despair.

The drive home was a suffocating silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. I'd fabricated a story about catching the flu, needing to rest. The lietasted acrid on my tongue, but facing Lana, facing anyone, felt impossible.

Back in my room, the familiar walls seemed to close in on me. I sank onto the bed, burying myself in the covers. Theo's calls came one after another, his texts a constant reminder of the conversation left hanging. "We need to talk," they pleaded, each message a fresh wave of guilt crashing over me.

The sting of betrayal still lingered, but today, I craved solace. Seeking refuge in a familiar spot, I found myself nestled amongst the vibrant blooms near the bridge. Here, the gentle murmur of the water and the sweet scent of flowers offered a temporary escape.

Time seemed to blur as I sat there, lost in thought. Then, a shadow fell across me. Startled, I looked up to find Theo's hesitant gaze. Surprise momentarily rendered me speechless.

"Can I sit?" he asked, his voice laced with a vulnerability I hadn't seen before. A silent nod was all I could manage.

He lowered himself beside me, leaning back against the tree trunk. The silence between us was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions. My gaze drifted across the field, a silent plea for him to break the tension.

"The night before it happened…" he began, his voice thick with emotion, "I promised your brother I'd take care of you."

My head snapped towards him, surprise etching across my face.

"I promised," he continued, meeting my gaze. "That's why I tried so hard to push you away. I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you, of failing him."

A wave of guilt washed over me. "Theo…" I began, but he cut me off, his hand reaching out to clasp mine.

"It didn't work, though, did it?" he said, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I told myself I should only see you as a sister, but I couldn't. And that scared me. So I tried to push you away, as much as it hurt me"

"it did hurt me too y/n," he admitted. "The moment you kissed me…everything changed. I didn’t know you felt the same. It, and it scared me. I needed to regain control."

A lump formed in my throat as he revealed his turmoil. "Then the kiss," he continued, his voice barely a rasp. "Everything changed. I didn't know you felt that way, and I panicked. Tried to regain control."

A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down my cheek. "When Blaise brought you in... this night" he continued, his eyes searching mine, "I was a wreck. I felt like I'd betrayed your brother, tainted something so pure."

"What I did after, it was unfair. Unforgivable. You're not just another girl, Y/N. You're the only one. The only one I want. And even if it takes a lifetime to make things right, I will. Because I love you. I can't hide it anymore."

Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. "I didn't mean anything I said at the beach," I confessed. "I just... I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me."

He reached out, his hand gently cupping my face. "We messed up," i said, "We hurt each other."

Tears escaped, tracing warm paths down my cheeks. "But maybe we can fix it," I whispered, a sliver of hope flickering within me.

He brushed away my tears, his touch so soft . "I deserve the pain," he say,"But you don't. I'm so sorry, Y/N. So sorry for everything."

A bittersweet smile spread across my face. "I love you too," I confessed, the words tumbling out like a long-held secret. It felt surreal, a dream come true whispered on the wind.

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a perfect collision of emotions – tenderness, passion, and a promise of a new beginning. He deepened the kiss, pulling me onto his lap, our bodies aligning perfectly.

When he pulled away, his eyes sparkled with an intensity that sent a jolt through me. "Give me a chance," he pleaded. "To make things right. I'll never hurt you again. I don't deserve forgiveness, but I'm begging for it. Please, let me make it up to you."

"I forgave you already," I admitted, "but can you say it again? Just to be sure I didn't imagine it."

A smile, genuine and heartfelt, softened his features. He leaned back in, his lips whispering the words against mine, "I love you, Y/N L/N."

My heart soared. "I think I might die happy right now," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Suddenly, a nagging thought surfaced. "But what about Lana? We need to tell her."

Theo's smile faltered for a moment. "Believe me, she knows," he said with a sigh. "Apparently, she's celebrating you being her 'sister' and even thanked me for it."

I couldn't help but laugh. It sounded like something Lana would do. "Of course, that sounds like her,"

Suddenly, a playful glint sparked in his eyes. "Now," he drawled, a hint of jealousy lacing his voice, "about that Italian boy?"

I couldn't help but burst into laughter. Leaning in, I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. "There's nothing to worry about," I mumbled against his shirt.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. "Good," he said, his arms tightening around me in a possessive hug. "Because I was planning a little trip to Italy."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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[blueywrites]

u-haul 'cause I might let you move in it (1/2)

dom dealer!eddie x sub fem!reader Inspired by @2jihiir0's fanart 'make it quick... baby's sleeping'. leave them some love! read part two here.

2.5k

cw (both parts): 18+. smut, drug use (weed), situationship becoming something more (???), shame kink, praise & degradation, pet names, exhibitionism-adjacent, no y/n, no physical descriptors, eddie's still a fairly soft dom bc I'm just not hard like that 😭

an: this is just the start of the filth, y'all - most of it occurs in part two 😌 shout out to @munson-blurbs @hellfire--cult @word-wytch and @the-unforgivenn for their feral support and @fracturedarkness bc this wouldn't exist without her.

enjoy part one! 🩵

The afternoon sun hangs heavy in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow through the dusty blinds of the trailer. The air inside is thick with the scent of smoke and stale beer, a heady mixture that clings to the walls. It’s the kind of smell that seeps into your clothes, your hair, your skin. It should leave you feeling slightly suffocated, especially considering the oppressive humidity also clinging to every surface, but somehow, there's a measure of comfort in the acrid scent.

You’re sitting on the threadbare couch, the fabric worn with age creaking as you shift restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the heat. The fabric scratches your soles as you prop your feet up, leaning against the couch arm, fanning the neck of your thin tank top to peel the dampness from your chest. Beneath the old coffee table, your flip-flops lay forgotten, abandoned on the threadbare carpet. A beer bottle sits nearby, sweating rings onto the surface of the table, a testament to the lazy haze of the afternoon.

On the other side of the couch, your dealer lounges against the cushions, his movements fluid and practiced as he rolls a joint with deft, inked fingers. You look over at Eddie as he watches the TV, his head lolled back against the couch, his eyes heavy-lidded, relaxed. He looks good. You can’t help but spend a long moment staring at him: the angles of his face, his big brown eyes and puffy lips, his long, shaggy curls that frame his high cheekbones. He’s pretty, and he’d look downright innocent if it wasn’t for the long nick of white scar tissue kissing the edge of his lip and the scruff darkening his cheeks and jaw. Your gaze dips lower over his tight black jeans, lingering where they meet his rust-colored tank. The shirt is caught up around his hip, revealing a strip of pale skin and a tattoo that you can just see the bottom of. You want to run your tongue over it, then keep mapping all his ink until your mouth has touched each bit of darkness on him.

