#wind chill chart

[tornadoquest]

Tornado Quest Top Science Links For January 18 - 25, 2025 #science #weather #climate #climatechange #winter #wildfire #health

Greetings to all! I’m glad you stopped by. There’s a lot that has happened this week including a very rare snow event across several USA Gulf states and the ongoing California wildfires. Of course, I will continue with winter weather safety information, the latest US Drought Monitor update, and several very important climate and science reads, so let’s get started. Tornado Quest micro podcast…

[milfygerard]

did she specifically make 34 versions of TTPD because shes 34 years old

[cherrixpie]

TO DIE IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT

-> when his sister attends a slughorn party with a date, mattheo asks his best friend to watch over her at the party, oblivious to the fact that theo is exactly the type of guy he wants to protect her from.

-> brother's bsf!theodore nott x riddle!reader; eventual nsfw; minors dni; cw: attempted harassment, mentions of violence, self-doubt, smut; nsfw tags: oral fem receiving, soft dom!theo, dirty talk, lots of praise; sadly there was some error with the tags and I couldn't tag some people, but I still hope you all found your way here!

part two here

( masterlist )

The Astronomy Tower loomed high above the castle grounds, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. It reflected against the fragile stargazing instruments and illuminated hastily drawn star charts, carelessly left behind on desks. The parchment swayed gently in the light breeze. A chill clung to the stone, the wind whispering through the open archways, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers from the greenhouses below.

Occasional gusts of wind ruffled the edges of Theo’s robes as he leaned against the stone railing, lazily rolling a cigarette between his fingers. The flick of his lighter cast a brief, golden glow across his sharp features- dark brows drawn in quiet focus, the angle of his jaw, the faint shadow of his curls. The ember flared as he took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cold night air.

The hurried sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell, unmistakable, even if it hadn't been a nightly recurrence. Theo didn’t turn; he didn’t need to. He knew that stride, the way it carried that reckless edge of carelessness, like the world bent around its owner rather than the other way around. When Mattheo stepped into the moonlight, Theo paid him no mind.

As usual, he displayed quite a different way of carrying himself compared to Theo, as many fates the two boys might have shared. Mattheo’s dark curls were disheveled, his tie loosened to a proletarian extent and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, as if he hadn't bothered with them in the first place.

Upon spotting Theo’s dark figure against the railing, he strode towards him and leaned his forearms against the metal as well. “You’re early,” Mattheo muttered, his voice low and rough around the edges. Not that he had checked the clock, but their nightly habit of going for a smoke to the astronomy tower was so well established even the slightest changes stood out like a sore thumb.

Turning around to lean his back against the balustrade instead, Mattheo shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly until Theo glanced back at him. Not even Theodore Nott’s cold demeanor could deter Mattheo from flashing a grin and indicating the burning cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Got another?” He caught the pack of smokes when Theo threw it over with the aim of an experienced chaser, and shook out one to light it and take a long drag out of it. The smoke from his cigarette mingled with the cloud curling lazily from the other’s lips and disappeared into the night.

For a few minutes, there was a silence, though not uncomfortable. Rather established, like they had practiced it a million times before. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. Only, today, something was different. As Theo's observant eyes spared Mattheo's oddly tense figure another quick glance, they didn't miss the way he squeezed the smoke tightly in his hand and tapped his fingers against his thigh in an irregular, agitated rhythm. He wasn’t one to pry, a quality he knew Mattheo appreciated about his company, so he simply took another drag of his cigarette and waited for the other to reveal the source of his irritation.

As he’d thought, he didn’t have to wait long- Mattheo had a certain need for communication, at least with him. “Do you know that Campbell guy?” he asked gruffly, clear disdain laced into his tone. When Theo’s brows furrowed, Mattheo twisted his cigarette in impatience, causing embers to rain down upon the stone floor where they faded into darkness. Since Mattheo wasn’t bloody for once, Theo could only assume Campbell still had it coming for him. “Bloke from Gryffindor. Seventh year. Ring a bell?” he elaborated darkly and glared at one of the instruments.

It did. Terry Campbell, a Gryffindor with the head of a bowling ball and the intellect of a demented slug. No wonder he had felt no desire to remember him by name, Campbell was everything he despised cramped into a single person: a loud-mouthed, ignorant, vainglorious and utterly unintelligent Buffoon, lacking all forms of taste, too loud to listen and to dumb to learn. The sort of person that tended to irritate and bore him at the same time, the worst combination for Theo.

Blowing another stream of smoke into the frail moonlight, he let out a small scoff. “What about him?”

“Well,” Mattheo pressed through gritted teeth, in a particularly bitter tone. “He’s taking my sister to Slughorn’s party on Saturday.”

Fuck no.

Instead of smoke, Theo seemed to have swallowed a mouthful of ice as his insides twisted like a vice. A sick, burning coiled in his cut as he turned, abruptly, to Mattheo, full of disbelief. “What?” he asked sharply, all sophistication forgotten in the wake of this news. There was no way in hell you were going to Slughorn’s party with Terry Campbell, your brother had to be joking. Merlin, how he desperately wished he was.

Mattheo seemed to share the sentiment, judging by the looks of his bitter curl of lip and the way he flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding his boot down on it hard. “Yeah,” he muttered gloomily. “I can’t fucking believe it, I though she had some standards. I’m telling you, she’s just picked him to annoy me!”

But his raging fell on deaf ears as Theo turned away and stared down on the greenhouses, a sharp, ugly weight settling in his chest. No reaction too intense could betray the surge of hate that was welling up inside him, or your brother would know, would piece it together… Brutal, white-hot anger pulsed through him, but Theo kept his hands still and his features unmoved, safe for a subtle clench of his jaw. Theo had mastered the art of keeping his composure, but he was faced with a challenge now.

You. Going to one of Slughorn’s stupid parties with Terry Campbell of all people. He squeezed the smoke out between his fingers, the embers burning into his fingertips and the pain helped him to regain his self control.

Unlike him, you’d taken advantage of your invitation to go to Slughorn’s parties before, but you’d never had a date. If Theo was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have taken kindly to anyone taking you out on a date, quite the opposite, but he couldn’t believe that someone like you would lower themselves onto Campbell’s level. He’s pretty popular, a small voice remarked, but he shut it up immediately- you were everything but shallow. Even insinuating it was ridiculous. But what on earth were you thinking?

Maybe Campbell was the only boy at school you wouldn’t feel sorry for when he inevitably landed in the hospital wing- as the few dates you’d ever had had done after Mattheo found out about them. ‘She’s not yours’ the voice in the back of his head reminded him, ‘you have no right to meddle in who she’s dating’. And it was true. Unlike your brother, Theo still had enough sense to remind himself that you could do what you wanted, could date who you wanted, could take anyone you wanted to Slughorn’s party. It was your decision, as much as he hated it, detested the very thought. He knew you, you had to have put some thought into your decision.

“Listen, mate,” Mattheo said, striking a new tone. He now seemed strangely business-like, leaning over on the railing and looking to meet Theo’s gaze. “‘M not part of Slughorn’s club. I know you hate his parties, but-”

Theo sensed where he was going with this and grabbed his pack of cigarettes back from Mattheo, taking one out before storing it deep in his coat pocket. Damn it, he’d promised you only to smoke one per smoking session. But these were quite challenging circumstances to keep up his promises. As he flicked the lighter and ignited the smoke dangling from his lips, Mattheo leaned in conspiratorially.

“Fucking hell, you know I wouldn’t be asking you this if I saw another way! Come on, you’re almost as bad as me when it comes to watching out for her. So when I’m not there? Go full big-brother mode.”

Theo’s lips curled sarcastically as he huffed out another cloud of smoke. Little did your brother know that his protectiveness over you didn’t stem from any platonic or even sibling-like urges. Little did Mattheo know that Theo was one of the boys he would love to approach with a club, one of the boys who enjoyed your company a little too much, whose eyes lingered on your lips when you laughed, who relished even your most fleeting touches and glances. Who pictured feeling your lips on his in moments of every-day boredom and trusted the night with his dark, guilty dreams of worshipping you like you deserved, fucking you stupid, having you writhe and moan in his sheets.

“I’m not saying you should start something,” Mattheo pressed on, oblivious to the raging self-loathing of his best mate. “Just… don’t let him get too comfortable.” His gaze darkened. “I just need someone there where I know that, if Campbell so much as lays a hand on her wrong, he’s leaving in worse shape than he arrived.” When he could draw out neither reaction nor response from Theo, he groaned in exasperation. “Merlin, Nott, you and I both know she’s too damn nice for this.”

The conflicting desires to keep an eye on Campbell around you on the one, and suppressing his possessiveness on the other hand were grappling with each other, as Theo stared down to the large black mass that was the dark forest. Adding to that that, he didn’t know how much his composure might waver when subjected to the sight of you laughing and dancing with another guy. And one so utterly undeserving of your attention and kindness, at that.

But Mattheo did have a point; though, as so often, he had a crude way of expressing it. You were too kind for your own good, too vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Yet, you were smart and good at seizing up situations, and if Campbell attempted to manipulate you - provided he even had one brain cell for something like subtlety - you’d see right through him.

“Come on, mate, she’s my little sister,” said Mattheo seriously and Theo turned to him with a raised brow.

“She’s two minutes older than you.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, seemingly unconcerned with such feeble matters as time or birth order. “Yeah,” he admitted begrudgingly, “But, like, mentally.” To emphasize his point, he tapped his index finger against his temple to indicate just where the true age lay.

But Theo’s unimpressed brow only rose higher as he scoffed. “Non fare il rompicazzo. She’s also way more mature than you,” he added, unwilling to get into whatever line of argumentations Mattheo had strung together to justify his feelings.

“Not with boys!” exclaimed Mattheo heatedly and pushed against the railing, making Theo shake his head in annoyance. These antics were absolutely childish, he’d trust your judgement over your brothers any day, irrespective of the fact that he was his closest friend.

“And how many boys did you sleep with?” he drawled, blowing out another gust if smoke that swirled and danced in the air above. For a split second, it balled up and formed a shape suspiciously resembling your face before Theo got his instinctive magic back under control.

Mattheo hadn’t looked up, too busy with snapping at him: “I am one! I know how they think!” His glare was now directed at Theo, who paid it no mind, rolling his words around in his head. Mattheo had a point. It wasn’t like he himself didn’t know how desirable you were, how seductive, by doing nothing more than existing, though he may have been prejudiced by his feelings for you.

But it wasn’t merely the way he knew he would look at you, at your smile that he didn’t deserve, Theo knew that there were certain boys at this school who wouldn’t mind having their way with you, just to brag to their friends about having had the Dark Lord’s daughter, the unapproachable, rigorously protected Slytherin princess as some had named you- much to your displeasure. Both Mattheo and him had retraced rumors of this talk where they could and made any boy who saw you as nothing more than a challenge, a piece of meat, regret his very existence. Theo didn’t know if Campbell was one of them, but he was definitely thick enough to qualify.

And what if he did force you to do something you didn’t want to? His jaw clenched impossibly tight, close to snapping as he banned the unwelcome images from his head and balled his fists around the smoke, making embers fly and get picked up by a sudden breeze. “Get out of my head, Riddle,” he threatened and felt the uncomfortable ick subside, but the very same determination shone in Mattheo’s eyes when he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Go to the damn party and keep an eye on her,” he countered. “Please.” The last word, he barely managed to grit out and Theo’s eyes snapped up at him in surprise. Never had he known his best mate to ask for something, Mattheo was one to take, take, take. But the desperation of his situation seemed to drive him to new extremes.

This fact, if nothing else, made him rethink his previous stance. You didn’t have to know, after all. And wasn’t it really also the fact that he had no ambitions to spend the evening watching you laugh and dance with another man, longing to be the one to hold your hand and make you smile, yearning to be the one you dressed up all pretty for?

“Alright,” he finally sighed and Mattheo, moods changing so quickly it would’ve given any other whiplash, hit the air with his fist and patted Theo’s shoulder roughly.

“Knew I could count on you.”

It wasn’t as if you lit up in his presence- no, that would be ridiculous. It was just that his mattress was much more comfortable than yours, his rome tidier despite the constant stacks of books, his presence a steady rock of the kind that made the world outside seem a little less violent.

Or maybe, if you were being honest with yourself, it was the way his breathing filled the quiet, unhurried and even, grounding you without even trying. The way he always stretched out opposite you on his four-poster, all long legs and quiet confidence, never filling the comfortable silence with pointless chatter. Or maybe it was simply the way he made you feel- something warm, something steady, yet fluttering curiously from time to time, like the wings on a butterfly. Something you didn’t dare think about too closely.

Theo leaned back against the headboard, long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other as he absentmindedly tapped his quill against the open pages of his book. He wasn’t reading- not really. His eyes flicked over the words without taking them in, his focus instead drifting to the steady scratch of your quill beside him, the way you chewed on it in thought, completely absorbed in the history of magic essay you were writing.

The windows he’d enchanted for you when you’d mentioned how the lack of natural light in Slytherin house weighed on your state of mind sometimes allowed the rays of an afternoon sun to spill across the bed in hazy streaks, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow as he exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly. It was comfortable, familiar- the two of you working in the quiet, legs brushing every now and then as books and parchment lay scattered around on the bed.

You finished your essay with a winning final sentence you knew Professor Binns would not be able to appreciate and looked up from the parchment for the first time in an hour, only to find Theo’s eyes flicking down to his page once more, like a kid caught ogling candy bars it wasn’t allowed to touch. His book lay open on his lap, but you could tell he wasn’t reading- his eyes skimmed the words too quickly, his fingers drummed too idly against the pages.

Rolling onto your backside, you let your legs dangle off the bed and enjoyed the relief of tension in your lower back. Your eyes rested upon him, as if daring him to steal another glance at you and betray himself and his faux reading. But he seemed to sense the silent challenge and didn’t look up from the pages once, though you thought you saw the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He turned a page.

“When are you going to stop pretending you are reading that?” you asked with an amused smile and his lips twitched. But his eyes didn’t leave the pages, still stubbornly pretending to take in the words.

You knew better, you knew his face, better than you knew most faces, because he’d let you look at it for minutes at a time without interruption. Let you map out every crease, every mark upon his skin, all the perfections and imperfections. You had learned his features and the slight changes in his expression better than you’d ever learned to master your own. It was kind of a must, if one wasn’t your brother and wished to interact on eye level with Theodore Nott.

“I am,” he said softly, running his fingers down the next page. For some reason, the sight had you suppress a light shudder, even though the room was quite warm. Warmer than most of the Slytherin dorms. You had wondered before if the enchanted sunlight could provide actual warmth, or if it was a delusion, a trick of mind.

“Alright,” you said, welcoming the challenge and shifting onto your side to prop your head up on your palm. “What’s it about?”

His eyes snapped up at you and sucked all the breath out of your lungs. The false sunlight fell upon his face and made his cerulean eyes shine with disarming intensity. Or maybe you had only imagined that, because he blinked and, though still stunning, his eyes melted into a soft caress down your face to your ink-splattered hands.

When you raised your brows at him, having never quite mastered the art of raising one brow, unlike him, he glanced back at the page for half a second. “Words. Sentences. A truly thrilling analysis of … something.”

You laughed and managed to elicit the smallest of smiles from him. A huge feat, as anyone who knew him would tell you. “You’re the worst study partner,” you said, an accusatory finger pointed at him.

Theo only raised his brow in return, giving you a look of superiority. “You say that, but you’re still here.” His gaze wandered over the open books you’d used for research. “You steal my books more than you read your own, dolcezza.”

“What can I say?” you sighed, feigning regret. “Your books are just better.”

Now, a smirk tugged at his lips as he stretched a little. “Or you just like an excuse to be in my bed.”

Laughing wholeheartedly, you grabbed the book you’d been using most adamantly by the spine and threw it at Theo, who caught it with unwavering certainty. As if he were seeing it for the first time, he turned it around in his hands, maybe trying to remember when he’d bought it.

If there was something he loved to spend money on, it was books. And he did have the means to, his family’s inestimable wealth at his expense whenever he stepped into a bookstore or got you ridiculously expensive christmas gifts to tease you for your indignation at the price. Which was probably why he left it on.

“Your taste in literature is excellent, carina. Your taste in men? Debatable.” If only he knew. An airy chuckle made its way past your lips as you looked down on your ink-covered hands. If there was any man you’d ever desired, it was him. Not just in the physical sense, but in the way his many hookups could not- like this, friendly, bantery, in the midst of heaps of books and parchment as the sun illuminated his beautiful features.

If your brother knew you were in a boy’s dorm, in a boy’s bed, even if it was his best mate, he’d lose his mind- even more so than he already had.

“So, Mattheo told you?” you asked in a falsely casual tone, but watched him carefully out of the corner of your eye. Your friendship with Theo had always been special. In your earlier years at this school, when Mattheo had been insanely clingy, he was the only other boy he allowed you to spend time with.

But Theo was no brother surrogate to you, as Mattheo assumed, wrongly. Though your feelings for him were intimate, they were far too less innocent to be considered fraternal. When Mattheo wasn’t around, in moments like these, you were quite flirtatious, just teetering the edge between friendship and something more. Only in the privacy of his dorm did Theo let nicknames besides topolina slip.

You’d always been more on a wavelength with Theo than with your brother, or any of your friends for that matter. He matched your wit and humor, shared many of your interests and was just as academically ambitious. Laying on his bed, exchanging playful banter and teasing nicknames, there always was a spark, paired with the silent understanding it could never be ignited.

Sometimes, you caught his eyes lingering on you. Even the touch of his hands was deliberate, as he seemed to take advantage of each innocent excuse to get his hands on you. Then, there was his intricate way of words, managing to make you blush and doubt your very existence at the same time. All in all, Theo was both your best friend and most forbidden desire- because he was your brother’s best friend as well. Your brother, who had been throwing a hissy-fit any time the topic of you dating came up.

But Theo didn’t answer, only turning a page in the book he wasn't reading. Not one twitch or movement could betray his agitation but the hard line of his jaw, clenched almost indiscernibly. His silence was a quiet accusation he didn't need to utter for it to linger in the air between you.

You didn't like it when something stood between you in these moments of his sole company, when Mattheo didn't have his hawk eyes on your every move. Moments you relished, and didn't want to be tainted by petty drama between you and your brother, who’d already ruined enough, especially when it was about something as irrelevant as your date for Slughorn's party. Or maybe it wasn't so irrelevant. Merlin, how you wished that it mattered to him.

“I can hear the gears turning in your head, Theo,” you said quietly when he even gave up pretending to be reading and instead stared gloomily at the pages as if they'd personally wronged him. You knew he didn't like many Gryffindors, something he had in common with Mattheo while you preferred not to take part in house rivalries. And Terry Campbell embodied all the worst traits of Gryffindor- no wonder he didn't like him.

“Care to share?” you asked and looked up at him from the sheets with the doe eyes that always worked on Mattheo.

Meeting your eyes, finally, Theo closed the book with a quiet thud and pierced you with his infamous stare- though it was not as sinister as usual. “I don’t have to say anything, you already know what I think,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning back against the headboard once more like he was done with the conversation. But his fingers kept tapping restlessly against the now closed book on his lap.

“You could at least pretend to approve,” you proposed, dragging yourself into a sitting position and propping your head up on your fist with folded legs.

Theo clicked his tongue impatiently and threw you another ill-tempered look. “I could also throw myself off the astronomy tower, but I don’t see the point in either.” There was a certain finality in his tone that you would have respected any day- any day but this one.

“I know you don’t like Terry,” you said, unwilling to give up in your attempts to establish proper eye contact. “Granted, he’s a little intellectually challenged.” At these words, his eyes snapped up at you and he raised a brow, a mixture of amusement and indignation at your rather courteous assessment. But you didn’t even let him speak, you knew his silvery sweet words would wrap themselves around you and render you inarticulate. So you continued quickly, in a quiet but firm voice. “This isn’t about who I want to go out with, it’s about proving I get to choose.”

His pensive eyes studied you as you awaited his reaction, fully aware that he must have concluded this already- or at least included it in his speculations. You were hoping he had, that he had not trusted you to fall for a douche like Terry Campbell. He tilted his head slightly, considering you, his prominent brows furrowed. “And if you’re choosing wrong?” he finally asked, holding your gaze with the certainty of a man who always had the last word.

But you held his gaze, drank in the thrill of losing yourself in his cerulean eyes, and shrugged. “Then at least it’s my mistake to make.”

Theo paused, then exhaled, shaking his head at you. When he tapped his fingers on the rim of his book, your eyes clung to them. A trap, and one you would step in gladly. His long fingers, the rough pads on his tips where he squished his cigarettes with his own hands, the prominent veins. Their movements were always so calculated, so elegant. Outside of Nott manor, he rarely played the piano, but when he did, it truly was a sight to behold. To see his spidery fingers run up and down the keys, eliciting such sweet serenades from the instruments you thought he’d have to have hexed it.

His voice pulled you out of your wandering thoughts as his mouth twitched with a sarcastic smile. “You sound like him, you know that?”

A light laugh stumbled from your lips as you pretended to look indignant- but, unlike him, you’d never been a good actor. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.” But your laugh subsided quickly, the desire for him to understand, not only your motive but the importance of it, burning inside you. If someone had to understand, it was him. If you answered to anyone, it was him.

It was impossible to look at him. Not when he had leaned forward slightly at the sound of your little laugh, something shifting in his eyes, something unspoken and impossible to speak, something keeping you locked in place. So you averted your eyes, kept them firmly on the ground and pretended to be interested in a fly whirring in the false rays of sun. “But you understand, don’t you? It’s not about the date, or the party, or Terry. It’s about the fact that Mattheo never trusts me to handle myself. So I will have to prove him that I can be trusted with- with boys, and parties, and life.”

