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[jijournal]

THE ELEVEN WORD QUESTION | D.M

summary: Draco Malfoy would literally die for you—unfortunately, asking you to the Yule Ball might just kill him first. When he finally gathers the courage to do it, you politely decline… thanks to a spectacular misunderstanding. Now, with his pride bruised and his heart set, Draco is determined to win you over—properly, this time.

wc: 2.6k+

cw: DOWN BAD DRACO! awkward Draco who gets shy around reader, feat. Pansy, Blaise, & Theo as Draco's backup.

A/N: I love shy Draco. I AM SO SORRY THAT I HAVE BEEN INACTIVE LATELY. Aghhh I haven't posted anything in sooo long, I've been busy hihi.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Draco Malfoy was many things: a Slytherin, a menace on the Quidditch pitch, and the heir to one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain—but he had never felt this pathetic before. Not even the time he fell off his broom second year and cried because his wrist bent funny.

No, this was worse. Because he hadn’t just fallen—he’d plummeted, in front of you, with a flower in one hand and all his dignity left wilting somewhere between the Charms and Transfiguration section at the library.

You hadn’t looked back.

Not once.

Not even when he’d called after you, your name barely leaving his mouth before it got stuck in his throat with the taste of regret and disbelief.

He knew what it must’ve looked like. You thought it was a joke. That he was the joke. And for once, he couldn’t even blame you.

This catastrophe had all began the night before.

The Slytherin common room was filled only with the sound of crackling fire and the soft chatter of students with the scratch of quills against their parchment—until their heads turn to a yell that broke the silence.

"DRACO! We've been on this for over an hour now," Pansy sighed as she sat down on the couch between Theo and Blaise. "And for the millionth time, you are not going to DIE asking a girl to the Yule Ball!"

Pansy's "How to Woo a Girl 101" was clearly very hard for Draco to comprehend. Because based on the look on Theo's and Blaise's faces, it was not going well. At all.

Draco dramatically gasped as if he was being accused of murder, he then put a hand over his heart and then started rambling. "She isn't just any girl. She's the most perfect witch to ever exist! Gosh, do you guys even see how beautiful and smart and—" but, before he could continue, he was cut off by Blaise.

"We get it mate! You're bewitched by her." Blaise groaned loudly, throwing his head back and resting it on the backrest of the couch.

Theo sighed, "Mate, look," he said sternly, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You just have to ask her a simple eleven word question, 'Would. you. like. to. go. to. the. Yule. Ball. with. me.?' see? Easier than brewing Felix Felicis!"

Draco was suddenly hot and started to fidget with his fingers all because of that eleven word question. "Easy for you to say, Theo. You don't have a big fat crush o—" he was cut off yet again. This time, by Pansy.

"Alright, Malfoy. We're done," she announced, crossing her arms. "Either you tell her—or we will!" Pansy smirked, now putting her hands on her hips, trying to hide her laugh as she stood up. The two boys beside her started snickering as they followed Pansy towards the dormitories, leaving Draco in a very difficult position.

Theo suddenly stopped in front of Draco, "You better ask her soon or you know what's coming." He teased, then continued to follow Blaise and Pansy.

"Wait! I'll do it!" He stammered, his hand reaching out, a hopeless attempt to let them stay. "But—uh—is 'You looked like a powdered donut and still managed to be gorgeous.' a good compliment? Because the potion she was brewing blew up last week."

All he got in reply was loud groans and sighs as three of his friends continued walking away from him.

"Guys?!"

Silence.

Draco sighed as he looked down at his feet. "Hey! You looked like a powdered donut and still managed to be gorgeous." He quietly muttered to himself.

⸻

The next day, Draco's heart felt like it was going to come out of his chest and his feet felt like rubber as he saw you strolling through the library. This was it. This was the day he's going to ask you the eleven word question.

Naturally, he brought backup—just in case of a stutter, a horrible nosebleed, or, Merlin forbid, passing out. He had to full-on beg them to come with him, since, in Pansy's own words:

“How are you even going to dance with her if you need us just to ask her to the ball? What—are we going to do a group dance in case you pass out?”

She may be right...

But he badly needed emotional support or he'll die of a heart attack before he could even talk to you.

"Alright. I'm going to go up to her, compliment her pretty face, ask her the question, and hope for the best." He whispered, his grip tightening on the stem of your favorite flower.

The four of them were currently formed in a circle at the corner of the library, three pairs of eyes staring at the blonde boy as he told them his plan.

Theo gave him a flat look, unimpressed. “That’s the plan? That’s it?”

“Well, do you have a better one?” Draco snapped, slightly louder than he intended, which earned them all a sharp shhh! from Madam Pince across the room. They all winced and lowered their heads like scolded toddlers.

Blaise leaned in, voice a murmur. “Yes. Literally anything other than blurting out powdered donut compliments in the library.” He rubbed his temples. “Just… try not to be weird, mate.”

“I’m not weird,” Draco muttered, offended.

“Yeah?” Pansy raised a brow. “You practiced your line in the mirror seven times this morning and then gave the flower a pep talk.”

Draco blushed furiously. “It’s her favorite flower. It needs to be… emotionally prepared.”

Theo shook his head, muttering, “We’re emotionally exhausted.”

Still, despite their teasing, the trio gave him nods of encouragement as he squared his shoulders, tucked the flower carefully behind his back, and began the slow, risky walk toward where you sat—cross-legged on the carpet between two shelves, surrounded by a sea of books and parchment, humming softly to yourself as you scribbled into your notes.

He froze halfway.

You were chewing on the end of your quill, a bit of ink on your chin, your eyes narrowed in concentration. You wore a flower crown made of daises again today—different colors if he may add—the yellows, oranges, and whites complimenting your face. Draco thought he might pass out on the spot.

'Gosh how can she be so beautiful while doing nothing.'

"GO!" Pansy whisper yelled as she pushed Draco toward you.

"Wait n—" he stumbled toward you. He was begging his feet to go back to his safe cocoon where he wouldn't get humiliated or possibly pass out, but they were stuck on the ground—unable to move.

"Hey!" he gulped, his cheeks rapidly turning red for being flustered but mostly from embarrassment.

You glanced up at the sudden noise and there he was. He looked... hot.

HOT! as in sweating hot—not the kind of hot where his hair was pushed back after a shower in the quidditch lockers and definitely not the time when—

Stop it!

“Oh! Hello, Draco." You said, offering him a warm smile as you stood, brushing the creases from your skirt to face him properly.

He smiled back—but it wasn’t the kind of smile most people gave. It was lopsided, almost shaky, like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be confident or terrified. His hands fidgeted behind his back, and then—

"ELEVENWORDQUESTION!" he blurted.

You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Draco swallowed hard, his cheeks rapidly turning pink. “What I meant to say is… you look like a powdered donut.”

What.

The.

Hell?

Your smile faltered. You looked down at your shoes, heart sinking a little. Was that… was that supposed to be an insult?

“Oh,” you murmured, suddenly self-conscious. A quiet, uncertain panic started to rise in your chest.

“No, no, no, wait—!” Draco rushed forward, eyes wide. He reached out and placed his hands gently on your shoulders, his voice frantic now. “That came out wrong. I mean—you looked like a powdered donut last week—when the potion exploded—and you still looked… you still looked gorgeous.”

You looked up at him, stunned.

He took a breath, then, with trembling fingers, pulled a flower from behind his back. Your flower. The one he’d somehow remembered you loved.

“Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?” he asked, quieter now—earnest, vulnerable, the chaos gone from his voice.

And that was when everything seemed to stand still. You stare at him, your mouth agape. You could feel blood rushing through your cheeks.

And then… from behind the nearest shelf came the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter.

You glanced past Draco and saw them—Pansy, Blaise, Theo—all doubled over, failing miserably at hiding. Pansy wiped a tear from her eye. Blaise was wheezing. And Theo was clutching his stomach, trying to breathe.

Oh.

Of course.

It was a dare. A prank. A joke at your expense.

The flower in Draco’s hand suddenly felt like a knife.

Your chest clenched. You took a step back.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your throat tightened. “I… I have to say no.”

His face crumpled in confusion as you turned away, blinking back tears you refused to let fall—not here, not in front of them.

Not when your heart had almost believed him.

⸻

“Mate,” Blaise had said later, tentatively, from the foot of Draco’s bed, where Draco had buried himself under his emerald blanket like a disgraced ghost. “She didn’t even see the part where you were being sincere.”

“She saw enough,” Draco mumbled.

Pansy kicked his mattress. “She saw us laughing, you dolt. She thinks we were laughing at her. Do you know what that does to a girl?” she added sharply, voice rising with frustration and—Draco noticed—genuine guilt. “You’ve got less than a week till the Yule Ball, and if you want any chance of fixing this, you better stop acting like a sad house-elf and do something.”

Draco’s next plan of action was, to put it bluntly, disastrous.

If he couldn’t speak to you like a normal person, then maybe he could… gesture grandly instead. Show, not tell, right?

Wrong. So very wrong.

It began with him walking—strutting—past your table in the courtyard three times in one lunch period, each time pretending he just happened to be passing by. The first time, he loudly commented to Blaise about how some people had “really excellent taste in flower crowns.” The second time, he tripped on a root and faceplanted into a bush. The third time, he tried to recover by dramatically pulling out a textbook and reading upside down while sneakily peeking at you over the pages.

You didn’t look up once.

“Subtle,” Blaise had deadpanned as he helped pick leaves out of Draco’s hair.

Then came the grand gestures. One morning, you opened your Transfiguration book and found—inside it—a single, freshly pressed forget-me-not. The ink on the page was slightly smudged as if someone had fumbled it with nervous fingers. Tucked next to the flower was a piece of parchment with a single line in jagged, uptight handwriting:

I never forgot. - D

The next day? A little paper crane fluttered down onto your lap during Charms. No one else noticed—except you. It unfolded itself midair to reveal another message:

I’d say something. But every time I try, I ruin it.

He was trying. You could feel it, in all his awkward, dramatic glory.

Then, during Care of Magical Creatures, he nearly sacrificed himself trying to separate you from a cranky Murtlap. You didn’t even ask for help, but there he was, sprinting across the paddock like a knight in shining robes, yelling, “DON’T WORRY, I’VE GOT IT!” before the Murtlap turned and promptly bit his wrist.

You rushed forward instinctively, wand already out, muttering a healing charm with a furrow in your brow. And Draco… Draco smiled like he’d just been kissed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, half-annoyed, half-worried, as he flexed his hand and hissed.

“Worth it,” he said, eyes locked on you.

That night, you found another note tucked into the folds of your Herbology textbook:

Still an idiot. Still hoping. Still not giving up.

You rolled your eyes.

But you smiled.

⸻

It wasn’t until three days before the ball that he finally had a chance to explain.

You were walking back from dinner, your hands tucked into your robes, eyes on the frost glittering across the windows, when you heard it:

“Wait—please.”

Draco’s voice. Real. Sincere. Clear.

You turned, surprised to see him without backup, no Pansy whispering strategies in his ear, no Blaise with the emergency escape plan, no Theo who can tease him to no end.

Just Draco.

Alone.

Face flushed from the cold—or nerves. Maybe both.

You folded your arms. “Going to call me a pastry again?”

He winced. “Gods, no. Never again.” A beat passed. Then: “Well, unless you start working at Honeydukes. Then maybe once. Or twice.”

You didn’t laugh. But the corner of your mouth twitched.

He took that as a good sign.

“I know what you thought,” Draco said, stepping forward. “When they laughed. You thought it was a joke. That I was making fun of you.” His eyes were painfully honest, gray and glinting like wet stone. “But they weren’t laughing at you. They were laughing at me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’d been practicing that line since breakfast. Because I’d stammered like an idiot and spilled ink on my cuff and given a flower a motivational speech. Because I was absolutely pathetic. For you.” He let out a nervous huff.

“You make me stupid.”

Your heart did a little leap.

Draco stepped closer. “And you know what? I don’t care if I look stupid. I’d rather look stupid in front of the entire school than let you go to the Yule Ball without knowing the truth.”

There was a long, breathless pause.

“I like you. I’ve liked you since the first time you made that little dandelion braid and stuck it in your scroll instead of using a bookmark. I like how you hum to yourself when you’re thinking. I like that you stay up after curfew just to stargaze and name constellations like they’re your personal pets. I like that you make everything around you feel… lighter.”

He stepped closer again, now inches from you.

“And if you’ll let me… I want to make you feel that way too.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. For once, you were the one struck speechless.

Draco reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a a bouquet of your favorite flower. Blooming. Vibrant. Alive.

“I grew this,” he said quietly. “Chose the seed, studied the soil, made sure it got the exact right light. It took weeks. But it’s yours.”

He gently held it out.

You stared at the flower. Then up at him.

Finally, your voice found its way back.

“…You didn’t stutter,” you whispered.

Draco smirked. It was slow, confident—flirty.

“No. Not when it really matters.”

And then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he added, “So. Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

You smiled.

Not just because the flower was perfect.

Not just because his voice was steady.

But because, for the first time, it felt real. No nerves. No games. Just Draco. Asking you.

Properly.

“Yes,” you said, cheeks glowing.

His grin was immediate.

“And I expect a dance,” you added, pretending to be stern. “A real one. No passing out. No backup dancers.”

Draco leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Only if you promise not to look like a powdered donut this time.”

You laughed—finally, laughed—and shoved his shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he said smugly, “I’m still your date.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[rottenbites]

JACE EATING YOU OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME

thank you to the lovely anon who sent in this request!!! i have grown obsessed with writing about jace and am so happy to start getting reqs for him!!!

“oh fuck!”

your voice comes out in a strained whimper, finger nails digging into the sheets of yours and your newly husbands fresh bedchamber. your husband, jacaerys, is currently on his knees, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he tentatively licks at your cunt.

jace looks up at you with doe eyes, the brown of his irises soft and malleable as he twists his lip in nervousness. “am i doing okay?” he asked, voice soft and far from the commanding tone he used during council. “i don’t want to displease you.”

this was jace’s first time pleasing you, and after having a conversation with his step-father daemon, who didn’t hold back on the vulgarity of his explanation, jace learned that opening up a maiden and making her peak at least once was preferable before sheathing his cock inside of her.

a pleasured smile brushed across your cheeks at your husbands shy words, his blunt finger nails digging into your thighs in a way for him to ground himself. “you’re doing amazing, sweet boy. just keep going as you were.”

it was endearing, the way jace nodded gallantly to himself, steeling his eyes as to not seem nervous. with a tentative lick, he was back to divulging your cunt, his shy strokes turning into bold ones as he grew more confident at your loud moans.

“jace, please. more.” you whined, moving your hands so they were harshly tugging at his mass of curls. with a whine, the crowned princes tongue entered your tight hole, a mewl pressing from your chest as the pleasure you felt left eclipsed over your body.

as your peak washed over your body, jace’s glazed over eyes stared up at you, mouth curled into a soft smile as his hands smoothed down your thighs. “was that good, pretty girl?” a blissed out smile crossed your lips, the back of your hand smoothing down his cheek in a tenderness that made him softly mewl. “that was amazing, sweet boy.”

[ivorydragons]

thinking about childhood friend!aerion

childhood friend!aerion who you'd only gotten so close to because you lived at the red keep with your father, who was the hand of the king.

childhood friend!aerion who didn't always have his awful temper, as daeron said. he was a sweet, energetic boy, one who you were always happy to play fight with, or follow around throughout the castle.

childhood friend!aerion who, as a few years in the red keep flew by, started to grow into the boy the realm knew better, growing more and more cruel to you.

childhood friend!aerion who'd tug hard on your hair, laugh at how you looked in your dresses, the ones you'd began to wear at ten and two. anything to see your face scrunch up as you began to cry. the only times he wouldn't do this was if his father was around to stop it, or even if daeron told him to stop, which was rare, as this was around the time daerons dreams became too unbearable, and he was starting to drink more and more.

you only knew this because on the rare moments he'd speak to you, alone, with clarity, he'd tell you that aerion wouldn't always treat you this way, that he'd seen it.

childhood friend!aerion who you eventually grew distant from. not just because of how his treatment of you had changed, but because eventually, you had to return to your own land, your mother wanted to start finding a match for you, since you were about to turn fourteen.

childhood friend!aerion who, didn't tell anyone about how his chest tightened at the news, either that, or he didn't know why it happened. either way, in the next years that passed, he trained himself to look out for any news on you, or who was trying to court you.

after three years away from the red keep, away from your father, and away from aerion, you decided to return for your eighteenth nameday. you were still unmarried, which was quite the topic in the realm.

nobody wanted to marry you anymore. anyone who'd tried to court you in the past few years had died randomly, for reasons you didn't know, it frightened you, wondering what curse had befallen you, and forced you to do your best to stay far away from any high lord.

childhood friend!aerion who expertly hid his excitement upon hearing that you were returning to the red keep, unbetrothed. he knew this was his opportunity, he'd already told his father, and yours. he wanted the nameday celebration to become a betrothal celebration.

his betrothal, to you. he knew your father would say yes, your family was desperate to marry you off at this point, which he'd counted on.

childhood friend!aerion who you ended up getting married to. the one man immune to your curse. the curse which you'd began to realize, every time he pulled you away from conversations with other men, knight or high lord, may have been him.

a/n: canon divergent, considering if you're both around the same age, aer being like a year or two older, he'd be in lys but we ignore that heh

[scissorjizzer]

Mikey Mcmillin x reader…… mikeh mcmillin mmmmmmm

im camping rn and sharing a tent with four other people and i have like negative cell reception but that ain't stopping me

guys i hope you know i literally pounce on any and every mikey prompt ugh mikey my king mikeyyyyabdjdkekdmkdle

it's been a while since i've done headcanons sooooo

INOK!Mikey x GN!Reader Headcanons

SFW—!

