it was well past curfew when you found him, leaning against the cold stone wall of the astronomy tower, a cigarette flickering between his fingers, the wind tugging at his dark curls. hogwarts slept below, its spires and shadows stretching silently into the night.
“you know filch will kill you if he finds you up here,” you whispered, stepping beside him, your breath curling in the cold air.
mattheo didn’t look at you at first. just exhaled, slow. “let him try.”
you leaned on the railing beside him, looking out at the dark horizon. the forbidden forest loomed in the distance. you could still hear the echo of today’s duel in your ears—malfoy had taunted him in the great hall, and mattheo, ever the fuse waiting to burn, had snapped.
“you didn’t have to hex him.”
“i did, actually,” he said, finally turning to you. his eyes, always stormy, held something darker tonight. “he said your name.”
“he always says my name. that’s how people talk, theo.”
“not like that.”
you rolled your eyes but smiled slightly. he was impossible. impossible and sharp and messy, and he cared in all the wrong ways. but in his own way, he always chose you—whether it was in class, in the corridors, or in moments like this, tucked away from the rest of the world.
“you’re going to get expelled one day,” you said.
mattheo gave a crooked smile. “wouldn’t be the worst thing. i’d finally get some sleep.”
you bumped his shoulder. “you’re a nightmare.”
“and you keep showing up in it.”
you should’ve gone back to your dorm. you should’ve warned him to be careful. but instead, you stayed. you let the silence grow comfortable, let the stars stretch above you like ink across parchment. and when he finally reached out and brushed your pinky with his—tentative, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed—you didn’t move away.
hogwarts might have been full of secrets, but tonight, in the tower’s quiet shadows, this didn’t feel like one of them.
it felt real.
mattheo’s pinky lingered against yours, barely touching. it wasn’t like him to hesitate.
usually, he was fire—quick, reckless, unapologetic.
but this… this was different.
you didn’t pull away. instead, you turned toward him fully, your voice quieter than before. “why do you always come up here?”
he glanced at you sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching. “to think. to breathe. to not feel like i’m… one step away from destroying everything.”
“and me being here?” you asked, heart suddenly racing. “does that help? or make it worse?”
mattheo didn’t answer right away. he reached up, pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and flicked it over the edge of the tower. then he turned to you, properly now, his eyes locked onto yours.
“it makes it better,” he said simply. “but it also makes it harder not to touch you.”
you forgot to breathe for a second.
the wind tugged at your robes. somewhere below, an owl hooted. but up here, it was just him and you and the space between your mouths getting smaller with every heartbeat.
“i didn’t think you—” you started, but he stepped closer, interrupting your thoughts without a word.
“i do,” he said. “i think about you more than i should. in class. in the common room. even when i’m pretending i’m fine, i’m still thinking about you.”
your heart nearly cracked your ribs. you tilted your chin up slightly, barely whispering, “then stop pretending.”
that was all it took.
mattheo kissed you like he’d wanted to for ages—slow at first, like he was afraid you might disappear. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in your warmth. his lips were soft but desperate, as if he was pouring every unsaid thing into that moment.
when you finally pulled back, breathless and stunned, he rested his forehead against yours.
“you’re trouble,” he murmured.
“so are you,” you whispered back, smiling.
“good,” he smirked. “then we deserve each other.”
───────────୨ৎ──────────
the astronomy tower was behind you now, but your hand was still in his.
mattheo tugged you along the stone corridors like he knew every hidden corner of hogwarts—which, of course, he did. the dungeons were quiet this late. shadows clung to the walls, and the sconces flickered as if the castle itself was holding its breath.
you were trying to be careful, but he wasn’t even pretending to care.
“you’re going to get us caught,” you whispered as you crept behind him.
he glanced over his shoulder with that familiar smirk. “please. i know every patrol route filch takes. and besides…” his grip tightened slightly. “you’re worth it.”
you rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped anyway.
he stopped in front of a nondescript stretch of wall and tapped a loose stone—one you’d never noticed before. a hidden panel groaned open, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for two. you slipped inside. the stone closed behind you, sealing you in darkness, until mattheo muttered “lumos” and the narrow space was bathed in soft, silvery light.