Though you did not look up at him, you could feel his gaze boring into your skull, studying your every expression. He had the natural talent of a careful observer, whereas you had had to learn it, given your circumstances. There was no point in concealing your frustration or disappointment in Mattheo, when Theo could decipher every twitch of your features, pry every drawn curtain apart, look into your very soul. And what would you be hiding something from him for, anyways? Except for your utter devotion to him, of course. Your most strongly concealed and obvious secret.

“Maybe he just doesn’t trust the world to hurt you,” his voice sounded, smooth and pensive, making it impossible not to agree with every word he said. And he was right, of course. But he wasn’t you. And he’d be a hypocrite if he agreed with you. His voice carried more than observation- self-revelation. It wasn’t just him who could decipher codes.

Drawing back the curtains yourself, you turned to him and opened yourself up to his endless, infallible analysis. “Then he should have more faith in me than fear of them.”

The words lingered as you considered each other, and his brow twitched lightly. Instinctively, you were certain you were thinking of exactly the same situation: two weeks ago, at breakfast, when a sixth year Slytherin you didn’t even know had made an unflattering comment about you, loud enough for people to hear but not loud enough that he thought he’d get in trouble for it. Well, the joke was on him, because Theo next to you had picked up on it and had tensed up so quickly you looked at him in alarm, trying to signal him that you didn't care about this kind of talk.

But of course, he knew you better than that, knew it bothered you, and when you’d seen the look in his eyes you had forever regretted crying in his arms about the unforgiving image people had of you, how you would never get rid of your father’s shadow looming over you, how no one would give you a chance. Mattheo and you both had your ways of dealing with your familiar associations. He drank, drugged and fucked himself into oblivion, you spent nights slaving away in the library until Theo dragged you to bed and allowed you to fall asleep with his warm hand on your back.

Before you could have even attempted to talk him out of it, Theo had stood up from the table and met the boy in a few strides. He hadn't even needed to pull out his wand, his voice low and dangerous as he had given the guy one chance to take it back. He had. Fast.

Your soft but slightly bitter laugh broke the silence. “You know what’s funny? If I actually needed him, if I actually needed someone to fight for me- he’d be the first one there. But when I don’t, when I just want to live my life- he’s still the first one there. Stopping me.” With a disheartened huff, you shifted on the bed, but didn’t avert your eyes. And neither did he.

Theo studied you for a long moment, during which nothing but the faintest echo of voices from the common room was to be heard. But silence had never been uncomfortable between you and Theo. Where Mattheo was a roaring whirlwind, Theo was the eye of the storm, the illusion of stillness, of being cut off from the rest of the world, uncaring whether it would be swept away in a single blow as long as you had him.

After observing you for a long moment, Theo nodded slightly. “I know. But…,” he leaned forward, his voice low but with a certain edge, the only indication of a growing intensity simmering behind his ever-calm composure. “Terry Campbell is such a dimwit he doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, principessa. You could have asked anyone. anyone. And you picked the first desperate idiot who came your way?”

The small laugh you let out was more comparable to a bitter scoff. “Would anyone else have said yes?”

It was rare to spot genuine confusion on Theo’s face, but now, his brows were furrowed in puzzlement. A little, self-depricating smile tugged at your lips; of course he wouldn’t understand. Or was it just pretense to make you feel better?

“Terry has ambitions of playing Quidditch for England one day and has been trying to get into Slughorn’s good graces for ages because he has contacts in the league.” You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I knew he’d say yes.”

He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, even for you. Or perhaps, you didn’t want to look too closely. Perhaps, you were afraid of what you might discover, simmering behind those watercolor eyes. “Sei seria? You think that’s the only reason he said yes?”

With a defeated little shrug, you attempted a weak smile and failed miserably, a sudden weight seemed to weigh the corners of your mouth down. Lifting them was like lifting a great weight. “What other reason would there be?”

Finally, the stony expression on his face dissolved into a deep frown, even darker than his usual, gloomy expression. With a humourless scoff, he shook his head. “Dio, you actually believe that.” It wasn’t a question but a realization, and you gave no answer or reaction.

You were tired of him pretending, or simply not understanding your predicament. Of course he wouldn’t; in spite of his parentage, he still had countless girls throwing themselves at him. But you were used to Theo understanding you fully and thoroughly, nodding in recognition when you told him about your struggles, your likes, your opinions, and giving him the same grace. Perhaps you were spoiled. Perhaps, it wasn’t as simple as you thought. Perhaps, it was just you.

“I knew he was the only one desperate enough to be my date,” you said in a tone you hoped would come off as matter-of-fact and indifferent. “Really, I should be grateful I found anyone.”

“Odio quando parli così,” muttered Theo under his breath and you tried to piece the sentence together with your less than stellar knowledge of the Italian language. But before you could fully grasp the meaning of the sentence, Theo’s sharp voice cut through the air, forcing your attention back on him and the bitter intensity brimming behind his frown. “So, this is your clever little plan to get Mattheo off your back?”

There was no longer the slightest hint of humour in his tone, he sounded almost angry, and you recoiled slightly. “It’s not perfect, I admit.”

“You don’t pick the first cretino who sees an angle and call it a choice,” Theo cut you off. You realized his accent was getting more noticeable as he spoke, and the English language failed to express the true weight of his feelings as he slipped in more Italian words or phrases. It was a clear indicator that cool and calculated Theodore Nott was growing more heated, and you found it undeniably and inappropriately attractive. But he still failed to see your perspective in this.

“What else would I have done?” you asked in return, voice growing a little sharper as well. “Waited for someone who wasn’t coming?”

It wasn’t meant to come off as an accusation, but nevertheless, Theo tore his eyes away and gritted his teeth, jaw tight and exhaling through his nose. “Stronzata,” he cursed and glared at the book in his lap, as if it were somehow responsible for this whole mess. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his inability to grasp a situation when he was usually the most observant person in the room.

Surprised, he looked at you and you shook your head, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “No boy at this school would come into one foot proximity to me.” You bit down on your lip and avoided his intense, angry eyes. “I like to tell myself it’s just because of my … familiar affiliations, but maybe that simplifies things too much. I mean, look at you. Look at Mattheo! Maybe I’m just not, well, desirable.” You were a little ashamed of the words, and even more appalled at the way your voice trembled slightly before you got it back under control.

But when you looked up once more, you realized the error you’d made, letting him hear your somewhat self-deprecating, but in your eyes plausible interpretation. Before he could talk, you interrupted him as he drew his breath, undoubtedly to tell you you were wrong- just what you wanted to hear, of course. “It’s not that deep, Theo,” you said calmingly, unwilling to make a whole thing out of it. This stupid date had already impacted your day enough. “He was available, and I-”

But Theo cut you off, voice low and rough and carrying an edge he didn’t usually direct towards you. “El basta. Enough. You’re actually pissing me off now.”

Despite yourself, you raised your brows in weak amusement. “You’re always pissed off.”

Eyes narrowed, he pointed at you with the unread book. “Not at you. Not like this.”

After his words, silence settled thick between you, exceptionally uncomfortable in comparison to your usual quiet harmony. Maybe because it felt heavy, charged, pressing itself into the space between you on the bed like an unwelcome visitor. It seemed to stretch unbearably long, pressing against your skin like a weight.

Theo sat still, but everything about him was taut- his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched, one hand curled to a fist atop the duvet, the other grabbing the back of his book as if he meant to crush it into dust. His gaze flickered to you once, dark and unreadable, before snapping back down, as if looking at you only stoked the embers of whatever was burning behind his ribs. The air between you felt charged, humming with remnants of his anger, with the frustration he hadn't fully exhaled. His breath came slow and measured, as if he was forcing himself to stay composed.

You hated it. Theo was your best friend, maybe even the love of your life, and fighting with him was exhausting. With a sigh, you turned your whole body to him and gave him a hesitant, pleading look. “I don’t want to fight. Not when this is one of the few moments when my brother doesn’t interrupt our t- my study sessions.”

You cut yourself off, having no interest in loading the buzzing air with more tension. Tension that would be inevitable, if you were true about how important this was for you. How important he was to you. “Let’s not waste it, okay?” you asked, pleadingly, and thought you saw the cold diamond of his eyes soften a little. “I’ll stop mentioning it.”

For a few seconds, he observed you pensively, but you could see him melt behind his unmoved facade. His icy stare warmed slightly and the sharp turn around his mouth eased, jaw and fists unclenching. Something like regret flashed over his face, too fast to pin down. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he wordlessly patted the spot next to him and you fell silent. Following the silent order, you scurried over and he made room for you between him and the wall, propping up his pillow against the headboard for you to lean back comfortably.

You settled down next to him, in the little space there was. His legs were brushing yours, but he didn’t seem to mind, and you surely didn’t. Slowly, giving him the chance to move away or make some other dismissive gesture, you lowered your head and, when he didn’t move, rested it upon his shoulder. It fit into the curve of his body like a puzzle piece and you relished in the warmth, real warmth, body warmth, against your side.

When he raised a hand to card his fingers through your hair in a gesture of such tenderness you’d never seen him bless someone else with something even close to it, you breathed a sigh of relief and nestled deeper into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. The rough pads of his fingers drew deliberate patterns on your scalp as he rested his chin on top of your head and his breathing finally calmed into a natural rising and falling of his chest. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter than before, measured but intense. “You don’t understand, do you? You could’ve had anyone.”

He spoke like he believed every word, sounded so convinced you almost believed him. Almost. Until the inevitable prying of reality nagged you again. “Then why didn’t I?”

Theo’s voice dropped even lower, rumbling in his chest and vibrating against the ear that rested against his body. “Maybe because no one is stupid enough to think they deserve you.” His voice still carried a certain edge, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you. More like the contrary. His hand wandered from your hair to your neck, rubbing slow circles on your tense muscles and eliciting a slight groan from you as you realized how tight they were clenched. Shaking his head, Theo seemed to be muttering to himself. “Che spreco.” (what a waste)

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you translated the short sentence in your head and were proud to reach a certain level of understanding. “What is?” you asked, hoping the question not only fitted your translation but also his actual statement. His fingers stilled against your neck, fingertips barely brushing against the skin so that you had to suppress a shudder. You, of course, couldn’t see the smug expression on his face as he noticed the way your skin broke out into goosebumps. The air was heavy with another form of tension now.

“That you think so little of yourself,” he explained, “That you let people like him think they're doing you a favor.” His voice was dripping with disdain and you interlocked your pinkie fingers, unwilling to fight him over the issue.

The silence that settled between you now was different- just as heavy, just as charged, but warmer, thicker, curling at the edges with something unspoken, but not uncomfortable. The tension no longer sat sharp between you, there was no room for it anyway. It lingered instead in the space where your bodies touched, in the light brush of your thigh against his, in the synchronising rise and fall of your chests. Theo had relaxed back against the headboard, but his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the collar of your shirt -something he'd never do in the presence of your brother.

Another thing reserved for these private moments was his touch. His pinkie squeezed yours before he removed his hand to place it on the back of your thigh, lifting it slightly to guide it to rest on top of his. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers brushed along the fabric of your thights and you hid your blush in the crook of his neck. If your brother saw you like this with any boy, he’d be flung into a fit of rage. But alas, he wasn't here, you reminded yourself, as you melted into his touch.

But it wasn't like he would be wrong to assume. The way Theo touched you, the tenderness of his caresses, was more befitting of a boyfriend rather than a friend. But it had been that way for a while. And neither of you dared say something, enjoying the touch of a lover without the fear of retaliation. You could feel his gaze flicker to you, gauging your reaction, lingering just a second too long on your slightly flushed face before pulling away, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look.

The air in the room felt warmer, your skin prickling with awareness at every shift of movement, every slight brush of fabric against fabric. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick and taut, but neither of you dared to break it, as if speaking aloud would make something tip over the edge, something neither of you could take back.

Instead of speaking, his fingers released your neck and wandered to your chin, lifting it from his neck. He turned to you, and your heart began to race when you found your lips mere breaths away from his, his eyes glinting with an unknown intensity that had you wondering whether he might actually be willing… be ready to…

When the tension mounted and became unbearable, you jolted upright and averted your face to hide your blush. Your chest was so tight you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you only knew you had to get some space between you and him, so you scurried away, brushed down your skirt and stood up from the bed.

Only then did it occur to you to think of an excuse, and with shaky legs, you hurried over to his table where you had set your bag down, pulled out the earrings you planned to wear tonight. Opening his wardrobe, you looked at your reflection as you put them on, heart slowly slowing to an appropriate tempo.

But the angle was limited, so you only saw him when he entered the mirror’s frame, nearing a few steps behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. Raising an eyebrow, you managed to smile at him through the reflection. “What is it?” As if you hadn’t just almost thrown all caution to the wind, all your silent, combined efforts to preserve your friendship.

Theo tilted his head, his gaze flickering over your reflection. “Nothing,” he answered in a low voice, approaching slowly. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” you attempted to joke, fiddling clumsily with your earrings. Finally, he reached you and you flinched when you felt his hands, large and strong, on your waist. Only the thin material of your blouse separated them from your skin. Lowering his head, his lips hovered right next to your ear and you held your breath as he chuckled into your ear. “Just wondering if he’ll even know what to do with you.”

For a few seconds, you stood still. But then, you brushed his hands off and walked over to his desk to grab your back, oblivious to the way his eyes darkened when you escaped from his grasp. “I’ve got to go, get ready,” you explained as you hurried towards the door eager to escape the thick tension of the room. Playing with it had been fun, but this felt way too real.

Theo watched your fleeing figure. As the door slammed shut behind you, the silence that remained felt louder than anything you could have said. His jaw ticked, fingers flexing at his sides before curling into fists, the sharp edge of his nails pressing into his palms.

You were getting ready for someone else-someone who didn’t deserve your time, your effort, your attention-but still, you went. The thought burned, settling bitter on his tongue, and he exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair as if that alone could shake off the feeling clawing at his ribs. The bed was still warm where you had been, the air still carried the faint trace of your perfume, and yet you were gone- off to smile for someone who would never look at you the way he did.

Theo wasn’t what some would call a “party person”. For the past months, he’d done his best to avoid Slughorn’s invitations. Though the silver-tongued heir of the prominent house of Nott had been taught to socialize properly and knew his way around people, the majority of them bored him to death, as did the inevitable smalltalk revealing their shallow nature.

The Slytherin house parties he could endure, because there was at least the added though fleeting thrill of a hookup- and also, he had to handle Mattheo at his worst, when he’d made his way through a few too many shots of firewhiskey and drugs. Additionally, the Slytherin house parties tended to grow wild and frenzied fairly quickly, allowing him to slip into a hazy sequence of blurred memories and forget about himself.

An event such as this, however, which some might assume more to his liking as it presented itself as far more civil, could not have thrilled him any less. People circling each other like vultures under the red lanterns, detecting with observant eyes who to suck up to and who to eliminate as competition, fighting for the attention of the well-connected at the top of the food chain, trying to climb a latter they weren’t even able to grab the rails of.

Slughorn was smiling brightly, boasting and prowling around, fully in his element as he weaved people like strings, enjoying himself in the role of benefactor, merciful king, god. Beneath him, the huddle of chosen ones, jabbing their elbows into each other in the hopes to be selected as the one to rise the ranks of privilege. Shrill, tense laughter rang through the air, the scenery painted in red hues from the lanterns, the eyes too attentive for a party like this. And in the midst of it all, you.

You, in your gorgeous green dress, being twirled around on the dance floor by Terry Campbell. Though that was quite the generous description, as you were doing most of the heavy lifting. As he had suspected, Theo thought to himself, Campbell couldn’t handle you, he could never meet your standards. His movements were clumsy and sluggish, he lacked manners and he didn’t hesitate to leave you alone or crowd you out when the opportunity to suck up to one of the more illustrious people presented itself.

He didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve looking at you all dressed and dolled up. The sight of it twisted something sharp and ugly inside him. That idiot had his hands on your waist, his fingers splayed too casually against the fabric, his grin too smug, too self-assured-like he had any right to you. Theo had to refrain himself from reaching for his wand as Campbell followed your lead (he was a miserable dancer) and stared down at your cleavage, not even attempting to conceal his blatant ogling. As if you were a fucking pezzo di carne.

Taking a long sip of the champagne in his hands, he felt it trickle cooly down his throat, but it could not cool his temper flaring up whenever Campbell’s eyes wandered just a little too far down. The only thing keeping him from marching over and wrenching you out of his grabby hands was your eyes, boring into his earlier that day when you’d complained about Mattheo’s overbearing relationship. He didn’t want you to feel caged in, as much as he wished to get you by the waist and out of this snakepit. Where people whispered behind your back and your face fell any time you saw a finger pointed at you.

You were too soft to be what you were, and he fucking adored it. But it also meant that he made a mental note of anyone who made the smile vanish from your face for later … consideration.

When your dimwit of a date spotted Sean Clarke, the president of the English Quidditch league, amidst a crowd of noisy witches, he tore himself away from you in an instant to push past dancing couples towards him, without a glance or word back to you. Just leaving you standing there on the dance floor, looking so utterly breathtaking in that frilly dress of yours.

Theo’s hands tightened around his glass of champagne as he glided through people to keep an eye on you as you approached the buffet. As you waited for a group of renowned daily prophet reporters to pass by, your eyes wandered over the crowd and found him, leaning against one of the stone walls. Even from a distance, he saw them widen in surprise- no wonder, since he usually was to be found anywhere but at a Slughorn party on designated evenings.

But soon after, a smile spread across your face. Not the false ones you gave Campbell to appease him and make him feel like a man. It was small, hesitant, honest and it was private. Even in his foul mood, Theo could do nothing but smile back and the corners of your mouth twitched as you turned towards the buffet, only to tighten when Campbell returned. Theo saw it with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Terry, visibly ill-tempered, pushed through the crowd towards you again, you had to suppress an exasperated sigh. He’d been nothing but a nuisance and a brat all night, and you would rather have him preoccupied with Sean Clarke than you. But alas, the latter seemed to have blown him off, judging by the bitter look on Campbell’s face.

Before you could ask if he wanted to get something to eat - you were starving - he grabbed you roughly by the arm, grunting something that sounded like “dancefloor” and dragged you back to the middle of the room. Instinctively, your gaze found Theo who was slowly pushing himself off the wall, eyes locked on Terry’s hand gripping your arm. But when you threw him a warning look, he halted his movement, only following you with vigilant eyes.

Terry placed his hand on your waist- if one was to call your hip your waist. As he took up his clumsy movements again, you attempted to ignore the way it moved uncomfortably far down. You had stoked his wandering hands up to a lack of experience in the beginning, but you were growing more uncomfortable by the second. Just to check, you threw another glance around you for Theo, and he returned it with a raised brow. Recognizing the silent question, you shook your head lightly.

Terry seemed to have realized your spirits weren’t in it anymore, or maybe he’d just spotted another Quidditch player, because he stopped dancing after just a short moment to pull you after him again. Without a word to you, he pushed a group of fifth years aside until you’d reached a secluded corner behind some slightly see-through red curtains, cutting you off from the rest of the party.

Initially, you had wanted to look for Theo again, just to check, but then, Campbell speaking a coherent sentence took you so off guard that you forgot anything else over it. “You know, I could have asked any girl here, but I picked you.”

Completely taken aback, both by his sudden ability to articulate himself through more than three word sentences and the contents of said sentence, you blinked up at him, momentarily rendered speechless. He looked down at you appraisingly and took a step towards you, which was quite the feat in this cramped spot. Instinctively, you inched back, but smiled nervously as you didn’t want to be rude- you just wanted to get out of here and hook him up with his beloved Sean Clarke so you didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

“Don’t be so uptight, Riddle,” he drawled, having picked up on your attempts to bring some space between you and him. A lazy, sickening grin pulled at his lips and a shiver ran down your spine when his eyes wandered from your face down your body. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I bet no one’s even looking.”

“Can we get back to dancing?” you tried, fingers nervously clasping around each other as you glanced up at him. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as you tried to suppress the panic that surged through you at the look in his eyes. “I don’t really feel like-”

His demeaning chuckle cut you off and to your horror, he grabbed the arm you had been reaching out to draw the curtains aside, as well as your waist. He pushed you against a small table, cornering you. You could smell the faint trace of alcohol on him, but he’d not had enough to be losing all sense. Which meant… You didn’t want it to be true, Merlin, you didn’t want Mattheo to be right. But it looked like you’d just walked into a trap, and it snapped shut when Terry leaned down and grinned unpleasantly. “Come on, don’t be like that, I’ve been nothing but nice to you all night.”

“Stop it,” you said in a low voice, doing your best to imitate Theo’s threatening tone that had any resistance crumble into a pathetic pile at his feet. But it didn’t work with Gryffindor’s six foot tall beater, of course.

Terry only laughed mockingly and his hands squeezed around your waist and arm. His eyes glinted as you attempted to free yourself. “Relax, it’s just a little fun- What, your brother gonna come drag you away?” He lowered his head and you tried pushing at his chest, but he didn’t move one bit and his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “You don’t have to play so hard to get, you know?” he drawled, “I already know you like the attention. Why else would you have worn a dress like tha-”

Somehow, suddenly, out of nowhere, the curtains were ripped apart and Theo was there before you, before you even had time to process it- before Campbell could push his luck any further. His hand shot out, fingers locking around the bastard’s wrist in a vice grip, yanking it away from your waist with enough force to make him stumble back a step. His breathing was slow, measured, but everything else about him was tightly wound, coiled with barely restrained fury- his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. His fingers flexed at his side like he was deciding whether to throw a punch or just break Campbell's wrist outright.

The usual composed calm in his expression was gone- his dark eyes burned with something lethal, something cold and merciless that had shivers run down your spine, even though it wasn’t directed at you but at Campbell, who recoiled visibly, wincing when Theo’s hand tightened around his wrist and cut off all blood flow. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, quiet, but razor-edged with warning. “You really don’t want to do that.”