♧ math nerd. anything with stem, really. that's how you guys met, actually. you started out being friends with illi, since you're classmates in art with her. you kept complaining about how bad you were at math, and that's when she started telling you about her brother who's in AP calc BC. so, she was able to set him up as your tutor!

♧ was SO nervous to first meet you. you weren't exactly "popular", but it's not like you were quite the loser that he was. hell, most of his "friends" were just people in his advanced classes who just used him for answers. he knew you'd be different, with you being friends with illi and all, which is why he was nervous. he was used to people just using him for his brains, he expected it really. you were different. from what he heard around school, you were a really cool person, at least to him. he'd always kind of admired you from afar, almost like a sort of hallway crush, though he had no romantic interest in you when you guys first met. he was just a bit intimidated.

♧ the first time you guys met up, it was at his/illi's house. the only time you'd been to the house before was to hang out with illi, but mikey was never there since he always had some after school clubs he was busy with. you started making your way to his room, which he was totally taken aback by. he had thought the two of you were just going to study at the dining table. you apologized for the mix-up, and offered to stay at the table instead, but mikey felt bad. despite your offer, he ended up taking you to his room, though not before he made you stand outside in the hallway so he could clean up. ...his "cleaning" consisted of shoving all his crap under his bed.

♧ he doesn't fall easily. it took him about a semester to start developing feelings. even then, he was kind of in denial. with how much you were over, and your relationship with his family due to already being friends with illi, you'd basically become an inseparable part of his life. you guys started hanging out more at school, even spending time together after school besides your tutoring sessions. he'd even play his bass for you sometimes. it was something he had picked up fairly recently, so he was quite insecure about his skills on the instrument (or lack thereof). him playing for you was something quite special. he wouldn't even play for illi.

♧ it took him a while to come to terms with the fact that he did like you. he was never one for relationships, besides the few flings he had in middle school. though those didnt count, at least in his mind. he had never properly dated anyone, and he was scared that by confessing to you, he'd ruin everything. little did he know, you had been waiting for months for him to make a move... hell, you were about to make one yourself.

♧ when you guys did become official, he was even more nervous than before. this time, because he was scared he'd freak you out. you thought it was cute. he'd ask you permission for literally anything. "can i hold your hand?", "is it okay if i kiss you?", stuff like that. eventually though, you did have to tell him to stop constantly asking. though you appreciated it, you couldn't deny it started bugging you after a while. he was pretty relieved that he basically had PDA permission. his constant asking was wearing him out too...

♧ ever since you guys started dating, he complimented you at least once everyday. he'd never repeat compliments either. it was an art form, really. sometimes it'd be something simple: "you smell nice. are you trying out a new shampoo?", "i like your outfit, y/n. you always dress so nicely.", "is that the art project you made in class with illi last week? it looks nice! i wish i was as good at art as you." those were always nice. you like whatever he told you. but sometimes he'd really flatter you too. even those weren't super deep. just the way he delivered them made you blush. "your freckles match your eyes. not the colos, but there's specks around your pupil. it reminds me of that. you're like a galaxy.", "i love listening to you. i know you say you don't like how you sound, but no matter what your voice was like, i'd love you anyway." for someone who claims he's not great at english, he somehow had a way whenever he talked to you.

NSFW—!

♧ like with everything else, he was super nervous when you guys got more intimate for the first time. he really wanted to make sure you wanted it, always asking if he's going too quickly or making you uncomfortable or if you wanted to stop. of course, everything was better than you could ever imagine.

♧ he got a bit too eager once and almost broke the bed. the second he heard a louder-than-usual creak, he immediately stopped. you guys just stared at each other in shock before scrambling out of bed to lift up the mattress and check the frame.

♧ he prefers giving over receiving. you try to argue against him, always offering to return the favor, but it's kind of hard with those big shiny puppy eyes he always gives you. not to mention the way his glasses fog up when he goes down on you, or the way he looks up to meet your gaze through his dark eyelashes. you practically have to tear your eyes away from him to not cum on the spot.

♧ he got rid of all his porno mags the second you guys became a thing. he felt like using them would be cheating. besides, why would he need a stranger to gawk at when he had you? in his mind, you're way better than any model.

♧ ever since you came along, he's stopped jerking off as much. he still does, of course, and when he does, he only thinks about you. your hand wrapped around his dick, your voice praising him for being so good... oops, did i mention that yet? he totally has a major praise kink.

♧ he likes when you're on top. doesn't matter what you guys are doing, but if you're above him, he crumbles immediately.

♧ dry humping. he does it on purpose sometimes, but it's also practically a subconscious instinct of his. you found this out during your guys' first deep make out session. it was kind of hard to ignore the way he was grinding his hips into your thighs. when you called him out on his, he blushed and started stuttering immediately, apologizing to you thinking he had made you uncomfortable. you thought his flusteredness was funny though, and you told him you were fine with it. after that, he completely let loose.

♧ cums hard. he may not have the biggest load, but his orgasms are practically a performance. his face scrunches up, his eyes rolling back before closing shut. he throws his head back, his mouth hanging open and letting out the prettiest moans before he purses his lips in an attempt to muffle them. of course, that just turns them into whimpers. he mumbles your name like a prayer between ragged gasps of air, as if being quiet would suddenly stop the electric feeling shooting through him.

♧ aftercare consists of him lying next to you, hugging your waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, absorbing your scent as his nose nuzzles in your hair. he reminds you how much he loves you, peppering gentle kisses along your jawline and cheeks. eventually, he gets up to clean the both of you. he always asks if you need anything: a trip to the bathroom, a shower, a drink, a snack. whatever you need, he's there for you. once you're settled and taken care of, you guys spend the rest of your time together either cuddling and falling asleep in each others arms, playing video games, or watching thrifted horror movies.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

lost in translation (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Mattheo Riddle has never confessed to anyone, which is why his first attempt went so badly

credits to @/saradika-graphics for the divider!

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t exactly known for his considerate nature. In fact, he was notoriously lacking in it.

He was well aware that nothing at Hogwarts stayed a secret—honestly, he was part of the reason why.

In second year, the moment he caught wind of Lorenzo’s crush on that Ravenclaw, he practically sang it up and down every corridor, playing matchmaker with the subtlety of a drunken Hippogriff.

In fourth year, when Draco admitted—in passing—that Granger was “sort of hot in a terrifying way,” Mattheo nearly hexed him into the next era. Still, he whistled and hummed the Wedding March every time they passed each other, just to make Draco suffer.

And just last year, he’d personally tortured Theo over his crush on that Hufflepuff—publicly, relentlessly—until she finally caved and started dating him.

So yeah. Now that he had a crush, there was no way in hell he was letting anyone find out. Especially not Theo.

Because if there was one thing Mattheo had earned in life, it was karma. And this? This would be brutal.

Well… that. And—

“Fratellone~” (big brother~)

Mattheo’s entire nervous system short-circuited.

Your voice floated into the common room like smoke and sugar, playful and sweet—and there you were, head poking in, eyes wide and sparkly, looking right at Theo.

He sat lazily on the sofa with Mattheo beside him, but Mattheo would’ve been lying if he said the sight of your big, pleading doe eyes didn’t make him swoon just a little.

He also tried not to react to the way you were fluttering your lashes like you were auditioning for a Veela commercial.

Theo chuckled, rolling his eyes, "What do you want?"

"Will you promise to say yes first?" You asked sweetly, lips pursed in a pout, rocking on your heels with your eyes wide like a tragic fairytale character.

Theo scowled at you—but there was no real malice in it, "Like hell. What do you want?"

"Some allowance." You replied, tilting your head just slightly—and Merlin help him, Mattheo almost pulled out his wallet for you.

Theo, however, was unmoved. He scoffed, "Yeah, right. What happened to all your allowance? I’m not giving you a single knut."

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you flopped right between the two of them, your shoulder brushing Mattheo’s as your scent flooded his brain.

He stared straight ahead. He did not inhale. He definitely did not imagine himself burying his nose into the crook of your neck and taking in your scent.

"Theoooo," You whined, stretching his name like syrup, "I want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend with my friends. Pleeeease?"

He narrowed his eyes, grimacing again, and you let out another pitiful whine.

A beat passed before he finally sighed, "Fine. Go get my wallet from my dorm."

You grinned, victorious, as you pulled the wallet straight out of your robe pocket.

Theo let out a scoff of disbelief, "Unbelievable."

You merely gave him a smile.

"You know," He grumbled as you pocketed the money, "when I ran out of allowance, I didn’t have anyone to scam with big eyes and fake innocence. You’re lucky you’ve got such a good big brother."

You huffed, smug, "That’s your job as my big brother. If you wanted the special treatment, you should’ve been born second."

Mattheo very calmly decided that if Theo ever found out about the state of his crush, he would simply have to fake his own death and transfer to Durmstrang under a new identity.

After a couple weeks of hopeless, spiraling, late-night-scribbling-his-name-next-to-yours-on-scrap-parchment kind of pining, Mattheo had finally made up his mind.

He was going to tell you. Actually confess. Like a proper idiot in love.

It was stupid, really—how nervous he felt. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what was worse: the actual feelings, or the fact that he was handling them like a fourth year with his first crush.

Honestly, he felt like he was in over his head—and Mattheo Riddle never felt that way. His comfort zone was massive. He wasn’t the type to second-guess himself, or get shy, or blush when someone looked at him a second too long. If anything, he was usually the one making other people uncomfortable with how confident and shameless he was.

He had always been the type to take charge of any situation. If he wanted something, he said so. Gave the time and place. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No vulnerability.

But with you?

With you, it was different.

You made him feel like the floor might disappear from under him at any second. Like rejection from you wouldn’t just sting—it would wreck him.

And maybe that was dramatic, maybe even pathetic, but he’d take pathetic over regret any day. At least if he confessed, he could say he’d tried. Even if it went horribly. Even if you laughed in his face.

(Which he was only mildly worried about. Okay, more than mildly. He’d had an actual dream where that happened. Twice.)

Still, he figured he had to try. At least this way, if it all fell apart, he’d know he hadn’t kept his mouth shut like a coward. And, of course, he owed Theo the basic respect of asking you out properly.

So he waited. Bided his time.

And when he saw you one night alone in the library—half-asleep over your Charms essay, ink smudged across your fingers—he figured this was it.

Game time.

You looked up at the sound of his footsteps, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Mattheo Riddle?” You teased, “In the library? Are you lost?”

He tried to fire something back. Something snarky or clever or Mattheo-ish.

Instead, all he managed was a breathless smile.

Your teasing faded instantly. You sat up straighter, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled through his nose, nodded once, “Yeah. I just… I need to tell you something.”

Your expression softened, open and patient, “Okay. Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

He blinked. Swallowed.

Then immediately began spiraling.

“It’s just that—I think you’re a—no, wait. That’s not how I wanted to start. I’ve been feeling like this for a couple months—shit, no, that sounds stalkerish—”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in concern. Mattheo Riddle, Hogwarts’ most sarcastic menace, was stammering like a first year. You’d never seen him like this.

“Mattheo?” You asked gently, “Just say it. I promise I won’t judge you.”

He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a breath.

“It’s not you judging me that I’m afraid of,” He muttered, “It’s just… I’ve never had these feelings before. Not like this. And it’s been driving me insane, not saying anything. I’ve wanted to for weeks. But there’s Theo—you know he’s my best mate—and I didn’t want to make things weird or screw it all up. But honestly, I don’t think I care anymore. Not when it feels like this.”

He looked up at you finally, eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen on him before.

You looked upset. Maybe even heartbroken. Mattheo felt his stomach drop.

A beat passed.

Then you smiled. Slowly. Brightly.

“I think I understand what you’re saying, Mattheo.”

His heart nearly stopped, “Y-You do?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes shining, “Yeah. And—wow. I mean—this is amazing news.”

A smile bloomed on his face, stunned and almost disbelieving, “Wait. Really? You think so?”

“Of course I do!” You laughed, standing to wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, “This is great. I’m so happy for you.”

He froze for a second, then melted into it, arms winding around you with relief pouring through his chest. He tucked his face into your hair and breathed in the scent of your shampoo.

Finally.

He’d done it. He’d told you. And you—Merlin, you felt the same. You really—

You pulled back, still smiling, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His brain short-circuited.

“Listen, I should get to bed,” You said, gathering your books in your arms with a small smile, “But we’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

Mattheo nodded, eyes wide and glassy, like he wasn’t entirely sure what dimension he was in, “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

You gave him a wink—light, teasing, completely unaware of the emotional earthquake you’d just caused—and turned, heading down the corridor toward the dorms. Your footsteps echoed gently, fading into the stillness of the night.

The second you turned the corner and were safely out of sight, you bolted into the nearest empty hallway, nearly tripping over your own feet as you pressed your back to the wall, books clutched to your chest, heart pounding.

Your thoughts were a blur.

Mattheo Riddle.

The guy you'd been lowkey—okay, not so lowkey—crushing on for weeks. The one who made your stomach flip every time he so much as looked at you. The same boy who’d just opened up to you with flushed cheeks and fumbled words and a nervousness you never thought you’d see on him.

You blinked rapidly, breath caught in your throat, replaying the entire conversation in our head.

You groaned, sliding down the wall until you were sitting on the cold stone floor, completely humiliated.

“I can’t believe this,” You whispered, “I was this close to asking him to Hogsmeade.”

The next morning was a blur.

You hadn’t slept.

How could you, after what happened in the library? After Mattheo Riddle—a boy you’d been quietly losing your mind over for weeks—had looked you in the eye and told you, with a trembling voice, and broke your heart.

You were the main character in an absolute tragedy.

You spent all of night thinking it through, picturing the next couple years in your future. You'd undoubtedly be around Mattheo for a lot of those years because of his closeness to Theo. Could you really survive that?

I mean, you had to, didn't you?

Just as the morning rays of sunshine began to flitter through your curtains you had attempted to strengthen your already flimsy resolve.

You were happy.

Really.

You were.

Fucking hell.

So when Mattheo found you in the Great Hall that morning and slid into the seat beside you with the most relaxed, pleased-with-himself smile you’d ever seen on his face, your heart sank.

“Morning,” He said, nudging you playfully, “Sleep okay?”

You blinked, “Um. Yeah. You?”

“Best night of my life.” He said, completely sincere.

You stared at him.

God, he must really be happy.

You cleared your throat and focused very, very hard on your scrambled eggs.

Mattheo, meanwhile, was thriving. You were a little quiet, sure, but he figured that was just nerves. Shyness. Maybe you were still processing the fact that he liked you. Really liked you. That he’d finally said it out loud.

He nudged you again, dropping his voice slightly.

“So, uh… when do you think we should tell Theo?”

Your soul left your body.

Tell Theo. Tell Theo?!

He wanted you to witness him breaking your heart in person?!

You slowly lowered your fork, “You want me to be there when you... tell him?”

Mattheo’s smile widened like your reaction was exactly what he was hoping for, “Yeah, I mean, obviously he’s gonna be weird about it at first—but he’ll come around.”

You stared at him, a strange buzzing in your ears, “Right. Um. I don’t think I should be there for that.”

His brows lifted, “Oh?”

“I just… I think it’s something you should do on your own. You know? One-on-one. No distractions.”

Mattheo nodded slowly, lips pressed together in thought, “Yeah. I get that. ”

“I just don’t think my presence would help.”

He chuckled softly, “You’re seriously adorable when you’re anxious.”

You blinked.

Mattheo tilted his head, confused for a split second… then smiled.

“Alright,” He said, nodding seriously, “I’ll talk to him later.”

You nodded back, forcing a smile, while internally screaming into the void.

There was a sharp knock on the door to your dorm room.

You sat up in bed, startled, textbook sliding from your lap. Your roommates all told you they were staying out late to finish their joined project in the library. You had been expecting to have the dorm empty for at least another hour.

“Who the hell—?”

The door creaked open, and Mattheo slipped inside, curls a little messy, eyes shadowed and stormy, shoulders slumped.

He gave you a little smile when he entered though it did little to betray his crestfallen expression as he trudged over to your spot on the bed before he threw himself on the mattress beside you. His arms immediately went around your waist in a hug as he hid his face into the side of your thigh.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

“Mattheo?” You whispered, brushing his curls away from his eyes, “What—what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

He looked up at you like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or just collapse into your lap and stay there forever. A part of him didn’t want to say anything. He knew how much you adored your older brother. If you found out Theo wasn’t supportive of your relationship, it would wreck you.

But the way you were looking at him, gentle and concerned and so you, cracked him wide open.

“I told him.”

You blinked, “You told Theo?”

He nodded slowly. There was something behind his eyes—hurt, confusion, frustration. And something else too. Shame.

“How did he take it?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Mattheo let out a bitter breath and ran a hand down his face, “Not well. He looked at me like I’d lost my fucking mind. Told me I was sick. Said I needed to back off before things got weird.”

Your chest caved in. Horror filling every pore and vein, inching itself into your bones. Yesterday, you had kind of hoped for this. But today? You were utterly mortified by your brother's actions.

“He said that to you?”

Mattheo sighed, closing his eyes and just enjoying the way you carded through his hair, “Yeah. I mean, I guess I get it. I didn’t exactly ask for permission before anything happened—”

“Permission?” You echoed, getting increasingly angry.

He kept talking, “I just thought he’d at least be annoyed, you know? Or at least not act like I committed a sin. I mean, I don't really give a shit about what he thinks but he's my best mate.”

You stood, furious, “I can’t believe him. That’s so unfair.”

Mattheo looked up, slightly startled.

You were pacing now, barefoot, fury radiating off you like heat.