“you have a secret passage into the slytherin common room?” you asked.
he grinned. “not exactly.”
the passage ended in a small, forgotten room deep under the castle—probably once used for storage or detentions, but long since abandoned. it had an old bench, a few shelves, and—somehow—a faded slytherin banner still clinging to the wall.
he lit a few more torches with a wave of his wand, then turned to face you. “no one knows about this place but me.”
“and now me?”
mattheo stepped closer, eyes locked on yours. “exactly.”
he leaned in slowly this time, giving you the chance to stop him—but of course you didn’t.
the kiss was different now. no longer tentative. it was all-consuming. hands in your hair, your back against the cold stone wall, his body caging you in like he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away.
“say it,” he whispered against your lips, breath hot and uneven.
“say what?”
“that you want this.”
you didn’t even hesitate.
“i want this,” you breathed.
his lips ghosted along your jaw, down your neck. “good. because i’m not letting you go.”
suddenly, a voice echoed from somewhere up the corridor, faint but sharp.
“did you hear that?”
your eyes widened. mattheo’s hand clamped gently over your mouth, not out of panic—but mischief.
“stay quiet,” he mouthed, pressing his finger to his lips.
the footsteps faded. you stayed pressed together in the shadows, heartbeat thudding in your throat.
and even then—hiding, breathless, in a room you never knew existed—you realized something dangerous.
CHAPTER 1. series mlist. meet the stars. media guide. more.
a/n: first two chapters are more of an introduction to the characters! not much plot yet. ‘meet the stars’ post will be updated tomorrow with kennedy, pansy and lorenzo as new characters! also i covered up reader’s body just in case lol. i had some troubles with my taglist btw so if i forgot to tag you pls lmk!
♡ CHAPTER 3.
reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡
You think you might die if you weren't already dead.
Mattheo Riddle was in your room sitting on the edge of your bed watching you pace around in front of him.
He was trying to evade detention and as a joke (more so evidence of your hopeless devotion), you offered for him to hide out in your dorm room and panicked when he agreed.
Now, here he was, observing your space. He looked a little out of place in the middle of your very "you" dorm room, it was almost comedic.
"So, umm," you started, "how was your charms test?" always going back to one of the classes you had in common when you ran out of things to say.
"It was alright. I got an O." He said with a smug smile peaking through.
"You're kidding! You were able to do the bonus question as well?" You ask.
Instead of replying, he grabs his wand from its place beside him on your bed and points it at the silver cardboard stars hanging around your room. With a flick of his wrist and a muttered spell, the stars begin to dance around the room, circling you.
You stare in wonder as they return to their places.
You look at him with what can only be described as hearts in your eyes. "You're so good at that." You say softly with a smile.
The way you looked at him, all enamoured, like he was a prodigy who happened to be good at spells instead of a riddle who was trained to be - that was his favourite thing about you.
"The weather's pretty outside." You blurt out suddenly, he looks at you with a tilt of his head.
There's a beat of silence broken by you falling into a fit of giggles.
His eyebrows raise. "What?"
"M'sorry, it's just so awkward." you say, still laughing, "I'm not this bad at conversation with anyone else, I promise. I think I just get nervous around you."
He stands suddenly, walking towards you slowly, "you get nervous around me?"
"Not in a bad way, I just get nervous in silence and you're - well, you know - quiet and so I feel like I have to fill it - the silence, I mean - and then I say something stupid and then I seem stupid." during your little monologue, he walked closer and closer to you until you were almost face to face, you tilted your face up to look at him.
"I don't think you're stupid." He says, with an amused smile on his face.
"That's... good." You look at him through wide eyes, the last word faltering a little.
"Your eyes get really wide a lot." He mumbles.
"Oh." You whisper.
"It's cute."