“H-hey man,” laughed Campbell, voice shaking slightly with fear, and it was music to your ears. To have him at someone’s mercy, in someone’s unrelenting grip. For a moment, you wished you had Theo’s authority, menacing aura and reputation. Until you got half your mind back and inched away from Campbell, who had let go of your arm in an instant.

“It was just a bit of fun,” Campbell attempted to laugh it off, but Theo didn’t move- didn’t blink, didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his fingers tightened around Campbell’s wrist, the tension in his arm rippling beneath his shirt. There was not the slightest trace of amusement on his stony face, no hint of his usual cool detachment- just a quiet, simmering rage, deadly in its restraint.

His head tilted slightly, voice dropping even lower, silk-smooth but edged with steel. “Didn’t seem like she was having fun to me.” His thumb pressed just slightly into the guy’s pulse point, a silent threat, a warning that needed no elaboration. The air around them felt sharp, electric, like the moment before a storm broke, and though Theo hadn’t thrown a single punch, it was clear he was seconds away from violence.

His gaze flickered over to you. But instead of softening, like it usually did, it only hardened as he snapped his eyes back at Campbell, who was unable to hide the panic etched into his expression. “Do yourself a favor,” Theo said darkly, threateningly, “Get lost. Now.” Still holding his wrist, he lowered his head and Campbell tried to avoid his piercing eyes. With eyes full of disgust and revulsion, Theo looked down on him. “I’ll find you tomorrow,” he growled with barely contained fury, released Campbell’s hand and tilted his head just the slightest bit.

In the split of a second, Campbell was gone, only the curtains still moving with the impact of his sudden departure. Theo turned to you, dread churning in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to go after Campbell and make him bleed, make him pay, for daring to lay his filthy hands on you, for daring to feast his greedy eyes on you and trying to hurt you. The only thing keeping him in place was, at the same time, the only thing more important than his wrath- you.

Your eyes were locked on the swaying curtain where Campbell had just left, your shoulders slumped and to his horror, he noticed you were shaking slightly. The sight of your trembling fingers didn't do anything to calm the inferno barely contained within him, and he was tempted to take you with him and have you watch him destroy Campbell, so you would see what a miserable sack of human garbage he was, how he was nothing, how he would cower at your feet, beg for your mercy, and he’d punish him for it.

“Carina?”

Theo’s voice sounded through to you, over the ringing in your ears. Blinking rapidly, you bit down on your traitorously wobbling lip and turned to him without raising your gaze from the ground. “Merlin,” you whispered and heard your voice quiver uncontrollably. “I was so stupid.” Your eyes burned, both with shock and humiliation, and before you could properly avert your face, a tear slipped past the fragile dam.

His warm hands on your bare arms, so much more gentle and careful than Terry’s, almost made you shudder as you fought the urge to sink into him and cry away your worries on his shoulder, in spite of time and place, in spite of your determination to keep some level of composure. Theo’s thumbs brushed gently over your skin, so utterly comforting that it only made you well up more. “You weren't,” he said in a firm but calm voice, the rumble of his baritone soothing the trembling of your heart against your ribcage, as if it wanted to escape the confines of your body that suddenly felt so sullied.

An ironic, teary laugh slipped past your lips. “Yes, I am. Here I was, wanting to show Mattheo I can handle myself and now I need saving from you-” Your voice broke off and you covered your mouth with one hands to muffle the little sob building up in your throat.

Wiping at your cheeks stubbornly, you avoided his gaze determinately and preferred to watch the ripple of his sophisticated shirt as he leaned towards you, the smell of smoke, mint and old books tearing down your walls of resistance. Another tear. “You must think I'm an idiot,” you whispered as even more tears ran down your cheeks and the hand over your mouth shook.

“No, I don't,” said Theo, ever more firmly, and all of the sudden, you could feel the rough pads of his fingers under your chin, lifting it. There was no resistance left in you, not when his voice drowned out the unpleasant memory of Campbell and the overwhelming thumping of the music. But the look in his eyes almost made you flinch back. They were made of ice, hard and cold and beautiful, brimming with fury. Still, his grip barely tightened. As always, Theo was in perfect control of his body, of his every movement. Sometimes, that frustrated you, but now, you felt content knowing every touch of his was deliberate and trustworthy.

“I don't think you’re an idiot,” he reiterated, lowering his head to be more on eye level with you. “I think you picked the wrong guy. È semplice. Simple as that.”

It was too much, his voice, his words, the way the Italian rolled so smoothly off his tongue. Sniffing, you hid your head in his chest and his arms wrapped themselves around you, one hand holding your neck, brushing his thumb over your jaw and shielding you against him.

“You could do so much better,” his voice rumbled against your ear as he caressed your face and more tears stained his white shirt. You felt him tense up somewhat, a certain hint of frustration in his voice, though not directed at you, but rather at himself. “You should do so much better.”

Another bitter little laugh left your lips, a pang of daring born out of your shock and fear. “Like you?” Since you still hid your head in his chest, you didn't see the way his jaw clenched at your words.

He could imagine it so well- a world in which you would have worn that dress for him, and only for him. In which he’d have waited for you by your dorm, would have led you through the halls to Slughorn’s party and fended all other people off to take you to dance. How you would have moved, and smiled, and laughed; laughed just for him. How you would have trusted him with yourself. He would have made sure you got to enjoy yourself, would have made the night unforgettable. Would have taken you back to your dorm and shown you just how much of a goddess you were- even without the dress on.

Already regretting your rash words, you pried yourself from his hug, too busy whipping the last remnants of tears from your cheeks to notice the way his eyes had darkened and fingers curled at his sides, as if burning to pull you back against him. “Can we get out of here?” you asked, looking up at him, and he nodded, tugging the curtains aside to lead you out of the secluded corner.

Theo’s hand rested on your lower back as if it belonged there, as he guided you through chattering and dancing bodies, clearing a path for you through the sea of laughter and music. The party’s noises and colors had long become overwhelming to you, so you let him guide you through the crowd and to the door leading out of the room. Taking a longer step, he opened it for you, lead you through and closed it behind you. As soon as the door fell shut with a resounding clang and the coolness and quiet of the nightly castle halls welcomed you, you could breathe steadily again.

Theo shook off his jacket and wrapped it over your shoulders like a proper gentleman, adjusting it to make sure it didn't slip. He was a bit old school, but you liked it. Luckily, the night hid the dust of pink on your cheeks as the warmth engulfed you like a hug and shielded you against the nightly cold. His hand still on your lower back, Theo guided you down the stairs and along the corridor, a comfortable silence settling between you. You had a feeling he was slowing his pace to match yours, as your legs were still a little shaky.

When you walked by the courtyard, you slowed your steps and looked up at him, noticing the way the pale moonlight only accentuated the sharp line of his jaw. “Can we sit outside for a moment?”

Theo did not at all like how flimsy and unprotected against the cold you were dressed, but he nodded. He couldn't let you go unprotected, after all. Right, he was just following your brother’s instructions. Just that. Once more, he adjusted his jacket before allowing you to pull him by the arm out into the courtyard, striding towards one of the benches. Before you could sit, he wiped away the leaves and twigs on your side and then sat down next to you, feeling himself grow calmer as he listened to your steady breathing and watched it come out in puffs from your lips. Your lips. You’d put lipgloss on, and his eyes clung to the way they looked so plump and soft, ready to be ravaged.

“Theo?”

“Mm?” he asked distractedly, still mesmerized by the way your lips looked, moved, parted, huffed out silvery breaths.

“Can you-,” you hesitated for a second and threw him a quick glance. “Can you not tell Mattheo about how horrible this went?” Theo looked down at you steadily, with a serious, unmoved expression on his face as he was waiting for you to continue.

With a defeated sigh, you propped up your head and your hands, elbows on your knees, and stared ahead. “You know how he’ll get if he finds out. He’ll go completely bonkers, and he’s so reckless, I wouldn’t be surprised if he risked more than detention.” Maybe even Azkaban. Because he had sworn to you earlier that evening that he would kill Campbell if he laid so much as a hand on you. But you had no interest in Campbell dying, you just never wanted to see his stupid face again.

Still, Theo remained quiet and you rocked your leg anxiously, your voice a breath against the nightly breeze. “And if he knows… if you tell him… he’ll be right.” Again, you felt the sharp prick of tears behind your eyes, but before they could flow, a warm hand came to rest against your waist and you gave into its urge by leaning against his shoulder. Resting your head on him, you couldn’t see his face properly, but his voice was louder and clearer than yours had been. Still, he seemed to have understood every word.

“He wouldn’t,” said Theo calmingly, rubbing circles on your dress and calming your breathing in return. “I know you can take care of yourself. Also.”

You were surprised by the somewhat humorous tone in his voice as he lightly nudged your head with his, making you raise your head from his shoulder and look up at him. Mere inches separated your noses as his darkend eyes reflected the starry sky above Hogwarts. There was a rare, jocular twinkle in them as his hand came up from your waist to cup your cheek. “You are his older sister after all.”

A dry chuckle left your lips, but your heart was lighter than before and you managed to crack a genuine smile. “You’re right,” you grinned weakly, not even thinking of bringing more distance between you and his magnetizing eyes. “I should rightfully rule over him.”

A gentle smirk tugged at his lips, and he didn’t make a move to separate from you either, his thumb running along your jaw. “With an iron fist, bella.”

But then, his gaze darkened again as his eyes lost all light. You could almost understand why people tended to flinch back from him in fear, though the threatening look in his eyes couldn’t make you frightened for yourself. Still, his thumb brushed gentle strokes up your jaw and his trusted scent clouded your senses. “I will hurt him for what he did to you,” muttered Theo, his voice so quiet you could only hear it because he practically breathed the words against your lips.

Maybe he had expected you to back away, look horrified, or tell him off for doing what Mattheo would have done. But you only nodded, like you had known it all along. “I know,” you echoed his thoughts, looking serious and tugging his jacket tighter around yourself, not breaking eye contact. “But I trust you to handle the situation better. You are … less clouded by emotions.”

The irony almost made him smile, how you thought he would be measured, would be reasonable, rational, when he had never felt more clouded by emotions as when you looked up at him now, your wide eyes still showing the last remnants of your tears. An iron grip was around his heart, refusing to loosen, so he forced himself to avert his eyes, so you wouldn’t see the hate brimming in them- not at you, of course, but at the world who kept cracking down on someone as good as you.

But he didn’t correct you, instead skimming his eyes over the lace of your dress, the way it swayed gently in the breeze. You had looked so pretty in it- still did. A shame, truly. Both you and this dress deserved better. When he adjusted the hem slightly, he caught goosebumps break out under his touch and hated himself for the light tinge of satisfaction it gave him.

“You look stunning in that dress,” he muttered lowly, looking back up at you. It seemed like your eyes hadn’t left him, even after he had averted his, and the way you leaned trustingly into his touch twisted his insides with conflicting emotion.

Your hand found his and squeezed, and now he himself had to suppress a shudder at your soft touch. It really shouldn’t be bothering him, shouldn’t be affecting him this much. He had touched you plenty of times before, as you had, too. Your touch was more familiar to him than that of his parents, or his friends. Your warmth a constant in the wild tides breaking all around him, disrupting the world he had meant to break into order for you.

“Thank you,” you said breathlessly, giving his hand a light squeeze. Returning it, he watched you, and you shifted under his gaze, feeling scrutinized.

“Mi dispiace (i’m sorry),” he said sincerely, finally holding your gaze again. “For your ruined night, carina. You deserve so much better.”

You shrugged, giving him a half-smile. “Well, you know what they say, play stupid games and win stupid prizes. And anyway, it wasn’t your fault. And,” your eyes fell to your interlocked hands, his long fingers engulfing yours like they never wanted to let you go again. “Thank you, Theo. For getting me out of there. Merlin knows what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

His jaw clenched visibly at the thought, and he attempted to concentrate on the feel of your soft skin against his to ground him, as images of what he would do to Campbell flashed in his mind. Your ironic chuckle pulled you out of his spiraling thoughts. “I couldn’t even push him off. The way you just looked at him and he ran off…,” you swallowed thickly. “I wish I wasn't this weak.”

“It’s not a weakness,” he disagreed and you opened your mouth to argue back, but the look in his eyes extinguished every and all protest on your tongue. “It’s not a weakness,” he repeated firmly, locking you in place with his cerulean eyes. His thumb ran over your knuckles, but neither of you dared look away from the other. “It’s a show of strength,” he said, his Italian accent a little more prominent than before. “The world didn’t manage to take away your kindness.”

He leaned in further when he saw the frown forming on your face. “You are stronger than me. And for all those who think otherwise,” his voice got more grave as he spoke, more intense, “who think they can use you or hurt you, you have me to deal with him.”

Frozen, unable to talk back and disagree with his rather flattering interpretation of yourself, you stared at him, his words replaying in your mind. You had him. Him. Not them. He wasn’t talking about himself and your brother, just about himself. He would deal with anyone who hurt you. A shiver ran through your body, but it wasn’t because of the dark promise he had extended towards you. Where it was received inside you, it curled up, warm, like a whispered secret. He would take care of you.

To your grief, that care seemed to be extendable to other areas as well, as Theo's attentive eyes caught the goosebumps on your arms and your light shivering. Loosening his hand from yours, he placed it again on the small of your back, frowning. “We have to get you inside, amore. You will catch death out here.” Begrudgingly, you agreed, partially because you couldn’t say no to those eyes.

With a gentle rub of his hand, he helped you stand and adjusted his jacket over your shoulders. Then, he led you inside again, where, though it wasn’t much warmer, the cold breeze subsided. But when he turned to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, you halted your steps, causing him to stop as well and raise his brow at you. You gave him a pleading look as you held on to his jacket for support. “He’ll be waiting. I don't want him to ask questions when I turn up so early.”

Theo sighed, running a hand through his dark curls, but he nodded and you gave him a grateful smile. “Come with me,” he said, gratuitously, as if you wouldn't have followed him anywhere without him having to ask. But you nodded and let him take you up a staircase into the Transfiguration corridor, where he opened the first door with a bit of wandless magic.

Any other night, you might have protested breaking into a classroom, but you made no sound of complaint as he opened the door for you and led you inside, closing it softly behind you so the noise would go undetected. A small click told you that he had locked it again, though Filch was rarely out and about on nights of Slughorn’s parties, as too many partygoers drove him mad.

As you sat down on one of the tables in the front row, hands tugged into the pockets of Theo's jacket, he opened one of the closets, seemingly looking for something. Seconds later, he reemerged, balancing a board of chess in one hand. Something like a satisfied smile tugged at his lips when your eyes lit up in an instant. He walked over, placing the board on the desk you sat on, before hoisting himself up to sit on the other end, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt to find a more relaxed position.

Your eyes clung to the exposed skin of his collar for just a moment, but a moment too long, as he quirked a teasing brow at you when you snapped your eyes back to his face. Feeling your face grow hot, you busied yourself with placing the chess figures on the board. White for you, black for him, as always. His eyes followed the movement of your hands on the board and you felt a certain nervosity coil in your stomach at the intensity with which he observed your hands.

Once the board was ready, you did the first move. His eyes snapped up at you shortly before he extended his veiny hand to move one of his central pawns. And so it continued. You both made your moves, sometimes fast and certain, other times slow and hesitant. His brows were drawn in concentration, and you attempted to focus on the game instead of the way his pensive expression made you want to lean over and kiss him.

Theo was a formidable chess player, and you weren’t so bad yourself. When you had both finished your school work, playing chess was a common pastime in his room, both of you sitting on his sheets and balancing the board between you. It wasn't so different now, only that you were starting to notice things in the pale moonlight you hadn’t before.

The deliberate movement of his hands, how his fingers sometimes stilled over the board as he glanced up at you, gauging your reaction to what he was about to do. The way he ran his hands through his hair after you’d made a good move, and the way his lips would quirk whenever he’d taken advantage of one of your weak positions. He was so utterly magnetizing you had to force your attention on the game, determined not to let him beat you too easily. Usually, it was Theo who won the match, but you tended to put up a good figh. It wasn’t easy to entertain him, but somehow, it was always him who asked for a match or had already got out the board when you arrived.

Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one somewhat distracted. Usually, it was enough for Theo to analyze your moves and strategies, never having had a problem with wavering concentration, unlike his best mate. Something was different tonight. Maybe it was the dress. Only now did he realize how low-cut it really was, made worse by the fact that you had to lean over the desk to move your chess men, giving him an enticing view of your cleavage- if he hadn’t physically restrained himself from looking by digging his nails into the palms of hands violently. Maybe it was his jacket on you. This clear sign of his claim on you.

Feeling dirty and horrible for these thoughts, he looked back down to the board he had been absentmindedly moving figures on and realized he hadn’t seized an important opportunity, but rather allowed you to break through his rangs so that now, you were in a position to take his queen. He cursed quietly under his breath and you gave him a sceptical and somewhat accusatory look.

“You’re letting me win.”

“I’m not,” he replied truthfully, but you didn’t believe him, and how was he supposed to explain to you that he had been so occupied with staring at you he had let his concentration slip to such a point? He himself was a little shocked, having believed his discipline to be stronger after years and years of rigorous training. But you were still you, amd if someone could distract him, it had to be you.

“Check,” you mumbled, and you both did a few more moves until you said “Checkmate” and took his king with your queen. But you remained in place, neither of you willing to let this moment pass without resolving the unspoken tension that had settled in the air between you as you played.

Without taking his eyes off yours, Theo flicked his wrist and made the board and pieces fly back into the cupboard, which sealed itself. Closing the now unoccupied distance between you, both of you shuffled closer on the desk, neither breaking eye contact. Suddenly, you caught a movement out of the corner of your eye. It was his hand, moving slowly towards your face, hovering in the air for the split of a second before cupping your cheek and tilting your head lightly, reveling in the way you gave into his touch so willingly.

“I must confess something, carina,” his voice sounded into the silence and you frowned, your heart beating faster with anticipation. A light smile settled on his lips, uncharacteristically sheepish, as his thumb brushed over your lower lip, eyes locked on the way it gave in to the pressure of his thumb. “I might have been assigned to you tonight, to protect you.”

Ignoring the pang of disappointment in your chest, you scoffed without any malice behind it. But you refused to look away as his breath mingled with yours, the silence in the classroom seeming louder than before. The space between you had disappeared without either of you noticing, and his fingers were warm against your skin. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed, but he didn’t pull away. His gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, dark and unreadable, his breathing slow but unsteady. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the moment before lightning struck.

You should have moved. Said something. Diffused the situation before it crossed the point of no return. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. The warmth of him, the way his knee pressed against yours, the way his breath ghosted over your lips- it held you in place. His grip tightened just slightly, as if grounding himself, as if testing if you’d pull away. But you didn’t. The silence stretched, became unbearable, and your lips parted, his eyes clinging to them.

“Well, Theo. Are you going to protect me from yourself?”

It was the last straw. Suddenly, his lips were on yours, soft but firm, moving against yours and you gave into him in an instant, as if on instinct. Both his hands cupped your face now, tilting it slightly to give himself a better angle. His lips were so soft you wondered whether he’d put on lipbalm earlier, his touch so tender you couldn’t help but feel content, right here and there. You kissed him back, but he took the lead with unmistakable certainty, tugging lightly at your lower lip with his teeth and making your breath hitch before closing the distance once more.

But there was something missing. Theo was kissing and touching you as if you were made of glass and could shatter at the lightest touch. His kisses were loving, but careful, only gently tugging at the curtains you wished to rip open and let your senses be overflown with sunlight.

The moment he detected you struggling to catch your breath, he released your lips, looking down on your flushed face with a light smile. So damn satisfied, so superior. But you’d show him. Fisting your hands in his shirt, you leaned up at him but he evaded your lips, tutting softly at your endeavors and the frown scrunching your brows together.

Feeling quite frustrated and desperate to release the tension that had been brimming inside you all day, you scraped together your last bits of Italian you had picked up, poring over language books in the library. Your voice shook, uncertain, as you spoke, and the words came out slightly broken, almost inaudible. “Ti voglio… così … così tanto,” you said breathlessly, and in what had to be a heavy english accent. (I want you so much)

Theo let out a shaky exhale, and he corrected you without thinking, his voice so low it sounded more like a rumble. “Ti voglio così tanto.”

A beat. Silence. And then, finally, something inside him seemed to snap. The careful restraint in his grip vanished, replaced by something raw, something reckless. His fingers slid back into your hair, tightening just enough to tilt your face up to his as his lips crashed onto yours, all hesitation gone. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t measured. It was heated, desperate, like he had been holding himself back for too long and had finally lost the battle.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him as if he needed to feel you, to prove to himself that you were here, that this was real. A low sound rumbled in his throat as he deepened the kiss, as his fingers curled tighter against your waist, as he poured everything- every once of frustration, every unsaid thing, every moment spent pretending it wasn’t inevitable - into the way his lips moved against yours.

His hand on your waist slid down to your thigh, grabbing a handful and pulling you every more closer until you sat halfway in his lap. At his firm touch, your breath hitched in your throat and he responded with a low growl, hand slipping higher and higher until-

You pulled away, chest heaving and head spinning, unable to grasp a thought. But fear had surged through you, as the images of the boys you’d kissed before flashed in your mind, after Mattheo had been done with them. Panic and pleasure coiled into an almost painful knot in your throat and all you could think, as you tightened your hands in his shirt, was not him, not him, not him. You shouldn't be doing this. He was your brother’s best friend, he was off limits. He was freedom.

“Carina?” his voice broke through to the hazy mist clouding your mind and you looked up at him with wide eyes. The look on his face took you off guard, because you had never seen him look scared before. Maybe you had even thought impossible. But now, his voice shook slightly as he ran his thumb over your jaw and his other hand departed from your upper thigh. “I’m sorry, carina. Merda- fuck- I- I shouldn't have, Non stavo pensando-” (I wasn't thinking)

Theo seemed to take your lack of response as fright rather than what it was: perplexity. Because Theodore Nott hadn't had trouble with slipping in and out of English since first grade. But now, as his eyes frantically searched your face for a reaction, as apologies stumbled from his tongue, he almost seemed unable to control in what language they were in.