“I mean, what century are we living in? If you like someone, you like someone. He doesn’t get to make you feel wrong for that.”

Mattheo blinked, “Wait—what?”

“I’m gonna go yell at him,” You snapped, already marching toward the door, “He doesn’t get to treat you like that. He should be grateful you were honest. Gods, I’m so mad right now—”

“Wait, (Y/N), wait—” Mattheo followed, hands raised like he was trying to calm a charging dragon, “Sweetheart, it’s really not that big a deal. He’ll cool off, and I’ll talk to him again—”

“That’s not good enough!” You snapped, throwing open the door, “God, if Mama saw what a heartless bastard he turned into—ugh! I’m gonna hex his balls off!”

You stormed out, slamming the door behind you so hard it rattled on its hinges.

Mattheo stood in the silence that followed, staring at the now-closed door, stunned.

A long pause.

Then, very quietly:

“…I fear for my safety when we have our first fight.”

You stormed through the Slytherin common room like a woman possessed, your footsteps echoing furiously through the stone corridors.

People scattered. Literally scattered.

You weren’t sure where Theo was, but your rage must’ve acted as some kind of tracking charm, because the moment you shoved open the boys’ dorm door, there he was—lounging at his desk, reading some smug little book with his legs kicked up like he owned the castle.

“Theodore. Fucking. Nott.”

Theo looked up, startled—just in time for you to march over and yank him up by the ear.

“OW—WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—!”

“Don’t ‘what the bloody hell’ me, you absolute tosser,” You snapped, dragging him upright like a furious mother catching her child vandalizing a sacred artifact, “Mattheo tells you how he feels—he opens up to you—and you call him sick?! Are you completely deranged?!”

Theo flailed dramatically, “Let go of my ear! Have you lost your mind?!”

“Have you?! You’re supposed to be his best friend! Do you have any idea how hard that must’ve been for him?! He came to you vulnerable—and you rejected him like he was diseased!”

Theo stopped struggling. His face twisted in confusion.

“Okay, what the actual hell are you talking about?!”

You jabbed a finger into his chest with your free hand, “Don’t play dumb. Mattheo told me he has feelings for someone, and yesterday he went to confess. Then he shows up to my dorm crushed because you turned him away like he didn't mean anything to you!"

There was a heavy pause.

Theo blinked.

“…He told you he had feelings for someone?”

“Yes!” You snapped.

“And you thought he meant…” Theo trailed off, narrowing his eyes.

You squinted right back, “…You?”

Theo stared at you. You stared at him.

Then he grabbed your ear.

“OW—HEY—WHAT THE HELL—!”

“You utter moron!” He hissed, twisting slightly, “You thought Mattheo was confessing to me?!”

“I WAS TRYING TO BE SUPPORTIVE!”

“SUPPORTIVE?! OF ME DATING MATTHEO?! ARE YOU HIGH?!”

“STOP TWISTING, YOU GOBLIN!”

You both stood there like absolute lunatics, yanking on each other’s ears, realization dawning in slow-motion horror.

And then— The dorm door burst open. And Mattheo came in.

His eyes landed on Theo gripping your ear.

His entire face shifted.

“Oi! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Mattheo barked, “I don’t care if she’s your sister, Nott—get your hands off my girlfriend!”

You froze.

Mattheo took a step forward, jaw clenched, “Seriously. Let go.”

You blinked, “…Girlfriend?”

Silence.

A very heavy silence.

Mattheo turned to you, suddenly uncertain, “Yeah? I mean—you don’t mind, do you?”

You gawked at him, “Wait, hold on. I must’ve missed a few chapters—since when am I your girlfriend?”

Mattheo’s brows drew together, “Well… we didn’t officially say anything, but I thought… I mean, yesterday—”

“Yesterday?!”

“Yeah! You said it was amazing news. I thought that meant you liked the idea!”

“I did think it was a good idea! I mean—at the time I did! But then today happened—”

Mattheo stiffened, voice dropping, “So you don’t want to date me because Theo doesn’t like it?”

You stared at him, completely flabbergasted, “Mattheo… aren’t you gay?”

Theo, who had been suspiciously quiet up until this point, snorted.

Then he wheeze-laughed.

Then he bent over, dying, gasping for air like the world’s most dramatic mime.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” He cackled, “You two deserve each other. You're both idiots. I can't breathe.”

Mattheo’s face went red, “What?! What on earth gave you that impression?!”

“You said it yourself!” You shouted defensively, “You went on and on about your feelings—how hard it was to express, how you were scared, how it could ruin your friendship—with Theo! I thought you were coming out and telling me you were in love with him!”

Mattheo looked absolutely offended, “YES—because I didn’t know how to tell my best friend that I was in love with his baby sister!”

You blinked, “You never said my name! Not ONCE in that entire meltdown did the words ‘(Y/N), I like you’ come out of your mouth!”

“I thought it was implied! You kissed me on the cheek!”

“I’M ITALIAN, WE KISS EVERYBODY!”

Mattheo cleared his throat, “Okay. Um… let me try this again.”

You looked up at him, still a little dazed, “Please do.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far too nervous for someone who once set a broom closet on fire in third year because, in his words, it was “for shits and giggles"

“I like you,” He said, voice low but steady, “You, Y/N Nott. Not your brother—despite his sparkling personality.”

From the bed, Theo flipped him off, “I hope you choke.”

Mattheo took a step closer, his tone softening as his eyes searched yours, “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. But I didn’t want to ruin things with Theo, and then I panicked—and started rambling—and then you kissed me and walked off, and I thought that meant yes. So I spent the last twenty-four hours floating around like a smug idiot thinking I had the girl of my dreams.”

You flushed, smiling despite yourself.

“I’m not gay,” Mattheo added quickly, glancing sideways at Theo, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, obviously. I just—look, I probably shouldn’t say anything else. Every time I open my mouth, you come up with a new wild theory and I nearly get accused of seducing your brother.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

Mattheo stepped closer again, “So now that we’ve established I’m not secretly in love with Theo… would you want to be my girlfriend?"

He looked so earnest. Like he’d hand you his heart and a backup heart just in case something happened to the first one.

Your own heart skipped. “I’d love to,” You said softly. Then, with a sly smile, “I’d kiss you right now if my brother weren’t staring.”

“And for that, I’m eternally grateful,” Theo deadpanned, still sprawled on his bed, “Also grateful that as of today, you are officially his problem. You want money? You hit up your boyfriend. You set something on fire? Talk to your boyfriend. I am washing my hands clean of you.”

He dramatically mimed wiping his hands in the air.

He then added, “To think I was worried your pathetic, lovestruck, gay ass was going to break my baby sister’s heart.”

Mattheo groaned, “Not gay. Just want to emphasize again how not gay I am. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! Just—Merlin’s beard—I’m shutting up now.”

Theo smirked, “Smart move.”

Mattheo sighed and looked back at you, “...Still want to kiss me?”

You grinned, “I wouldn't be opposed.”

Theo froze, "Wait a second."

“Don’t wait up.” Mattheo said smugly to his roommate, taking your hand.

“Mattheo I swear to God—”

You pulled him toward the door, laughing, while Theo yelled curses behind the two of you.

To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)

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[the-darklings]

this might be a weird question, but does BB have any other cat-like mannerisms? He purrs all the time and some of his movements are referred to as cat like, so I was just wondering!!

need that ancient entity stray cat cookie badddd

not a weird question at all because BB is categorically, undeniably, in every measurable sense, a cat 😭

so:

the slow blink. this is the big one. the one that started the whole cat comparison. when BB is content (and I mean truly content, not performing contentment but actually feeling it) he does the slow blink. eyes closing at half speed. holding. opening at half speed. it's the feline "I love you." the trust signal. the "I am closing my eyes in your presence because I don't need to watch you for threats." and he does it constantly. in the nest. on the couch. across the room when you're not even looking at him. just slow-blinking at you like a twenty-pound tabby on a windowsill.

the head bump. when he wants attention and doesn't have the words for it (which is often, because BB's emotional vocabulary is still under construction) he just… puts his head on you. not a nuzzle exactly. a bump. forehead against your shoulder. the top of his skull pressed into the underside of your jaw. sometimes just walking past you in the hallway and bonking his head against your arm without stopping. a drive-by head bump. an ancient entity booping you with his skull because he wants you to know he's there without having to say "I want you to know I'm there."

the kneading. when he's half asleep in the nest, lying against you, pressed close just to feel you, his fingers do a thing. not gripping exactly. not stroking. a rhythmic pressing. open, close. open, close. his fingers flexing against your skin or your shirt in a slow repetitive pattern that matches his stimulated breathing. kneading. the thing cats do against soft surfaces when they're comfortable. the thing kittens do against their mothers. BB does it against your stomach, your thigh, the soft skin of your inner arm. open, close. open, close. he doesn't know he's doing it.

the presenting. BB brings you things. not grand gestures. not human-logic gifts. just… objects he found and thought of you. a pen that actually works, because your notebook pens keep dying. then another pen. then a third, different colour, because he noticed you underline in a different colour than you write in. a book pulled from some impossible shelf on a level he won't tell you about, its spine intact, its pages dry. a piece of fruit that shouldn't exist down here but does and it's your favourite kind and you don't ask how he found it because the answer involves him checking three levels and killing something that was guarding it.

he sets these things beside you in the nest. doesn't hand them to you. sets them down. close to your hand but not in it. then he looks at you. and waits. not for thanks. for acknowledgment. for the specific reaction of "yes, I see what you brought me." and if you pick the object up and examine it (turn the pen over, smell the fruit, read the first page of the book) the purr starts immediately and he does the slow blink and his whole body radiates the satisfaction.

the collection grows. your corner of the nest accumulates a small hoard of working pens and dry books and strange foods and little knickknacks that have no practical value but that BB saw somewhere in the labyrinth of the backrooms and thought: she'd like this. a smooth stone. a piece of tile with an unusual colour. a button. things that matter to no one except the entity that found them and the girl he brought them home to.

you keep all of them.

he knows you keep all of them.

the purr is loudest on the days he brings you something new and finds the old gifts still in their place, or better yet, dotted around the new nest/apartment.

the "I'm not touching you" hover. cats do this thing where they sit exactly one inch from you. not on you. not against you. just beside you, so close you can feel their body heat, maintaining the fiction of independence while being as close as physically possible without making contact. BB does this constantly. standing near you in the kitchen. sitting beside you in the nest with a quarter-inch of air between your shoulders. lying in bed with his hand one centimeter from yours, not holding, just hovering, just being close enough that the warmth transfers without the vulnerability of actual touch. and if you close the gap (if you shift that quarter-inch and make contact) he freezes for a half-second and then leans in and the purr starts and the pretense of independence evaporates.

[kookie-doughs]

What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat

Chapter 13: Not so normal normal

"You know, princess, I think it's high time you took your mind off things," Lorenzo murmurs, gently pinching your cheek.

Snapping back to reality brings you to a sudden realization. You're sitting in the library, and Lorenzo is across from you, offering a soft, pitying smile.

Before you can answer, he stands up, slides into the vacant seat right next to you, and pulls you close against his side.

"Since the whole Heather business, things have been entirely different between us all," he notes quietly.

"I know... everyone’s gone completely overprotective," you sigh, biting your lower lip. And then there’s the looming fact that Voldemort is actively hunting me down, but that’s a story for another day, you think miserably. "I just miss how carefree and happy we used to be. Now I feel like I'm constantly causing problems that you lot have to clean up."

"Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you found it completely suffocating being around us," he lets out a dry, breathless laugh. You lift your head from his shoulder to look at him. "Ever since you met us, it's been nothing but trouble, hasn't it? We do nothing but loom over you, and the second we turn our backs, you're getting bullied by the rest of the school."

"But I like being with you lot," you press, looking him dead in the eye. "I'm happy that I became a part of your world."

"Yeah, well... you were perfectly happy before we dragged you into it, too," Lorenzo replies softly, his eyes dropping. "At least back then, you were just... normal."

"I'd much rather be abnormal with you guys," you say, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I just wish we could go back to the way we were..."

Lorenzo stares at you for a beat, a sudden spark returning to his eyes. He stands up abruptly, taking your hand firmly in his and yanking you out of your chair.

"Right then. Your wish is my absolute command," he grins.

Dodging a thoroughly murderous glare from Madam Pince, he drags you past the heavy oak doors, and the very moment you clear the library, he breaks into a full sprint down the corridor, pulling you right along with him.

You let out a bright laugh as Lorenzo ruthlessly shoves Theodore off your lap, sending him tumbling onto the floor of the dormitory with a loud, dramatic thud.

Spending the entire day with Lorenzo was exactly what you needed. Just pure, unadulterated fun with your friends. No terrifying power trips from Tom, no dark wizards trying to murder you—nothing but laughter.

But as the laughter fades, you glance toward the window. "Has anyone checked on the others? It's pitch black out already and none of them have come back."

"They haven't even checked in on us," Theo mutters from the floor, dusting off his trousers. "Not even Pansy. It's weird."

A cold prickle of unease hits you. Hurrying over to your trunk, you pull out your phone to check for messages. The group chat is completely dead. Not a single message from anyone.

"They're never usually this quiet..." you frown, tracing the blank page.

Looking up, you catch Theodore staring down at his own phone, a deeply conflicted, strained expression on his face. He bites his lip, taking a sharp, heavy breath before quickly lifting his head. The moment his eyes meet yours, he forces a bright smile, acting as if nothing is wrong.

"Should we go look for them, then?" he asks, his voice a little too casual.

"Theo, are you alright?" you ask softly.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Lorenzo slides up, grabbing both of your sleeves. "Come on. Let's go track them down."

"Actually, I think we should split up," Theo interrupts quickly, his posture stiffening. "YN should head straight back to her own dorms. We don't want you getting caught out or running into trouble right now."

Both you and Lorenzo stare at him, completely bewildered.

"I just... think we should cover more ground," Theo mutters, his eyes darting away.

Lorenzo shoots Theodore a long, calculating look before turning to you and firmly taking your hand. "Right. Come on, YN. Let's get you back to the Hufflepuff basement."

"What? But I want to help search!" you protest, pulling back. "I'm worried about them too!"

The argument is cut short the moment Lorenzo swings open the common room door. Standing right there in the dimly lit corridor is Professor Snape, with a thoroughly tense Mattheo Riddle right behind him.

Snape looks down at you, his lip curling into a low, dangerous sneer. "Fifty points from Hufflepuff. What, pray tell, do you think you are doing lurking inside the Slytherin quarters, Miss LN?"

"I—"

Mattheo steps forward immediately, placing himself squarely between Snape and the rest of you. "My brother asked her to come here."

"Your brother does not dictate the rules of this castle, Riddle," Snape silkily counters, towering over him and glaring the boy down with terrifying intensity. "Three weeks' detention, Miss LN. The rest of you—inside. Now."

"Wait, Professor, curfew hasn't even hit yet," Lorenzo argues, stepping up next to Mattheo. "Let me at least walk her to—"

"Inside. Now," Snape barks, his voice cutting like ice. "Malignant behavior will not be tolerated. Miss LN, return to your house immediately."

Mattheo and Lorenzo exchange a highly troubled, frantic glance, looking past Snape's shoulder at just how eerily empty and dead the dungeons look tonight.

"But Professor, she's already been targeted once," Mattheo presses, his hand twitching near his wand. "It's dangerous for her to walk alone—"

"I shall not be repeating myself, Mr. Riddle," Snape growls, his black eyes flashing dangerously.

Lorenzo looks from you to Snape, then back to Mattheo, who looks entirely thrown off by Snape's unyielding, aggressive urgency. Something is deeply wrong.

Realizing you have absolutely no choice, you give the boys what you hope is a reassuring nod and take a step back into the corridor. Snape ruthlessly shoves the two Slytherins back through the threshold, the heavy stone door slamming shut behind them.

Suddenly, you are completely alone, walking through the pitch-black, suffocating silence of the dungeons.

Here is the fully polished version of your high-stakes encounter:

Your heart hammers violently against your ribs as you hurry toward your common room, your eyes darting frantically into every dark alcove.

Raising your wand with a trembling hand, you mutter a protective charm over yourself, but the shimmering barrier does absolutely nothing to soothe your frayed nerves.

And then, as if your sheer panic had manifested it into reality, a jet of light streaks through the dark and hits you dead-on. Thankfully, your shield holds, absorbing the blow with a sharp crack.

Without thinking, you fire a jinx back in the direction of the flash and break into a frantic run. But before you can even clear the corridor, another spell clips your shoulder, sending you stumbling.

Suddenly, a rough hand yanks you backward, dragging you forcefully into an empty room. A palm slams over your mouth, stifling your scream, while another hand clamps over your eyes, plunging you into total darkness.

You thrash wildly against the hold, kicking and clawing, but it's entirely to no avail. A wet, wheezing breath brushes against your ear, and the blood instantly drains from your face.

"Shut up, Hufflepuff," a high-pitched, giggling voice wheezes in the dark. "You're the girl, aren't you? The little nuisance who's ruining all the plans?" A chilling, breathless laugh rattles in his chest. "Oh, how the Dark Lord will praise me for this achievement..."

You flinch as his fingers graze the sensitive skin of your neck. They feel horribly stubby and thick, the tips blunt and rough like claws, with dirty, overgrown fingernails that scratch against your skin. Worse still is the texture—they are uncomfortably clammy, slick with a sickening sweat that leaves you feeling utterly violated.

Help me, please, someone help me, you pray desperately to yourself, tears pricking your eyes.

"RIGHT IN HERE!" a familiar voice roars from the corridor.

"Damnit!" the man spits.

In a split second, the oppressive weight on you vanishes into thin air, as if he had disappeared into the very stone. The heavy door swings open with a loud thud, flooding the room with torchlight.