This thing with Eddie started when you broke up with Trevor and lost your go-to source for getting high. When you’d asked around, a friend of a friend recommended Eddie Munson, saying he was the best you could come by in the area: decent product, reasonable prices, and not a total creep. The first couple times were quick transactions, and then you started hanging around because the girl who hooked you up also told you Eddie would likely offer to smoke you out if you did. He let you hang around because he didn't much care either way, and he didn't find you hard to look at. That led quickly to casual sex whenever you saw each other, usually when you'd come by a couple times a month to restock your supply. And the sex is great– better than the weed, and Eddie's weed is always high quality. He just has this ability to make you feel special in the moment without having any expectations about whatever-you-and-he-were as soon as you pull your panties back on, leaving you free to date whoever you wanted when you left his trailer.

It’s ecstasy to have all of his attention focused on you in those moments because, though Eddie looks like a mean bastard, he gets off on your pleasure. He's not one to make you feel used or neglected; he's a thorough lover. And he has a knack for straddling the perfect line between sweet and sour. He'd praise you then humiliate you in the next breath, and it drove you wild. Kept you coming back even though he never expressed interest in taking you out or doing anything with you other than just getting high, watching TV, and fucking you 'til you screamed.

And then, at some point, you find yourself declining guys' offers for dinner or drinks. You just don’t feel like going out anymore, because trying to find Mr. Right was getting exhausting— at least, that's what you tell yourself. And Eddie starts calling you sometimes to let you know he had a new strain he thought you'd like, some of Rick's fancy shit. Soon enough, you go from seeing him twice a month to twice a week, sometimes more. And slowly but surely, you begin to notice a change in yourself. You start staring at all his tattoos and wondering what the stories are behind them. Feeling an odd flutter when you flop down next to him and he'd sling his arm around your shoulder without a thought. Laying tangled in his musty bedsheets, and when he leaves to go to the bathroom, secretly burying your nose against his pillow because the smell of him has suddenly become... comforting.

Things are changing for you, and you really hope they are for him, too. 'Cause if not, it seems your traitorous heart has determined you'll be in for a world of hurt.

"Y'want some of this?" Eddie's voice cuts through the haze, drawing your attention away from the television. You glance over to see him holding up the joint, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The glow of the joint illuminates his features, soft against the curve of his cheek.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your own lips as you shift closer to him. He pats his thigh, a silent invitation, and you don’t hesitate to straddle his lap, the heat of his body seeping through your pajama shorts. His jeans are rough against your tender inner thighs as you shift, grazing the hardening bulge pressing against his zipper; your stomach tightens with the first whispers of arousal as you feel it brush against you.

"Gimme a show then, kitten," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, making that arousal bloom fuller as you grow excited. It’s a playful taunt, a challenge, but beneath the teasing facade, you can sense something more—a hint of possessiveness, maybe even of longing. That could just be your wishful thinking, but nonetheless, your heart races at the prospect as you meet his gaze, accepting his challenge.

With a coy smile, you slip off the couch, settling on your knees and running your nails up his thighs on your way to his lap. You take your time unbuckling his belt, keeping your movements slow and unhurried, though you secretly throb as you begin to unwrap him. It’s crazy how quickly he turns you on— how all he has to do is smirk and pin you with a look, or murmur a few words in that low, husky tone, and you’re already wetting your panties for him. 

Eddie waits just long enough for you to shimmy his jeans and boxers down to his knees, and then he catches you by the jaw with a broad, rough palm. You look up at him as he guides you back up with his light grip on your face. His eyes flick down to your mouth as he leans forward, curls swinging to kiss his jaw. You brighten, eager to feel his mouth on yours, wondering what kind of kiss he’ll reward you with— something slow and sweet, or wet and filthy. But he leaves just a peck on your lips before drawing back, tightening his hold on your jaw to keep you firmly in place when you instinctively go to chase him.

You fall immediately into a pout, slumping back on your heels as he breathes a chuckle at you. Eddie bends to lightly pat your cheek a few times in consolation before settling back into the cushions, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He must know the gesture would rile you up, and it does— you feel your disappointment churn in your belly, turning to petulance. In retaliation, you clamber up to your feet, abandoning your position kneeling before his boots. With narrowed eyes, you drop your shorts and panties together without ceremony, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, denying him the chance to enjoy watching you strip. You cross your arms when your bratting only makes him smirk even wider at you. He quirks an eyebrow as if to say, “Well?” 

You resent how much you like his stupid face.

The couch creaks its protest as you climb up onto it, slinging a leg over his lap again, this time with nothing separating your skin from his, which is hot and slightly sticky with the humidity. His cock kicks subtly when your pussy grazes him, and you bite your lip, feeling an answering pulse of desire within yourself. When you mount him, reaching behind to grip him at the base and notch his fat head at your entrance, Eddie prepares for your performance: draping his arms casually over the backrest, fingers idly tapping against the worn fabric, his other arm hinging to bring the joint lazily to his lips. 

He looks like such an asshole, waiting for you to service him. And you might've goaded him more because of it, but you forget about being bratty the second you sink down on his lap, taking him all the way into you. 

A quiet moan sighs from between your cracked lips when you sit fully on his cock, your eyes slipping closed as you get lost in that initial stretch. He's not the only guy you've fucked— far from it— but there’s just something about the way he slots inside, nudging against the end of you, that always leaves you feeling more perfectly filled than anyone else. Eddie watches with a sly glint in his half-lidded eyes as you start to grind on him, letting yourself drift into the space he always brings you into. With him, you can be soft, sensual, and needy, but also desperate and pathetic. You can act out all your secret desires, know that Eddie will flay you open and force you to acknowledge them, and let the shame of it get you off all at once.

Eddie lets you be a freak, and better yet, he likes it.

Desperate to earn his approval, you run your hands up your body, dragging over your hips and up to your neck as you ride him. Your abdomen rolls as you grind with fluid, sensual movements, doing your best to put on the show he’d requested. You look at him through your lashes as your wandering fingers catch on the hem of your tank top, dragging it slowly up to reveal your soft belly. You hold it just below your breasts so Eddie can watch the way your curves bend and move while you work his cock. 

In some respects, the dance is for you as much as it’s for him because the way Eddie watches you with rapt attention, his eyes devouring every inch of your body, really turns you on. You bite your lip, your clit swelling with anticipation as you tease him with a glimpse of the underside of your breasts. He hums approvingly, taking a leisurely hit from the joint. As the smoke curls around him in a tantalizing haze, you give in sooner than you’d been intending and ruck up your top to let your breasts fall out. You start to play with them, squeezing and kneading as you rock your hips harder, your own need mounting.

Gradually, your performance ceases being a performance. Your nipples begin to ache, begging to be touched, and a moan spills unbidden from your lips as you tweak and pinch them, sending pleasure zinging straight down within you. You close your eyes, a tiny frown forming as you try to concentrate on the low flame of your arousal, but it remains at a frustratingly low simmer. You rock faster, grind harder, pinch harsher, your movements a silent plea for the sweet relief only Eddie can give. You’ve built your own pleasure as much as you can on your own, and now, you need him. The coyness is wiped from your expression, replaced with a begging pinch in your brow, a needy, wet shine in your eyes as you blink unseeingly at him, all pretty and pathetic on his lap.