Theo was astonished how quickly emotion and desire had taken over his senses, his body, his sacred self-control. Only now did he realize how reckless he had been, kissing you like that after just saving you from a handsy stronzo. Where had his filter been when he’d kissed you like that, when his hand had slipped up your dress, when your little gasps had only spurred him on? But you didn't seem as fearful as him, only staring at him with wide eyes as if he’d just discovered a damn new species. Running a hand through his hair in desperation, he lowered his voice. “Parlami, per favore. Talk to me, carina.”

Snapping back to your senses, you shook your head at him rapidly. “It's not- I didn't mean-”. You felt your cheeks grow hot but you held your gaze steady and didn't loosen the grip you had on his shirt. “I liked it. It was great. I was just-” You took a few breaths through your mouth, considering the words, weighing them in your mind before allowing your tongue to form a sentence. As you pondered your words, he sat still as a block of ice, staring down at you with those mesmerizing blue eyes of his.

“I don't want Mattheo to hurt you!” you finally managed to say and his brow arched. Frustrated with your lack of an explanation, you looked around the room as if the perfect sentence to explain your desperate predicament would jump out of one of the cupboards. “I know what he did to the other boys,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm, “to the other boys I've kissed. I don't want him to hurt you. A- and,” you hated yourself for the way your voice broke off and you had to start the sentence over, “and I know you love him like a brother, and you are his best friend, and I don't want to ruin that.”

“Oh carina,” he sighed, rolling the r even more heavily than usual, and the small smile that tugged at his lips had the conflicting desires to hit him or kiss him battle inside of you. Theo visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders and the movements of his fingers settling into a calm rhythm once more. His relaxed stance didn't even make the slightest bit of sense to you as you frowned at him, voice laced with fear and worry.

“Mattheo will kill you.”

Theo’s heart seized as he looked into your worried, fearful eyes. Worried for him, your hand clutching his shirt like you never wanted to let him go. You didn't want to ruin his friendship with Mattheo. You were afraid he would hurt him. Dio, you were so fucking selfless, so sweet and caring. How could anyone see you as unapproachable or cold, or anything short of wonderful? But at the same time, the kiss-induced haze in his mind slowly started to clear up as he seemed to sober up, recognizing the sensibility of your words. Right. You were Mattheo's sister. You were off-limits.

It cost him every last ounce of self-control to pry your fingers away from his shirt gently, and a numb pain tugged at his heartstrings when they fell purposelessly into your lap. “Let's get you back to your dorm,” he mumbled, trying to be the voice of reason, not the greedy vulture raging inside his head that yearned to rip that pretty dress off of you and worship you like you deserved, to make you forget all about Campbell and his disgusting attempts. He longed to hear the sounds you would make when he touched you in all the right places, he wanted you to curl your fingers into his hair, he wanted to hear you moan his name, and his name only.

But alas, he stepped back from the table, banning the forbidden images from his head, and approached the door, desperately trying to clear his head. It was only when his hand hovered over the door handle that he realized you hadn't followed. Turning around, he saw you were still sitting where he had left you, on the desk, clutching his jacket around yourself, eyes fixed on him. The glint in them was dangerous, it tempted him more than anything, drew him in like a magnet. Shakily breathing out, he turned and faced the door, fingers closing around the handle. “Tell me to go.”

There was a pause, during which he could only hear your breathing, still labored as a result of the messy kiss. He could picture you so well. Clutching his jacket, your hair disheveled where his fingers had run through it and your eyes- dio, your eyes… When you spoke, your voice was quiet, but firm. As if you'd made up your mind about something. “You never listen to me anyway.”

That was all it took for his resolve to crumble. Mattheo and chivalry be damned as he turned on his heel and had reached you in a few strides, crashing his lips against yours. As his hands on your neck urged you ever more closer, you let out a surprised squeak, but the split of a second later, your eyes fluttered close and you kissed him back, losing yourself in the bliss.

Low phrases were muttered against your lips, but you barely registered them as you kissed him back just as feverishly as he did. Your shaky fingers ran over his chest, looking for any sort of halt, and he rumbled lowly into your mouth as his grip on you tightened and he opened your lips with his tongue. As his tongue slid into your mouth, it met little resistance. Instead, your fingers closed around his tie, unintentionally tugging him even closer to you and he cupped the back of your head, fingers carding into your hair. An embarrassing little mewl left your lips and the vehemence of the kiss made you lean back on the table, your back hovering inches above the surface. He followed, chasing your lips, closing in on you again and again and exploring the insides of your mouth with his tongue.

You had subconsciously been inching back on the desk and his hands departed from your neck to bury themselves in the flesh of your hip. With one fluid motion, he pulled you back over the smooth surface of the desk until your clothed core met his and you could feel his desire. Your skirt had ridden up to your upper thighs, but you made no attempts to fix it as you leaned into his touch, his kiss, his smell, his very being.

You could barely believe this was happening, the stuff of your forbidden little ovulation daydreams, and if his fingers hadn’t been kneading the flesh of your exposed thigh so maddeningly, you would have pinched yourself to make sure this was real. But it felt almost too real, too intense, too all-consuming, as his large palms ran over every inch of your body they could reach and he panted against your lips before clashing his onto yours again. Insatiable, ferocious, yearning for every part of you he could grasp.

If you had thought you were the only one desperate for the other, you had been so, so wrong. His frantic kisses and desperate touches were enough to convince you otherwise, his usual calm and coldness missing as you felt so fucking hot under his deft hands.

Experimentally, you rolled your hips against his crotch. His grip on your waist and hip tightened, fingers curling harshly into your flesh as he let out a shaky breath against your lips. But his voice was steady and firm as he warned you, “Careful with that, principessa.”

But you wanted to see him crumble, you wanted to see him lose control more than anything. So you leaned up at him, chased his lips and gave him your best doe eyes. His eyes gleaned dangerously in the relative darkness of the classroom as you tightened your grip on his shirt. “Theo��,” you asked in a pleading voice, trying to convey how damn needy he made you feel, how much his touch riled you up until all you could think was him, him , him, and the way he pressed against your pulsing core. “Per favore…”

Again, the Italian seemed to do the trick. Something in his gaze shifted as his eyes snapped down to your lips, and further down, over your heaving chest to your bare thighs, molding into the touch of his large hands. He was panting, fighting against the utter loss of control, but when you repeated the words in the most adorable English accent and rolled your hips against his once more, he couldn’t help himself any longer.

Theo’s head dipped down to your neck and you mewled when you felt his lips trail down your throat. His tongue licked a long stripe up the column of your throat, where your breath hitched and he chuckled darkly against your skin. Breathing in your perfume that always fucking lingered in the room when you were there, so near and out of reach, he connected his lips to your sensitive spot and felt a jolt of pleasure at your high-pitched gasp.

Suddenly, for the split of a second, your mind cleared up and you tugged his head away from your neck in a panic. You only got a low growl in response, along with a roll of his lips that made you mewl softly and slap a hand over your mouth at the embarrassing sound. “Th- theo," you managed to stutter out, the words falling clumsily from your kiss-bitten lips. You only got a throaty sound in return and your grip in his hair tightened. “Theo, h- he can’t see.”

That, if nothing else, made him halt his relentless ministrations of your neck and raise his head to look down on you. You looked so utterly irresistible in the dim moonlight shining through the windows. Your hair a mess, your lips plump and swollen, your eyes wide and fearful. Fearful for him. Merlin, he felt like he had the whole world at his fingertips. His intense gaze made you shudder as you leaned up again, a pleading look in your eyes and laced into the tone of your voice. “Theo-”

But before you could say more, he cupped your cheeks and kissed your temple, breathing in through his nose as if commanding oxygen back into his lungs. “I’ll just have to do it somewhere else then, won’t I?” he said under his breath, lips departing from yours kin so he could get another proper look at you and your flushed face. “Somehwere he can’t see.” His tone was so utterly seductive you could only nod, you knew your voice would break if you had tried to reply.

But he tutted softly, tilting his head and you recognized the teasing look in his eyes. His hand cupped your cheek and his thumb ran over your bottom lip, eyes following the way it gave into his touch. “You’ve got to use your words, principessa, tell me what to do.”

Frustrated with his teasing, you moved your hips against his until his hands gripped at your waist, keeping you in place. He raised his brow at you. “Not cheating, are we?” One of his hands ran over your thigh gently, making any and all protest die on your tongue. A sharp gasp left your lips when it surged forward and cupped your crotch. Biting down on your lip, you suppressed a moan as he engulfed your clothed core with his large hand and tilted his head at you, brow still raised. “Anyone ever touched you there, carina?” A mocking smile curled his lips. “Anyone but yourself, I mean.”

Panting pathetically, you shook your head and he cooed at you, gently rubbing his palm over your cunt in a way that had you squirm against his hold. “H- ha, no one,” you gasped, hiding your blushing face in his biceps as your fingers curled into his shoulders, keeping you steady. “No one’s touched me there but y- you, Theo.”

Though Theo might have seemed all calm and collected, his mind was spinning at your words. With the revelation that he’d be the first man to touch you, to claim you, to ruin you for any other pathetic guy that might attempt to take his place. Because you belonged to him. He had to suppress a groan at the thought, but commanded himself to discipline. This night was yours, he was yours, and he had to keep his mind focused on you, on your pleasure.

In one motion, he hiked up your skirt until it was bunched up around your midriff, giving him the perfect view of your white lace panties against the dark wood of the desk. Licking his lips, he met your wide-eyed gaze. “Lay down on the desk, principessa.” That was right. You would be his princess tonight.

With great satisfaction, he watched you follow his order immediately. Your back met the wood of the desk and you suirmed against his hold to get comfortable, staring up at the ceiling. Your heart beat against your ribs like crazy, the sound of it filling your ears. His face had disappeared from your sight. All you could feel now were his hands, one keeping your hips in place, the other running a slow pair of fingers up your clothed folds. Your breath hitched in your throat and you bit down on your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the embarrassing sounds building up in your throat.

His next command sounded, soft but firm. “Spread your legs.” You did, thighs trembling, and you propped yourself up on one elbow just in time to see his eyes widen at the sight of you. Registering even the smallest movement, his eyes snapped up at you and you immediately laid back down on the surface of the desk, making him smile softly.

Theo got to his knees, nudging your thighs further apart and reveled in the abashed sounds coming from you. His fingers halted their movements on your clothed cunt to hook themselves around the hem of your lace panties and tug. A small squeak left your mouth and he chuckled. “So responsive…” In one tug, he slid off your underwear and discarded it somewhere next to him.

Your cunt was just as cute as he had imagined, and glistening with slick in the pale moonlight. Bringing his fingers back down to your cunt, he collected some of the substance, making you jolt. “All that for me?” he asked, teasingly, catching your frantic nod out of the corner of his eye. Then, he dove down and his lips met your puffy folds.

Shocked by the sudden feelings of his mouth against your cunt, you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that had threatened to escape you. But it was hard to keep your mind on the possible risk of getting caught in this utterly humiliating position when his tongue licked a long stripe up your folds, before diving in as if you were his last meal on earth.

Feeling his nose against your folds, his lips closed around your clit and you stifled another moan. With a low rumbling sound, one of his hands left your thigh and out of the corner of your eye, you caught him flick his wand at the door, suddenly deafening the sounds of wind howling in the courtyard. Before you could fully realize that he had just cast a muffliato charm on the door, his hand shot up and closed around both of your wrists, yanking them down and pinning them down against your hips. This had the added effect of stopping them from bucking against his face as he took advantage of the new angle to delve into your pussy like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

When he sucked at your clit, you moaned loudly, unable to muffle the sounds with your pinned-down hands, and your cheeks heated with shame. But Theo only chuckled against your folds, feeling his cock harden painfully against the confines of his trousers. Your little moans and mewls were music to his ears, and he worked his tongue tirelessly against your clit, eager to elicit more from you.

Releasing your other thigh, the hand that wasn’t holding down your bucking hips and binding your wrists wandered up to your cunt and he slowly entered his index finger into your tight little hole. He chuckled into your glistening folds when your back arched off the desk. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was the cry of his name that left your throat.

He damn near jolted, feeling blood rush towards his cock and, as if on instinct, his finger curled up inside of you, eliciting a strangled moan from you. He delved back into your warmth, working on your pretty pink hole with his index finger and sucking and licking at your clit until you were writhing and squirming against the desk, hips bucking helplessly but being held down by his unrelenting grip. Again, you mewled his name and he groaned into your pussy, feeling his knees grow weak and his head grow foggy.

Dio, how he could have listened to you saying his name like this forever. How often had he pictured you, whining and moaning, his name rolling off your tongue so filthily? But none of his filthy dreams could have prepared him for the real thing. His hips bucked helplessly into mere air when you moaned his name again, high-pitched and desperate as you shook under his hold. You were heavenly.

Theo's ministrations on your poor cunt were relentless, systematic and meticulous as you felt your insides tighten with white hot pleasure. You were barely in control of your whole body anymore, it felt as if he was a puppeteer, tugging knowingly at your strings and making you jolt and squirm, making you dance for him on the hard surface of the desk. All you could feel was him, all of your senses overtaken with white-hot pleasure. Your ears were ringing, so that you could barely make out your own words, repetitions of his name stumbling from your lips like a prayer.

He groaned against you, his grip on you tightening as his finger pistoned in and out of you, steadily working to make you unravel completely. “Che bei suoni, carina,” he moaned against your folds, liking up a long stripe and making your breath hitch audibly. “Una ragazza così brava, cazzo, such a good girl.”

His words made you whine as a coil tightened in your lower abdomen. You could almost feel his grin against your clit as his tongue darted out to draw circles on it and nearly drive you mad with the electrifying sensation. “You like being called a good girl, don’t you, carina?”

You could only mewl helplessly in response and his finger met that spot in you with a harsh thrust that had you cry out his name in ecstasy. “I asked you a question,” he growled and you felt tears form in your eyes at the overwhelming mounting of pleasure. Another finger of his started to draw circles on your clit, meticulous and experienced, as his grim blue eyes entered your vision, alight with something dangerous.

Nodding helplessly, you tried to force your tongue to form words as he knowingly hit every spot inside you that had you fall aprt and trash against his hold. “I- fuck, yes!”

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he dipped his head back down, continuing his ministrations on your cunt. You attempted to roll your hips against his face, chasing the pleasure, but he tutted at you and pressed your hips down, making you sob in frustration. “Poor girl,” he chuckled against your hot wetness, “Can you take another finger, dolcezza?”

You nodded shakily, small whines of “yes, yes, yes,” filling the air. Your walls stretched deliciously around him when he added another finger. Throwing your head back with a moan, your thighs closed without your permission and finally, Theo released your wrists and hip to keep them parted, mumbling curses in Italian against your heat. His fingers curled up against the spot he now found with infuriating accuracy and instinctively, your hand shot up to your mouth to stifle the cry of pleasure threatening to burst past your lips.

But Theo seemed none too pleased with that, as his hand came down to deliver a not so gentle slap against your pussy. A cry of his name left your throat as your hips bucked with the delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

To stop yourself from covering your mouth again, you moved your trembling fingers down to his hair, where they gripped his curls in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Theo didn't seem to mind, his tongue working restlessly on your clit, and he barely grunted when you tugged at his curls, another flash of burning pleasure shooting through you, making your thighs tremble in his hold.

Lost in pleasure, you could barely control your babbling anymore as everything and anything crossing your mind made it past your lips without filter. “H-he’ll kill you,” you hiccuped weakly, tears running down your cheeks as you felt the pleasure mount inside you. “Mattheo, he’ll m-murder you for th-this, s-so ah!” You gasped when his fingers curled inside you again, working meticulously on bringing you to your high as your walls clenched in a vice-like grip around them.

“I-I hope you’ve made peace with your life,” you slurred with half a mind and his tongue only worked faster on your clit as he hummed in content. “Cazzo- then I’ll die, carina. Dio sa, this is fucking worth it.”

Ramming his fingers into your squelching cunt, he looked up at your writhing and moaning figure, feeling something swell, not only in his trousers but in his chest. He had you like this. You, the untouched, off-limits sister of his best friend, the temptation he could never give into, the prize he could never have- and now he had you. Right where he wanted you. Falling apart on his tongue and his fingers, moaning his name to the heavens, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. And fuck him if he would earn Mattheo’s wrath, fuck him if he got into hell for sullying something so good, so pure, because it just felt so damn good.

You felt so damn good, he could feel himslef becoming light-headed, not even being inside you, alone from the image of you arching your back off the table, your pretty face flushed and scrunched up with pleasure. The image of his darkest dreams. He himself couldn’t even differentiate whether the praises and curses against your tongue were in English or his mother tongue as your high-pitched moans filled his ears.

His fingers hit the spot that had you tremble mindlessly again, and again, and again, until your walls clenched tightly around them and something between a sob and a moan broke out of your throat. “Th- theo, I’m cumming!”

As your high washed over you, you could do nothing but gasp and shake against him, as pleasure as you’d never once felt it crashed down on you and nearly made you see the pearly gates of heaven. A loud cry left your throat, and you didn’t even have half a mind to be thankful for the muffliato charm he had put on the door. All you could do was absolutely fucking fall apart on his fingers.

They worked you steadily through your high, his middle finger rubbing lazy circles on your clit as the world slowly took shape again around you and you felt his lips travel up the side of your jaw. “Such a good fucking girl, dolcezza, give me everything you've got.”

And give him everything you did, riding out your high against his fingers until you collapsed in his arms. He caught you before you could hit the table, fingers rubbing over your overstimulated cunt one last time before he dipped down to kiss you. You should have been embarrassed about tasting yourself on his tongue, but to your own surprise, a low moan left your lips. He swallowed it up eagerly, whispering praises between kisses. “Y’ did so well, my sweet fucking girl,” he mumbled, making you sigh into his next peck, “Did so damn good.”

As your breathing slowly calmed and no longer came out in ragged gasps, he helped you sit up and stood before you, before the desk, smiling down at you with one of those rare smiles of his. The lower half of his face was dripping with your release and your cheeks grew impossibly hot. “S- sorry,” you mumbled, raising a shaky hand to wipe some of it away, but he caught your hair mid motion and pressed a trail of kisses over your palm, down the skin of your upper arm.

When your arm fell slack against your side, he gave you a teasing grin and darted out his tongue to lick some of your juices from his lips. Chuckling at your wide eyes, he pressed his lips to your temple and ran a hand through your hair. “How’re you feeling, carina?”

“Uh-,” you muttered , voice raspy and shaky. “G- good. I think.” An abashed smile tugged at your lips and he returned it with his casual confidence, cupping your face to kiss you softly. His lips met yours in a tender caress and you leaned into him as if he were your lifeline.

Slowly, the realization of what you had just done dawned on you. And you noticed another thing: something firm and hard pressing against your thigh. With trembling fingers, you sneaked a hand between your bodies, hovering over the tent in his trousers for a moment of hesitation before palming it through the fabric. In an instant, his grip on your face tightened and he let out a low hiss. You only felt spurred on, but to your disappointment, his larger hand wrapped around your wrist and gently tugged it away from his clothed erection.

“Not that I would ever spurn your touch,” he mumbled sheepishly, visibly more light-hearted than before but with a certain strain in his voice that undoubtedly was the result of his unresolved business down there. “But not tonight.”

He smiled at the way your brows scrunched up in a frown, hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him closer. “But-”

He shut you up with another kiss that had you cave in immediately, rubbing slow circles on your exposed thigh. “Another night,” he whispered against your lips, “I’ll take care of this myself.” Your eyes fluttered shut with the way he kissed you so gently, yet unrelenting. The tone of his voice told you, unmistakably, that you had no chance convincing him to let you help him.

“But, don’t you want it?” you breathed against his lips, a certain anxiety curling in your stomach.

But he only chuckled, somewhat darkly, and continued to rub circles on your thigh. “Dio, of course I want it. Ah-” With a soft tut, he caught your wrist once more and guided it to his lips to press a soft kiss onto the back of your hand. “Let me worry about that.” There was no room for argument or protest, so you sighed and shrugged, making him smile again. You had rarely witnessed a smile of his last so long. Usually, it were quips of amusement, glimpses behind the stony facade, but he seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.

“Another time,” you agreed, leaning up to welcome another peck of his lips. Retreating slowly, you opened your eyes at him and lost yourself in the cerulean pools, brimming with something much more affectionate than lust. And suddenly, it felt almost natural to say it. “Ti amo, Theo.”

Groaning, Theo had to seriously refrain himself from throwing all caution to the wind and fucking you stupid right then and there on the desk. But he needed your first time to be special, not in an abandoned old classroom. Ti amo, Theo. You loved him. Damn right, you did. His heart thrummed dangerously fast against his lips, almost as painful as the strain in his pants. Ignoring the ache in his cock, he pressed a long kiss onto your burning cheek. Merlin, you were just adorable. “Anch’io ti amo, carina,” he muttered and relished in the smile that lit up your face.

It took a lot of ciorridors until you managed to overcome the uncontrolled trembling in your legs, and even more until you were able to walk without clutching his arm for support. Still, Theo kept his arm around your waist as he led you down the stairs to the dungeons, never wanting to move it again. Your hand fisted his shirt against his back and from time to time, he leaned over to press a kiss onto your cheek, making you giggle. It echoed off the walls, but neither of you could have cared less. Theo felt like he would hex anyone who disturbed you two now into next week. But nobody did cross your path on the way down, all the partygoers seeming to have left for their dorms or homes already.

At the door to the boy’s toilets only a few corridors away from the common room entrance, Theo slowed his steps and you came to a halt before him. With great reluctance, he let go of your waist and got a hold of your hand to press another kiss onto it- like the chivalrous bastard he was. Your cheeks heated at the simple gesture and a silly smile made your eyes shine.