"Harry..." you sob, collapsing slightly. He is standing in the doorway, panting heavily, his eyes wild as he tightly grips a large sheet of blank-looking parchment.

"YN!" Pansy shrieks, rushing past him. She throws her arms around you, pulling back a second later to frantically check your face and arms for injuries. "Merlin's beard, are you alright?"

Blaise is right on her heels, his usual calm demeanor completely gone as he stares at you with deep, protective worry. "Did you see who it was? Did you catch a face?"

You merely shake your head, trembling too hard to speak.

"It's alright, you're safe now. We've got you," Pansy soothes, pulling your head onto her shoulder.

Across the room, Harry’s eyes are glued to the parchment in his hands, his brow furrowed in utter bewilderment as he scans the ink lines.

"The name right next to yours was Peter Pettigrew," Harry mutters, looking up at the empty corners of the room. "I... I see that name all the time in the Gryffindor tower. It makes no sense. I don't see anyone else in here, but the map still says he's standing right here."

"Potter... thank you," you manage to mumble through your tears.

Harry looks down at you, his expression heavy with a fierce, protective gravity. "Just stay safe, alright? I mean it, YN. You are incredibly important in all of this. It's exactly why they're so bloody keen on getting rid of you. Please, just be careful."

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @starfulani @otakusimp1 @scarredtarts @midnights-with-him @wefinnabeindapitt @yavintagebae @corsetdollz @vanillabeanswirltwist @oceaneyesofeywa @meghmikaelson @reallysparklychaos @unseensoulnomad @catnoodle32 @dollyvuu @the-moons-kiss

I accidentally uploaded two chapters instead of a chapter because of a lag enjoy the chapters LMAO

I do have a side quest to be uploaded again

I wont upload another chapter until i finish writing 4 chapters ahead (i have 3 so far) so it might take a while since I'm not sure how to write the next

I hope to upload more side quests before this so please do send me request because i think after this chapter would be a lot of serious story stuff rather than relationship development

anyway thank you for support ily all

-kookiedough

REDLINE REDLINE REDLINE REDLINE REDLINE

Taglist?

[tonkajaharibro]

Lingering Butterbeer

summary: getting ready for a hogsmeade date with your boyfriend, harry.

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

warnings: romantic content. fluff. suggestive content.

a/n: first post who else cheered! realized we need more harry content so i’m looking to fill the gap

Your favorite thing about Hogwarts was the weekends at Hogsmeade. When it finally hit November, snow began to fall, making every rooftop twinkle with the promise of Christmas.

Every person wore jumpers, coats, and gloves. Some could be seen chucking snowballs at their friends, while first years ran from store to store trying to soak it all in despite having six more years to enjoy.

You were in your fifth year so sure, time was flying by, but you always made sure to savor every moment. Especially with your friends and boyfriend.

You stood in your room, pulling one of Harry’s red jumper he left in your dormitory over a white t-shirt. After slipping on a coat, a pair of gloves, grabbing your purse, and quickly speaking goodbye to your roommates, you darted out of your room to meet Harry outside your common room.

Just as you stepped out of the portrait, you saw Harry. He leaned against a pillar with jeans, a dark green jumper, and a coat on glancing down at his watch. A wide smile spread across your face as you walked closer with your hands behind your back, hoping to sneak up on him. Just as he was lifting a hand to push up his glasses your face came into view.

“Hey pretty.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling as he pushed his glasses up with his left hand and reached out towards you with his right. You held onto his arm and stood up on your toes to peck his lips softly, “Hi love.”

His eyes glistened with deep affection and you turned away, heat rising on your face. Little did you know he grinned, realizing your attempt to hide your bashfulness. He turned your head back towards his and smiled, “you ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” You reply, lacing your fingers in between his. The two of you walked through Hogwarts, chatting about random things like Fred and George’s plans to open a joke shop, Umbridge being the most insufferable woman on earth, and Harry’s desire to teach you how to fly on a broom.

“You can hold onto me the whole time! You know I’d never let anything hurt you y/n.” Harry replied passionately, praying that you would say yes.

“Fine,” you give in, “but you’re buying me some chocolate frogs and I get one of your jumpers for a month.”

A smile spreads across his face, revealing the cutest dimple. “Oh that’s a deal sweetheart, you might as well keep the jumper like this one.” He nods towards the jumper you’re currently wearing and you grin in response.

“It’s comfy.” You shrug, looking down at the jumper that has spent the last year in your wardrobe.

“Looks better on you anyway.” He says softly, his hand squeezing yours softly. You laugh and glance up in reply, “thank you.”

The cool wind hits you as you walk down the path to Hogsmeade. Couples run by with bags in their hands and their eyes locked on one another.

A smile rose on your face as you leaned into Harry, smelling his cologne. He smelled fresh, like grapefruit and rosemary, but also lived in. There was an air of sage and smoke, reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room.

When you finally entered Hogsmeade, you felt the weight of school fall of your shoulders. The dark buildings twinkled with snow and the smell of hot tea and butter beer wafted out of the bars.

“Wanna grab butter beer first?” Harry turned to you, beginning to steer off towards the Three Broomsticks. “Sounds amazing.” You nodded, following along as you trailed behind him.

The dim room welcomed you with the fresh smell of butterscotch and cream. Harry led you to an open table in the back where you squeezed into a booth as Harry left to go order.

Shrugging off your coat, you sat there waiting patiently.

“Here you go darling.” Harry smiled as he set a warm butter beer down in front of you, sliding into the same booth as you. He set a hand on your thigh, squeezing your leg softly, the warmth from his hand spreading across your leg.

“Thanks, Harry.” You lifted it to your mouth and took a sip, the warmth liquid immediately bringing warmth to your body.

You groaned softly and licked your lips.

Harry chuckled and glanced over at you, “Is it good?” He teased you, taking a sip himself.

“So good.” You reply with a smile, finding Harry’s gaze focused on your face. His mouth rises in a smirk, his eyes dazzling as he stares at your mouth.

“What?” You smile back, suddenly feeling very vulnerable under his gaze.

“You’ve got a little something. Let me get it.” He starts, lifting a hand to your lips and brushing the left side of your mouth.

He picks up the foam on his finger and brings his finger to his mouth, licking the residue off his finger.

“There.” He smiles, licking his own lips as he stares at your smiling face.

You shake your head and turn away, hiding your face in your mug.

“What? You’re so cute.” He teases as he leans towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You glance up at him and softly shove his shoulder shushing him.

“What? I’m not allowed to compliment my beautiful girlfriend?” He smirks, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“No you are. Just give me a kiss first.” You smile up at him, leaning forward towards his face.

His smile widens and he whispers, “I can do that.”

He leans down and softly presses his lips against yours. His lips tasted like the smooth caramel of butter beer and a hint of treacle tart. The sweetness of the kiss invaded your senses. It felt the same as the very first time. Warmth stronger than a glass of butter beer fills your insides, pushing you closer into his touch.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, nestling it in his hair as you softly gripped it. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you closer by your waist.

You sighed softly into the kiss and he chuckled against your mouth, squeezing your waist softly.

Your mouths slid against each other, your lips parting for a moment to catch your breath and you slid your free hand up the front of his shirt to touch his skin with your warm hand.

“Oi! We’re in public missy.” Harry warns, dropping a hand to grab yours from under his jumper. You laughed in response, leaning into his chest.

“Fine,” you jokingly groaned. “We’ll finish later.”

“Oh yeah we will.”

[brrrainst3w]

Not my pic!

Simon gripping your hip dips as he ruts into you, whimpering and whining in your ear about how soft you are, how good you feel, how much he loves you and your body.

"Oh f-uck," he chokes out, panting into your neck. "So good, baby, so good."

He's gripping the supple, doughy flesh of your thick thighs, grinding his hips against yours whilst still fully inside you. His happy trail rubs against your clit just right, causing him to let out guttural moans when your velvety walls flutter around him.

When he finally pulls out a little to start thrusting into you harder, his hands are exploring you everywhere. His head is resting on your chest as he mouth's at your tits and gets lost in your pussy. "I love you, love you so m-much," he grunts.

Pants into your mouth as he spills his load inside of you, not too long after your own release. Then he wraps his arms around you, petting your hair and telling you how good you did as you come down.

(He totally eats his cum out of you instead of wiping you off like a normal person, squishing your soft belly as he ruins you all over again)

[darknessisafriend]

Commodus request? like a little imagine or one shot where the reader is poor and is mistaken for stealing from a street vendor when it wasn't actually her, and she is brought before Emperor Commodus to be killed but upon seeing her, he recognizes her as a childhood friend of his and saves her life? The two catch up and all the feels and fluff ensue about how well they've both matured and he lets his guard down with her? (lots of cute Commodus acting tough but is all kissy with her etc??) 🙈

Hiiiiii here you go! I hope you will like it <3 

                     Queen or thief of my heart?

You were quietly eating an apple and bread that you had bought with the little money you had earned…probably the only meal you will get today. You were so hungry that you barely payed attention to the veiled woman running past you.

“It’s her! Arrest her!” Your head suddenly turned towards the man screaming this, a rich merchant, you usually begged for money next to his shop; he was pointing his finger in your direction and four imperial guards had their eyes locked on you. You hadn’t stolen anything! Keeping well your food in your hands, you turned around and started to run away, like a thief but you knew all too well what was done to people of your rank, even more so to a young homeless woman, rape and death and forgotten of all.

You ran as fast you could despite your stomach grumbling with hunger and your rather weak state; but it wasn’t enough against the well feed and trained imperial guards. And before you could understand what was happening, you were tackled to the ground, your chin hitting the ground hard, cutting your lower lip in the process. You gasped as one of them grabbed you by the hair while the others pulled you up.

“You are going to pay for stealing from the Emperor’s favorite merchant, thief!” growled one of the guards before seizing your chin, ignoring the blood trickling on it “And when the Emperor decides your fate, we will have fun with you pretty thing.” He smirked, detailing your body lewdly.

“I didn’t steal anything! Please you’ve mistaken me for somebody else!” you tried to argue but what were your words against the supplier of the Emperor?

“I request that she is taken before Caesar!” requested the merchant, furious. This had to be all some kind of nightmare, you didn’t want to see him, he had the reputation of a bloodthirsty man; and you didn’t want him to see you. You much preferred to remember the nice man he used to be.

“No! please!” you begged them as they dragged you to the palace. They kept laughing and mocking you, they already knew your fate and it was a deadly one…

Commodus was sitting at his study, as usual in his afternoon working on grievances from the Senate. There was always so many, each day it didn’t decrease, and it grew on his nerves, he felt like whatever he did, it was never enough. He was suddenly pushed out of his thoughts by a slave announcing a crime against him, the Emperor had been perpetrated. Those simple words made his blood boil, who had dared to attack him!? He headed for the throne room, actually this interruption was welcome, he needed to let off some steam and perhaps punishing a traitor would do him good. Once seated, he motioned for the guards to let in the criminal. The merchant who had been stolen and accused you, followed you; and the guards, he wanted to be sure you would be punished, and he wanted to see.

Commodus tilted his head as he looked at you, your head hanging down, a young woman apparently. His eyes carelessly left you to focus on the merchant; he recognized the man who supplied him with his imperial clothing and jewels…so that was the crime, stealing this merchant was stealing the Emperor and therefore a lack of respect. He hated those who disrespected him.

“She stole a necklace! One my most precious one! It could have fitted your sister, your majesty.” Explained the merchant, his nostrils dilatated like an angry bull “I request that she is punished at the level of her crimes against your sacred person. She is homeless, I will never be reimbursed.” In short, he was requesting either your torture by flogging and other abuses by the guards or sent to work in state mines. Commodus distractingly rubbed his chin with his index as he thought, that girl was probably stealing to survive, none of his children should be left hungry and homeless; but if he tolerated to be stolen, it could be perceived as a sign of weakness, not being able to make hard decisions or perhaps would they see him as merciful? He sighed; what punishment would fit best?

But his trail of thoughts was interrupted by your crying’s. You couldn’t help but cry; you didn’t have a great life, but you were innocent, and you didn’t want to die. Commodus sighed again and with a simple gesture of his hand motioned for a guard to lift your head and make you look at him. You winced as one grabbed your hair, pulling them back and making you face the feared Emperor.

His eyes stared straight into yours, open wider than it should, that face…he knew you; he had seen you somewhere….and you looked at him helplessly, hoping he would recognize you and perhaps spare you as a token of the past. He hadn’t changed at all, it was still those chubby cheeks, those piercing deep green eyes that seemed now tired and those raven hair, although shorter now compared to what you remembered.

“Tell me your name.” he finally spoke after long seconds of silence, his face still baring the signs of confusion.

“Y/N, Caesar.” You answered, letting him hear your voice. Y/N…he had known someone named the same way in the past, as a child, in the very same corridors of this palace…was it you?

“Leave merchant. You will receive money to compensate for the loss caused by that theft. Rest assured that I will personally take care of her case.” Spoke Commodus, decided to assure you were the Y/N he had known.

“But your-”

“You dare to contest my orders merchant? If you wish to continue to dress your Caesar, I advise you to leave. Now.” Cutting him off Commodus coldly. He was in no mood to be contested.

“Yes, Caesar. Forgive me, Caesar.” The man bowed; his voice filled with fear, before leaving in a hurry, in case the Emperor would change his mind. Your heart was racing, what was he going to do to you now?

“If you allow me to explain…my mother used to work at the service of your family, she knew your father Marcus Aurelius…” you spoke without permission, but you had to try.

“Shut it!” groaned a guard, lifting his hand and ready to strike you in the face. But the Emperor, with a click of his tongue told him not to intervene and let you talk.

“Continue.”

“My mother was one of the cooks serving your majesty and your deceased father. I helped…well, at my modest manner considering my age at the time…” you explained. To these words, Commodus had suddenly memories surging back…

He was wandering down the corridors, everything silent as his father was away. As always, he was left alone with his sister and caretakers. Quietly, he escaped the watch of his caretakers to slide into the kitchen, cooks and servants busy preparing lunch and not daring to say anything to the little heir of the Emperor. His eyes locked on the little girl with y/h/c hair; she shyly looked at him before reaching for a plate of delicacies and presenting it to him. He couldn’t help but smile, she seemed so nice, she payed attention to him and without fear or judgements …he was just a young boy she seemed to like. And with time it had become a habit, to go to Y/N, pretend to need food just to be able to see her, talk to her…

“But when I finally reached the age to serve your majesty properly, my mother died of illness. My father begged Marcus Aurelius to keep me at your service…but he answered I was too young and inexperienced to serve in the kitchens of your majesty…whereas I had grown up in them.” You explained with pain, you had expected more mercy from the famous Marcus Aurelius.

He stood next to his father; watching as the man begged for his daughter to remain at the service of the Emperor. “Please your majesty, she has spent much time here, she will learn fast! She needs to support her household, her brothers and sisters.” Begged the man in despair “I hear you well citizen. Unfortunately, I can only keep the best and those who have proven themselves to be vital.” Commodus clenched his fists under the words of his father. No matter how gentle his tone was, the meaning of the words was the same. And he was wrong, Y/N she was vital, to him. His light in the darkness of his life. But he couldn’t do anything, not even say anything; what would his father say if he was interested in more than just sex with a maid? He was already struggling to have his attention; he couldn’t throw away his chances to make him proud. But deep down, he never forgot you.

“Leave us. Y/N won’t be treated as a criminal in this palace. I want her to be treated as any high-ranking guest.” He ordered the guards and present slaves who looked at him dumbfounded. You blinked a few times, surprised, was he really…? Before you could think more, everyone obeyed and left the room; you were left alone with the Emperor.

Slowly he approached you, observing you from his height; you could see his eyes detailing you, face and body. What did he have in mind?

“Y/N.” He pronounced your name in a softness you never expected. His tone was almost pleading, a hint of despair in his eyes…he had missed you.

“Your majesty-”

“Commodus. You can call me Commodus…as it were before.” He cut you off, if his words had been different, you would have been startled by his tone without appeal. Although, you felt it wasn’t due to your presence but rather a force of habit; he must have been struggling to make himself heard and respected, maybe even betrayed. And now that you thought about it, you might have heard of such events in the streets of Rome.

“Commodus…” how strange it felt on your tongue to pronounce his name after all these years. “Commodus I never thought I would see you again, they say so many things about you and yet I refuse to believe them.”

“Y/N…” he murmured your name as and paused as if he was battling against his feelings “Why did you steal from me?”  you were slightly surprised that he behaved this way around you but it wasn’t as if he had shown himself overjoyed to see you.

“No, I didn't. I was just eating my meal of the day and I saw someone ran past me. The merchant must have thought I was the thief.” Commodus nodded thoughtfully, you were sincere, and he remembered the affection you had for him; secretly he hoped that you still felt the same and that perhaps he could trust you.

You raised our eyebrows at his next action: he was offering you his hand…hesitantly you took it, how strange it felt to touch this warm hand, of a man who had the reputation to kill without mercy and with great pleasure. Somehow,  you were one of the few who never believed in such reputation, you knew him; in the memories you had of Commodus, he was gentle, he was affectionate, loyal, fair and playful. To your disappointment, he let go of your hand as soon as you were back on your feet, it still left a mark in your palm and you found yourself wishing you could still hold his hand and you wondered what he thought. Did he not care about this touch? this simple and common touch or was he feeling just as fuzzy about it as you?

On his side Commodus felt a rush of adrenaline. He had done this gesture out of politeness, in a way as token of the past but he didn't expect to feel so much. He hadn’t felt this kind of emotions in years. In a way he had sought them with the sister Lucilla but could never find this feeling he had with you and he found himself wishing to hold your hand again.