At the border between satisfaction and desperation— that’s where he wanted you. 

A hand at your hip stills your movements, and as your eyes snap to focus on Eddie's face, you see he’s leaned forward, his nose scant inches from yours. His other elbow is planted on the couch arm, the joint poised tantalizingly nearby in his ringed fingers. Eddie squeezes your hip firmly, then again more gratuitously, and when you obediently fall still to sit motionless on his cock, he lets his palm slide up the curve of your waist in a drag that makes you gasp, you're so wired and ready for his touch. You watch, rapt, as he brings the joint toward his lips, salivating as a swipe of his tongue moistens them.

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes snap up to his, captured completely by his unwavering gaze. As he inhales, those brown eyes glitter in the orange that flares bright at the joint’s end. And he keeps that point of contact between you as his broad palm travels up, up, up— over the supple heft of your breast, grazing the hard peak of your nipple, skimming the thrumming pulse in your neck, his thumb catching on the underside of your jaw as he cups your cheek. He closes those scant inches between you, and when the bulb of his nose nudges yours, your mouth falls open as your eyes slip closed. 

He exhales, you inhale. When the warm rush of Eddie’s breath kisses your lips, you take it into you, your chest expanding as your lungs fill with smoke. The taste of him mingles with a heady rush of arousal, and you continue to take, even through the twinge of discomfort as your lungs stretch to accommodate it all. As Eddie gives you the last of his smoke, you close your mouth, keeping it all inside.

“Hold it,” he murmurs against your skin. His lips trail kisses along your jaw as you obey, fighting your diaphragm as it hitches, wanting to cough. You make a little noise in the back of your throat when he nips you, the brief sharp sting soothed soon after by the flat of his tongue. You hold as long as you can, and when you finally exhale, Eddie rewards you by taking hold of your hips, pulling you into a slow, sensual grind as he kisses you sloppy, wet lips wide and devouring. The friction and fervor crash over you in an intense wave of pleasure, one that has you whining, twisting your fingers in his hair, pressing your tits to his chest, ready to ignite—

The front door shakes with the pounding of a heavy fist.

[flamingpudding]

Ouija Board Prompt Idea

A/N: A late night Idea that came to me instead of sleep and I wrote this down during lunch break

Danny was just in Gotham because the city spirit had asked him for assistance with a rather persistent unruly Ghost that didn't understand that this was her haunt and she did not want them there.

So when he got the notice he did his kingly duties and made sure the Ghost was no longer annoying Lady Gotham. He was the Ghost King but even he didn't want to anger a spirit as old as her. He had watched the spirit take a ghostly club and hit Clockwork the Ancient of Time with it without remorse the first time they were introduced. So yea, no messing with this one.

He had been about to portal back home when he felt a strange pull one that was close to when he got summoned but yet it didn't feel as demanding but more like a little kid pulling on his shirt hesitantly. So he checked it out…

… and came across a group of vigilantes investigating an occult side.

Invisible he watched them, curious. He used to do the teen hero stick too before the whole Ghost King business allowing him to get some semblance of a normal life with his rogues, might as well see how others to that hero stick. Besides the pull he felt appeared to come from that tall one wearing a red helmet something was up with that guy.

"Come on, ask the ghosts a question or are you too chicken to do it?"

"I will not participate in this nonsense, Red Hood."

"Come on guys it will be fun!"

"For whom? You, Spoiler?"

"RR aren't you curious?"

"We just gotta ask the board a question and if a ghost is around they will answer by moving it, right?"

"Ghosts don't exist."

Okay Danny was not taking personal offense here but he was a half ghost and he ruled the Ghost Zone filled with ecto-entities that could count as ghosts. So yes, ghosts existed. It was a simple decision then as he floated down invisible crouching next to board still invisible and out of the way from them.

Making sure he made a lot of scraping noises as he moved the small wooden piece on the board to 'YES'.

Someone yelped and someone else shrieked, though Danny wasn't sure if that was a shriek of excitement or not. He still grinned at their reactions.

"Did that just move to 'YES'! It did, didn't it!"

Yea okay that earlier was a shriek of excitement considering how that girl in purple was jumping around. Though the poor kid among them looked a little paler now, Danny decided to keep an eye on the kid to make sure he wasn't overdoing it.

"Okay so a ghost is here?"

Maybe he should have bothered listening to Lady Gotham or Tucker more about the vigilantes of Gotham. Oh well no time better as this to learn. What did the girl call this boy again, RR? Danny wondered what that stood for.

He moved the piece around the board a little making sure they noticed before he spelled something out.

"N-O-S-H-I-T-S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K. No shit Sherlock. Ha! I like this ghost!" The tall one laughed, he believed the kid called him Red Hood earlier. Well the red helmet was a great testament to that sort of code name. Still he wondered about that weird feeling he got from the guy but pushed that aside for later.

"Well since there is a ghosts, what should we ask?"

"Maybe how old he is?"

"Think it rude to ask how he died?"

Danny rolled his eyes. Those were such mainstream questions.

"B-O-R-I-N-G, 1-6 , YES. Guys it looks like we are not were imaginativ."

"Well what do you suggest we ask then?"

"I don't know! Maybe he can show us a cool trick?"

"You know that reminds me of this game that's been out for a while, phasmophobia or something like that?"

Oh Danny knew this one! Tucker had told him about the game, he himself hadn't played it but he had watched his best friend do so, they had a lot of fun joking about how the ghosts were portrayed and the tools that were available to the players.

"So what? We ask the ghost to play Hide and Seek with us?"

"Let's cease this nonsense. This is not something we should mess with."

"Oh are you scared?"

He made a show of moving the wooden piece, doing his best not to snicker out loud as he moved the piece to count down from the number 9. Letting his own powers out a little to cause the already dim light to flicker and the room to cool down several degrees.

The reaction was instant once again. Though he didn't expect them to run for hiding spaces he definitely did not expect these people to pull out their weapons and position against each other's back like they were ready for a fight. Then again they were vigilantes

The poor kid among them looked even paler. Before his count down could reach 0 he decided to not scare the poor kid more. Pulling back his powers the room's temperature normalized and the lights stopped flickering. He moved the wooden piece knowing that at least one of them was watching it in anticipation.

"J-K-S-O-R-R-Y"

"I think the ghost just apologized to us?" The RR teenager said carefully and Danny couldn't help the sheepish smile even if they couldn't see it in his invisible state.

"You know about the game?"

He moved the piece to YES.

"So you thought it was fucking appropriated to scare us like that?"

He moved the piece around and placed it back to YES before spelling out sorry again. The vigilantes shared a look and Danny decided to spell out a question.