“Fix that hair and dress before you enter the common room,” he muttered softly into the silence, one hand on the door handle to the boy’s toilets, the ache in his pants reminding him of his unfinished business. “Or your brother might get to the Gryffindor bloke before I do.”

Nodding, you let go of his hand, but didn’t turn away. something unspoken, something unanswered still hovered between you, and you needed to dress it before you could enter the privacy of your dorm. “So…,” you said, hesitantly, “Are we, like…?” You left the question unanswered and he raised a brow, mocking you. Theo offered you no assistance as you stuttered yourself through the sentence. “Well, are you my boyfriend now?”

“Well, what did you think?”

Now it was your turn to raise your brows at him, though a smile still danced around your slightly swollen lips. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t the castle’s biggest manwhore, Theo.”

Feigning offence, he leaned against the wall and looked you up and down.”A manwhore? Amore, I just risked my life for you. That has to mean something.” Though his tone was mocking, his eyes held a disarming severity that you recognized with a small nod. His lips twitched. “You really think I’d let myself fall for you just to play around?” He lowered his head, tilting it slightly. “You want proof? Fine. Ask me if I’ve thought about anyone else tonight.”

“I believe you,” you laughed, averting your eyes and shaking your head at him, an affectionate warmth filling your chest. Feeling brave, you leaned up to press a longer peck to his cheek and winked at him as you lowered yourself from your tip-toes.

“Well, have fun,” you smiled, teasingly, before turning on your heel to leave for the common room, glee and excitement coiling in your stomach into such a tight knot you would have felt the desire to jump up and down- if only your legs hadn’t still felt so weak.

He watched you turn a corner before you disappeared, something dangerous and dark twisting behind his ribcage when he saw you wobble slightly on your feet. Whatever it cost him, he would tell Mattheo. Because there was no way in fucking hell there would be a single sould left in this castle in doubt about who you belonged to.

a/n: if you've actually come this far, you have my respect: you just made it through 20k words of this. and for that, you deserve a reward 🏅

part 2 here

taglist: @lady-peiskos @hazeldunst @juliet-017 @furioussharkcat @onlytenkos @jannie-belaerys @blueflowerpots @whosyourgnomie @revesephemeres @longpondlibrary @aespaslut @hopeless--romamtic @s00ty-feet @iamheretoread1234 @devilsadvcte @jolly4holly

[slytherin-pen]

Diplomacy Be Damned

pairing: Kallias x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: some fighting, burn injury, Kallias loses his temper to defend you, Beron being Beron

a/n: dipping my toes into writing about Kallias. i need to read up on some headcannons since we have so little canon info about him. dug this one out the drafts lmao

The halls of the Winter Court glistened with ethereal beauty. Walls carved from ice, crystalline chandeliers dripping with frozen jewels that caught and refracted the faint glow of faelight. The chill in the air was familiar, comforting even, though it did little to ease the tension rising in the room.

The High Lords had gathered again to discuss the threat of Koschei. And as always, it felt like sitting in the eye of a storm.

You sat quietly beside Kallias, your mate, the bond between you a steady hum under your skin, a thread of warmth woven through the cold. His hand brushed yours subtly, an anchor amidst the political currents swirling around the grand table.

Beron was speaking.

Of course, he was.

You had the displeasure of sitting near him, Kallias and one of his sons were all that was between you. On your right sat Thesan and Tarquin with their respective councils. The Inner Circle, Helion, and an empty spot for Tamlin across from you. The large circular table made of ice was designed with the much-needed space that was necessary for these tumultuous meetings in mind. Usually, Autumn would be positioned on the same side as Night, but with Lucien Vanserra’s new position as their emissary you convinced Kallias to rearrange the seating chart so the poor male did not have to sit near the male who caused him so much suffering, and instead next to his true father. You were reconsidering that moment of compassion now.

Arrogant and venomous, Beron’s words were dripping with condescension as he spoke of sacrifices and violence with the casual cruelty only the Autumn Court’s High Lord could master. You saw the way Kallias’ jaw tightened, the faint narrowing of his eyes, the only signs of his control slipping.

Across the room, Feyre Archeron sat beside High Lord Rhysand, her posture rigid, and nails tapping rhymically against the table as Beron’s smug remarks continued. You could see it in her eyes, she was losing her patience with him, as was everyone else in this room.

“If Koschei wants the Archeron witch so badly, I say let him have her,” Beron drawled with a flourish of his hands. “There’s no sense in going to war over one useless female.”

A burst of flames shot across the room, wild and uncontrolled. It was meant for Beron. You knew that. Everyone knew that.

But Feyre had still not yet mastered her aim, and you were sitting in its path.

The searing heat hit you before you could react, fire licking across your shoulder, burning through the layers of fabric, biting into flesh. A sharp, involuntary cry escaped you as pain erupted and you fell backward out of your chair.

The room exploded into chaos.

Kallias’ reaction was immediate, his power blowing an icy wind that extinguished the remaining flames. The chill of his power was a different kind of sting, but an improvement nonetheless. He helped you rise, his hands on your waist as he sat you down in his chair. You gazed up at him to tell him it was alright, to just adjourn the meeting for a moment until you saw his face.

Fury.

Uncontained, unrelenting fury.

His eyes blazed with a rage colder than the harshest winter as he turned on Rhysand and Feyre, his power crackling in the air like a blizzard ready to consume.

“What were you thinking?” His voice was a snarl, low and dangerous, ice creeping across the marble floor like the tide rising at a beach.

Rhysand rose, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, but there was a readiness in his stance. “It was an accident—”

“An accident?” Kallias roared, his magic lashing out, frost racing across the walls, shards of ice falling from the ceiling and crashing onto the table. “She burned my mate!”

You tried to stand, the pain sharp and unyielding, but Kallias was already at your side again, lowering you back down to the seat. His breath came fast, uneven, his fury battling with fear. The smell of your charred flesh permeated the room, even Lucien across the table wrinkled his nose at the all too familiar scent.

Beron, ever the viper, chuckled darkly from his seat. “Seems the High Lady still can’t control her temper. At least it wasn't my wife this time.”

That was all it took.

Kallias and Rhysand lunged.

Power collided—ice, darkness, and fire. Winter’s wrath and Night’s might against the burn of Autumn. Beron blocked Kallias’ strike with a shield of fire, but the sheer force sent shockwaves through the hall, cracks spiderwebbing across the floor. Rhysand’s darkness engulfed Beron, snuffing out his flames.

“Enough!” Helion shouted, stepping between them, his golden power radiating as he formed a shield around everyone else.

But Kallias wasn’t listening. He could only think to protect, avenge, defend. His magic surged again, colder than death itself, as he bared his teeth.

“Kallias,” you managed to rasp, your voice raw from both the pain and the rising fear of what he might do.

He froze.

Then he was in front of you, dropping to his knees, cradling your face in his hands. His fury didn’t vanish—it was there, sizzling beneath the surface—but his focus shifted entirely to you.

“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. “I’ve got you.”

With a burst of his power, he winnowed you both away, the freezing air swallowing the sound of shouts and curses from the meeting room.

He had taken you to your shared chambers, the familiar scent of fir trees and eucalyptus wrapped around you like a comforting cocoon.

Kallias didn’t waste a moment. He led you to the edge of the bed to sit and carefully peeled away the burnt fabric. The sight of the angry, blistered skin made his breath hitch. He strode into the washroom to retrieve healing supplies before returning to your side. His fingers hovered above the wound, trembling slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as if it were his fault. “I should’ve—”

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” you assured, wincing as he dabbed a cool cloth over the burn, the chill both soothing and sharp.

But Kallias didn’t respond. He clenched his jaw, his eyes shadowed with guilt as he worked. He was meticulous, his hands gentle, as if he feared hurting you more.

After delicately applying healing salves to the burns and wrapping them with a bandage, he sat beside you, his head in his hands.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, it just tingles now. The salves are working.”

He released a sigh of relief. Then, softly, “When I saw you fall…” his voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “I’ve faced war and impending death, but nothing has ever terrified me like that.”

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

His grip tightened, pulling you into his arms with a desperation that made your heart ache. He held you as if you might disappear, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“I don’t ever want to feel that again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You pressed a kiss to his temple, feeling his tension slowly ease. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

[harmoonix]

☘️ Zephyr ☘️

(Astrology Observations)

☘️Do you recall, not long ago

We would walk on the sidewalk☘️

☘️Innocent, remember

All we did was care for each other☘️

☘️ 11H placements especially Sun/Moon/Venus/Mercury make beautiful boundings with people, they're sending this peaceful energy to everyone

☘️ Some "Mini - Observations" if you have Moon aspecting Jupiter ☘️

You attract so much joy in your life

Easy manifestations

Spiritual People

Wise Soul

Powerful Intuition

Beautiful Smile

☘️ Mercury aspecting Moon natives are so good at telling stories, they have that type of humour combined with storytimes

☘️ If you have Saturn in your 1st/4th/10th or in Aries, Cancer or Capricorn your childhood years or the years til you become an adult can be the most roughest/difficult 🤍

☘️ Saturn/Chiron or Neptune in the 11H can sometimes izolate from others, if they feel like there is not their place they'll just leave for a better one

☘️ Sun/Saturn in the 12H can have disassociation issues, like they can disassociate/detach easily from people, is not their fault is just a protection mechanism

☘️ Neptune/Sun/Saturn and Pluto in the 12H can cause trouble with sleeping, like you're always feeling tired or exhausted, you can have tired eyes

☘️ Gemini Mercuries/Moons have a very calming voice, that type of voice you can listen for hours!! Also the type of voice who gives you chills

☘️ Uranus sitting empty in a chart can indicate someone who is not aware of their gifts/talents and what you can do, you can change things into better even if you don't realize that

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

But the night was warm

We were bold and young

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

☘️ If you are an overthinker and you have Neptune or Chiron in the 7H don't enter in a relationship until you learn how to end these thoughts because it can create a lot of illusion towards your love relationships, try to work on your overthinking issues and things can get better

☘️ Sun aspecting Mercury is giving young soul/young kid vibes doesn't matter their age, their inner child is always active somehow! I love their cute vibes

☘️ Chiron aspecting your Midheaven can indicate collective healing, meeting people who have the same issues/problems/trauma as you? That's a sign

☘️ Lilith in the 5H or in leo degrees (5°, 17°, 29°) can feel like people come into your attention just to annoy/provoke you for no reason

☘️ Lilith in Aries, Cancer, Capricorn, Libra (Cardinal Lilith) are generational breakers, you came here to end something toxic that your ancestors couldn't

☘️ If someone has their Venus or Moon in the same signs as yours you can get along very good! Like from the first conversation

☘️ Sagittarius/Pisces Midheaven can have a spiritual path life because of Jupiter as their ruler, is not always about work is about combining spirituality with your everyday life

☘️ Pisces Jupiter/Jupiter in the 12H can have that type of spouse who will have an immediate connection with them, also a very spiritual or intuitive spouse

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

All around, the wind blows

We would only hold on to let go

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

☘️ Sagittarius Jupiter/Jupiter in the 9H is when Jupiter hits home, and feels the best, we can have a blessed/gifted relation with the spouse here, either a very beautiful spouse with an adventurous personality

☘️ Mars in the 3rd house/Mars in Aries/Aries in the 3rd house like to do things fast, they're like one minute here the next one there, always on speed

☘️ Jupiter in the 4th/Cancer can give that vibe of marrying someone from your childhood especially in your Vedic/D9 Chart!! I think is a very beautiful placement if you had lots of crushes in your childhood, you can end up marrying one of them later

☘️ Moon/Cancer/Taurus/Venus in your 6th can make you easily attached to animals, to nature, to your environment is always you attracting things out of the mother nature

☘️ Some "Mini - Observations" if you have Juno asteroid aspecting Mercury

Good connection with the spouse

Eye to eye communication

You know what your partner is thinking about easily

Those long night stories/conversations with your spouse

The spouse can be younger than you

The spouse has a good eye for organizing and sleeping everything in order

☘️ When someone has their Mars sign opposite to yours, you can easily have that type of "harsh" relation between eachother

☘️ Lilith in Aquarius is when Lilith comes and says " I don't give a fuck about anything, I'll do my own thing", Their rebellious energy on top

☘️ In a relationship between a Virgo and a Scorpio, the Scorpio person will be dominant while the Virgo one can be more posesive

☘️ Capricorn Men are so cute like they just mind their business in like their own comfort, not disturbing anybody and just living their lives, is so peaceful

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

Blow a kiss, fire a gun

We need someone to lean on

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

☘️ If you have ever dated someone with Aries Placements what would you choose, riding for a rodeo or riding on their nerves because sometimes it feels like doing both

☘️ Leo Rising/Sun/Chiron heals when you finally started to accept yourself like "Bye to all of these useless things in my life and let the new things to arrive" and to love yourself more

☘️ I see so often Aquarius, Virgo and Gemini Risings being called as the "smart ass ones" because all these 3 signs rule over analytical intelligent skills

☘️ When you have Lilith aspecting Saturn in a way you don't get along that good with adults or with people who try to control you or to make you submissive to them

☘️ Virgo Suns/Moons can put a lot of effort into all the things they do, they represent the "service" or "devotion" and they wanna make it to work

☘️ When you have Chiron in the 12H or in Pisces it can feel like people ignore your pain or they'll just go "over it", somehow it manifests like you just want tell someone how you feel and what it hurts you and just ignore it

☘️ Chiron on Aries or in Aries Degrees 1°, 13°, 25° can be afraid of trying new things, is like something stops them from doing that, you can always try make new things if you enjoy them

☘️ Pure Heart, Pure Love is someone what Venus - Moon aspects has, Venus makes them to be softly in love yet still very romantic

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

What will we do when we get old

Will we walk down the same road

Will you be there by my side

Standin' strong as the waves roll

over

═════ ♢.✰.♢ ═════

☘️ Moon Dominant natives often have an oval face and sparkly/watery eyes, their eyes can be very sensbile though (to light) and they can often have problems with the vision

☘️ Earth Sign in your 2H suggest a love for finances/wealth/rich life, craving for luxury or for rare/expensive things

☘️ Sagittarius Placements are the epitome of "open minded people" they are accepting of everyone and everything. I just love their energy so much

☘️ A very prominent 6H can make you to be always in alert for your health, it can also show you get mentally exhausted fast and you can be lazy sometimes

☘️ North Node at 4°, 16°, 28° degrees can indicate having your own legacy from your family or ancestors is like a lesson they left, for you

☘️ North Node at 7° 19° indicates a life path where love finds its way in your life, it can be loving yourself or loving others

☘️ Capricorn/Aries/Taurus Moons/Risings are the roughest on the outside and very sensitive on the inside, they may act a bit too "rough" sometimes

☘️ 1st house ruler in the 9th > You need to TRAVEL/EXPLORE, visit as much as you can! Because thats how you can fullfil yourself/same if you have the North Node in the 9H

☘️ If you lack earth placements in your chart, you need more grounding/connecting with mother earth/walk barefoot in the nature/hug the trees/ lay on the grass/these are very good practices to embrace the earth

When the nights are long ☘️

☘️Longing for you to come home

~ If my soul lived somewhere before my birth it would be 100% the pictures in this post ~ harmoonix

Blow a kiss, fire a gun

[auroras-zenith]

what doesn't kill you // part 1

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

previous ✧ next

The winds howled with a fury matched only by that lit within Katsuki Bakugo as he propelled himself forward at reckless speeds. The explosions emanating from his hands only aggravated the sky in its tantrum further. Fluorescent red and blue lights lit the night sky into day–a warning written into each flashing color.

It was a hard night to be a hero.

The villain had disappeared without a trace at some point during the fight–a cowardly move–but it was already far too late. The damage was done–spanning far across the expanse of several city blocks. Every hero in Japan was out, managing collapsing apartment buildings in the hundreds. The world waited with bated breath to see how things would pan out.

“South stairwell has fallen!”  The words were panicked and rushed, each staticky syllable striking a new bout of fear into the hero’s already erratic heart.  

“Deku! Civilians on the seventeenth floor! I can’t get them down without breaking the building!”

"We need backup!"

“Creati is down! We need to fall back!”

The blonde man felt his heart sinking. The heroes were spread too thin. They were losing ground. He had to call it at some point–had to cut his losses and count the bodies.

But how could they just leave? Even if the casualty count rose no higher, 182 loved ones would not return home to their families tonight–from this sector alone. He hovered midair for a moment, torn.

"Dynamight, we've got to go! The buildings structurally unsound!"

"You all get out! I'm not done yet. I'll leave when the building is clear!" You shouted, refusing to back down as you sprinted through the maze of debris.

“Tch! Cordelia! Rendezvous point! Now!” He made up his mind, shouting above the sound of the gales that threatened to knock him right out of the air. He changed course, guiding himself back toward where the rest were undoubtedly gathering.

"I've already told you! I'm not done till that whole building is empty, end of story. You go!"

"Cordelia, I'm not fucking with you, you hear me?!" He seethed. "Cordelia, do you copy! Don't start some self-sacrificing bullshit! Get your ass out, we're going!"

The silence that stretched through the night was fine at first–but then it was a second too long. And then several seconds too long. The eerie absence of sound chilled him to the bone, freezing him in his tracks. “Cordelia! Where the fuck are you at?”

He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice as he was met with the only sound worse than silence.

A blood curdling scream ripped through the comms, the crackly sound carrying evident agony.

“Crap!” He hissed, making an immediate 180. His annoyance was nothing more than a disguise–a clever mask that he could hide behind to feign confidence. In reality, he could feel his world shaking and crumbling to pieces around him. “I NEED EYES ON CORDELIA NOW! RED! SHE WAS WITH YOU LAST!” 

“She left with Chargebolt to the east quadrant!” 

“Chargebolt was taken out of the field for injuries!” 

“FUCK!” He shot through the sky, a comet of fear as unspoken worries and doubts flashed through his mind faster than he could shoot them down. He wasn’t supposed to fear–he was supposed to be feared. But you always had been his greatest strength–or perhaps you were his only weakness.

“I’VE GOT EYES ON HER, DYNAMIGHT! SHE’S BEEN HIT! EVERYONE GET TO THE RENDEZVOUS POINT, I’LL GET HER!”

"FUCK THAT, DEKU! I'M COMING!" The terror in his voice was practically contagious.

Midoriya felt the walls of the building crumbling apart around him–or maybe that was his world. The hit wasn’t looking good–clean through your spine. He slid to the floor, narrowly dodging a falling chunk of concrete.

“Cordelia! Cordelia, I need you to stay with me!” He demanded wildly as he willed his legs faster.

He had seen terrors of all shapes and sizes. Natural disasters that left everything in shambles, monsters that shook the earth with each step, but this…

He worked as he spoke, adrenaline working overtime as he rushed to lift you, sprinting as he navigated them both through the collapsing rubble as if you weighed nothing.

“Cordelia!” He felt his heart leap out of his chest as he saw your eyes threatening to close. “Cordelia! CORDELIA! Y/n! Y/n, please! He can’t lose you. I can’t lose you, Y/n!” He begged.

Your silence save for your labored and erratic breathing spurred his steps faster. A large piece of rubble fell from the roof, blocking the only exit.

“Shoto! I need a way out! Northeast stairwell’s compromised!” He shouted into his earpiece, heart beating louder than the sound of the building coming apart.

“DON’T MOVE, DEKU!” The world shook harder.

How could this be happening? Cordelia? His partner? The cofounder of the Dynadelia agency?

The wall in front of Deku and you shook, splintering into thousands of tiny rocks. The green haired hero moved to shield you with his body, his larger frame absorbing all the impact. He handed you off to the explosion hero without another word.

The blonde jumped without another word, using his explosions to slow his descent as he cradled you safely in one arm. Deku followed suit, using his quirk to slow his fall as well.

"MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC!"

It didn't take a genius to see he was losing them. He was losing two of his closest friends. One to the giant metal rod sticking through her abdomen, and the other to the deathly fear pounding through his head.

The world was silent tonight as the men plummeted to the floor, praying for Japan's fourth hero.

The hero world, praying for Y/n L/n.

a/n: goal is to not randomly ghost this cus i HATE when that happens to me

taglist: @floverisland @biancatomlinson @rosaryia

permanent tags: @phtmmsqrde

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Why Sky Wears Baggy Clothes: A Dissertation into Skyloftian Boner Culture and Outfitting Practices

So. Remember the infamous dick post? I have more thoughts, specifically concerning Sky's FAT COCK and how Skyloftian's specifically evolved greater vascular and hemoglobin systems in response to life in high altitudes. Prepare yourselves.

In my last piece, I calculated Skyloft's altitude of roughly 7,544.4 feet and covered how certain systems were affected to adapt to the climate, which eventually turned into a rant about Sky's dick, but now, I present to you: the reason Sky wears baggy clothes is to hide his altitude-induced, iron-man erections.

But first, let's explore the clothes themselves. Due to its high altitude, Skyloft is cold. Google AI has informed me that wind speed typically fluctuates, assuming the altitude is within the range of 6,000 to 8,000 feet, between 12 to 23 mph. On the Beaufort Scale, a chart used to estimate wind speed based on visual appearances, 23 mph is considered a "Fresh Breeze", and hardly a whisper to anyone from the Midwest. With this in mind, the standard temperature (excluding wind chill) of an area with a similar altitude to Skyloft is roughly 34°F or 1°C, which explains the multiple layers typically worn by many in-game Skyward Sword characters. Using both of these values and an internet wind chill calculator, we can conclude that the average temperature of Skyloft (assuming the wind speed is a comfortable 16 mph) is 24°F or -4°C, with a calculated range of 22°F or -5.6°C (23 mph, 34°F) to 25°F or -3.9°C (12 mph, 34°F).