“Follow me, to get the wound cleaned up.” He ordered you, starting to walk, heading to his private quarters. Your eyes never left his back, watching the way he walked, his steps confident, you could understand that he was meant to be feared, a man that could fight and kill. And he could feel your eyes on him, he wondered what you were thinking, were you scared? or perhaps you were considering a way to get out of his claws, maybe you believed what everyone said and especially what the senator said.

“Bring wound cleaning water to my rooms and a clean cloth.” he ordered to a slave without stopping to walk, looking straight ahead; you retained a smile, you could feel this was all a mask. He feared to be seen for who he was, and you could only guess it was because he had been hurt, deeply.

As he reached his room, the two guards at its entrance, opened the door for him, eyeing you curiously; why would the Emperor invite a homeless in rags in his royal rooms? Commodus threw them a warning look before entering his bedroom, closely followed by you.

“Sit.” He indicated, pointing at his bed. You couldn’t help but blush, partly in shame, not wanting to dirty the luxurious and immaculate sheets; and partly because you would be sitting on the bed of the most powerful man of the empire, he could do anything he wanted to you…according to the people. But if he was still the Commodus you knew, you had nothing to fear; in fact, you had never felt safer than in his room.

You watched him as he paced in front of you, waiting for the servant to bring what he asked for. Now, that you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, you took time to detail him, trying to understand what was going through his mind and most of all, how he ended up so wary.

“Now leave; tell that I won’t be interrupted, no matter what kind of emergencies might come up.” He instantly dismissed the slave, took the bowl and cloth from his hands; walking in your direction and sitting next to you on the mattress, closer than you first expected.

In fact, his knee was brushing against yours, it wasn’t much but it was enough to send shivers down your spine. He slightly shifted to turn towards you, his eyes traveling between you and the things he held in his hands. It was as if he didn’t know what to do, or rather how to behave in your presence; should he be the emperor or just Commodus? Could he be himself without risks?

“I am going to clean your wound. Don’t move.” He said, not waiting for any reaction from you, and delicately cupped your chin, yet there was a certain firmness in his fingers. “Your father had a job. Yet you are found homeless. What happened?” he asked you, his eyes focused on your lower lip that he was carefully cleaning.

“The death of my mother broke my father’s heart. He started to drink and do bad work…until he lost his job and a few months later died. My siblings are married, and they left in hope for a better life outside of Rome.” You were the only one who had refused to marry, to leave the state city…deep down, despite the talks in the streets; you hoped the Commodus you loved was still there. He nodded thoughtfully, he felt responsible for your situation; if only he had the courage to oppose his father and requested you stayed at his service.

“How are you?” you asked him softly, looking into his eyes that seemed to bear so much.

“Very well. The People are happy, and the economy of the Empire is going better since the recent treaties I signed.” He listed almost mechanically. His eyes avoiding yours, his whole posture almost tense. Commodus was hiding something, holding emotions inside him…that he didn’t feel safe enough to express.

“I didn’t inquire about the well-being of the empire. I am inquiring about you, Commodus.” You asked him again, you knew he would tolerate your boldness.

His brows furrowed at your words, his mouth slightly opening and his lower lip starting to quiver, tears coming to his eyes and threatening to come out. You could only watch him, stunned by the effect of such simple words. What had happened to him to make him so broken, so protective over his feelings? Slowly, carefully, you brushed your fingers over his hand. His eyes never left your face, but he turned over his hand, your fingers meeting his palm in a gentle hold. A tear rolled down his cheek, how he longed for a friendly touch, he looked down in shame.

“Do you remember when we were children, when we played hide and seek?” you asked him softly, digging into your common happy memories. His hand gave you a light squeeze, yes, he remembered each moment, among the happiest of his life.

“I remember you were a very loyal helper.” He commented; you had been loyal to him, even if you were not his personal helper, at times it felt like it.

“Just a very loyal helper?” you teased him, you felt intimate enough to be so familiar with him. He briefly raised an eyebrow, admitting that there was more to it. His eyes looked up, detailing your face.

“I remember a time where you were more than just a helper…in fact for many years, until the end. You were a…” but he didn’t finish his sentence. His walls were high and thick, could he let them down? And you understood he had trust issues, probably due to the betrayal of his father, the opposition of his sister…despite your young age at the time, you had always felt his loneliness.

“Commodus…I….” you licked your lips nervously, looking down at your joined hands, what you were about to admit could triggered an unpleasant reaction from the emperor, but you had to try and show him you were worth opening to. “I stayed in Rome for you, just for you. All my life I dedicated myself to your service, not just by duty but also because I wanted to, I… always loved you as friend and more…” there you had said it, your heart was pounding in your chest, either the sword will fall upon your head or he will be merciful…his thumb had stopped stroking your skin, and he remained silent. You didn’t dare to lift your head to look at him, too scared you had overstepped; he was Caesar and you, just a homeless girl.

“Look at me Y/N.” you heard him say, his tone authoritative. Yet, you didn’t feel any animosity in it. So, slowly you lifted your head, meeting the Emperor’s icy eyes. And before you could understand, he leaned closer to you, until his lips were upon yours. You retained a jump, not out of fear but simply surprise. The pressure of his mouth on yours was light, almost careful and yet you could feel how much he needed to feel something.

So, you took the initiative and leaned more into the kiss, applying more pressure, moving your lips against his as you felt him even more responsive to it; so, you felt bold enough to push for more, your tongue coming to caress his lips, he opened them to let you in but first you had to tease him a bit, and make him understand he could let down his walls with you.

“Still just a loyal helper?” you smiled, brushing your thumb over his lips. He lightly huffed, detailing your face as he regained a composed expression.

“You are my Y/N, that’s more than enough for your emperor.” His tone was like a caress on your wounded heart. And to your greatest pleasure he didn’t let you reply, capturing your mouth once again, this time the kiss quicker and yet terribly hungry. Your hand went to his hair, burying in his soft locks.

“What would people think of this?” you breathed against his mouth.

“I am their Emperor. I couldn’t care less about the grumble of a few old politicians.” He traced kisses along your jaw, heading down your neck, earning a few moans from you, damn how good it felt, it was hungry, adoring.

“Besides…” he planted another kiss behind your ear “The Emperor united to one of the People will please the mob.” You couldn’t help but giggle, his words and his tone sounded so tough and yet his kisses where the most tender you ever had.

“United?” you asked curious, was he really serious?

“I am going to make things clear. Now that I have you, I am not letting you go. The emperor needs a wife, and I chose you.” He declared, looking at you in the eyes and gauging your reaction.

“Oh Commodus, you were always so passionate.” You shook your head, looking at him tenderly. He was a big softie inside. You tilted your head, approaching your lips from his “And I accept, even if you don’t leave me the choice.” You teased him, playfully before capturing his lips; a kiss sealing this promise. His hand came up to stroke your cheek, his thumb brushing feather-like over your open lip.

“I am going to have a bath prepared for you and those rags will be thrown away. Now you will be dressed by our royal dresser and you will be treated as an Empress like you should have always been.” He murmured, looking at you intensely, a pleased smile on his beautiful lips. And for the first time since your reunion you were catching a glimpse of the real Commodus.

Commodus Harem: @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @skaravile @niniitah-ah @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @charlie-sisters @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @hopelessdisasterr @stellargirlie @rosebloodstuffandthangss @clowndaddyfleck @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria @sagyunaro @just-a-fucking-comedy @spaceinvader @radio-hoo-ha​ @lady-carnivals-stuff​ @sierraclegane​ @legojorny​ @lemondedeniname​ @hvproductions​ @syvellsworld​ @papercut-paranoia​ @jokerflecker​ @beautifulyoungprospect​ @bring-your-holy-water @winterjasmine007 @reginasansrex @morrisonmercuryphoenix  @fly-like-a-phoenix @the-joaq-is-extra

[jacaerysstark]

“𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒕.” - 𝑨𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑰𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 (18+)

Warnings: MDNI! Smut, Knife handle riding, knife in mattress, masturbation, oral (fem! Receiving), Targcest,

Summary: Aerion finds you touching yourself and decides to make you ride something, his knife handle

Characters: Aerion Brightflame x Fem!reader (his sis)

(Inspired by the book “Lights out” so enjoy)

You and Aerion usually hated each other. You were kind and he was cruel, a contrast.

You both just never agreed on things.

But that never stopped the sexual tension between you two. The heat that lingered between you and him.

It burned an ache between your thighs, an irresistible need that your own fingers couldn’t deal with anymore.

Aerion felt it as well, his eyes always lingering on you longer than any man should.

You snapped out of your needy thoughts from the sound of your father Maekar discussing something with your uncle Baelor. It was boring, nothing to help your ache.

Your eyes moved across the table to Aerion who was fiddling with his blade. His fingers wrapped around it, a tight grip.

His hands always looked so good wrapped around things, in your mind.

Aerion ate another nut and glanced over at you, catching you staring, once again. His eyes focused on you. Looking over your cleavage, taking in your dress, then to your lips, and stopping at your eyes. Then back to his knife, as if he didn’t just make you wet as fuck.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to get rid of the pulsing ache calling for attention.

But it was no use. So you excused yourself and wondered down to stone corridors. You were headed towards your temporary chambers, for the tourney, then your eyes stopped on Aerion’s chambers. The door open.

The large bed was practically begging for you.

So you peaked back and then walked inside, closing the heavy door behind you. Walking across the room, towards the large bed.

It’s already been a full day here. So when you sat down on the bed, it smelt of Aerion. The smell of Tahitian Vanilla on the sheets, followed by hints of smoke.

It was so him, the smoke for his obsession of believing he is a dragon, that the dragon lives strong inside of his blood.

You never truly understood that part of him. But that didn’t matter right now.

The sounds of your dress ruffling up was all that was heard.

Except for the only light in the room, the small fireplace crackling. As you discarded your undergarment somewhere on the floor.

Your dress all the way up, showing your hips, downwards. Your fingers moving down. Finally touching the aching spot that has been begging to feel anything at this point.

Aerion’s familiar smell in the room made you close your eyes, while your fingers teased your clit, then slide between your folds. Imagining what it would be like if it was his fingers instead, or even his tongue, anything.

You slipped one finger inside of yourself, moving slowly, then slipping inside a second. A moan leaving your pretty lips.

This felt good, but no where near to what your body ached for. You have touched yourself multiple times recently, trying to numb to ache for Aerion. But it never lasted.

You laid back on the bed fully, legs spread, knees up, fingers moving inside of you.

Unaware that the very man who made you feel like this, came to his chambers. Wondering what he was hearing inside.

Aerion opened the door and spotted you like that, a mess on his bed, in his chambers. Like an early gift.

He closed the door quietly and walked over, watching you at first. Before he saw enough.

“Having fun are we?” He sounded as if to mock you

You nearly yelped out loud at the sudden voice.

Your finger pulled out and you sat up faster than anyone could blink. Your cheeks flushed.

“Aerion.. I..” you tried to say something, anything, but it was no use

“I, think you should do something. Since you want to come into my chambers and pleasure yourself,” he sighed

“You might as well pleasure yourself for me to watch.” He continued his words

Then he pulled his long knife out and stepped closer to the bed, stabbing the blade into the mattress.

You almost jumped at the sudden action. A soft whimper leaving your lips.

Aerion noticed the mixture of fear and desire in your whimper and in your eyes.

His dick now pushing against the fabric of his pants.

“I want you to ride it.” He ordered

You should have run off or something, but instead your pussy basically quivered and ached to feel something inside of you.

So you didn’t deny him. You wanted to see how it felt.

You felt nervous but moved, holding your dress up only slightly. It would definitely cover his view, so you shouldn’t have been so shocked when he calmly spoke another order.

“Remove it.” Aerion pointed at your dress

Aerion watched as you managed to slip your dress off slowly. Painfully slow. It was your only way of teasing him in such a moment.

Once off he nodded, watching. Ready to watch you ride his knife. And he would definitely enjoy it, like the sick and twisted man he is.

You gulped at the sight. Your inner muscles clenched with anticipation.

You took in the sight of the thick, rounded tip of the handle. Wondering if that would even fit.

Aerion watched you, your eyes glanced up at him, seeing the look in his eyes and giving in.

You kneeled, then spread your legs further apart.

The rounded tip of the knife handle pressed against your folds, just shy of your entrance. You shifted forward enough that you were properly lined up.

You took a deep breath in and then lowered yourself onto it. It was cold. Making your walls clench tighter, expecting warmth. A whimper leaving your mouth.

Trying to adjust to the new feeling and size.

Slowly you pushed yourself down, taking it in until you nearly reached the bottom of the handle. Stopping there.

You let out a shaky breath as you adjusted to the full length and size inside of you.

You rolled your hips forward, moaning at the feeling.

Aerion watched, he was aching at the sight.

He pulled his clothing low enough to free himself, wrapping his own hand around his shaft.

Aerion stroked himself as he watched you ride not just any knife, but his, on his mattress.

It was perfect in his eyes.

“Fucking ride it like a dragon..” he groaned

“Be the whore I know you are.” He breathed

Your hands moved onto the mattress. Your hips moving not only forward and backwards, but up and down the handle length, fast.

It felt so good. Even better with the view of him before you. Touching himself from the sight of you.

You moved backwards, your hands behind your back on the mattress, holding yourself up as your hips moved. Taking the knife in and out at a fast pace.

Until you noticed Aerion stop his hand movements and move to the ground. Right at the edge of the bed. It looked like he was going to touch the knife, but he didn’t.

Instead he moved his mouth, his long, tongue flicking over your clit. Making you moan his name out loud.

Your hips bucking forward even more. His lips around your clit, sucking, his tongue flicking over it, over and over again.

“Aerion, I’m gonna-“ you whimpered

“Not yet.” He said, the pressed his tongue flat against your clit

He denied the idea of you having an orgasm right now.

You managed to wait, slowing your movements until he basically slapped your thigh, making you moan and move faster once again.

His tongue came back to you, moving perfectly.

“Aerion please” you begged

You were so wet at the sight of him gazing up at you.

The walls of your pussy squeezed around the handle, your orgasm not able to hold back any longer.

The mixture of your hips moving, the handle deep inside of you, his tongue and mouth on you. There was no way you could hold back anymore.

You let out a shaky breath and then a moan as your orgasm finally came crashing down.

Aerion watched you come undone, he looked pleased and turned on by the sight. Until he stood up and sighed.

“Not listening are we?” Aerion tilted his head for a moment

You froze at his words.

He stood right in front of you and he gripped onto your neck, his fingers tight around it.

His lips inches from mine as he leaned down.

Then without warnings our lips collided.

This was definitely not the end of this night.

AKOTSK Masterlist || Aerion Masterlist

[darknessisafriend]

The Emperor falls (on purpose) Commodus x you

Imagine Commodus playing pretend fight with you, his wife and letting you win because he good like that, thanks @jkdaddy01 for the suggestion, it was such an adorkable request <3

The afternoon sun poured into the villa’s private gardens, spilling golden light across the stone floor and blooming orange trees. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of lutes drifted from the servants' quarters, but here, it was quiet. Peaceful. Your home.

Commodus reclined lazily on a stone bench, one leg stretched out and the other bent as he absentmindedly twirled a grape between his fingers. He wore a simple tunic like in those days of rest at home, his curls slightly damp from the bath he’d just taken. He looked, for a moment, not like the Emperor of Rome, but like the boy you grew up with, the one who used to sneak into the kitchens with you at midnight and try to swordfight with wooden spoons.

“You’re staring.” he said without looking at you.

“I was just thinking how much more insufferable you’ve become since putting on that laurel crown.” you retorted, smiling as you leaned against a column you arms crossed over your chest.

He snorted. “You forget I was already unbearable long before that.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” you said sweetly. “In fact, I remember a certain boy crying because I pushed him into the fountain.”

He turned to look at you, eyes flashing with amusement. “I was eight. And you pushed me while I was reciting Virgil.”

“You deserved it. You had stolen my toys." you said, stretching out and coming to sit on the opposite bench. “Also, you were being pompous. And your toga was trailing like a lost sheep.”

He scoffed. “And yet, you were the one who got scolded.”

“I always got scolded. You were the ladies' golden boy.” you poutted playfully.

“That’s because I didn’t throw figs at the visiting senators.” he tilted his head knowingly.

You grinned. “Still worth it.”

There was a beat of silence as you both sank into the warm air and nostalgia. Then, with a flicker of mischief, you stood up and reached behind one of the columns, pulling out a pair of wooden training swords the guards had left from earlier drills.

Commodus raised an eyebrow. “No.”

You tossed one at him. He caught it instinctively.

“Yes.”

“You want to fight me?” he asked, incredulous. “I’m the Emperor.”

“And I’m bored.” you retorted with a grin.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

You smiled, stepping into the courtyard with an easy twirl of your blade. “It’s working.”

He sighed, standing slowly, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders. “You remember what happened the last time we sparred?”

“I do. I won.” you played with the wooden sword, slashing the air.

“You cheated.”

“You slipped.” you teased him, cocking an eyebrow.

“You kneed me in the groin!” he exclaimed dramatically.

“And you still whined about it for a week. Even though, you know I wouldn't hit you that hard, I need your 'groin' intact.” you giggled.

He gave you a look that was equal parts threat and affection. Then he stepped forward, taking up a ready stance, sword angled casually.

“You want a fight, little tyrant?” he purred. “Come and claim it.”

The marble courtyard was soon filled with the sound of clashing wooden swords and the occasional huff of breath. Servants had quietly vanished the moment they saw you both take up arms, no one wanted to risk interrupting that kind of storm.

“Yield, Caesar,” you taunted, twirling your practice blade as you circled him like a lioness in silk. Your tunict was tied up at the waist to give your legs freedom to move, and your smile was merciless.