"L-I-T-T-L-E-G-U-Y-O-K-A-Y"

"Huh? Uh yea Robin is fine." They looked confused but Danny kept his eyes on the kid. Well the poor boy still looked very pale but he also appeared to try to put on a brave front, it nearly caused a chuckle to escape the halfa.

"Can you show yourself?"

"S-U-R-E"

Not like he was really going to show himself but this was going to be fun, he thanked the Ancients that he was taking lessons with Pandora on how to manipulate his own ectoplasm. He summoned a blob of it making sure he himself was still invisible as he let the green blob be visible, forming it and making it look like a blob ghost.

The reaction was once again instant. They yelled in the chaos all he caught sounded like 'Lazarus water! Moving Lazarus Water!' Before the pale kid, Robin they said, slashed at his ectoplasm blob with his katana, essentially doing nothing to the blob of ectoplasm. The sword just went through it and Danny still holding it confused just instinctively let it reform the shape he gave it.

Danny blinked, okay now he was definitely not showing himself. "This is no a ghost but a Pit Demon!"

From the corner of the eye he saw Lady Gotham appear in the room staring at him disapprovingly and holding that ghost club she had used on Clockwork.

"I can explain, really! I was just joking with them!" He stood holding his hands up to smooth the situation, the green blob fell to the ground splashing against the Ouija Board with a loud splat. His chances of not get hit like Clockwork by Lady Gotham were becoming slimmer.

"WHO SAID THAT?!"

Shit, he hadn't used ghost speech but said that out loud.

[soulofapatrick]

Rebuilding - Derek Hale x female reader

Summary: You show Derek the rebuilt Hale House you did for him

Words: 1.8k

warnings: none really; heavy making out

Notes: I can make a smutty part two

Y/N’s POV

The old Hale House had stood as a haunting reminder of the past, a testament to the tragedy and loss the family had endured. But now, it has been transformed into something new, something hopeful. With the combined effort of the pack and my Dad, it had become a symbol of rebirth and unity, a mansion that has welcomed every member with open arms and spare rooms for new pack members. 

As I stand in front of the restored mansion, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Derek, who had once lived here in its glory days, deserves to see what I’ve done to the place. He’s been through so much, and I wanted this surprise to be a new beginning for him… for us hopefully. 

The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I can’t help but fidget with the key in my hand as I wait for Derek. The old Hale House, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, seems to hold its breath in eager anticipation of his arrival. And then, I hear it - the familiar purr of Derek’s car engine. It’s a sound that I’ve come to associate with his arrival, and my heart quickens in response. The car pulls down the long, winding driveway, and I keep staring at the house, my hands shaking a little as I fiddle with the keys. 

Suddenly, there he is. Derek appears beside me, his tall, brooding frame casting a shadow on the gravel driveway. He looks rugged and handsome as ever, with that alluring air of mystery that has always drawn me to him. His dark brows are furrowed in curiosity and confusion, his eyes scanning the mansion before us as if he’s trying to work out where we are. It makes my heart drop as he doesn’t recognise it despite me trying to keep it as near as I can to the original Hale house. 

But then, something remarkable happens. As his eyes roam over the mansion’s exterior, his brows furrow even deeper, and then there’s a hint of disbelief in his expression. It’s as if the familiarity of the place has begun to dawn on him, piece by piece. The realisation hits him like a tidal wave. His kaleidoscope eyes widen, and a gasps escapes his pretty and plump lips, “Is… is this….?” His voice trembles with emotion, and for a moment, he can’t seem to find the words. 

I hold out the keys for him and he looks between the house and the keys and then back at the house, “I can’t… I… can you…” His voice falters, and it’s clear that he’s fighting back tears, the enormity of the moment almost too much to bear. Without a word, I’m nodding and reaching for his trembling hands. Our fingers interlace, and with a gentle squeeze, I lead him towards the grand entrance. 

Derek’s eyes remain locked onto the mansion, his disbelief and wonder still etched across his features. But he doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand the whirlwind of emotions storming within him. 

I turn the key in the lock, my own fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The door swings open, revealing the lovingly restored interior. The warm, golden light spills into the entryway, painting a new chapter on the old canvas of the Hale House. The grand entrance is now invitingly open, Derek taking a step forwards. His presence is so close to me that his chest is practically pressed against my back. The feel of him so near is electrifying, and it sends a shiver down my spine. 

“Welcome home Derek.” I say, my voice a soft, heartfelt whisper, as we cross the threshold together. 

The atmosphere inside is a mixture of nostalgia and fresh beginnings. The original features of the Hale House have been preserved, the hardwood floors polished, the walls adorned with artworks from the pack. The spaciousness of the rooms has been maintained, yet there’s a sense of cozy warmth that wasn’t there before. 

Derek’s gaze dances the space, a mixture of awe and sentimentality reflected in his expressive eyes. He appreciates the care and attention that went into preserving the essence of the house he called home. 

Then, he grabs my hands again with a gentle yet firm grip, leading me through the echoing halls as the pack gave us the house for Derek to see alone.  It’s a touch that sends a rush of warmth through me, the electricity of his touch palatable. We move through the house, our footsteps echoing, and Derek’s strides confident, as if he’s revisiting his own memories. 

As we ender the kitchen, Derek stops in his tracks. A soft, almost reverent sound escapes him, and his eyes widen again as he takes in the layout. It’s practically identical to the original Hale House kitchen, meticulously restored to match his recollections with the help of creepy uncle Peter. 

His grip on my hand tightens, and he turns to me, his expression filled with amazement, “This… it’s just like I remember it.” He says, his vice soft and filed with wonder, “You’ve brought it all back to life.” 

I can’t help but smile at his reaction. The kitchen holds countless memories for him, both happy and bittersweet, and seeing it so faithfully restored means the world to him. "We wanted it to feel like home," I reply, my voice equally hushed, knowing how much this place means to him. Derek’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, his touch conveying the depth of his gratitude. It’s a silent exchange of emotions, the unspoken understanding between us.

And then, something changes in the air. Derek turns to me, his kaleidoscope eyes now shining with warmth and something else, something that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His gaze flits down my lips, and in response, I can’t help but wet them with my tongue, suddenly feeling acutely aware of their dryness. It draws a small sound from Derek’s throat, low and almost involuntary, a testament to the magnetic pull between us. He leans in, closing the distance between our lips with a purposeful intent. Our mouths meet in a soft, longing kiss, a silent declaration of the emotions that have simmered between us for so long. 

His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a deliberate tenderness. I can feel the gentle, rhythmic movement of his mouth, each touch setting my heart racing. There’s a hint of urgency in his kiss, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface. Derek’s hands finding their way to my waist, holding e close as if he never wants to let me go. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I press my body closer to his, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

My own hands move to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. They gradually work their way up, entwining in his shirt, wanting to pull him closer still. The connection between us deepens with every passing second, a silent confirmation of the emotions we’ve held back fr so long. 