With a wind-chilled air temperature of 24°F, Skyloft's layered, loose-fitting clothing standards make perfect sense, seeing as loose clothes are considered advantageous during cold weather because the small gaps between skin and fabric create pockets of space for body heat to gather, creating a pseudo-barrier against the elements.

Now, onto Sky's particular outfit. Based on this post by Jojo herself, Sky wears approximately four full upper-body layers (white, olive-khaki, chainmail, and mint tunic), one midsection layer (red sash), one lower-body layer (brown-green?? pants), and his embroidered sailcloth; he is prepared-prepared for chilly temperatures. As well as being a wonderfully adjacent nod to modern-day Tibetan culture, these clothes are perfect for conserving heat, and, concurrently, his life. 'But Fyre, we want the iron man dick-canons!' you may wail, but I'm not finished. There's quite a bit of debate in the skydiving community about whether tight or loose-fitting clothes are better, but many users state that loose-fitting clothes have the advantage of drag. But why is this good? In skydiving, and many of the Zelda games as a whole, control is essential; it's what allows us to feel safe, and thus allows for more logical, calm thinking due to adrenaline and cortisol (stress hormones) reduction. By increasing the user's surface area, loose-fitting clothes create drag, which, in physics, leads to better midair control during free-fall. Compared to Skyward Sword, where free-falling is as common a game mechanic as swinging a sword around, specialized aerodynamic control via clothing is a crucial mechanism that the Skylofians would absolutely take advantage of, considering that many of them regular jump from the sky and ride giant pelican-bird-creatures. In addition, due to his evolutionarily enhanced circulatory and vascular system, Sky himself is more than prepared to handle any and all endocrine stressors due to falling, and his specific outfit design only backs the theory that the residents of Skyloft are not only equipped to handle life in the sky on an evolutionary level, but from a cultural and biological level as well.

Okay. That was a lot, so I'm going to reintroduce some scholarly degeneracy at its finest: the concept of Sky's iron-man erections. Keeping with the vein of Skyloftian's specifically designing their clothes to be advantageous in every sense of the word, it isn't too far-fetched that they would make a point to account for any and all bodily changes that may occur during free-fall, or simply life on a floating rock, which absolutely includes altitude-induced erections. Confused? Let me explain.

In the dick-canon post, I largely referenced the concept of "airplane boners" as a defining factor for why Sky is HUNG, because it has been scientifically proven that abrupt changes in pressure affect vascular expansion and contraction, which absolutely extends to the pelvic region, and, thus, shifting erective status of the penis. With this in mind, it can be inferred that a race of people with the same evolutionary traits would have also evolved culturally to deal with this conundrum, which perfectly explains the bagginess of Sky's, and every other resident of Skyloft's, outfit choices. For example, the looseness of his pants is likely to be a cleverly-disguised ploy to hide what is by all definitions a biological predicament shared by all members of the Hylian species. It's in the same vein as modern-day menstrual cycles. Oh no, you got your period? Just slap a pad on it! Except the pad is baggy pants to hide an erection you can't control because flying is your way of life. Apply this to Sky and you've got a good idea of why his outfit is the way it is.

But that's not all! In addition to concealing any potential erections, Skyloftian clothing is also specifically designed to protect against the elements, which, you guessed it, extends to male and female reproduction organs. Whether through the use of thick, temperature-impenetrable cloth, specific (down-low) enchantments, or specialized padding, it is almost undeniable that a society as developed as the Skyloftians would have a fail-safe method to preserve both their lives and modesty through practical outfit stylizations.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: iron-man erections and what the fuck that refers to. I'm sure some of you are getting sick of the words 'vascular capacity' and 'erection of the penile region', but I promise you, this is where the magic happens. So. Sky is basically evolutionarily-predetermined to be hung. He has excellent hemoglobin and vascular system capacity, which would absolutely affect not only his body as a whole, but sexual functions as well, specifically in the fact that his erections are indestructible. Due to a combination of evolution, age, and gender, it's incredibly easy for him to become aroused, and, concurrently, incredibly difficult to 'take care' of his arousal in the same manner as the typical, non-evolutionized male would. That flagpole is raised and it is NOT coming down. This begs the question: how does he deal with this conundrum, specifically after some type of altitude-based activity, and what cultural practices are permitted in this context? Are all Skyloftian's serial masturbators or are they simply incredible at restraining themselves, which could act as a nod to Sky's typically unbothered attitude? In concurrence, if masturbation is socially acceptable, how does Sky find all that time to jack off? Does the rest of the chain know, or are they oblivious to his predicaments?!

In short, Skyloftian fashion and societal modesty culture is heavily influenced by the hilariously, yet closely related Skyloftian boner culture, in both outfit practicality and social norms, which is very likely to explain Sky's choice of clothes and, once again, why he is hung as FUCK. Thank you for witnessing my madness and Hylia bless.

Additional queries:

Does Priapism exist in Skyloftian society? Yes and no. The term 'priapism' refers the prolonged erection of the penis (4+ hours), often without any sexual stimulation, which cements it as a fairly common medical condition for humans. However, due to their unique vascular biology, it is unlikely that this condition would be viewed at the severity it is in modern-day humans, which begs the question: is it even an issue at all? Increased circulatory and vascular capabilities indicate a greater blood flow, whereas priapism is the persistent lack of appropriate blood flow, meaning that, due to their biology, priapism may very well be an indicator of old age in the same manner loss of vision or a general slowing down is for humans. On the other hand, if it were to possess the same significance as it does with modern-day humans, what

@skylover69 come feed bestie

[girlkisser13]

hades cabin headcanons

children of hades

• it takes them a bit longer to realize that they’re demigods.

• despite their best efforts, plants will wilt and die in their presence.

• the hecate, hades, and melinoe cabins are in charge of setting up the halloween decorations and like to bring a bit of festive scariness to the camp by raising ghosts and skeletons.

• they’re really close with the hermes cabin because they can shadow travel in and out of camp with contraband.

• many gravitate towards apartment living. their uncomfortable, deadly auras, demigod training and sharp features keep them safe in dodgy, dangerous areas.

• they’re some of the most sarcastic people you will ever meet. they are characterised by a dry, deadpan and dark sense of humour.

• despite popular belief, hades is accepting of persephone’s demigods. he doesn’t directly interfere with their lives as long as persephone doesn’t interfere with his demigods.

• because there are so few of them, they have monthly "family dinners" in the underworld.

• the sass levels are not only off the charts, but wholly encouraged.

• they have a talent for blending in the background, making them excellent scouts and spies. their presence is subtle, preferring to work from the shadows.

• when their nightmares are intense enough, some will unconsciously summon the dead.

• they have resting bitch faces so people often judge them to be unlikeable and mean. growing up, many become bitter of this preconception despite their efforts to dismantle it.

• they become the monsters others see, at least on the surface. as they mature, they soften the resentment they have towards others mislabelling and vilifying them.

• they’re all really good under pressure.

• like their father, they are fair and just (provided they don’t hold a grudge against you). their word is their bond.

cabin exterior

• the cabin is a gothic-style building, with sharp, angular lines and a towering structure. the walls are made of solid obsidian, giving it a sleek, almost reflective surface that absorbs light rather than reflecting it.

• the entrance is framed by two large, wrought-iron gates that creak ominously when opened. the door itself is made of heavy, dark wood with intricate carvings depicting scenes from the underworld.

• a faint mist surrounds the cabin, clinging to the ground and giving the impression of a thin veil between the living world and the underworld. the air around the cabin is noticeably cooler, even in the heat of summer, as if the chill of the underworld seeps through it.

• instead of traditional torches or lanterns, the cabin is illuminated by greekfire. the greenish, ethereal flames burn in sconces along the walls, providing an eerie, flickering light that never goes out, even in rain or wind. the greekfire adds a sense of ancient, powerful magic to the cabin, making it even more intimidating and otherworldly.

• the cabin has subtle decorations like skull motifs and symbols of death, but nothing overtly terrifying— more a nod to the power and respect for the dead rather than fearmongering.

• the ground around the cabin is sparse, with few plants growing near it. there a few dark, twisted trees and wilted flowers that can only survive in the shadows. there’s also a small patch of asphodel that grows near the entrance, as a symbol of the underworld.

cabin interior

• despite popular belief, their cabin is actually the warmest at camp half-blood. this is due to a ventilation shaft-like furnace duct that comes up from the underworld.

• the floors are made of polished black marble, cold to the touch. they reflect the green glow of the greekfire inside the cabin. the marble is inlaid with intricate silver patterns that resemble ancient greek symbols and constellations associated with death and the underworld.

• the walls are made of dark, rough stone, giving the cabin a cavernous feel. they are adorned with ancient greek tapestries depicting scenes from the underworld, like the river styx, the elysian fields, and hades on his throne.

• the furniture and decor feature accents of stygian iron. the metal is used in everything from the bed frames to the candleholders, giving the room a dark, powerful aesthetic.

• the corners of the cabin are always shrouded in shadows, no matter how much light there is. these shadows seem to move on their own, giving the impression that the cabin is alive and watching.

• the beds resemble ancient sarcophagi, with dark stone frames and plush black bedding. the pillows and comforters are surprisingly soft, lined with rich fabrics like velvet and silk, offering a stark contrast to the stone surroundings.

• the cabin is unnervingly quiet, with a silence that feels almost heavy. the only sounds are the faint crackling of the greekfire and the occasional whisper of wind from an unseen source.

• each child of the underworld has a small personal shrine to honor their ancestors or deceased loved ones. these shrines are made of obsidian and are decorated with mementos, flowers, and offerings like coins or food.

cabin traditions

• they have a tradition of crafting small obsidian tokens, like rings or pendants, which they give to friends or loved ones. these tokens are believed to offer protection against spirits and negative energy, serving as a charm from the god of the underworld.

• if a demigod at camp dies, it’s tradition for the hades and thanatos cabins to take part in the funeral rites. they help guide the soul to the underworld, using a special ritual passed down through the cabins. this ritual is seen as a great honor and responsibility.

• each child of the underworld creates a "memory jar" where they place small objects, notes, or symbols representing significant moments or people they’ve lost. the jars are kept in a special alcove in the cabin and are said to help them find solace and remember that the dead are never truly gone.

• they maintain a hidden underground garden filled with ghostly white flowers, black roses, and even a few pomegranate trees. these plants thrive in the dim light of the greekfire and are said to be gifts from persephone herself. during the fall, they harvest the fruits and hold a small festival in her honor, believing it helps to keep her favor and bring balance between life and death.

divider by @astrumaur

[crescenthistory]

b.11 w/ paul atreides please <3

i hadn't realised how much i missed writing for paul, my best boy. thank you for your request love<3

Prompt: B.11 "Come back to bed"

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: not proofread, tooth-rotting fluff, insomnia, talk of anxiety and feeling the pressure of leadership, cuddles and kisses

Note: again, in my mind this is the same paul and reader as in in the silence, there is an us just because i love them and they both clearly cannot sleep without each other

The cool desert air wrapped around you as you stirred from your barely-there-sleep. The bed felt too big, too cold, and as you stretched out a hand to be lulled back to sleep by Paul’s breathing you knew why – he was gone. Your fingers drifted across the blankets, but only touched emptiness where his warmth should have been.

You sighed, rolling onto your back as your eyes adjusted to the faint light filtering into the room. The Sietch was quiet, but you could still hear the distant murmurs of the desert, the occasional soft sound of wind brushing over the sand. In theory a comforting sound that should help you fall asleep, but you knew from experience that without Paul there, your body refused to settle. Neither would your mind, spinning with worry for your sweet boy who was rapidly turning into a strong man, overworked and drawn too taut the past few months.

Paul had been doing this more often lately, slipping away in the middle of the night, drawn in by the weight of his responsibilities, the relentless pull of being Muad'Dib. You saw that familiar gleam in his eyes slipping more and more, and you ached to inspire it back into existence. That burden was not just his to carry, but you knew that was difficult for him to fully accept, which is why you made it your mission to remind him.

With a soft groan, you sat up, wrapping your shawl around your shoulders to chase away the chill. You knew Paul was not coming back on his own, so you would bring him back. No one can save the world with 2 hours of sleep.

You padded softly through the halls of the Sietch, navigating the familiar paths that had somehow become home. While your mind still spun with all the changes you had had to face, Paul remained your constant and you were determined to keep it as such, grounding him into all he was and all he did. It didn’t take you long to find him, he was exactly where you expected – his private makeshift study, hunched over a table littered with charts and maps of the desert. 

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him. He had his back to you, shoulders tense with focus and hair still mussed from sleep. You could see the twirls you had made in it by the nape of his neck as you were falling asleep. 

There was a certain beauty to him like this, lost in thought, the weight of leadership heavy on his lean frame, but you knew what it was doing to him, too. You saw the way his eyes darkened when he thought no one was watching, how the weight of being the Kwisatz Haderach pulled him further and further into himself. The worry served a purpose in the daylight, but you couldn’t let him disappear into that tonight.

With a soft smile, you crossed the room, your bare feet making almost no sound as you came up behind him. Yet you could see he knew you were there by the way he sat up a bit straighter, ready to lean into the touch he knew was coming. Without a word, you slipped your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself against his back.

“Paul,” you whispered, leaning your head against him, breathing him in. “It’s late. Come back to bed.”

He let out a breath, leaning into your touch as his hand instinctively moved to rest over yours where they clasped at his chest. 

“My love, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, though his eyes were still fixed on the maps in front of him.

“You didn’t,” you said softly, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Just missed you.” 

Paul let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, though he didn’t make a move to get up. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, his mind still half-lost in whatever plans were swirling in his head. “There’s… too much to think about,” he finally said, voice low. “I just need to finish–”

“No,” you interrupted gently, tightening your arms around him. “What you need is to come to bed and get some rest while you can.”

He sighed, tilting his head slightly to rest against yours. “You sound like my mother,” he teased, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then you should listen to her,” you said playfully, your breath warm against his skin. “Despite her peculiarities, she is very wise.”

“Mmm, you might be right,” he admitted, turning his head just enough to catch your eye. His lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile, and your heart fluttered at the sight. “But she doesn’t quite have your charm.”

You grinned, brushing his hair back with your fingers. “Flattery won’t get you out of this, Paul. Come back to bed. Your maps will still be here tomorrow.”

His smile faded slightly, his eyes drifting back to the table. “I don’t know if I can. I can’t stop thinking about it all,” he admitted, quieter now. “The future, the Fremen, everything I have to do. It’s… always there.”

You frowned softly, shifting to hug him from the side, so you could see his face better. “I know, love, but that is not yours to carry right now,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “Not tonight. You’ve done more than enough.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could feel the tension slowly draining from him as your fingers continued to comb soothingly through his hair. His body relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned into your touch. He tilted his head back just enough to rest it against your shoulder, closing his eyes.

“You always know how to make me calm down,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection. “It’s dangerous, you know. I might never get anything done if I listen to you all the time.”

You chuckled, brushing a kiss against his temple. “I think you could use a little less getting things done and a little more sleep. I promise to use my persuasion to kick you back into sleep tomorrow.”

“I’ve noticed you seem particularly invested in my sleep schedule,” Paul teased, opening one eye to look up at you. “Should I be concerned?”

You smiled down at him, your heart warming at the familiar lightness in his tone, the teasing he only ever reserved for you. “Very concerned,” you said in mock seriousness. “Especially since I can’t sleep without you there.”

His face softened, the teasing giving way to something more tender. He turned fully in your arms, slipping his hands around your waist and pulling you close in between his legs until your foreheads touched. “I can’t sleep without you, either, you know,” he confessed quietly, his breath warm against your lips. “You… ground me. In ways no one else can.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled softly, brushing your thumb over the curve of his cheek. Familiar words, yet they never ceased to warm you. “I know,” you cooed. “Then let me ground you tonight. Come back to bed with me.”

He stared into your eyes for a long moment, and you could see the struggle there – the pull of duty versus the need for rest. But in the end, he sighed, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he whispered. “I’m coming.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, tugging at his hand as you led him away from the table, back toward the bed waiting to be warmed up by the both of you. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As you reached the bed, Paul wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down with him in a tangle of blankets and limbs. You let out a soft laugh as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, placing sweet kisses there, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he began, his voice muffled against you, “I’d say you’re trying to distract me from my very important work.”

“Very important work,” you echoed with a laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “It can wait, Paul. I’m your very important work tonight.”

He chuckled softly, his grip tightening around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your ear. “You make a compelling argument.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

For a while, you just lay there together, his body pressed against yours, the quiet of the Sietch wrapping around you both like a protective cocoon. The world outside faded into the background. Here, in the soft glow of the night, it was just you and your Paul. 

“Thank you,” he whispered after a while, his voice sincere and, to your glee, sleepy.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his bedhead. “Always.”

Neither of you woke up again throughout the night as you slept soundly in each other’s arms.

[tornadoquest]

Tornado Quest Top Science Links For January 13 - 20, 2024 #science #weather #climate #climatechange #earthquake #wintersafety #windchill #droughtmonitor

Greetings everyone. This week, we have an interesting read on earthquake threat in the USA. We’ll also continue our look at winter weather safety and the latest US Drought Monitor. Infographic courtesy NOAA/NWS Infographic courtesy NWS Fort Worth, Texas Where are damaging earthquakes likely to occur in the USA? Take a look at this map. The climate of our planet has a substantial effect on…

[jadeazora]

Well, I've eaten good from the Teraleak. I had kinda accepted that we wouldn't get more before since it was being said there wasn't more concept art and things seemed to be winding down, and then we got a big Gen6 drop last night that gave us a lot of Flare art. (Also, including the height chart of AZ compared with Lysandre that I had hoped for.)

(also, Lysandre's defeat pose in the his USUM settei with him punching a wall in anger, compared to the more chill way he takes it in-game, smiling in amusement as he notes your strength and desire to protect your home)

[elryuse]

Serial Killer's Love

Yandere Hyeju X Male Reader

Tags : Serial Killer Hyeju, Dom Hyeju, Teasing, Threat, Edging, Yandere, Dominance, Submissive Male Reader

Words : 5,806 Words

This is a Lovely Commision Work for my Mate @starconstruction Hope you Enjoyed it Bruv.

The bass throbbed in your ears, drowning out the mundane sounds of the bustling street. Lost in the rhythm, you navigated the sidewalk, plastic grocery bags swinging lightly against your legs. A chilling gust of wind, sharper than usual, sent a shiver down your spine. You instinctively pulled your thin jacket tighter, oblivious to the figure lurking in the shadows across the street.

She watched you, her gaze a predatory gleam in the fading light. Every sway of your hips, every careless glance over your shoulder, fueled the fire within her. She had been watching you for weeks, meticulously charting your routine, memorizing your favorite haunts. Tonight, the hunt would culminate.

You, unaware of the eyes tracking your every move, turned down the alleyway, a shortcut you often took to reach your apartment building. The bassline faded, replaced by the eerie silence of the concrete walls. A metallic glint caught your eye – a discarded can, perhaps? As you drew closer, a strangled cry pierced the stillness.

Your music abruptly cut out, the silence now deafening. You rounded the corner, your heart pounding against your ribs. A young woman lay crumpled on the cobblestones, her eyes wide with terror, a crimson stain blooming on her shirt. A figure in a black hoodie, face obscured by a mask, stood over her, the glint of a knife reflecting the dying light.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The killer, seemingly oblivious to your presence, methodically plunged the knife into the woman's chest again and again, a chilling efficiency in his movements. The woman's muffled screams were quickly silenced, her body twitching with each agonizing thrust.

Terror, cold and paralyzing, gripped you. You wanted to scream, to run, to alert someone, but your limbs felt leaden. The killer, his work finished, finally turned his head. Your eyes met. Your blood ran cold. The eyes, though obscured by the mask, held a chilling intensity, a predatory hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

With a chillingly casual shrug, the killer turned and melted back into the shadows. You, your mind reeling, backed away slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs. The image of the woman's lifeless body, the killer's chilling gaze, was seared into your memory. You knew you should call the police, but a strange sense of dread washed over you. What if the killer was still nearby? What if you alerted him to your presence? You decided to play it safe, hoping that the killer had already left the area.

Days turned into weeks, and the memory of the murder began to fade, replaced by a weary sense of normalcy. You tried to convince yourself that it was just a horrific incident, a random act of violence that had nothing to do with you. You returned to your routine, the music once again filling your days, but the lingering unease remained.

One evening, as you unlocked your apartment door, a chilling realization washed over you. The lights were on.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the light switch. The apartment felt different, a subtle shift in the air, a sense of being watched. You crept inside, your heart pounding.

The living room was bathed in a soft, warm glow. On the sofa, a figure sat perched on the edge, their back to you.

"Welcome home," a voice, low and husky, greeted you.

You froze, your blood running cold. The voice, though disguised, sent shivers down your spine. It was the same chilling intensity you had seen in the killer's eyes.

Slowly, the figure turned, and your breath caught in your throat. It was her. The killer. Her face, though pale and gaunt, was no longer obscured by the mask. Her eyes, the same chilling intensity burning within them, held a strange mixture of admiration and obsession.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice a silken caress.

You, speechless with terror, could only stare at her, your mind reeling. How? How had she found you?

She stood up, her gaze never leaving your face. "You were so brave," she murmured, her voice laced with a chilling admiration. "To witness such horror and remain so calm."

You, backing away, felt a wave of nausea. "Who… who are you?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

She chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent chills down your spine. "Let's just say… I've been intrigued by you."

You, your eyes wide with terror, felt a cold dread creeping into your bones. You had escaped the alleyway, only to fall into a trap far more terrifying.

Hyeju, her gaze fixed on you, took a step closer. "Don't worry," she said, her voice a silken caress. "I won't hurt you… not yet."

She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. You flinched, your body trembling uncontrollably.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, her breath fanning against your skin. "So fascinating."

You, trapped, could only stare at her, your heart pounding like a drum. You had stumbled upon Hyeju's hunt, only to become the prey.