Commodus grinned, sweat glinting at his temple. He could have disarmed you hours ago. He had the training, the reach, the reflexes. But he didn’t. Oh, no. He parried lazily, giving you just enough to keep you smug. He liked watching you fight, the way your brows furrowed, the sharp glint in your eyes. The fact that you were completely unafraid of him, Emperor or not.

“You wound me,” he breathed, feigning a dramatic stagger back. “A tyrant felled by his own Empress.” he played before feinting to the right, aiming at your shoulder. You dodged with ease and gave him a sharp thwack to the ribs with your blade. He grunted and stumbled back, dramatically clutching his side. “Ack! Betrayed in my prime!”

“You’re ridiculous.” you laughed, dropping your guard a bit.

He straightened slowly, eyes twinkling with mirth. “And you’re very lucky I love you.”

Before you could reply, he lunged again, this time spinning at the last second to try and catch your sword arm. You pivoted, raised your blade, and twisted your wrist just as he’d taught you years ago. His sword clattered to the ground.

A beat passed.

Then Commodus blinked at his empty hands.

“Victory is mine!” you cheered, saluting an invisible public.

Commodus dropped to his knees, hands raised in surrender. “Strike me down, then. Claim your throne, glorious conqueror.”

You stepped in close, sword tip to his chest, a smirk on your lips. “Any last words, traitor?”

His voice dropped low, teasing. “Only that if I must fall, I’m glad it’s under you.”

You stared down at him, pretending to scowl and then burst into laughter, tossing your sword aside as he reached out to catch your waist and pull you to him. You fell into his lap with a breathless grin.

"What cruel fate awaits me now?” he played, detailing your face lovingly.

You hummed in thought. Your nose brushing against his “Perhaps exile. Or execution. Or worse…”

“Worse?” he echoed, his lips ghosting over yours.

You leaned in close, tilting your head, lips brushing the edge of his ear. “Bath time.”

He burst out laughing as you bit his neck “Ah, yes. The worst punishment of all.”

The bath chamber was heavy with jasmine and steam. Marble basins overflowed with hot water, laced with violet oil. A single servant had prepared the space and vanished on command. You liked it best when it was only you and him.

Commodus stepped into the water first, groaning at the heat. He lowered himself in slowly, dark curls sticking to his forehead. His bare chest glistened with the damp, fresh from the spar and still faintly flushed.

You dropped your robe and slid in behind him. “I still can’t believe you let me win.”

He tilted his head back, eyes closing as you slid your hands up his shoulders from behind. “Let you? I was felled; vanquished; humiliated.”

You laughed, kissing the slope of his neck. “You’re the most dramatic man alive.”

“And you love it.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder. “I do.”

A moment passed in silence, just the soft sound of water lapping and your breath at his throat.

Then he turned slightly in the water, reaching back to cup your cheek. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured again, voice soft now. “But in all the right ways.”

You smiled, catching his fingers to kiss them, lingering his wedding ring. “And you’re not so fearsome when you’re soaking in flowers.”

His grin turned wicked. “Say that again once I get my strength back.”

You pressed your body against, lips grazing his ear. “I look forward to it, husband.”

tag list: @jkdaddy01 @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle​ @ohcarlesmycarles​ @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix​ @thatdummy-girl​ @galos-writing @hopelessdisasterr @buttergirlie​ @rosebloodstuffandthangss​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria​ @just-a-fucking-comedy​ @lady-carnivals-stuff​ @sierraclegane​​ @lemondedeniname​​ @hvproductions​​ @syvellsworld​​ @papercut-paranoia​​ @jokerflecker​​ ​ @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over​ @beatlebabe1996​ @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal @creativestorylove @cheese10001 @dantes-paradiso @pstvchld @chiclunatic

[targlocket]

ormund hightower needing to have a handkerchief with his wife's signature scent with him when he goes to King's Landing to survive the absolute stench that reeks there, pressing it to his nose between council meetings... or maybe a patch of her used smallclothes that he cut himself would be better. carrying his wife's smell whenever he goes. surely it helps.

[kookie-doughs]

Hii, idk if you’re taking requests or not, but if you are; could you write a fic where ‘What’s wrong with the Slytherins’ puffy is upset about something and she’s uncharacteristically mad, and how the Slytherins or her other friends would react? If you don’t write this I totally understand, thank you!

What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slyterin Gang X Reader

-Uh oh someone did an oopsie

Side Quest 1: An Angry Puffy

Draco Malfoy

Studying for your class had never been harder. You were on the verge of failing the class entirely, and it really didn’t help that Draco was sitting right beside you, constantly taking loud, snide jabs at Potter.

"Oi, Potter," Draco sneered, leaning across the aisle just enough for his voice to carry. "Surprised you managed to find the classroom without Granger holding your hand. Or did you get lost on the stairs again?"

Harry snapped, turning around in his seat with a scowl. "Shut your mouth, Malfoy. At least I don't need my father to buy my way into every room I walk into."

"Watch your tone, Potter," Draco hissed, his grey eyes narrowing. "You think you're untouchable just because the Daily Prophet treats you like some sort of tragic hero? You're a menace."

"And you're a pathetic git," Harry shot back, his knuckles turning white around his quill.

"Can you all just pipe down?!" you snapped, finally hitting your limit. You glared fiercely at the two of them. "Are we not in here for our class?"

Harry instantly looked struck, a flash of guilt crossing his face as he looked away. Draco, however, just stared at you, his mouth agape in sheer shock that someone had actually dared to talk down to him.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache brewing.

The professor strode into the room not long after, forcing the class to finally settle down. Still, the ambient whispering didn't stop. Eyes kept darting your way, the rest of the students completely staggered by your sheer audacity to yell at two of the school's most notorious boys.

With an irritated scowl, you furiously scribbled notes, pressing down so hard you nearly snapped the nib of your quill. Your neck was stiff and aching from constantly jerking your head back and forth between the blackboard and your parchment, trying desperately to catch up on everything you'd missed during the row.

The moment the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, you packed up your things with unnecessary force. Before leaving, you threw a blistering glare at the two boys. Deep down, you knew your grades weren't entirely their fault, but right now, you blamed them completely. You were thoroughly vexed. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you stormed out of the classroom without a single word, your boots clicking loudly against the stone floor as you stomped down the corridor.

he's uncomfortable because he's not used to being in trouble

has no idea what to do when you give him a bad look much more raise your voice

he's not the type to apologize

he gives gifts instead

he will keep giving gifts about whatever you got mad about and talk to you more until you forgive him

Blaise Zabini

A sharp knock sounded at your door, and you knew instantly who it was.

The moment you swung the door open, Blaise strode right past you into your room. Without a word of explanation, he snatched up the parchment and essays you had been working on from your desk, turned around, and scooped you clean off your feet.

"W-what on earth—Blaise! Put me down this instant!" you cried, kicking your legs and struggling against his chest.

"I am incredibly sorry I didn't send a message about the extra Quidditch practice," Blaise murmured smoothly, effortlessly carrying you out into the corridor. "Tell you what—I’ll look over the research and help you finish the essay over at the Three Broomsticks. My treat, completely."

You stopped thrashing against him, though your arms remained tightly crossed over your chest, a deep scowl firmly fixed on your face.

"I truly didn't mean to stand you up, love," Blaise added, his voice dropping to a softer, reassuring tone as he looked down at you. "I'll do the rest of paper work, and whatever else you need me to do to make it up to you."

"I am going to order absolutely everything on the menu while you do that entire essay by yourself," you threatened, huffing as you gave his back a firm, reprimanding swat. "And you are paying every single Knut of my tab."

"Yes, ma'am," Blaise chuckled, a brilliant, lazy smirk flashing across his handsome face as he finally set your feet back down on the stone floor.

He's the most normal

doesnt need theatrics for forgiveness he knows you and he knows you care about everyone you'd forgive them if they're sincere

he knows how to handle you and can handle you

he had an excuse to take you on a date and took it

he felt bad you worked on majority of the paper that will cost both your grades him treating you out was not his theatrics

Theodore Nott

A series of hurried, frantic knocks echoed through your dormitory. You frowned, knowing exactly who it was before you even crossed the room.

Stomping over to the door, you wrenched it open and glared fiercely at Theodore Nott.

"What do you want?" you demanded, crossing your arms.

Theo cleared his throat, adjusting his robes before giving you a remarkably grand, sweeping bow. "I am well aware of how much you adore the Muggle world and their peculiar culture. Therefore, I have taken inspiration from their finest customs to formulate my apology."

You blinked, utterly baffled as to why he was bringing up such a random fact at your doorstep.

"Muffliato! " Theo cast quickly, pointing his wand at the corridor to ensure privacy. He then snapped his fingers. "Enzo, hit it!"

Lorenzo Berkshire strolled out from around the corner, hoisting an enormous, clunky Muggle boombox onto his shoulder while peering through the viewfinder of a video camera. A loud, incredibly cheesy Muggle pop song about saying sorry began to blast from the speakers.

Right there in the middle of the corridor, Theodore began to dance. You had absolutely no idea how he had conceived this ridiculous plan, or where on earth he had learned those absurd steps, but his straight-faced seriousness made it ten times worse.

A burst of laughter escaped your lips; you couldn't hold it back if you tried.

"Theo, stop it!" you giggled, leaning against the doorframe.

With a dramatic flourish, Theo dropped to his knees, bowing his head sharply and raising his hands above him like a defeated knight offering a trophy. Resting in his palms was your barrette.

"Reparo wasn't working on the clasp—I reckon there's some sort of stubborn charm on it," Theo explained from the floor, completely breathless. "But I learned how Muggles fix these things manually, with a bit of wire and sheer willpower. I fixed it myself. Look, I truly am sorry for messing about with your things and breaking it."

You took the repaired barrette from his hands, the lingering annoyance completely melting away. You smiled down at him. "Come on, then. Put it in my hair?"

Theodore beamed, his eyes lighting up as he scrambled excitedly to his feet. He took the clip, gently securing it back into your hair with surprising care.

Once he was finished, he reached into his robes, pulled out a heavy velvet pouch—which clinked loudly with what you assumed were Galleons—and tossed it over to Lorenzo.

Enzo caught the pouch with a grin, lowering the camera. "Brilliant," he smirked, turning on his heel. "I'm off to show this video to the entire common room."

he's scared but not of you more like what you might do (ignore him, cut him off, blah blah)

He thinks muggles are your favorite culture (it is you tell him about everything you find out about them)

he is always over the top with his apologies because he doesnt know how

he learned his apologies from rom coms you watched together

he was supposed to serenade you like the movies but he recently watched a dancing movie with you and chose to dance instead

Theodore and Lorenzo usually bribe each other for favors

he's very childish with his apologies

he may or may not just want to make you laugh

Tom Riddle

The corridor was nearly deserted, save for two students whispering at the far end, when you spotted Tom standing before a glass display trophy cabinet.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle III!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the stone walls as you marched fiercely toward him, completely ignoring the middle name he despised.

A terrifying aura seemed to shift around him as he turned. His glare was sharp enough to cut glass, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his murderous expression faltered, twisting instead into sheer, irritated confusion.

"YN," he replied coldly, slipping his hands into his robes pockets.

"We had a deal! No secrets!" you fumed, stopping right in front of him, your chest heaving with anger. "Why on earth did you hide the fact that you’re still meeting with them? With those... You know what. You swear blind that you're just studying, and then I find out you're sneaking off into the dungeons to play dark lord with your father's little cult! You look me in the eye and lie to me, Tom, and I am absolutely sick of it! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? How reckless?"

Tom didn't utter a single sound. He didn't blink. He simply stared down his nose at you, his face a flawless mask of detachment. Then, without a word of defense, he stepped to the side, brushed past you, and began to walk away, leaving you completely baffled.

"What on earth? Tom!" you cried out, spinning around.

Tom paused. He turned his head slightly, his dark eyes flashing with the coldest glare you had ever seen—at least, the coldest he had ever directed at you.

"You do not yell at me. Especially not in public," he said, his tone quiet, precise, and utterly lethal. "If you intend to continue making a scene and throwing an emotional tantrum, I shall remove myself from the situation. When you have calmed yourself down, you may message me. Until then, do not follow me."

He turned on his heel and walked away, his dark robes billowing slightly behind him.

never raise your voice at him

he's pissed off

you can't scold or get mad at him

he's the type to walk out and not talk to you when you're mad

not because he doesn't respect you its just he thinks he will say (or worse do) something bad if he gets mad at you

will try his best to calm down when youre mad at him

he will approach you when you want to talk calmly rather than enraged

he will make the first move always because he knows he shouldn't walk out but he just hates heat of the moment arguments

he will message you every 30 minutes asking if you've calmed down or if you're ready to talk

will be more affectionate when you're calmer because he knows he shouldn't have walked away

Mattheo Riddle

"Mattheo! I told you to stop it with the bloody fights!" you cried, your voice echoing sharply down the deserted corridor. "Are you actively trying to get expelled?! Do my words just mean absolutely nothing to you anymore? You—"

Your voice fell short, the words dying in your throat as Mattheo stepped forward with terrifying speed. His hand slammed against the cold stone wall right beside your ear, the force of it pinning you completely in place.

"Can you perhaps not yell at me, gorgeous?" he murmured. A slow, lazy smile spread across his handsome face, but there was a brilliant, dangerous glint in his dark eyes that made your chest tighten with adrenaline.

Your breath caught completely.

His expression softened, just a fraction, as he reached up to gently twine a strand of your hair around his fingers, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against the crown of your head. "I am sorry about the row," he whispered, his rough voice sending a shiver down your spine. "But the gits pissed me off. They were speaking about you."

Slowly, he reached down and took your hand, guiding your palm up until it was pressed flat against his cheek, leaning into your touch like a man starved. "Don't look at me like that, baby. I'm sorry. Don't be frightened of me."

Hearing the slight, hidden desperation in his voice, you let out a long, defeated sigh, your tense shoulders finally beginning to relax against the wall.

"Stop getting into fights," you muttered, throwing a firm, warning glare up at him, though the anger had mostly melted away.

Mattheo turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, reverent kiss into the palm of your hand before nodding. His dark eyes locked onto yours, full of a fierce, unhinged devotion.

"Anything my darling wishes, I shall fulfill," he promised smoothly.

For now, at least.

doesnt like being yelled at

He's literally Tom but barely restrained

when he realizes youre scared he becomes more affectionate (but kinda comes off possessive)

he tries but fails to keep his emotions in check

he's actually sorry about this he hates getting you upset but he never had to deal with caring about whether someone is upset so he doesnt know how to deal with it

he will repeat it again yes but he will try his best to avoid it

riddles are not green flags in these moments

Lorenzo Berkshire

"Lorenzo Ber—"

Before you could even finish shouting his full name across the boys' dormitory, Lorenzo dropped straight to his knees right in front of you, snatching your hand in his.

"I apologize unreservedly for everything and anything wrong I have ever done," he pleaded, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Please forgive my utter impudence, princess. I meant absolutely no ill by my actions—I wouldn’t dare dream of upsetting you!"

Before you could even process his sudden theatrics, Theodore slipped up behind you. He placed his hands on your shoulders and began to massage them, trying to knead away your tension.

"Whatever’s gone wrong, it definitely wasn’t Enzo’s fault, pretty girl," Theo chimed in smoothly, his voice a soothing purr. "Just look at him. He’s completely pitiful right now, isn’t he? Does that face look like it belongs to someone who would willingly cause you a moment's grief?"

You looked down, utterly bewildered. True to Theo's words, Lorenzo was staring up at you with a remarkably convincing expression of pure, tragic regret.

"You don't even know what—"

"You stormed in here ready to use his full government name," Blaise scoffed from across the room. He was lounging back in an armchair, smirking as he watched the spectacle unfold. "All that git needs to know is that you're cross with him, and he instantly reverts into a groveling puppy."

"It’s true!" Lorenzo insisted, squeezing your hand tightly. "I am a humbled servant at your mercy, Y/N. If I’ve ruined your day, I shall never forgive myself. Tell me how to make amends! Do you want me to nick some tarts from the kitchens? Prank a Gryffindor?"

"See? He’s willing to risk detention for life just to see you smile," Theo added, his hands still working on your shoulders as he leaned in close. "Cut the bloke some slack, yeah? He’s practically trembling."

You let out a loud, defeated groan, finally giving up. Shrugging Theo’s hands off your shoulders, you yanked your hand away from Lorenzo and pulled him back up to his feet. Exhausted by their absolute nonsense, you threw yourself backward, crashing onto his neatly made four-poster bed.

"Never mind," you muttered into the mattress.

he never lets you get upset

hed beg for forgiveness before you could even let him know you were

Lorenzo gave Theodore a few galleons when you crashed to his bed

he was sincere with his apologies and so was his groveling puppy bit

Pansy Parkinson

Walking back to your dormitory after the final lesson of the day, you froze. Someone was slumped against the stone wall right next to your door, their face buried deeply in a bundle of black cloth that they were clutching like a lifeline.

They must have caught the sound of your approaching footsteps, because they slowly lifted their head.

It was Pansy. Your breath hitched. Her eyes and the tip of her nose were a raw, angry red, and her lips trembled the moment she saw you. Her grip on the fabric—which you now realized was your spare school robes—tightened until her knuckles turned white.

You were still deeply upset with her, but seeing her look so utterly broken made your stomach twist. A conflicted wave of emotion washed over you.

"Y/N..." she whimpered, her voice cracking. "I’m so sorry..."

She wasn't actively crying anymore. Looking at how flushed and puffy her face was, it looked as though she had simply cried herself completely dry before you arrived.

With shaking hands, she reached upward, holding out your robes to you like a peace offering.