Derek’s hands, which had been gently holding my waist, suddenly tighten their grip and before I can react, he’s lifting me up with a powerful yet careful motion. My legs instinctively wrap around this waist as he sets me on the edge of the kitchen island, never once breaking the kiss. 

Our lips remain locked in a heated embrace, a heated embrace, a testament to the fiery passion that's been ignited between us. Derek's tongue brushes over my lips, seeking entrance, and without hesitation, I part them, with a small, embracing sound escaping my lips which he swallows, tongue slipping past my lips. It's a dance of desire, a clash of longing, and a melding of two souls that have been drawn together by an irresistible force. Our mouths move with a shared urgency, each kiss deeper and more consuming than the last.

As our tongues explore and intertwine, Derek’s grip on my hips tightens, pulling me closer until I’m arched on the edge of the kitchen island. The sensation of his body pressed against mine is electrifying, sending heat down south where I’m pressed against his growing problem. It has my thighs tightening around him, hips jerking a little and drawing sounds from both of us. 

Finally our lips part, but only slightly, our foreheads resting against each other as we catch our breath. Derek’s voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw desire, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He confesses, his words heavy with yearning, “ I couldn’t keep it in any longer.” 

My heart flutters at his admission, and I look into his kaleidoscope eyes, my own filled with the same longing, “Der…” I breathe, “I’ve felt the same way. I’ve wanted this as much as you have.” 

His lips find mine again, and the kiss that follows is fierce and fervent, a passionate culmination of our unspoken desires. It's a promise, a declaration, and a celebration of the love that has finally been acknowledged. 

But then, Derek's lips trail down from mine to my neck, and his kisses ignite a trail of fire across my skin. I gasp as his mouth leaves a mark, a fervent, possessive hickey, and another one right beside it. Each one is a silent proclamation of his desire, a mark of his longing for me. As Derek's kisses continue to trail down my neck, I gasp and my fingers clutch at his shoulders. The sensation is almost too much to bear, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin, marked by possessive hickeys.

“Y/N,” He murmurs breathlessly voice heavy with desire, “If we don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pulls away slightly, his eyes dark and smouldering now and he lets out a low and sensual chuckle when an embarrassing moan escapes me. 

“Maybe…” I have to clear my throat, “Maybe we should check out your room.” My heart is racing as I say it, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and desire, eager to hear his response but also somewhat ready for the rejection. 

Instead, he groans, head falling to my shoulder before he growls out, “Don’t… don’t say things like that baby girl.” I stay silent, knowing there’s more and he kissing my collarbone sweetly before murmuring, “But, I think it’s a very, very good idea.”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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@bellabadacadabra

[tomriddleslove]

What’s left of me?

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where your pursuit for excellence leads you down a path of self destruction, and you’re slowly loosing yourself. You didn’t expect a certain boy in your year would be your saving grace. Alternatively: Mattheo makes you realise you’re more than what you think you are.

A/N: I guess this could very easily be like a prequel to the other mattheo one shot ‘i’m here’. This is definitely a bit self indulgent but we all have our things 😻😻

Warnings: Allusions to overdosing (brief), mentions of not eating.

Songs: Nothings New - Rio Romeo

18 days.

18 days till you would be finished with all of this.

Technically, it would actually be 408 days till you finished school and graduated from this godforsaken place, but 18 more till you finished with exams.

You weren’t sure how many more hours you could spend hunched over indecipherable handwriting, pouring over text till your eyes stung and your back ached. Surrounded by a stack of books and rolls of parchment, you couldn’t even begin to figure out where you ended and the library began. You had taken up a huge table (that could seat at least 4) for the better part of 17 hours, sat on the same chair since 6:00 am.

You stifle a small groan of pain as you roll your wrist, stiff and sore from the hell that was ancient runes.

There are ink splotches all over your skin, and you’re sure the amount of work you were pouring into this stopped being effective nearly 5 hours ago.

Your eyes flicker up and scan over the once-packed library that had slowly dwindled down to a few students, half of whom were in the same boat as you.

To you, being the last person in the library was a huge sign of success. It meant you were more dedicated and more hard-working.

In reality, the truth couldn’t be any further from that, but in your mind, if you weren’t milking yourself over every last piece of work it simply wasn’t being done right.

The hushed murmurs and sounds of parchment being unfurled fade into the background as your quill scratches furiously against the parchment, mind running at a million miles an hour.

You ignore the pang in your stomach as you work; you haven’t eaten today. You didn’t want to get up at any point to get food, for fear of your place being taken.

Now, you didn’t want to get up for another reason. It was well past the library's open hours and Madame Pince was angrily fussing about, bustling around everyone as she got them to leave. A testament to how long you had been there, she didn’t even seem to notice you, and you were worried getting up and walking about would break this sort of invisibility shield you had going on.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t really drunk any water either. You brought your bottle with you but had forgotten to fill it up. It was fine though, the human body could last for 3 days without water - it could wait. Your upcoming exams were far more important.

In Scandinavia, the Elder Futhark remained in use until some time around the eighth century (the time of the Eddas), when drastic changes in the Old Norse language occurred, and corresponding changes in the runic alphabet were made to accommodate the new sounds. However, unlike the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the Younger Futhark (as it is now called) reduced the number of runes from 24 to 16, and several runes came to represent multiple sounds. The forms of the runes were also changed and simplified.

Gods, you couldn't take this anymore. You felt sick and exhausted. You ignore the hunger that gnaws at your stomach, rubbing a hand over your face as you contemplate finishing off and going to bed.

But every time you think of stopping a horrible feeling emerges in your stomach, consuming you with anxiety. The weight of impending exams and the fear of not doing well gnawing at your determination. You glance at the clock, realizing it's well past midnight, and the library is now completely empty except for you.

Madame Pince, finally noticing your presence, approaches with a disapproving look. "You know, the library does close at a certain hour. I can't have students staying here all night," she scolds, but her tone softens as she sees the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Sorry. I lost track of time” You mumble, haphazardly cramming your stuff into your bag. You get up, and the room spins for a second. You stumble but manage to catch yourself, holding onto the table as Madam Pince reaches out a hand to help you recover.

“You need to take care of yourself. No exam is worth this much stress,” She says, eyeing you with concern. If only she knew how far that was from the truth. You felt as though you had so little to your name. Performing well, overachieing. That was what you were known for. It was the only thing you felt was yours. Everyone else had character, they were distinctly themselves. They had hobbies, interests, and friendships that defined them. But for you, it was always about excelling academically. Without that, you became nobody. You were no more than the number on your papers, and the reminder weighed down on you like an unrelenting burden.

By some miracle you manage to stumble down the empty halls of the castle into the Slytherin common room, which seemed paradoxically warm considering its grandiose stone structure and dark, moody lighting. You carelessly drop your bag onto a table closest to the fireplace, trudging up to your room as you battle the sleep that threatens to consume you.

It's dark, and your roommates have long gone to bed.