Hyeju’s gaze held you captive, a predator sizing up its prey. "You see," she purred, her voice a silken thread, "I admire your restraint. Most would have panicked, called the authorities. But you… you understood the futility of such actions."

A shiver ran down your spine. Her words, though laced with praise, chilled you to the bone. You knew she was right. The police couldn't protect you from someone who seemed to anticipate your every move.

"But," she continued, her eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement, "silence has its own price."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. What price did she demand?

"A game," she declared, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. "A little test of your… resilience."

Panic clawed at the edges of your sanity. "A game?" you echoed, your voice trembling.

"Indeed," Hyeju leaned forward, her eyes boring into yours. "If you refuse to play, the consequences… well, let's just say they wouldn't be pleasant."

The chilling implication hung heavy in the air. You knew she was capable of anything. The image of the woman in the alleyway flashed before your eyes, a stark reminder of her ruthlessness.

"How… how do we play?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

A triumphant glint entered Hyeju's eyes. "Excellent choice," she purred. "The first game is simple. Trust."

Hyeju gestured towards the kitchen. "Go," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous. "Bring me a knife."

Your mind raced. Disobey, and face the consequences. But obedience… it felt like walking into a trap. Yet, you had no choice. You stumbled towards the kitchen, your every move a calculated gamble.

Hyeju watched you, a predatory gleam in her eyes. She relished your fear, the way it made you tremble, the way it fueled her. This was just the beginning. The games would only get more terrifying, more insidious. She would break you, piece by agonizing piece, until you were completely hers.

You returned with the knife, your hands trembling. Hyeju held out her hand, a chilling smile playing on her lips.

"Now," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous, "hand it to me."

You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Fear, dread, and a flicker of defiance. But defiance was a luxury you couldn't afford.

With trembling hands, you placed the knife in Hyeju's outstretched palm. She examined it, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Good," she murmured, a chilling satisfaction in her voice. "Very good."

Hyeju then gestured towards the couch.

"Sit," she commanded.

You obeyed, your body trembling uncontrollably. Hyeju sat opposite you, the knife gleaming menacingly in her hand.

"Now," she said, her voice a silken caress, "we wait.

The silence that followed was deafening. You sat frozen, your eyes locked with Hyeju's, your mind racing. What was she waiting for? What was the next test?

Hyeju, watching you, felt a thrill course through her. Your fear, your helplessness, it was intoxicating. This game, this dance of death, was only just beginning.

The night stretched on, an eternity of agonizing silence. You sat trapped, a prisoner in your own home, at the mercy of a predator. Hyeju, observing your every twitch, your every gasp, savored the slow, agonizing descent into madness. This was her masterpiece, a symphony of fear and control, and you, my dear, were her unwilling audience.

The silence stretched on, an eternity of agonizing silence. You sat frozen, your eyes locked with Hyeju's, your mind racing. What was she waiting for? What was the next test?

Hyeju, watching you, felt a thrill course through her. Your fear, your helplessness, it was intoxicating. This was her masterpiece, a symphony of fear and control, and you, my dear, were her unwilling audience.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hyeju broke the silence. "Ready for the next game?" she purred, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "Wh…what is it?" you stammered.

Hyeju rose to her feet, pacing before you like a caged animal. "This one," she declared, her voice dripping with a chilling amusement, "requires a bit more… physicality."

She gestured towards the window, moonlight illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. "Go," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous. "Open the window."

Your heart pounded against your ribs. "But… but it's cold outside," you protested weakly.

Hyeju's smile widened, revealing a flash of sharp teeth. "Objection noted," she conceded, her voice laced with a chilling amusement. "But rules are rules."

You stumbled towards the window, your legs weak. Opening it, you felt the icy night air wash over you, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Now," Hyeju commanded, her voice a silken thread, "stand there."

You obeyed, your body trembling uncontrollably. The cold air bit at your skin, but the fear that gripped you was far more chilling.

Hyeju circled you, her gaze a predator sizing up its prey. "Good," she murmured, a chilling satisfaction in her voice. "Now, let's see how long you can last."

With a chilling laugh, Hyeju turned and walked back to the couch, settling into the cushions. She watched you, a cruel amusement dancing in her eyes, as the icy wind whipped at your face.

You shivered uncontrollably, your teeth chattering. The cold was unbearable, but the fear of disobeying Hyeju was even worse. You clung to the hope that she would end this cruel game soon, but as the minutes ticked by, that hope began to dwindle.

Hyeju, observing your suffering, felt a perverse sense of pleasure. She savored your every shiver, every gasp for breath. This was her game, her creation, and you were her puppet, dancing to her cruel tune.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hyeju gestured towards the couch. "Come," she commanded, her voice laced with a chilling amusement. "The game is over."

You stumbled towards the couch, your body numb with cold. Hyeju watched you, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Not bad," she conceded, a chilling smile playing on her lips. "But next time," she added, her voice a low growl, "it will be colder."

You sank onto the couch, your body trembling uncontrollably. The fear that gripped you was far more chilling than the cold. You knew this was just the beginning. Hyeju had tasted your fear, and she craved more.

Hyeju leaned forward, her gaze boring into yours. "Now," she purred, her voice a silken thread, "let's play another game."

You closed your eyes, a wave of despair washing over you. You were trapped, a prisoner in your own home, at the mercy of a sadistic predator. And you knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning of your torment.

Suddenly, you felt a weight on your lap. You jolted, your eyes flying open to find Hyeju perched there, her legs draped over yours. A gasp escaped your lips, your mind reeling.

Hyeju chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Surprised?" she purred, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

You were speechless, your mind struggling to comprehend the situation. She was… sitting on you. Her proximity, the warmth of her body against yours, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Hyeju, sensing your confusion, leaned closer, her breath fanning against your face. With a chillingly casual gesture, she produced the knife, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light.

Before you could react, she ran the cold steel along your cheek, a thin line of blood tracing its path. A tear, born of a mixture of fear and a strange, inexplicable arousal, escaped your eye.

Hyeju, her eyes widening with a predatory gleam, immediately leaned down and licked the tear from your cheek. "Salty," she murmured, a low, appreciative growl rumbling in her chest.

You shuddered, your body trembling uncontrollably. This was beyond anything you could have imagined.

Hyeju, her senses heightened, leaned closer, her lips brushing against your ear. "But," she whispered, her voice a seductive caress, "the most delicious tears are yet to come."

She pulled back, her eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement. "Now," she purred, "let's play the most dangerous game of all."

Before you could even comprehend her words, Hyeju leaned in and pressed her lips to yours.

The kiss was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – fear, disgust, and a strange, forbidden arousal. You tried to pull away, but Hyeju held you captive, her grip tightening around your neck.

Her tongue explored your mouth, a cold, invasive serpent. You struggled against her, but it was futile. She was stronger, more powerful, and completely in control.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a strange sense of surrender. You were drowning, drowning in a sea of fear and a forbidden desire.

Hyeju, sensing your submission, deepened the kiss, her hands exploring your body, tracing the contours of your muscles.

You were lost, completely lost in the intoxicating haze of fear and desire. The line between predator and prey had blurred, and you were no longer sure which side you were on.

Hyeju, her eyes closed, savored the taste of your fear, the feel of your trembling body beneath her. This was her masterpiece, a symphony of dominance and submission, and you, my dear, were her willing conductor.

Hyeju’s laughter echoed in the dimly lit room, a low, melodic sound that seemed to wrap around you like a shroud. Her presence was overwhelming, her proximity electrifying. You could feel the heat of her body pressed against yours, the weight of her thighs straddling your hips, pinning you down with an almost casual authority. Your breath hitched as her lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Surprised?" she purred, her voice dripping with a dangerous charm that sent shivers racing down your spine.

You were frozen, your mind struggling to process the situation. Hyeju, The serial killer, the woman Who killed that man in the alley was here, sitting on you, her dominance palpable. Her fingers trailed lightly along your collarbone, and though her touch was gentle, there was no mistaking the threat behind it. She leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “I’ve been watching you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, every nerve in your body alight with a mixture of fear and something far more primal. Before you could respond, Hyeju shifted slightly, her hand dipping into the pocket of her fitted leather jacket. She produced a knife, its blade catching the faint glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. The cold steel gleamed as she brought it to your cheek, the edge pressing just enough to make your skin prickle.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, her voice soft, almost tender, as if she were asking about the weather.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I…”

The words died on your lips as she dragged the blade slowly across your cheek. A sharp sting followed, and you felt the warmth of blood welling up. A tear slipped unbidden from your eye, tracing a path down your face. Hyeju paused, her gaze locking onto the tear with an intensity that made your stomach twist. Without hesitation, she leaned down, her tongue flicking out to catch the droplet before it could fall.

“Salty,” she murmured, a low, appreciative growl rumbling in her chest. Her lips curved into a wicked smile as she pulled back, her dark eyes shining with a predatory gleam. “But the most delicious tears… are yet to come.”

Her words hung in the air like a promise, heavy and laden with intention. You shuddered, your body trembling beneath her, caught between the urge to fight and an inexplicable pull toward surrender. Hyeju seemed to sense your inner turmoil, her smile widening as she tilted her head, studying you like a cat playing with its prey.

“Now,” she said, her voice a seductive whisper, “let’s play the most dangerous game of all.”

Before you could even think to protest, she pressed her lips to yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was possessive, demanding, a claiming of territory you hadn’t realized was hers to take. Her tongue slid against yours, cold and invasive, and you tried to pull away, but her grip tightened around your neck, holding you firmly in place.

You struggled, your hands instinctively moving to push her off, but she was unyielding. Her strength was undeniable, her dominance absolute. And yet, beneath the fear, beneath the shock, something else stirred—a deep, forbidden desire that coiled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to unravel your resolve.

As the kiss deepened, Hyeju’s hands began to roam, slipping beneath your shirt to trace the contours of your muscles. Her touch was deliberate, calculated, designed to elicit a response. And despite yourself, you found your resistance crumbling. The line between predator and prey blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

When she finally broke the kiss, her lips brushed against your ear, her voice a low, sultry murmur. “Do you feel it? That spark… that fire?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All you could do was nod, your body betraying you as it arched ever so slightly toward hers. Hyeju chuckled, a sound both cruel and sensual, as she sat back to admire her handiwork.

“Good,” she said, her tone laced with satisfaction. “Because I intend to fan those flames until they consume you completely.”

With that, she began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate, each piece of clothing revealing more of her flawless form. The leather jacket fell away first, followed by the tight black turtleneck she wore underneath. Her skin glowed in the muted light, her curves accentuated by the shadowy atmosphere. She paused, her fingers hovering at the clasp of her bra, and shot you a look that was equal parts challenge and invitation.

“You want this,” she stated, her voice a commanding purr. “Don’t lie to yourself.”

And deep down, you knew she was right. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there was a part of you that yearned for whatever twisted pleasure she had in store. You watched, transfixed, as she removed the last barrier between you, her body now completely bare and breathtakingly beautiful.

Hyeju rose to her feet, her confidence radiating like a force of nature. She stepped closer, her hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm, until she stood over you once more. With one foot planted on either side of your hips, she lowered herself slowly, her body brushing against yours in a tantalizing tease.

“Let me hear you say it,” she demanded, her voice a velvet command. “Tell me how much you want this.”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Words failed you, lost in the haze of desire and fear that clouded your mind. Hyeju’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as she leaned down, her breasts pressing against your chest, her lips brushing against yours in a fleeting caress.

“That’s alright,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “Actions speak louder than words, after all.”

Her hand slid down your body, fingertips trailing over your abdomen, lower and lower, until they reached the waistband of your pants. She paused, her eyes locking onto yours, and with a single, fluid motion, she undid the button and zipper, freeing the hardness that had been straining against the fabric.

“So eager,” she cooed, her fingers wrapping around you in a firm grip. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”

You gasped, your body arching involuntarily as she began to stroke you, her touch expertly coaxing sensations you’d never known existed. Hyeju’s lips curled into a wicked smile, her other hand coming up to cup your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“This is only the beginning,” she promised, her voice a low, sultry murmur. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.”

And as her thumb swiped over the sensitive tip of your cock, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, you realized with a mix of terror and exhilaration that she was right. You were hers—body, mind, and soul. There was no escape, no reprieve. Only her.

Hyeju’s laugh echoed once more, rich and throaty, as she positioned herself above you, her entrance hovering just above your aching length.

“Ready?” she teased, her voice dripping with malice and desire.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes and braced yourself for what was to come, knowing full well that once she claimed you, there would be no going back.

Hyeju’s lips curled into a wicked smile as she leaned back, her fingers trailing down your chest before reaching for something hidden beneath the bed. The sound of metal clinking against itself sent a fresh wave of panic through you, and your stomach dropped when she pulled out a set of silk restraints.

Her eyes locked onto yours, dark and predatory, as she whispered, “You thought I’d let you move?” Her voice was low, almost soothing in its malice, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you.

Before you could protest—not that you had the strength to—she grabbed your wrists with surprising ease, binding them tightly above your head. The silk felt cool and smooth against your skin, but the sensation only heightened your awareness of how utterly helpless you were. Hyeju leaned over you, her breath hot against your ear as she murmured, “Now, be a good little thing and stay still for me.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, a strange mix of fear and arousal coiling tight in your gut. You wanted to fight, to scream, to do anything other than lie there like some obedient pet, but your body betrayed you, trembling under her touch.

Hyeju’s smirk widened as she sat back on her heels, her gaze raking over your bound form like a predator surveying its prey. “Perfect,” she purred, her fingers brushing lightly over your collarbone, sending sparks of electricity skittering across your skin. “Absolutely perfect.”

Her touch was maddening, feather-light and teasing, as if she enjoyed drawing out every second of your torment. She traced the outline of your muscles, her nails dragging slightly, leaving faint red lines in their wake. You bit your lip to stifle a groan, but Hyeju noticed, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Oh, don’t hold back,” she murmured, leaning down to press a kiss just below your jaw. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

Her tongue flicked out, hot and wet against your neck, and you couldn’t stop the small whimper that escaped your lips. Hyeju chuckled, the sound low and throaty, as she continued her descent, her mouth leaving a trail of fire wherever it touched.

By the time she reached your chest, your breathing was ragged, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it. She paused, her lips hovering just above your nipple, and you held your breath, waiting for what came next.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, “do you like it when I tease you? When I make you squirm?”

You shook your head frantically, desperate to deny the truth, but Hyeju simply laughed. “It’s adorable how much you lie to yourself,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “But don’t worry. I’ll make you admit it sooner or later.”

With that, she closed her mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch off the bed. A strangled cry tore from your throat, and Hyeju hummed in approval, her tongue swirling and flicking until you were gasping for air.

She didn’t stop there. Her hands roamed freely now, tracing the planes of your abdomen, dipping into the hollows of your hips, exploring every inch of you as if she were memorizing your body. Her touch was everywhere at once, overwhelming and intoxicating, and you felt yourself drowning in the sensations she stirred within you.

When her fingers finally brushed against the inside of your thigh, you jerked instinctively, but the restraints held firm, keeping you pinned in place. Hyeju tsked softly, her lips curving into a pout. “Naughty,” she chided, her nails digging into your flesh just enough to sting. “Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”

You whimpered, your mind too clouded with desire to form a coherent response. Hyeju seemed to take that as an invitation, her hand sliding higher, closer to where you needed her most.

“So eager,” she teased, her fingers grazing the edge of your arousal without giving you the relief you craved. “Do you even realize how much power you’re giving me right now?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, but you didn’t have the strength—or the will—to answer. Hyeju’s eyes burned with intensity as she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a mockery of a kiss.

“I could do anything to you right now,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Anything at all. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, but you couldn’t bring yourself to deny it. Because deep down, you knew she was right. You would let her do anything. And that knowledge terrified you more than anything else.

Hyeju must have seen the realization in your eyes because she smiled, slow and deliberate, before pulling away. “Good,” she said, her tone soft but laced with authority. “Now let’s see how far I can push you.”

Without another word, she lowered her head, her tongue flicking out to trace a line down your stomach. The sensation was electric, every nerve in your body screaming for more, but Hyeju took her time, savoring every reaction she pulled from you.

By the time she reached your inner thighs, you were shaking, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. Hyeju paused, her lips hovering inches from where you needed her most, and you nearly cried out in frustration.

“Beg,” she commanded, her voice sharp and demanding. “If you want me to touch you, then beg.”

Your face burned with shame, but the ache inside you was unbearable, leaving you no choice. “Please,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible. “Please, Hyeju…”

She cocked her head, her expression one of pure triumph. “Louder,” she ordered, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “I want to hear you say it properly.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you forced the words past your lips. “Please, Hyeju… touch me. Please…”

Her grin widened, and she leaned in, her breath warm against your skin. “Good boy,” she purred, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “Now, let’s see if I can make you scream.”

Hyeju’s lips curled into a smirk, her eyes dark with hunger as she leaned back, surveying you like a predator savoring its prey. Her fingers trailed lazily down your chest, nails scraping lightly against your skin, leaving faint red lines in their wake. You shuddered, your body trembling beneath her touch, every nerve on fire from the torment of her teasing.

“You’re so eager,” she murmured, her voice low and dripping with amusement. “So desperate for me. It’s almost pathetic.” Her hand slid lower, her fingertips brushing just above where you needed her most, before stopping abruptly. She tilted her head, watching you squirm with a cruel smile. “But I suppose that’s what makes this so fun.”

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the whimper threatening to escape. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking contact, but she pulled back just out of reach. A soft laugh escaped her lips, the sound sending a jolt of both humiliation and arousal through you.

“Ah, ah,” she chided, wagging a finger in mock disapproval. “I didn’t say you could move, did I?” Her tone was light, almost playful, but there was an edge to it—a reminder of who was in control. “You’ll have to ask nicely if you want me to continue.”

Your breath hitched, your mind clouded with conflicting emotions. Shame burned in your chest, but the ache between your legs was unbearable, overriding any sense of dignity. “Please,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Hyeju…”

She arched an eyebrow, leaning in closer until her lips were inches from yours. “I can’t hear you,” she teased, her breath warm against your skin. “Say it again. And this time, mean it.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as another wave of need crashed over you. “Please,” you begged, louder this time, your voice cracking under the weight of desperation. “Please touch me… I need you…”

Her grin widened, and she let out a low hum of approval. “That’s better,” she purred, her hand finally moving, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles just above your aching core. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, but she immediately stopped, pulling her hand away.

“Not so fast,” she scolded, her voice sharp. “You don’t get to decide when we’re done. That’s up to me.” Her gaze bore into yours, commanding obedience. “Understand?”

You nodded frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I understand.”

Her smile softened, though the predatory gleam in her eyes never wavered. “Good boy,” she said, her tone almost affectionate. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke, her hot breath making you shiver. “Now, let’s see how much more you can take.”

Her tongue flicked out, licking a slow, torturous path down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. You whimpered, your hands clenching at the silk bindings that held you in place. She chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, and continued her descent, her lips trailing lower, lower, until they reached the curve of your hip.

Her teeth nipped at the sensitive skin there, and you cried out, your body writhing helplessly beneath her. “Please,” you begged again, your voice breaking. “Hyeju, please…”

She paused, glancing up at you with a wicked smile. “Please what?” she asked, her tone innocent, as if she hadn’t been driving you to the brink of madness. “Use your words, darling.”

You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all. “Please… make me come,” you pleaded, the words spilling out in a rush. “I can’t take it anymore…”

Her expression softened, though the devious glint in her eyes remained. “Oh, my poor little thing,” she cooed, her fingers brushing against your inner thigh. “You’re so worked up already. Did you really think I’d let you off that easy?”

Before you could respond, her mouth found its target, and you nearly screamed as her tongue dipped inside you, slow and deliberate, savoring every reaction she drew from you. Your entire body convulsed, your chest heaving as waves of pleasure rolled through you. But just as you teetered on the edge, she pulled away, leaving you gasping and shaking.

“No!” you cried, your voice raw with desperation. “Please, don’t stop…”

She sat back, licking her lips with a satisfied smirk. “Begging already?” she purred, tilting her head as if considering your plea. “Such a needy little thing. I think I like you like this—completely at my mercy.”

Her fingers replaced her mouth, pressing against your slick folds, teasing your entrance without fully entering. You moaned, your hips pushing toward her hand, but she kept the pressure light, maddeningly slow. “Please,” you sobbed, your vision blurring as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Please, Hyeju… I’ll do anything…”

Her grin widened, and she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours. “Anything?” she echoed, her voice a sultry murmur. “Careful what you promise, darling. I might just hold you to it.”

With that, she finally gave you what you craved, her fingers plunging deep inside you as her thumb pressed against your clit, circling mercilessly. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as the first wave of bliss crashed over you. But just as quickly, she withdrew, leaving you panting and trembling, your body quivering on the edge of release.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her voice a silken command. “I’m not done with you.” Her hands moved to your waist, flipping you onto your stomach with ease. You gasped, your face pressing into the sheets as she positioned herself behind you, her body hovering just out of reach.

“You’re mine,” she growled, her voice thick with possessiveness. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Her hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she lined herself up. The anticipation was agony, every second stretching into eternity as you waited, trembling, for her next move. When she finally pushed inside you, it was with a brutal force that stole the breath from your lungs. You gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets as she began to move, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

“Scream for me,” she demanded, her voice a low growl. “Let me hear how much you need this.”

And you did. Your cries filled the room, mingling with the sound of her harsh breaths as she claimed you completely. Your body was no longer your own, lost in a haze of pleasure and submission as she brought you to the brink once more. Just as you felt yourself about to tip over, she slowed, her movements becoming agonizingly deliberate.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her voice a cruel caress. “Not until I say so.”