"I'm so sorry, please don't hate me," she sniffled, her usual proud voice reduced to a desperate plea. "I'll stay away from your things. I won't even come near your room, I swear it! Just... please don't hate me. Don't stop being my friend..."

You let out a long, defeated sigh, the last of your anger evaporating. You took the robes from her hands and reached down, gently pulling her up from the cold stone floor.

"I wouldn't stop being your friend over something like this, Pans. Don't be daft," you cooed softly, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug. "We're alright. I promise."

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled against your shoulder, burying her face into your neck.

You held her close, pressing a comforting kiss to her temple. "We're okay. Come on, let's get you inside out of the corridor."

She was scared

she tried approaching you in your class but got scared

she saw how you were smiling and she thought youd never do that around her anymore because of what she did

she confided to blaise and draco (who scared her saying you hate her making her cry on the way to your dorm)

you're her only friend (in her mind she thinks the others were just because of their family connections) so she was absolutely scared of losing you

Masterlist

Hiii I wasnt expecting a request I got so excited about it I hope it was what you're looking for

I didn't know how to do it. i was going to do a more written version to show how angry you actually were but it was gonna get repetitive and feel too long if they were all written so i had some text

I added some personal notes on the end of each to tell more about how they are

the Riddles were my favorite to write because i like the idea I had of them I was gonna write Tom worse but I felt like he'd be more composed with my story

Side Quests are only for requests I dont think I'd write any on my own so if you liked these you can send an ask or a message or whatever I'm down for request i love getting interactions from you guys <3

thank you for your support guys ily all

-kookiedough

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @starfulani @otakusimp1 @scarredtarts @midnights-with-him @wefinnabeindapitt @yavintagebae @corsetdollz @vanillabeanswirltwist @oceaneyesofeywa @meghmikaelson @reallysparklychaos @unseensoulnomad @catnoodle32

[kookie-doughs]

What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.

Profiles

Facts And Infos

Tom is a year older than Mattheo but theyre in the same year as he didnt want to leave his brother alone when he got his letter

Tom is the most popular for both good and bad reasons he's very two faced

Mattheo is popular because theyre afraid of him only masochists wants him

Pansy makes a lot of money by selling their number

they love to bully Draco and Mattheo (usually Draco hes also the fall guy as the youngest of the group)

Blaise keeps track of Amorentia scent of the gang every year (rarely gives accurate information)

When Tom gets angry he usually transfigures them but he was particularly embarrassed as this one so he cursed the two

Tom is the only one that the teachers adore in the group

Blaise is Tom's favorite in the group

there's way too many Tom facts in this list as he's my favourite

Mattheo and Tom have a love hate relationship they dont like each other much but would kill for each other

Malfoy is the richest of the group so they usually make him do errands or make him buy shit

Lorenzo is usually either too much or too less so he's not really that talkative

They have different class schedules

Draco and Mattheo share "Care For Magical Creatures" • Draco and Pansy share "Potions" Draco and Lorenzo share "Alchemy" Pansy and Theodore share "Arithmancy" Pansy, Mattheo and Theodore share "Astronomy" Blaise and Theodore share "Defense Against Dark Arts" • Blaise, Draco and Pansy share "Charms" Tom and Blaise share "Potions" Tom and Mattheo share "Divination" • Tom and Draco share "Transfiguration" Tom and Lorenzo share "History of Magic" Mattheo, Lorenzo and Theodore share "Muggle Studies"

Tom is the dad of the group (zabini is the mom) professors would call him if someone in his group skips class (it happens often) things dont end well for the class skipper

The timeline here is:

Tom and Mattheo are son of Voldemort (Tom Riddle II) Harry Potter things still happened No more Voldemort tho so like after he did Harry he just gone now leaving his kids orphaned People loves Tom despite his parents and his namesake because he's very persuasive and manipulative

The group hates the golden trio

people prefer the riddles over harry despite the stories

Your profile isnt here because it wouldnt matter much :3

Masterlist | Next

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay

[riddikulus-tilltheend]

Watch Out, Dumbass!

Gerard Way x Reader

The camp sat somewhere in New Jersey where the highways dissolved into two-lane blacktops, then into gravel, finally into dirt roads that got thinner and thinner until the pine trees crowded the sky out completely. Everything looked the same if you looked too long. One lake that smelled faintly of old gasoline and lily pads. Six cabins with screen doors that never shut right, always leaving a three-inch gap for the moths. 

A mess hall with warped pine floors that groaned a low whuff sound whenever the heavy metal food trays hit the tables. A rec field of patchy crabgrass that nobody wanted to use once the July humidity rolled in, turning the air into something you felt like you had to chew. A dock made of red, pressure-treated wood that creaked with a rhythmic, hollow rattle even when the water was flat and nobody was walking on it.

By day, the ugliness was harmless. It was hidden under the chaotic noise of aerosol sunscreen hiss, the sharp, sour tang of citronella, and the metallic peep of counselor whistles. Kids ran around with their shins caked in dry mud, wearing wet socks because some nine-year-old from Paramus always lost their flip-flops during the transition from swim hour to arts and crafts. You spent your afternoons pulling splinters out of small palms and untangling cheap fishing lines from the low-hanging birch branches.

By night, the camp didn't just get dark; it thickened. The heat stayed, trapped under the canopy like steam under a lid, but the light vanished instantly. The pines became solid black walls. The lake turned into a sheet of dark obsidian, flat and oily, completely impossible to judge for distance—you could be looking at twenty feet of water or a mile of nothing. 

The cheap plastic flashlights the camp issued only reached about ten feet before the beams turned yellow and gray, swallowed by the density of the woods. Cabin windows didn't let you see inside; they just reflected the treeline back at you in strange, warped angles. 

Down by the pump house, the old diesel generators buzzed with a rhythmic, wet hiccup, and every sound—a dropped flashlight, a throat clearing—carried three times farther than it had at noon. Every summer camp had a story. This one had the lake, and the story changed depending on who was smoking behind the tool shed.

Miller, the archery counselor who wore his whistle like a personality trait, swore it was a twelve-year-old girl in 1974 who slipped off the end of the dock twenty minutes after curfew while trying to catch bullfrogs. An old timer named Pete, who drove the food delivery truck, claimed it happened in '86 and it was a boy from Cabin 4 trying to swim across on a dare. Sarah in the infirmary insisted there was never any drowning at all—that the director in the nineties invented the whole thing because he got tired of pulling teenagers out of the weeds at two in the morning.

But every version ended exactly the same way. The state police divers went down, stayed down for six hours, and came up with nothing but handfuls of black lake muck. Body never recovered.

The first week of June, everybody still acted like strangers pretending to be the people they’d written about on their applications. People introduced themselves with that bright, aggressive energy that high school seniors use when they’re trying to look like adults. The other counselors laughed too loud at jokes that weren’t funny. They wore pristine cargo shorts and brand-new hiking boots, looking like they were auditioning for a commercial about outdoor recreation.

Gerard never did that.

You noticed him the first morning because he looked like he had been dropped into the camp by a low-flying plane. While the rest of the staff wore the stiff, bright-red polo shirts with the camp logo screen-printed on the breast, Gerard’s shirt looked like it had spent three months at the bottom of a laundry hamper. The collar was permanently curled inward, the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows in uneven folds, his dark hair was already sticking to his forehead from the morning humidity before the breakfast bell had even rung. 

He didn't carry a clipboard. He carried a black hardbound sketchbook with a split spine, and the knuckles of his right hand were permanently stained with Pilot pen ink that stayed blue no matter how much of that industrial pink soap he used in the bathhouse.

At orientation, while the director went over the correct ratio of bleach-to-water for cleaning the latrines, Gerard sat in the back row drawing intricate, ribbed insect wings over the margins of the attendance sheet. When the director switched to the emergency evacuation map, He didn't look up, but his hand went up. “Hypothetically,” he said, his voice level and entirely devoid of irony, “if a ghost starts the fire, do we follow the standard perimeter line, or is there a separate protocol for supernatural arson?”

The director had paused, his marker hovering over the whiteboard. Nobody laughed except Gee, a small, private sound behind his teeth. You had looked at him from three rows down and thought, Oh, you're going to be a problem.

By the third week, night patrol had become a routine, mindless and heavy. Neither of you talked about why you ended up on the same shift anymore. The camp scheduler, a tired college junior named Mike who smelled like weed and damp towels, had stopped looking at the sign-up sheet. He just wrote your names together in the binder because if Gee disappeared near the canoe lockers, someone would eventually find you sitting on the upturned aluminum hulls waiting for him. Camp had a way of turning people into pairs, like matching socks after a wash.

“Hey,” a voice called out from the darkness near Cabin 3. It was Chloe, the girls' counselor, her face illuminated from below by the blinding glare of her phone screen. She was sitting on the top step of the porch, slapping a mosquito on her ankle. “You guys got extra batteries? Mine's dying and the girls in five swear they heard something behind the water tower.”

“Tell them it's just the raccoons eating the leftover peach cobbler,” you said, stopping by the gravel path. “I did,” Chloe sighed, not looking up from her screen. “They think the raccoons are possessed. If they start crying again, I'm sleeping in the staff lounge.”

Gee didn't say anything to her. He was standing three feet back on the grass, his flashlight beam aimed directly into the upper branches of a dead oak tree. The light flickered once, the cheap spring inside the casing rattling. “See you at breakfast,” Chloe muttered, sliding back inside the screen door with a dull clack.

You started walking again. The night air was thick enough to make your cotton shirt stick to the space between your shoulder blades, the fabric damp and heavy. The cabins had finally gone quiet—the kind of artificial quiet that meant thirty kids were pretending to sleep while waiting for the counselors to get out of earshot. Your job was just to walk the loop. Check the latrine locks. Make sure nobody was trying to sneak down to the water with a pack of stolen Newports.

But Gee’s flashlight was still pointing anywhere but the ground. He swept it across the side of the tool shed, then up into the dense pine needles, then toward the dark space between Cabins 1 and 2 where the shadows didn't seem to have an edge.

You watched him do it three times before you stopped. “You suck at patrol.” He didn't drop the beam. He just tilted his head slightly. “What are you talking about.” “You’re supposed to be looking for tripped wires or teenagers,” you said, gesturing to the yellow circle of light currently illuminating a cluster of brown mushrooms on a high log. “You keep pointing that thing into the middle of nowhere.” He shrugged, his shoulder rising in that slow, defensive jerk he always used when he was being stubborn. He swept the beam higher, into the dark void above the brush. “I’m checking.”

“For what?”

Gee turned his head, his eyes catching the faint back-scatter of the flashlight. His expression was one of immediate, deep-seated offense. “You've been here three weeks and you’re asking me that? Have you looked at those trees? They look like teeth.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small chuckle you meant to give didn't quite come out. The gravel under your sneakers sounded incredibly loud in the space between the buildings. The woods felt different tonight—closer, like the treeline had crept six inches toward the path while you were at dinner. 

There was no moon, just a heavy ceiling of clouds that made the dark feel three-dimensional. Your brain, primed by three weeks of hearing Miller’s stupid ghost stories over cold coffee, was beginning to turn every knot in the pine bark into a pair of eyes.

Gee noticed. You knew he did because his boots stopped scuffing against the stones. He slowed down until he was walking exactly at your shoulder, his long stride shortened to match yours.

When he spoke again, the performative weirdness was gone. His voice was lower, dropped into that quiet register he usually kept for the back row of the mess hall.

“You actually scared?”

“No,” you said. It came out too fast, the syllable clipped and sharp.

Gee stopped walking. He just stood there in the dark, the flashlight pointed at his own sneakers, watching you. You hated how quickly he had learned the way your shoulders hitched when you were nervous. You crossed your arms over the red camp logo on your shirt, pulling the fabric tight. “...A little bit.”

His mouth twitched, the corner of his lip pulling up in a small knowing way that usually preceded him calling you a baby. But he didn't. Instead, he reached out with his left hand, his thumb catching the plastic switch of his flashlight, and clicked it lower, angling the beam so it stayed directly on the dirt six feet in front of your toes. It didn't make the woods any brighter, but it made the world feel small enough to handle. You didn't say thank you, and he didn't ask for it.

You reached the dock five minutes later because every path in this place eventually sloped downward toward the water. During the day, the lake was just a messy, brown-green nuisance full of goose droppings and floating pine cones. But now, under the cloud cover, the surface had gone dead. It looked like a solid sheet of black linoleum. It didn't ripple; it didn't reflect the trees. It looked like someone had cut a hole right out of the floor of the county and left the empty space behind.

Gee walked out onto the wood first. The old timbers gave a long, wet screeeeech under his weight, the sound traveling out across the black water and dying somewhere in the center without an echo.

The dock didn't have a railing. It was just ten feet of rough, unpainted planks extending over the black water, supported by three wooden pilings that had been rotting since the beginning of time. At the very end, someone had left an empty plastic milk crate and a rusted coffee can full of dried-up nightcrawlers from three days ago. The smell of the lake was different out here—colder, metallic, with a sharp undercurrent of decaying lily pads.

Gee walked right to the edge, his boots completely silent now that he was off the gravel. He stood with his toes hanging slightly over the water, looking out into the blank nothingness. “Imagine being the diver,” he said, his voice carrying that breathless, eager edge he got whenever he talked about horror movies or weird local history. He didn't look back at you. “Six hours down there in the dark. Just feeling around in the mud with your bare hands, waiting for your fingers to touch a sneaker. Or a ribcage.” “Don’t,” you said, staying a few feet back, near the shore end of the dock. The wood felt damp through the soles of your shoes.

 “Seriously, Gee, it's late enough.” “I'm just saying.” He turned around, the yellow light of his flashlight catching his face from below, making his eyes look deep and shadowed. He had a faint, pointed smile. “If you were going to hide a body, this is where you'd do it. The bottom isn't even dirt. It's just ten feet of liquid peat moss. It sucks things down.”

"You're deeply unhinged," you muttered, crossing your arms tighter. “I'm a realist,” he corrected, though the grin widened. He turned back to the water, lifting the flashlight to shine it straight down into the lake right by his toes. The water didn't clear up under the beam. It just showed the first six inches of murky, tea-colored liquid, full of tiny, suspended gray specks of dust and organic matter that drifted in the current.

Then, the flashlight flickered. It didn't just dim—it died. The darkness slammed back into place so fast it felt physical, pressing against your chest. “Gee,” you warned, your voice tighter now. “Fix it.” “Hang on,” he said. You could hear the plastic casing rattle in the dark as he smacked it against the palm of his hand. Once. Twice. Thump. Thump.

On the third hit, the light didn't click back on. Instead, a light came on under the water.

It wasn't his flashlight. The beam from his flashlight had been a cheap, sickly yellow. This light was a pale, diffused greenish-white, coming from deep within the lake muck, about four feet out from the edge of the dock. It was faint, glowing like a dying neon sign buried under blankets, illuminating a small, blurry circle of water from beneath.

You froze. The hair on your arms stood up so fast it pricked. “Gee...what is that?”

Gee didn't answer right away. You heard his breath catch—a sharp, sudden inhale through his nose. But then, that familiar, low chuckle came out of him. 

“Oh, man,” he whispered, his voice dripping with pure, dark excitement. He dropped to his knees on the wet wood, leaning his head over the edge to get a closer look at the glow. “Are you seeing this? Tell me you're seeing this. Someone must have dropped a waterproof lantern down there during the noon swim. Or maybe it's phosphorescent algae. Is there bioluminescence in fresh water? I don't think there is, but—” “Gee, it's moving,” you whispered.

The glow wasn't stationary but rather rising, very slowly, turning the dark water around it into a sickly, translucent green. And as it got closer to the surface, the shape changed. It wasn't a round lantern. It was long. It had edges. You backed up one step, your sneaker squeaking against the wood. “I'm going back to the cabins. I'm not doing this.” “Wait, look at the shadow,” Gee urged, his voice frantic with that weird, artistic fascination. He was practically leaning his chest against the planks now. “There's something caught in the light. It looks like...a hand? No, it's just weed. It has to be.”

The light broke the surface. There was no sound. No splash. The water just parted, a standard, red camp flashlight—the exact model every counselor carried, with the little plastic loop on the end—floated up to the top. It was completely dry. It didn't have a single drop of water on the lens. It floated on its side, its beam shining straight up into Gee’s face, casting his features in a stark, blinding white.

You stared at it for three long seconds. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, but then, the sheer absurdity of it clicked. A dry flashlight floating up from the bottom of a lake?

You let out a loud, breathless laugh, the tension leaving your shoulders in a heavy rush. You walked forward and kicked the back of Gee's boot. “You absolute jerk,” you said, wiping a hand across your forehead. “You almost had me. Seriously. How long did you spend rigging that? Did you tie it to a fishing line under the dock?”

Gee didn't move. He stayed on his knees. “Come on,” you said, reaching down to grab the back of his wrinkled shirt to pull him up. “The dry flashlight trick? It's creative, I'll give you that. Did Mike help you set it up before patrol? Is that why he put us together?”

Gee still didn't say anything. When you pulled on his shirt, his body felt completely rigid, like a piece of timber. He slowly turned his head to look up at you. The white light from the floating flashlight hit his face perfectly, and that was when your smile faded.

Gee’s skin was completely bloodless. His mouth wasn't twitching into a grin anymore; it was slightly open, his lips dry. But it was his eyes that made your stomach drop into your shoes. They were wide, fixed on you with a look of raw, unvarnished terror that you had never seen on him before. His pupils were tiny pinpricks.

“I didn't do it,” he whispered. His voice didn't have that dramatic, spooky theater tone he always used. It was thin. It trembled so hard the words barely formed. “Gee, stop it,” you said, but the laugh died in your throat. “The joke's over. It's not funny anymore.” “I have my flashlight,” he said, his voice dropping into a breathless panic. He raised his right hand into the white beam.