“Lumos” You murmur, hiding the blinding light that emerges from the tip of your wand with the lining of your school robes, dimming it slightly. You grope blindly at your bedside drawer, stopping when you feel the familiar smooth glass bottle, that fits perfectly in your palm. You slip it into the pocket of your robes, slowly shutting the drawer as you make your way back down to the common room. You dismiss the light that shines from your wand, tossing it onto the sofa as you take a seat on the floor, in front of the low table. You read the instructions on the back of the small bottle as if you hadn’t been consuming this religiously for the past month.

Wideye potion User Guidance:

Take no more than one teaspoon every 6 hours. Effects will last for up to 8 hours. Excessive use of this potion may lead to adverse effects, and in rare cases, severe bodily harm. Users are advised not to use the maximum dosage for a consecutive 72 hours.

You’ve read it so many times, you were sure you could recite it by heart. Choosing not to heed any warnings, you pop open the cork and down the whole bottle in one go. The rancid taste of the potion burns, eliciting a shudder down your spine as you swallow down the bile that threatens to emerge. Pocketing the empty glass bottle, you stretch your arms before retrieving your books, ready to continue working.

If you were lucky, the potion might give you a boost of energy for about 3 hours or so. You had been taking it so much you had developed a sort of immunity to it, and the effects were not as potent as they used to be. The sacrifice of your well-being for the sake of productivity had become a routine, a desperate attempt to squeeze every ounce of time and focus out of your exhausted mind and body.

You have attempted to brew a stronger concoction, in the misplaced hopes that increasing the potency would counteract the effect of the immunity. However, the violent cramps and palpitations it had given you very quickly told you that wouldn't work.

You knew it was bad. It was causing irreversible damage to your body, killing you at worst. It simply wasn't sustainable. But you couldn't drag yourself out of that mindset.

Failure. Nobody.

You gritted your teeth and carried on working.

You managed to get through another potions essay, and the time on your watch read 1:00 am.

You could carry on for longer, right?

You zone out for a second, staring off at the orange embers that emerged from the fireplace, shining bright for what seemed like a millisecond before falling to the floor, turning into nothing but ash.

The orange embers flicker, and for a moment, you see yourself in them – a fleeting brightness that threatens to be extinguished. The battle between ambition and self-preservation rages on as you grit your teeth and carry on working, oblivious to the embers slowly falling into nothingness, much like your own fading sense of self.

“Why on earth are you up at this hour doing work?” A voice calls from behind you, and the momentary intrusion shocks you, sending a burst of energy through you as you spin around.

Flopping down onto the sofa next to you, leaning back with his legs lazily outstretched, was none other than Mattheo Riddle. Clad in a plain grey sweatshirt and black jeans, he eyes you with curiosity, smelling distinctively of smoke. He had most likely been out, as he so usually was at this hour. You shrug, turning back to your work.

“Exams. Need to revise” You mumble, voice cracking. You swallow, massaging your dry throat as you grimace, trying to get back to your writing.

“Revise? Merlin, you're the smartest person in our year. You don't need to be revising” Matthep leans forward, plucking a piece of parchment from your pile and examining it with a raised eyebrow.

You snatch it back, a protective instinct kicking in despite the fatigue. You hated that sentiment. Despised it, even. People always assumed your performance came naturally. That you were simply born with the ability to do well. No one seemed to consider what you had to do to get to that point, how you wore yourself down, day in and day out, till you either passed out from exhaustion or pain, neglecting your most basic needs.

"I might be the 'smartest' person, but that doesn't mean I can afford to slack off," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. The adrenaline from the sudden interruption starts to ebb away, leaving you feeling even more drained.

Mattheo leans back, momentarily caught off guard by your defensiveness. He had never seen you this on edge. He was so accustomed to seeing you as this familiar presence during the school day his partner for the many lessons that he didn’t have his friends in. The two of you would work together and on rare occasions, hang out with one another in the common room as well. It was a rather unlikely duo, the king of Slytherin and the academic prodigy. Yet, More often than not Mattheo found himself seeking out your presence. He never admitted it outright, but he hugely admired you. Your intelligence, your drive, it all captivated him. There were times when he hoped he could be only half the person you were.

How funny it was, for you felt the very same thing when you saw him. He seemed content. Happy. He was loved by nearly everyone. Popular, with a fun social life. He had everything you wanted without putting in any of the work.

You wanted to be like him. But you weren’t. And if you wanted anything like what he had, you had to work damn hard for it. So that's what you did. With a small sigh, you turn back to your work.

“Hey,” He says gently, his voice softening slightly. "I’m sorry. I say stupid things sometimes.” He apologies, brows furrowed as he looks at your back facing him.

“It's fine. I should be saying sorry. You didn't say anything, I just…. I’m just a bit tired, that's all.” You mumble, apologising as you get up. You stretch, a yawn escaping your lips as you wearily rub your eyes.

“I'm gonna run up to my room and grab some more parchment. I’ll be down in a second,” You say, shrugging off your school robe as you turn to walk away. You ascend the stairs leading to your dorm, tossing your robe onto the sofa next to Mattheo as you do so.

Your robe slides off the sofa and hits the floor, a faint clinking sound echoing through the empty room as you disappear.

Curious, Mattheo looks down at your carelessly discarded robe. He reaches down, picking it up. It weighs heavier than it should be, and Mattheo can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity, He eyes the now empty staircase before reaching into your pocket, fingers brushing against a smooth glass vial.

Not just one, but a few.

Frowning, he turns out your pocket, and four identical glass vials tumble into his lap. Picking one up, his frown only deepens as he reads the label.

“Wideye potion?” He mutters to himself, the confusion on his face morphing into something else as the pieces fit in place.

He had admired you for your intelligence and drive, and now he was confronted with the reality of your struggles. The contrast between your achievements and the seemingly carefree moments he sought with you becomes stark. He berates himself for not having noticed early, for having let you fall down such a destructive path.

Jaw clenched, he gazes at the piles of books you had been working through, rolling the empty vials between his fingers as the sound of your approaching footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts.

You pause in confusion, noticing the scrutinising depression plastered on his face as he looks up at you, rolls of parchment bundled in your hands.

"What's the Wideye potion for?" Mattheo questions, his voice cutting through the silence with an uncomfortable heaviness. He holds up the empty vials as evidence, his gaze piercing through the exhaustion in your eyes.

Caught off guard by the confrontation, you glance down at the vials and then meet Mattheo's eyes. A brief moment of silence hangs in the air, the crackling embers of the fireplace filling the empty silence.

“Research. For uh, potions.” You respond, internally berating yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse.

Mattheo's expression remains stern, a mix of frustration and genuine concern etched on his face.

"Don't bullshit me," he says, his tone direct and uncompromising. "I found these in your pocket, and 'potions research' is a shit excuse. I’m going to ask you again. What’s the wideye potion for?"