You sobbed, your body trembling with the effort to hold on. “Please,” you begged, your voice broken. “Please, Hyeju… let me come…”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Soon,” she promised, her tone laced with dark amusement. “But first, I want to hear you beg one more time…”

[laughtalelogs]

❄snow angel - sanji x reader❄

❄ day 1 - first snow, getting soaked, “your hands are so cold”  ❄ fandom/character(s) - one piece - sanji x reader ❄ warnings - fluff, no beta reader, use of terms like “princess” otherwise mostly gender neutral, no ending ❄ word count: 2.4k

this is the first day of the @12daysofchristmas challenge. this rushed asf and not edited. sorry no ending lmao, i had an ending in mind but If i stared at this any longer i was gonna bang my head against my keyboard :) tomorrow's zoro, so stay tuned! check out here to read more

The Sunny rocked in the gentle evening breeze, the sun retreated behind the horizon. Purple and orange hues stretched across the galley. A book laid heavy in your lap as you relaxed with the remnants of the crew after dinner. You had means to finish a chapter before you wound down. But, the rare, sweet peace made your body feel like lead. The soothing song of clinking dishes, muffled snoring, and soft scribbling filled the space with a cozy air. Since you joined the merry-band of pirates, you quickly learned that times of silence were few and far between. You wouldn’t dare disturb it. 

Nami hunched over her logbook next to you, charting a map with fervor. On the other side, Luffy rested on your shoulder. Food crumbs were scattered across his drooling mouth as he slept. Across the way, Sanji hummed a soft tune as he flitted around the room. The song pulled you in and with each note, you found yourself lost in thought, rereading the same words over again. 

From the corner of your eye, you felt the cook’s lingering gaze on you. Not that it bothered you; it gave you another reason to abandon your book. You both were playing a silent game 一 a game you had been playing for weeks. A game he was failing miserably at. 

Your eyes lock again for a moment, the darkened cerulean meeting yours with uncertain curiosity. 

You raised a playful brow, letting your eyes wander. His neck and jaw tightened, a splatter of red rising to his ears as his adam’s apple wavered in his throat. His tune faltered, and he quickly glanced away, fumbling with the cutlery he had in hand. You feel a chill run down your spine, trying to quell the trail of goosebumps on your arm. 

Nami let out a groan, looking at the porthole behind you. The wind rattled against the glass, and Luffy stirred, pressing closer to you for warmth.

"We're getting close to a winter island,” she announced, tapping her pen to the journal. "Expect snow in the morning."

 “Snow?” you felt your heart flip in your chest, excitement rising in your voice. “Like a lot of it?”

“...That’s right,” Nami smiled, pushing her glasses up the brim of her nose. “Should’ve remembered snow isn’t common for you.”

“Does frosted grass count?” you offer sheepishly.

Sanji chuckle grabbed your attention as he approached with a folded blanket tucked beneath his arm.

 “Here, you’ll be needing this, then,” He hands the soft fleece to you and you reach out, gentle fingers brushing yours. It was a quick, unassuming exchange. You stare at the crisp white linen of his shirt ruffled at the cuff, straining under his toned arm. 

 “I would hate to see you catch a chill,” He looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. He cleared his throat and whipped around, busying himself again. You mumble a weak ‘thank you’, ignoring how your fingers still burn from the feathered touch. You shimmy the warm fleece over you and Luffy’s shoulder. It smelled like smoked tobacco and vanilla extract, and you pushed the urge down to bury your nose in the fabric.

He turned to an unimpressed Nami. “Guessing soup or stew for tomorrow?” 

“Soup?” Your insatiable Captain groans in his sleep, a dazed smile playing on his drooling lips. 

Nami scoffed, rolling her eyes. A pen flies through the air and hits Luffy square between the eyes.

“Ow..! What was that for?” He croaked blearily,  rubbing his head.

“All you ever think about is food, I bet you were dreaming about it too.” She chides, closing her journal with a soft thud, collecting her things. “Come on, time for bed. Tell the others about the snow.”

“It’s snowing?!” Luffy boomed, soaring up, wide-eyed with joy. The blanket fell off your once-taken shoulder.

“Not now, later.” Nami re-iterated with annoyance. “Come on,”

“Night, you two,” “G’Night guys!”

And with that, the galleyway soon was draped in another tranquil silence. With how cold the temperature was dropping, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was snowing right now. You pull the blanket towards you closer, brain racing with the promises of a new experience tomorrow. You had joined the straw hats out of desperation for adventure, to see the world for more than what your tropical island could offer. Now, it felt like it was finally paying off.

“Excited?” Sanji’s voice jerked you out of your thoughts. You look up, watching him polish spoons like second nature, blonde hair falling like golden silk in front of his eyes. 

“Uh- yeah, ” You mumbled into the fleece, burying yourself further. “I guess you say that,”

“Come on,” He throws the towel over his shoulder, voice low and teasing, “ indulge me, sweetheart.” 

Ignoring the way your stomach flips at the deep rumble of his voice, you give in. 

“I dunno, it’s just,” You admit, shifting in your seat, “There’s only so much reading you can do before you wonder what it would be, ya’know?” You stare down at the forgotten book, closing it and placing it on the table.

“I think I get what you mean,” The tenderness in his voice caught you off guard as he continued. “-beauty like that you can only witness in person, no words would do it justice,” When you meet his kind gaze again, your mind goes blank, and you have to remember how to breathe.

“S-so true,” You cleared your throat, mouth impossibly dry. “Well, u-uh, let me get ready for bed, I want to be the first one up!” You jumped up, the blanket forgotten on the bench as the pen in your lap clattered to the ground. You scuttled quickly out the galley way with a rushed ‘good night!’, leaving Sanji as the last one standing. 

Sanji blinked, and sighed, staring at the door where you had left. His shoulders drooped low at the brief, sweet moment. He fished in his pocket for a cigarette, shaking his head.  He lit the cigarette and watched hot smoke curl in the cool air. He lets his mind wander to the promise of tomorrow, the promise of seeing you again. 

“Goodnight, Princess.” He murmured out to the empty room. 

-

That chilly night you tossed and turned. Even as your body thrummed with hot adrenaline, you shivered. As much as you tried to bundle yourself deeper into your blankets, the cold seeped into your bones. Your nose and cheeks burned from the chill. You stared out the porthole, watching the clear black of night until you drifted off to sleep.

-

You wake up with a start. Bright white light shines in, and you look over at the others, who are still fast asleep. Nami’s soft snores and Robin’s even breathing are muffled by their blankets. You slowly peel the covers away, hissing at the cold that bites your skin. Excited breaths plume in the air like smoke, as you tip-toe slowly out the room. Opening the door, the sight blows you away, air escaping your lungs. You didn’t think it would be this magnificent. Soft snow covered the tops of everything in a thick layer of bright white made you squint. The rising sun shot gorgeous rays of yellow across the falling snow, sparkling in the morning light. 

An icy blast of cool wet air brushes past your legs and feet, and you quickly shut the door to not disturb the women sleeping. Your barren feet take their first steps onto the deck, and you barely can contain your excitement with each skip you take down towards mens quarters, you couldn’t be the only person to witness this. Thinking back to your conversation with Sanji last night, heat fills your body even as your toes begin to turn numb.

 Fresh footprints lead you to the door, and you quickly slip inside. enveloped in a loud chorus of groans and snores. You scan the room as your feet heat up on the solid wood. You tiptoed over Zoro and Chopper who huddled for warmth. Past Usopp and Luffy’s hammock, you looked for a tuft of blonde hair with no luck. You cursed under your breath. He must be up already, you thought. You turn behind, looking at your sleeping Captain. 

Guess he would do. You poke at his cheek softly.

“Pstt.. Luffy..” He groaned, swatting your finger away and turned over. You shake him this time, watching his head jostle around. “wake up, it's snowing, come o-” 

“SNOW?!” His eyes shoot open, screaming at the top of his lungs. The rest of the cabin jumped up with a bewildered confusion. Before you could apologize, Luffy was grabbing Usopp by the nose and you by the wrist, pulling you out onto the deck.

-

You screamed as you skipped around the deck. The snow crunched under your feet, the frigid air biting your exposed skin as soaked in the new sensation. You squeal as you flounce around,the fresh snow upturned by each step.  

-

Sanji watched from the doorway curiously, and he couldn’t help the cheesy smile stretching his face. God, you were gorgeous like this, He thought. He watched you play in the snow with wonderment, Luffy and Usopp’s cheers muffled in the background. How could he deny himself with the pleasure of watching you? You were like a dream, something he was convinced he conjured in his brain to torture himself with. 

All night, he was awake, picturing your first moments in the winter, how you would glow against the snow. How the snowflakes would fall on your eyelashes, begging him to swipe them away.  He imagined would be able to provide you with warmth after a day of reliving your childhood anyway you needed him to, if you willed it. These thoughts plagued him well into the night, till the sun threatened to peek over the horizon as he watched out the port hole as it began to fog over with frost, too late into the morning to fall asleep. He rubbed his tired eyes, the sight of you absolutely vibrant with joy fueling his exhausted and needy heart. 

Even with his answered prayers, he couldn’t help but worry about your lack of clothes. Where the hell were your coat and shoes? He worried on his bottom lip, glancing at the ice bitten soles of your feet, trying to keep his eyes away from the way your shirt rode up with every leap forward.

 Had he been careless? He felt responsible for your lack of winter preparedness. His brows furled in worry as he watched you slip onto your back. 

His stomach dropped. He vaulted over the railing, dress shoes sinking into the frigid snow. With each determined flounce towards you, his socks became sodden with cold water.

 “You alright, gorgeous? Where’s your coat and shoes?” He flits above you nervously, his shallow breaths fogging in the crisp winter air. 

“You’ll freeze solid in this weathe-” He was cut off by your floaty laughter, his heart seized and banged rapidly against his ribs. 

“This is so much fun,” You laughed, arms outstretched as you made snow angels below him, beaming with happiness. “Join me Sanji!”

His brain was short-circuiting as he stood there with his mouth agape. Everything in his body wanted to get him into the snow next to you, to bury his hands into your side and roll around in the fluff, but looking at your bright red palms made him stop.

 “No, We need to get ready first, up you go,” He holds out a hand, and you whine in protest, but begrudgingly take his hand. He hisses at the soft cold hand, clasping it gently as he pulls you up. 

“Your hands are so cold...” He murmured. Without thought, he rubs your fingers softly in his hand, his curly eyebrows furrowing. A chill runs through your spine, but you feel like you're sweating at the soft touch. 

He slowly brings life back into your fingers as you stare in silence.His other hand catches yours and he cupped them gently, bringing them to his chapped, pink lips. They form into a soft ‘o’ as he exhales balmy, heavy breaths into your trembling fingers. Even with the winter that surrounded you, you were going to melt into the deck of the Sunny if he continued. You squeeze your eyes shut and look away. It was all too much. 

You squirm under the touch, but don’t pull away. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do,” He shakes his head, cheeks dusting pink, “Wouldn’t want any of these pretty fingers to freeze and fall off, right?” You don’t respond, staring at your feet. He always had a way with words that left you speechless. His gaze follows your, smacking his teeth. 

“You’re killing me,” He sighed, before dropping your hands, “Up you go,” With a swift movement, your frozen feet are swept off the ground. You let out a small noise of protest, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“But the others-” 

“-Are complete idiots. You can come back out here later when you have appropriate winter clothes.” He made quick, determined strides towards the galley door swinging it open. Sweltering heat embraced you as he placed you on the bench, the smell of tomato and garlic wafting in the air. 

“Let's warm up and dry off first. I’ll make you hot chocolate, too.” He rambled, clasping his hands together as he scanned the room, “Or would you rather have cider? You think on that,  I’ll be back in one minute, my little snow angel.”

As quick as he leaves, he’s back again, shutting the frigid air out. “I brought a towel, a change of clothes, and a spare coat. Nami picked them out, don’t worry, I didn’t want-” 

“Someone’s mothering me right now,” You finally cut him off.

You watch his windburned face twist in embarrassment. “Someone has to, don't they?”

“And that someone should be you?” You tease with no bite in your words, but shift uncomfortably in your seat. The more you warmed up, the more you were hyperaware how your soaked t-shirt clung to your back, dripping onto your legs. 

You weren’t the only one who had notice, when a towel was shoved quickly in front of your face. Sanji’s eyes glued to the ceiling. You take it, wiping and patting yourself dry from the melted snow. 

what a weird way to end a fic ik i suck for it, but I got pretty uninspired there at the end. I have so many ideas but I suck at the romance sometimes. I used to rp a lot eons ago when I was a teenager and am just really trying to gain confidence in my writing again after that trauma, iykyk LMAO

I dunno if i’ll come back to edit this or finish my idea. Let me know if you liked it though!

wanna read more? check out my other fics (x)

[sabrinajenre96]

Episode thirty two -“Kojo Appreciation Day”

Michael Robinavitch x wife reader x kojo x the kids

Episode Summary: Spencer, inspired by Kojo’s unwavering loyalty, decides to host a surprise “Kojo Appreciation Day” at the hospital, dragging Jack, Sabrina, and several unsuspecting staff members into her latest whirlwind event. With Y/N now 5 months pregnant and taking it a bit easier, Jack and Sabrina get a firsthand dose of Spencer’s brand of chaos while Michael tries to keep the ER running smoothly around her.

---

It started like all things Spencer Robinavitch started: with glitter, a clipboard, and an idea no one saw coming.

“I think it’s time we honor Kojo,” Spencer declared one morning at breakfast. “He does everything. Security. Emotional support. Taste tester. Nurse's assistant. Personal therapy dog. He needs a day.”

Michael, bleary-eyed, stared at her over his coffee. “He’s a dog.”

“A hero,” Spencer corrected, feeding Kojo a scrambled egg under the table.

Sawyer grinned over her cereal. “You’re actually not wrong.”

Y/N—gently rubbing her belly and chuckling—nodded. “I think the hospital could use something lighthearted. Especially in the middle of flu season.”

“YES!” Spencer jumped up. “I’m calling it Kojo Appreciation Day. Uncle Jack and Aunt Sabrina are going to help me. The Pitt will be decorated. There will be cupcakes. Kojo will wear a crown. Maybe even scrubs!”

Michael froze with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. “Wait, what?”

---

Hospital – Later That Day

Jack and Sabrina walked into the hospital expecting a normal day—rounds, surgeries, maybe a trauma consult.

What they got instead was:

Spencer standing at the nurse’s station with a clipboard and headset.

Kojo in a mini scrub top, wagging his tail and wearing a plastic “ER HERO” badge.

The hallway decked out with hand-drawn posters: “Thank You Kojo,” “Most Valuable Paw,” and “Employee of the Month – Kojo Robinavitch.”

Sabrina blinked. “She made a laminated schedule.”

Jack looked down at the clipboard Spencer handed him. “You’ve assigned me to ‘emotional support dog handler’ duty?”

Spencer beamed. “You and Aunt Sabrina are part of the team. You're officially on my Pitt staff today.”

“Do I at least get a coffee break?”

“No. Kojo doesn’t take coffee breaks. Neither should you.”

Y/N arrived shortly after, escorted by a nurse and snacking on grapes. “I told her to tone it down. She said this was already ‘the chill version.’”

Michael passed by mid-rush, eyes wide at the posters and the mini “paw medals” taped to the walls. “Why are we treating my hospital like it’s the Westminster Dog Show?”

“Because Kojo is the best in show,” Spencer said with a wink.

---

Throughout the Day:

Kojo sat at the triage desk, wearing reading glasses (fake), as Spencer dictated pretend charts to him.

Nurses joined in, sneaking treats to Kojo and petting him in between shifts.

Sabrina was recruited to assist Spencer in a “Kojo Checkup Station” with stuffed animals lined up—each getting vitals and diagnosis tags.

Jack tried to sneak away until Spencer handed him a stuffed giraffe and whispered, “Dr. Porter, this one has a heart murmur. STAT.”

Michael officially banned glitter by 3 PM after it ended up inside his stethoscope.

Y/N laughed through the entire thing from her office, holding her belly as the baby kicked every time Spencer squealed with excitement.

---

That Evening – Post “Appreciation Day” Wind-down

Dinner at home was calm—miraculously.

Spencer had passed out on the couch, still wearing her custom “Kojo’s #1 Fan” badge. Kojo snored softly on the floor beside her, paws twitching in dreams of treats and plush stethoscopes.

Jack sat at the dining table, eyes dazed. “She made me do six rounds of stuffed animal CPR. One of them was a snake.”

“She takes after me,” Sabrina said proudly, sipping her tea.

“She takes after you on glitter crimes,” Michael muttered.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, hand on her belly, smiling. “I think we all needed that.”

Sawyer piped up from the kitchen island, grinning. “I’m just glad it wasn’t me doing the chaos for once.”

Michael looked at her. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

---

Closing Scene:

Spencer stirred from her nap and yawned.

“Next week we’re doing ‘Thank You, Janitor Dave’ day.”

Michael groaned.

Jack whispered, “I’m calling in sick.”

[rohvee]

Bored and anxious at work, another vignette is born (fun fact, I only just learned how to pronounce vignette properly yesterday!)

“The Skyglass Market”

They docked at a floating island not marked on any map, nor mentioned in even the wildest of Jayce’s father’s journals.

The compass spun like a drunkard’s eye as they approached. The island shimmered: all silver-veined stone and winding brass piers, bustling but unhurried. Glass roofs caught the light and bent it into fractured rainbows. The air smelled of lilac and old letters. The market announced itself not with hawking nor bells, but with inevitability. You would buy something here. There was no choice.

Jayce bought a pair of gloves that might have been leather—until you looked sidelong, when they shimmered faintly with constellations unknown to any chart.

“Do you think it’s really godhide?” he asked, flexing his fingers like a stage magician testing a new trick.

Viktor peered over the lip of a ceramic cup, which had been thrust upon him by a wordless vendor. It held opaque blue fluid that tasted uncannily like toasted marshmallows.

“I think you paid seventeen cogs for a strange story,” he said dryly.

Jayce did not argue the point.

Viktor found a bookseller. Or the bookseller found him. She offered a small leather-bound volume titled Things We Do Not Remember Except in Dreams.

He opened it. Every page was blank. He asked the price.

“A story,” she said, her voice like gravel. “Three sentences.”

Viktor tilted his head toward Jayce, who was now haggling over something that resembled a telescope caught in the act of becoming a violin.

“He tried to fix the kettle yesterday and accidentally reversed the pressure valve,” he began. “We had tea on the ceiling. He apologized by making breakfast shirtless, which may have been a distraction tactic.”

The bookseller tucked the volume into his coat without another word.

They ate something that looked like caviar yet tasted of catmint. Viktor bought a full bottle of the blue liquid. They acquired two buckets of minerals that almost certainly were not hexstones, but to scan them felt… rude.

They left when the sun began to set in the wrong direction.

On the walk back to the Mercury, Jayce paused and glanced back at the market, now little more than a mirage of glass roofs.

“This place is strange,” he muttered with a frown.

“Mm,” Viktor hummed. “Charming, though. In a ‘we may wake up with someone else’s memories tomorrow’ sort of way.”

“I hope not,” Jayce said, his gaze softening as it dropped to Viktor. “I’m rather fond of mine.”

That night, with the island long since devoured by the horizon, they stood together on the aerial walk wrapped in a thick wool blanket against the chill.

“We’re never going to find that place again, are we?” Jayce asked, though he knew the answer.

“No, I don’t think so,” Viktor said, pulling him down into a kiss that tasted like sugar floss. He smiled against his mouth. “But then, the best places never ask to be found twice.”

Jayce pulled back, squinting. “Your tongue is blue.”

“Would you like to match?”

[graylinesspam]

(Within the sleeping habits timeline)

Ahsoka can't sleep again. She's been working on that. really she has. But they aren't on the Resolute now. They're dirt side. Buried in the mud of some planet. Beaten back from what was the front line.

There's an ache in the pit of her stomach, and every muscle in her body. Running away was as exhausting as fighting. And her men were forced to do a lot of both.

They were all worse for wear, the ones that survived. She'd been grazed, over her right shoulder. It was shallow. Burt shut. But it stung worse than any blister she'd ever had. Throbbing with the beat of her heart.

They were resting now. They had only a couple of hours before they had to head for an evac sight. She needed to sleep. Desperately. She wouldn't make the march if she didn't

She lay down in the tall grass. Feeling it bend under her. Reedy stalks snapping in places, broken ends digging into her skin. The wind ran over her flushed feverish skin and chilled her in a way that brought shivers. But still she felt too hot everywhere under her skin.

The grass around her crunched with approaching footsteps. Someone falling to their knees beside her. He very nearly collapsed beside her. Tucking his helmet under one arm and stretching his arms out above his head.

She glances at his from the corner of watery eyes, not risking turning her head and letting the tears escape.

"The stars are different here." Echo says. His hand appearing in the corner of her vision. "See that cluster?" he points, she can't tell where exactly but he doesn't stop for a response.

"Those are the nebula around the huttspace. Lots of good suns there, Make for good systems. That's how the hutts became so strong y'know. Their oldest ancestors developed tough skin to combat all the solar radiation and prevent cancerous growth. Then they evolved more to handle the pollution...."

Echo could always monologue. Any topic he'd read about before was laser engraved in his mind. That's how he'd gotten his name of course. Perfect recall. She wasn't sure exactly why he'd stopped to talk at her. Maybe he just needed to soothe himself to sleep.

She did drift off to the sound of his voice.

That was far from the only time.

Echo had a fascination with the stars. He'd seen so many star charts, and so many night skies over the course of the war. He could glance up into the giant freckled expanse and navigate anywhere in his mind. Infinite systems spread out before him, clusters of knowledge spread amongst it.

If you were unlucky enough to know him well, he'd take you along for the ride. Pointing to no where from where you were laying and explaining the trade routes of systems he'd never been to before.

He was a living star chart. The whole galaxy confined in his mind.

Many nights, when she was at her worst, he'd find her, sprawled somewhere suffering. And he'd drone on until her mind succumbed to the boredom.

Better that than the pain.

He was a good brother.

She thinks so every time she looks at the stars