Clutched tightly in his ink-stained fingers was his own plastic camp flashlight. The lens was dark. “I didn't drop anything,” Gee whispered, his chest heaving as he looked back down at the dry, bright red casing floating in the water. “And...and that's not mine.”

He pointed a shaking finger at the floating light. Written across the side of the red plastic, in thick, black permanent marker that had begun to bleed into the plastic years ago, was a name.

MILLER.

From three hundred yards away, up by the dark silhouette of Cabin 3, the heavy screen door slammed shut with a dull, distant clack. But Miller was supposed to be asleep. And the flashlight in the water was still on.

The air on the dock didn't just feel humid anymore; it felt heavy, like the atmosphere had gathered itself up into a knot right over the two of you. Gee didn't stand up. He stayed on his hands and knees, staring at Miller’s name on the dry plastic. His breathing was shallow and too fast, a small, rhythmic wheeze catching in his throat every time his chest hit the planks. He looked like he wanted to look away from the water but couldn't find the leverage to pull his eyes back.

“Gee,” you said. Your own voice sounded fake to you, thin and tinny, like it was coming out of a cheap radio. “Let's go. We're done with patrol.” He didn't move. “Look at the lens,” he whispered. “No. We’re going back.” “Look at the lens,” he repeated, his voice rising just enough to hit that sharp, cracked note of real panic.

Against your own better judgment, your eyes dropped back down to the floating cylinder.

The light inside the flashlight wasn't a standard bulb. The white glare that was hitting Gee’s chin and nose wasn't steady anymore. It was pulsing. Not flickering like a loose battery—pulsing with the slow, deliberate rhythm of a heavy heartbeat. Bright. Dim. Bright. Dim.

And under the glass lens, where the small reflective cone should have been silver and clean, something black was pressed flat against the inside of the bulb. It looked like a tiny, wet clump of lake weeds. No—it was too uniform. It looked like dark, sodden hair, trapped inside the waterproof seal, drifting slightly in the tiny bit of air left in the casing.

Then, the flashlight turned. It didn't drift on the current. There was no current; the lake was a sheet of dead glass. The red plastic tube simply pivoted on its axis, rotating a slow ninety degrees until the beam wasn't pointing up at Gee’s face anymore.

It pointed directly down the length of the dock. Toward the shore. Toward the path back to the cabins. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the grey, rotting planks of the walkway. And right where the wood met the gravel of the shoreline, the light hit a pair of feet.

They weren't moving. They were just standing there, perfectly still in the circle of white, pulsing light. They were bare, the skin a sickly, waterlogged greyish-white, the kind of color a piece of birch bark gets after it’s been sitting in a puddle for a month. The toes were caked in thick, black lake muck that had dried into a crust around the nails, but water was still dripping off the heels, dark and slow, making small, wet circles in the New Jersey dirt.

Your breath completely died in your lungs. You couldn't even click your teeth together to make a sound. Gee saw it too. A low, wet gasp came out of his mouth—the sound someone makes when they get hit hard in the stomach. He reached out blindly behind him, his ink-stained fingers catching the hem of your denim shorts, his grip so tight you could feel his knuckles digging into your thigh. He wasn't the weird, artsy guy who liked ghosts anymore. He was just nineteen, and he was terrified.

“Don't look up,” Gee whispered. His voice was trembling so violently the words almost ran together. “Don't look up at it.” The red flashlight in the water gave one last, bright throb and went completely black. The darkness that followed was total. The kind of dark that feels like it’s filling your ears and your mouth. For three seconds, there was nothing but the sound of the diesel generator dragging its heavy hum across the camp from half a mile away.

Then, from the shore end of the dock, came a sound.

Squelch.

It was the wet, heavy sound of a bare, waterlogged foot lifting off the mud.

Thump.

The first plank of the dock groaned. A long, low, wet screech of ancient wood bending under a weight that shouldn't have been there.

Squelch.

Thump.

It was coming out onto the wood. It was between you and the path. Gee didn't scream, but the air came out of him in a sharp, ragged sob. His grip on your shorts tightened until the fabric tore slightly at the seam. He began to pull himself backward on his knees, drag-shuffling away from the sound, his boots scraping uselessly against the wet wood until his back hit your shins.

“Gee,” you choked out, your hands coming down to grab his shoulders. You couldn't look away from the blank, black space where the walkway met the shore. “Gee, what do we do, what do we do—” “The water,” he breathed, his head shaking violently against your knee. “We have to go in the water.”

But the lake was where it came from.

Another squelch. Another thump. It was closer now. Five feet. The smell hit you then—not the normal, metallic smell of the evening lake, but something old and closed up, like a trunk that had been buried under wet dirt since the seventies. A thick, sour reek of stagnant peat and rot that made your throat close up.

And then, right in front of your face, a flashlight clicked on. It was Gee’s flashlight. The cheap yellow beam flickered twice, then held, casting a weak, trembling circle of light exactly three feet in front of you. The light didn't reach the head of whatever was walking. It only reached the waist. It was wearing a red camp polo shirt. The fabric was shredded at the hem, dark with ancient slime, and the screen-printed logo on the breast was completely rotted away, leaving only a jagged, black hole over the heart. The skin beneath the fabric wasn't solid; it looked soft, like wet paper, shifting slightly with every heavy, unnatural step.

The thing stopped. The yellow light from Gee's shaking hand traveled slowly up the red shirt, past the sunken collar, to the throat. The skin of the neck was tight, pulled back against the bone, dark grey and laced with the green veins of the lake.

“Please,” Gee whimpered into the dark. It wasn't a plan. It was just a plea. The head tilted. You could hear the dry, rhythmic click-click-click of vertebrae popping inside the neck, like someone cracking their knuckles under a pillow.

Then, a voice came out of it.

It didn't sound like a monster. It sounded like Miller. It had Miller’s slight north-Jersey drawl, the same pitch he used when he was yelling at the kids during archery practice. But it was coming out of a mouth that didn't move, the words sounding flat and hollow, as if they were being played through a speaker at the bottom of a well.

“Hey,” the voice said. “You guys got extra batteries? Mine's dying.” The thing took one more step forward, into the full yellow glare of the light, and its hand reached out.

The fingers were long, the skin split open at the knuckles to show the white bone beneath, and clutched in its palm was a second red flashlight—crushed, full of black mud, and dripping a slow, steady stream of yellow, battery-acid fluid onto the wood.

The physical space of the dock suddenly felt entirely useless. There was no room to move, no room to breathe. Gee didn't try to stand. With a frantic, animal jerk of his shoulders, he threw his weight sideways, his ink-stained fingers ripping away from your shorts as he launched himself off the edge of the wood.

There was a loud, hollow smack as his body hit the obsidian surface of the lake, followed by a heavy, churning splash that sounded terrifyingly loud in the dead quiet of the night.

For a single, agonizing second, you were entirely alone with the thing in the red shirt. The sour, ancient reek of it filled your nose. The crushed flashlight in its split-skinned palm was still dripping that yellow acid, sizzling faintly where it hit the damp pine planks.

Gee’s head broke the surface of the water right by the pilings. He gasped, a wet, choking sound as he lunged upward, his hands clawing at the rough, slimy wood of the dock near your sneakers. “Jump,” he wheezed. His hair was plastered across his face, his eyes wide and white in the dark. He wasn't looking at you; he was looking just past your shins at the soft, wet paper skin of the throat above you. “Jump, please, just jump—”

You didn't think. Your knees buckled, and you threw yourself off the timber planks, falling backward into the dark. The water didn't feel like water. It felt like cold oil. It slammed into your chest, knocking the remaining air out of your lungs as you sank into the absolute blackness below the surface. The lake muck at the bottom wasn't solid; your feet hit nothing but a thick, gelatinous give that seemed to actively pull at your shoes, trying to anchor you into the liquid peat moss.

You scrambled wildly, your hands cutting through the tea-colored dark until your fingers caught the rough denim of Gee's jacket. He was already moving, his long limbs kicking frantically against the heavy drag of the water, pulling both of you along the side of the dock toward the shallow gravel of the shore.

The two of you broke the surface six feet away, hacking and coughing up the bitter, metallic taste of the lake. “The path,” Gee choked out, his voice a raw, scraping whisper. He scrambled onto the wet stones of the shoreline, his boots slipping on the algae-slick rocks. He didn't look back at the end of the dock. He just grabbed your wrist with a bruising, desperate grip and hauled you up onto the dirt.

You ran. You didn't look at the trees that looked like teeth. You didn't care about the gravel tearing into your wet sneakers. You just ran toward the yellow safety of the cabin loop, the heavy, humid air tearing at your lungs. Gee was a half-step ahead of you, his wrinkled camp shirt soaked through and clinging to his shoulder blades, his breath coming in jagged, rhythmic rattles.

When you burst into the clearing by Cabin 3, the world looked completely normal.

The diesel generator was still buzzing its wet hiccup. The yellow light from the porch was still shining on the grass. And sitting on the top step of the cabin porch, exactly where she had been twenty minutes ago, was Chloe. She was still looking down at the blue glare of her phone, her thumb scrolling slowly.

Gee didn't stop until he reached the gravel walkway right in front of her. He slammed into the wooden handrail, his chest heaving, water dripping from his chin onto the dry dirt.

Chloe blinked, finally looking up from her screen. She looked at Gee’s soaked clothes, then at yours, her eyebrows drawing together in mild disgust. “What did you guys do, fall off the dock? You smell like a swamp.”

Gee couldn't speak. He just stood there, his hands flat against his knees, his face the color of skim milk. “Miller,” you managed to say, your throat burning from the lake water. “Where’s...where’s Miller?” Chloe rolled her eyes, turning back to her phone. “I told you, he’s in the staff lounge. He went up there like an hour ago to get a soda or something. Why?”

Before you could answer, the heavy wooden screen door of the staff lounge—located fifty yards away across the dark rec field—opened with a loud, familiar screeech. A tall figure stepped out into the porch light. He was wearing the bright red camp polo shirt and cargo shorts. He had a silver can of soda in his hand. He popped the tab, the sharp crack-fizz carrying clearly across the quiet grass. It was Miller. He looked completely dry. He looked completely alive. He looked over toward where the three of you were standing under the Cabin 3 light, raised his soda can in a brief, silent greeting, and turned to walk down the steps toward his own cabin.

You let out a long, trembling breath, your shoulders dropping. The cold dread in your stomach began to lift, replaced by that sudden, embarrassing rush of relief. “See?” you whispered to Gee, a weak, breathless laugh bubbling up in your throat. You reached out to nudge his wet shoulder. “It was a prank. It had to be a prank. He must have had a second shirt...he must have used a speaker or something. He was just trying to screw with us.”

Gee didn't laugh. He didn't even look at Miller. He was looking down at his own right hand.

In the yellow light of the porch, you followed his gaze. Clutched tightly in Gee's grey, ink-stained fingers was the cheap plastic flashlight he had been holding the entire night. The casing was wet from the lake, but it was intact. He slowly turned it over.

There, written across the red plastic in thick, faded black permanent marker, was a name.

MILLER.

Gee’s voice was barely a breath against the humid night air. “If I have his flashlight,” Gee whispered, his eyes slowly rising to meet yours, “then whose light did we leave in the water?” From the dark woods behind Cabin 3, deep within the black wall of pine trees where the flashlights couldn't reach, came the faint, wet sound of a heavy screen door slamming shut.

Clack.

[wh2spersofthehe4rt]

Hhhrrrnnnggggg Ray Toro x masc/gn reader angst

a bittersweet memory.

ray toro × gn!reader

hello hello!! thank you for your request!! im still not used to writing Ray yet but i wanna give it a shoot, forgive me if I wrote him to be ooc!! :(( but yippiee ray toro!! MY GOAT !

tw: hurt/no comfort, right person, wrong time? maybe its the wrong person and wrong time. you are just one of those people who was there for the ride till you are tired of just being - just there. slowly drifting apart, not feeling like youre enough.

I had fun writing this, me love angst, especially with no comfort hehe!

enjoy!

fic under 'keep reading'

divider by : @pixopix & @v6que

Everything about him is foggy, you don't remember much about him. You didn't hit your head and loose your memories. That wasn't the case at all. Your body decided one day to just..let him go.

You didn't know how it was like for him. You can only think for yourself. Feel for yourself. Right? I mean the years of friendships. It didn't matter as long as you guys could be there for each other. Help one another, support each other.

Right?

Then why? Why does it hurt so bad to think to him?

To see him everywhere now. On posters, magazines, even the fucking radio. He was just..everywhere.

It's like you couldn't escape him, like the universe wants you to remember what you could never have. No matter how hard you tried.

The worst part of it - he didn't do anything wrong.

Right person wrong time, one would say.

You didn't want to believe until it happened. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad and you didn't know what to do with all the pain that was seeping out of your chest. Clutching it as if it would even soothe it the ache.

You just miss him.

You just miss Ray.

Ray's fingers worked on the guitar like it was made for him. He was in record studio and invited you over. You guys were sitting side by side on the chairs. Strumming tunes one could not even think about so easily. You watched as he was in his own bubble. Making tunes for their first album. The stress was there, don't get it wrong. However he just makes it effortless.

"Hey, do you think that sounds good?"

Ray's voice broke your attention on his hands.

"Huh? What? Yeah! I mean, I don't know much about music but- it sounds amazing, Ray. The album is gonna be amazing. I can see that already."

You gave him an awkward thumbs up, feeling a little flustered at the small little smile he gave to you. He lets out a soft chuckle at your response.

"You *sure* you were listening to me play? Or were you thinking about something else?"

You punched his shoulder lightly before shaking your head.

"Don't flatter yourself Mr Toro."

Ray punched your shoulder back lightly with a laugh of his own.

"How can I when I have someone like you who is doing that all for me. Hm?"

You looked down at your lap, trying to hide your smile.

Watching him perform for the first time. It was, insane. In a good way. He was playing as if he wouldn't be allowed to touch the instrument once again. Like he was running out of time. It was insane. You couldn't form words on what you were looking at- you didn't understand how someone like him even exist. He was meant to perform for everyone. If anything you felt nothing but excitement to see what is in store for them all.

Time passed, you guys were getting older. The first album did well- way too well. However, when Three Cheers came out - oh, they were overnight sensations. You were still there for it all, you and Ray got closer overtime as well. Somehow friendship slowly turned into more, his fingers would brush over your when you guys stood side by side backstage. Hugs lingered a little bit longer. He would find you in any crowded room and just stand beside you.

If crowds were too much when leaving certain venues. Ray's hand would either be holding yours or be on your lower back. One hotel room would always be empty because you would be in each other's room.

You didn't know how it even came about, but one lead to another and his lips was on yours after a performance.

Backstage, he just finished his performance and he was still holding his guitar. Ray's arm around your waist and he kissed you.

Just like that.

You kissed him back, giggling into it- you were together now. You guys just knew.

The kiss was loving, comforting- it made you melt against him.

It was meant to be. Y'know?

And you thought-

Just for that moment, everything was alright.

Like nothing could hurt you anymore.

You were happy, so fucking happy.

There's a whole other world for celebrities, singers, actors - whatever.

It is not the same as what you know from watching movies, shows or in books. This is way more different.

-way more real.

Expectations were something the band always had in mind. Not only for fans but for themselves. To be better, to practice hard till playing the chords was second nature to them. They were working themselves to the bone. You were there for them all, especially for Ray. Staying at the studio together with him, checking on him, supporting him in any way you can.

Watching him becoming a muse to many people, his sense and love for music, becoming bigger- collaborations, events his bands would go too. Everything was just getting bigger.

The gap between the both of you was getting bigger as well.

It just seems like you were the only one who knew about this never ending gap. You reached out, you really did try to reach out and meet him in the middle or wherever he was in life but you just couldn't.

You felt his fingers slowly slip from your hold. You tried to hold on a little longer but you just..couldn't.

Missed calls, spending time with you, messages left unopened. It was all too much for you to bare. That was the start of seeing him everywhere- but never by your side. You kept asking yourself-

What did I do wrong.

Was I not enough for him anymore?

What are we even? There was no, label..relationship..just..something..

The moment that you realised you weren't really needed anymore, was seeing him at an event with his friends and band.

It was their first award win. The band was over the moon with the win, they couldn't believe it- from working in the attic to winning an award for best band on the planet. They were making big steps.

And you weren't there to see that.

Instead you watch on your television, watching the host announce that they won, seeing them like a fly on the fucking wall. Ray didn't tell you that the band got nominated. No-

Instead you found out about it through socials. You messages him a little message, congratulating him but - as usual, no reply.

You still care for him..

maybe loved him-

You cried to yourself as you saw them on stage, thanking the people in their life. Crying from being happy for them or crying because you realised that you weren't as important anymore.

That now Ray is just a person from the past.

And you were a person from his past as well.

There was no denying it any longer. You took the remote for the television and turned it off.

Ray was just the past.

A bittersweet memory.

2013.

My Chemical Romance did their final bow to their beloved fans.

The news spread like crazy- people upset, yet understanding of the break up. Happy to have grown with them - their songs and the band still talked about even after everything.

You were in your room, a little older now, you don't read much about them anymore but the news surprised you. You moved on though. Ray Toro wasn't someone you cherished as much. However, you did think about how he was feeling.

You shook your head, closing the laptop you were reading about them on, and left the room to get yourself something to snack on.

Your phone lit up, and there was a notification.

Unknown number.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I miss you, call me.

ooo pick your ending!! i hope this was okay?? at least! its genuinely so hard to write about Ray because im so used to writing for frank, illi and gerard- but I hope this was okay!! thank you for your request anon!! ilysm! stay hydrated !!

-xev 🤍✨️