You shift uncomfortably, feeling small under his scrutinising gaze You clear your throat, speaking.

"It's just to stay awake, you know? To keep going. I only take it in extreme circumstances" you explain, your voice betraying the exhaustion that has settled in.

Mattheos jaw clenches, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he looks to the side with a sigh, visibly frustrated.

“Extreme? And what would that be, hmm? Because right now I'm looking at four empty bottles, and God knows how many more you’ve thrown away.” He snaps, his expression softening as he looks at you.

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you struggle to find the right words. Why on earth were you close to tears? Why did you feel like crying?

“I-” You start, trailing off as you stare at the floor.

Mattheo cuts through the silence, his tone still stern but laced with concern. "This isn't okay. You're smart, and you know better. You can't keep doing this to yourself. What if something happens? What if you collapse or get seriously sick? It's not worth it."

After a moment, Mattheo's expression softens, and he exhales deeply. "When was the last time you ate?" he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

Shit.

You pause, hesitating before admitting quietly, "Breakfast...yesterday."

Mattheo's features tighten at your admission, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration, anger, and genuine worry. He rises from his seat and strides towards you, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"Yesterday? Are you serious?" he says sharply, his voice carrying a weight of both concern and disbelief.

You remain silent, unable to meet his eyes, feeling the shame and vulnerability washing over you.

“Seriously? Fuck, what’s wrong with you? Why would you do that to yourself?” He chastises you, and you snap.

“I have to! You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't have anything else to fall back on.” You start, dropping the parchment onto the table in front of you.

Mattheo's expression shifts from concern to confusion as you lash out. "What are you talking about? You have plenty more than just academics. You're talented, you're smart, and people care about you. Why are you reducing yourself to just grades?"

You scoff, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Talented? Smart? What does that even mean? It's just a facade, a cover-up for the fact that without these achievements, I'm nothing. I don't have friends; I don't have hobbies or interests. What am I without my grades?"

Mattheo tries to interject, "You're a person with-"

But you cut him off, "No, you don't get it! I'm just a number, a ranking, a test score. Everything I am is tied to how well I perform academically. Do you know what it's like to feel like the only thing you're good at is studying, and even that's slipping away?" You snap anger evident in your tone as you spin around to face him, your weary eyes meeting his.

“It’s the same thing every single day. I wake up, bury myself in books, and push myself to the brink just to feel like I matter. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't talk to anyone. I’ve spent my whole life isolating myself and neglecting my most basic needs for this! If I stop now, then what's left of me?”

Tears start to well up in your eyes, and you hate yourself for showing such vulnerability. Mattheo's stern demeanour softens as he watches you unravel.

"I can't stop, Mattheo. I can't afford to. Because if I do, what's left of me?" Your voice trembles.

Mattheo's heart drops at your words, guilt and hurt clawing at his insides. He can’t fathom the idea of you suffering so much, and him being blind to it. How could you not notice how incredible of a person you are beyond all of this? He’d give anything in the world for you to see yourself through his eyes. For you to feel the way he feels when he's with you, even for a second. To know that he’d do anything you asked him to because he cared for you. Not the one who gets outstanding on all their tests.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mattheo finally speaks, his voice softer, genuine concern written across his face.

You shake your head, a mix of frustration and desperation in your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t understand. No one does. They just see the grades, the perfect student. They don’t see the mess behind it all. And I can’t let them. I can’t let anyone see me like this.”

Mattheo moves closer, his expression shifting. “You’re wrong. I do understand. Maybe not completely, but I want to. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You scoff, wiping away a tear. “Why? What do you care? You have everything, popularity, friends, a life. I’m just the study partner, the smart one. I can’t burden you with this.”

Mattheo remains silent for a second, before he speaks.

“Every other Sunday, you go down to Hogsmesde and buy a hamper of sweets form Honeydukes. You take it to the children’s school and volunteer there for an hour. Everytime you visit, you make their day.” He starts.

"You're not just grades," he says, his voice gentle. "You have quirks that make you who you are. Like the way you absentmindedly tap your foot when you're deep in thought. Or how you always carry a small notebook, and I bet it's filled with more than just class notes. I've seen you doodle in the margins."

He continues, "You have a wicked sense of humor, even if you don't show it to everyone. I've heard you snort-laugh during our study sessions. And don't even get me started on your taste in music.How you call that dastardly jazz music, i’ll never understand, but you can’t resist humming along to the tunes of the Wizarding Wireless Network when you're studying. Your fondness for Chocolate Frogs and your inexplicable aversion to pumpkin juice.”

Mattheo's eyes light up, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls more details. "Remember that time in Charms class when you made your quill dance across the room just to see if you could do it? Or when you brewed a prank potion that turned the water in the Prefects' bathroom blue for a week? You have a mischievous side that not many people get to see." He continues, looking down at you sincerely. He remains silent for a second, eyes scanning over your face before he steps back, sighing.

“I don’t know how to do this emotional, sappy bullshit. I don’t do it. But with you, I do. I want to. Other people want to. That’s what you do.” He says, voice quiet.

You remain rooted to your spot, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude as you stare up at Mattheo. How did he know all that? Why did he know all that?

“You noticed?” You speak up, voice alarmingly quiet.

He looks at you as though you’ve just asked him whether the sky is blue.

“Of course i’ve noticed. It’s impossible not to.” He murmurs, and you know he’s being honest.

Tears prick in your eyes again, and it’s as though all that exhaustion and neglect has come crashing back down on you tenfold after Mattheo had called you out. You try blink them away but alas, you simply couldn’t. Before you can even say anything, Mattheo steps forward, pulling you into his chest as he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. He holds you tightly, not even entertaining the thought of letting go as your tears soak his sweatshirt, tentatively accepting his embrace. His heart clenches at every tear that falls from your eyes, and he can’t tell if he’s horrified or accepting of the fact that he’d give up everything to relieve you of your burdens, even if only for a day.

He rubs your back soothingly, and you can’t help but let it all out.

It’s rather cathartic, really, because you've held onto this weight for so long, and now, in Mattheo's arms, it feels like a moment of release.

As your tears eventually subside, you pull back, both embarrassed and utterly shattered. You look down, sniffling as you wipe away your tear stained eyes when Mattheo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

People often said that the eyes were a window to the soul. You never really understood that, but in this moment, you felt as though you were gazing into the very depths of Mattheos being.

With a tenderness that betrays the boundaries of ‘just friends’ , he wipes away your tears with his thumb, looking down at you.

“Come on. Let’s get you up to rest, yeah?” He hums, quietly. You nod, having to tear yourself away from his touch.

He leans down to pack away your stuff, not letting you handle a thing as he throws your stuff over his shoulder.

“You can stay in my room, if you’d like. Theodore’s out for the night so I can take his bed.” Mattheo says.

You consider it for a second. You didn’t particularly fancy heading up to your room with Mattheo, for fear of your roommate awakening to see you in such a state. You nod, speaking.

“Yes please.” You say, voice embarrassingly hoarse from having cried so much. You pray Mattheo didn’t notice.

Of course he did. But, he chose not to draw attention to it, instead resolving to run down to the kitchen to get you a cup of tea.

You follow Mattheo into his room, which you were no stranger to. Having projects together meant endless hours of collaborating, and opting to avoid being pestered by your roommate and her friends (who had a rather amusing infatuation with Mattheo), you worked in his room instead.

“Help yourself to some clothes if you’d like. They’re on the right.” He says, carefully draping your school bag and robe onto one of the desks. You thank him, smiling softly as he cleans the mess he had left.

“Go lie down. I’ll be back in a second” He says, turning away as he exits his room. Swiftly walking down to the kitchen, his head is reeling with thoughts of you.

He chose not to confront the feeling gnawing at him in light of your breakdown. He didn’t want to deal with that just yet. In no less than 10 minutes he’s carefully treading up the stairs to the dorms once more, a cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some small crackers in the other.

You hadn’t been eating, nor drinking, and the idea of you neglecting yourself so much sent Mattheo into an uncomfortable state where he found himself riddled with anxiety.

Just friends, right?

He clicks open the door to his room with his elbow, precariously walking over with the tea and crackers in hand as he goes to set them down on his bedside table. His eyes flicker over to you, and a small smile tugs at his lips as he sees you already fast asleep, curled up under the covers. The sight of your slumber brings a warmth to Mattheo's heart. He watches you for a moment, taking in the soft rise and fall of your breath, the delicate features that are usually tense with stress now softened in sleep.

The sight brings him more peace than he wishes to admit, and the looming reality that he had to eventually confront only pressed down on him further.

But for now, he didn’t care.

Because in your peace, he found happiness. And he’s sure he’d never find anything else more beautiful.

Possessed by a wave of sentiment that betrays his usual self, he can’t resist reaching out to tuck a stand of misplaced hair behind your ear. Before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, he leans down and presses a soft , brief kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and finds himself slightly taken aback by his own actions. The quiet room, filled only with the soft sounds of your sleep, almost seems to amplify the beating of his heart.

Mattheo stands there for a moment, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and confusion. Then, shaking off the unexpected surge of emotions, he retreats to Theodores bed , slipping out of his clothes as he goes to lay down. He had to resist the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of you once again, and lets out a small sigh as he shuts his eyes.

Mattheo Riddle was not a man of sentiment. He was not soft, and he most certainly did not go out of his way for others.

You had changed that. And he couldn’t figure out whether the prospect was one he was ready to welcome.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(to the tune of Avril Lavigne's sk8terboi)

He was a human battering ram.

She was a recon sniper.

Can I make it any more obvious?

Headcannons - Fit for a King - König x fem!OC fanfic

Instead of making a y/n fic, I decided to create an original female character because I ususally write all of my stuff in POVs. Due to posting the chapters often right after I've written them some of the context and the characterization might not be explicit in every single piece, some of the information is only gonna get revealed down the road.

(TW: alcoholism, death, violence)

Karina Müller is almost 30 years old, she served in the Norwegian military from right after school until the death of her brother who was KIA on a mission together. She fell off the wagon after that, feeling responsible for his death and effectively being shunned by her family after that. Her pick of poison was alcohol and it got so bad that she more than once was drunk on the job which led to her getting kicked out.

The years after that she spent getting help, trying to get clean and going back to a civilian life, but the military was what she knew, so the civilian jobs didn't stick and she started to work as a mercenary, now a dry alcoholic. Which might be an issue for some contractors, but KorTac doesn't really bat an eye.

She's a compassionate person who loves to laugh, she's seen enough shit not to take any from her teammates and can stand her ground when faced with any challenge thrown her way. She's still working through some stuff, coming to terms with her past, but she has an optimistic spirit and a strong will.

Even though the Colonel seems scary at first, she learns pretty quickly that he is to be respected in training and on the battlefield, but on a personal level he's really not that bad. The 6'10'' killing machine, Austrian war criminal (insert "what murdeeer?!"-meme here) is quite an anxious person when it comes to basic human interaction.

Shouting orders at his team, stomping his enemies into the ground is more comfortable to him than just talking about mundane stuff with other people, he mostly keeps to himself (except for Horangi because that little shit would never leave him alone). And for the first time in a long time, Müller makes him wish that he could just go up to people and strike up a normal conversation like a normal person (don't we all).

König is 38 years old (we don't know his full name) and has the biggest metalhead dad vibes without actually having any children himself (his favourite band is Death, although he listens to a bunch of different ones, it's also their merch shirt Müller steals in "Are you wearing my t-shirt?").

When he started out in the military, he shaved his long metalhead hair off because that was the way to go back then, but he let it grow back when he was older and already Colonel. He has gauged ears and a plethora of tattoos all over his body because the soft pain of body modifications and working out until he almost passes out are his ways of dealing with his anxiety and stress. His body is a testament to that.

He has a huge scar on the right side of his face from when he got beaten to a pulp by his bullies at school, something he never let happen again after that (five on one was really unfair). His nose has been broken two times and sometimes his tattoos get destroyed by battle injuries, but he doesn't really care about that - or his looks in general. He's a soldier and not a model.

So the reason why he's always wearing the selfmade hood is not the scar. He prefers not to show his feelings to others, staying hidden underneath the mask for his own comfort, even if it makes him scarier also in situations where he doesn't want to be.

(CW: some nsfw headcannons ahead, talk about not wanting to have children) They're both switches, though König is leaning more on the Dom-side while Müller is a sub who likes to brat a little too much, just to see her man falter (for example when she calls him a good boy in random scene #1).

Müller is bisexual, something she discovered when serving in an all-women-taskforce of the Norwegian military (we don't really know about König's sexuality though). She decided a long time ago that she doesn't want to have children (she doesn't see herself leaving service again anytime soon and given her past, she doesn't see herself fit to become a mother), so she got her tubes tied. Which also comes in handy when a certain Colonel's favourite pasttime (well, actually second favourite) is leaving creampies inside her (no 'unexpected pregnancy' trope in this household).

König definitely eats pussy for his own pleasure, begging Müller to let him eat her out in "Sit" or losing a little friendly competition for a sexual favour in "But no funny business" (oh and he definitely steals her panties at any chance he gets). She's totally not opposed to servicing him as well, but the size of his dick makes this a whole endeavour (like seen in "Open wide, Prinzessin").

They match each other's energy pretty well, just going at it like rabbits at every chance they get, which sometimes proves to be difficult as they're sneaking around in secret.

Their arrangement is kind of a fuckbuddy/fwb-situation, they fuck hard and rough, without ever really kissing (the mask stays on), but after a while feelings start to get in the way... After all they do belong together <3

Read more at the Fit for a King - Masterlist or keep an eye out for the AO3 link - coming soon.