He gently puts his hand on the side of your face.
"Can I?" He murmurs but you cut him off quickly.
"Yes, please." You whisper.
He pulls you into a soft, cautious kiss. You feel dizzy.
Afterwards, when your brain wasn't fuzzy anymore you would probably feel sad because now you were on the long list of girls Mattheo had stolen the hearts of. You didn't want to be discarded. You wished so badly to be special.
You don’t think any of this at the moment, though, because one of his hands is cradling your face and the other occasionally brushes your hair away from your lips.
He pulls away for a moment, gazing at you with a softness you want to believe is reserved for you. You think you might love him. You stare into his eyes and you think maybe he could love you, too.
You kiss him again.
and welcome to the start of situationship!mattheo let’s hope it isn’t an angsty, painful ride!
i'm so invested already.. how did mattheo and yn meet? did she freak out when she first saw him?
sweetheart!reader and mattheo meet for the first time
The first time you saw Mattheo was not the first time you met him.
It was orientation day at the very beginning of the semester for your sixth year in Hogwarts when he first came into your sight.
He was sitting a few rows away from you, a cold (bored) look on his face. It was something about his hair or his eyes, maybe, you weren’t sure but in that moment you decided you had to have him.
You had heard of Mattheo Riddle - who hadn’t. He transferred in third year but you somehow never crossed pasts until now.
The daydreams you had in class were now centred around one thing, a plan: How to get Mattheo Riddle’s attention.
The first time you met Mattheo - properly - came a few months later.
You were transferred to a more advanced potions class for your second term due to an improvement of your grades.
When you walked into the classroom for your first day, you cheerfully floated over to Pansy - barely noticing who was around her.
“Mattheo, Blaise; have you met yn?” She asked, your heart stopped at the mention of his name before it started again (very quickly) when you saw him behind her.
“Oh, I don’t think we’ve met yet.” You said nonchalantly, like you haven't spent countless 11:11’s wishing for him to notice you.
Blaise introduces himself while Mattheo simply nods. You’d have to work just a little bit harder for him, you guessed.
Professor Snape walked in and you quickly glanced at Pansy with wide, scared eyes.
“Scary.” You mouthed.
“A little.” Pansy confirmed, mouthing back.
Your very first assignment for the new year was amortentia.
Pansy turns to you with an apologetic look, speaking in a hushed voice. “I really don’t want to ditch you for your first class but please let me pair with Blaise. It’s amortentia!”
You laughed, “No, totally. Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”
She squealed, thanking you and blowing you a kiss before rushing to her boyfriend.
You turned to Mattheo, a silent agreement forming. You gathered the ingredients together, you talked a lot about everything while he simply listened (you hoped) quietly.
After your potion was mixed, you immediately caught the smell: cigarettes, cologne, something metallic? Blood, you presumed. You weren't even surprised that the scent of the amortentia was your favourite infatuation.
“I don’t smell anything!” You declared, quickly. You hoped he believed your lie.
“I don’t smell anything, either.” Mattheo said.
Well, typical, of course he wasn’t interested in anyone.
“We must’ve made a mistake, oh well!” You said frantically, “live, laugh, love, I suppose!”
He raised an eyebrow at you.
“What? Have you never heard of that expression.” You asked with genuine concern in your eyes.
He laughed. “No, I have. I’ve just never heard anyone use it besides people who design divorced women’s throw pillows, I suppose.”
“Well, now I’m feeling very judged.”
He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s cute.” He pauses, “very… you.”
You squealed inwardly at the sort-of-compliment but kept calm outwardly, smiling at him.
The bell rang, you put the cauldron of the “failed” amortentia potion to the side before packing your things away.
“Bye, Mattheo!” You smiled, waving your hand before making your way to the next class.
You turn your back so quickly you didn't see Mattheo’s lips quirking into a small smirk.
He leaned in closer to the cauldron of amortentia you created and inhaled: vanilla, raspberries and cinnamon - pure sweetness, all of which were notes of the perfume you’ve worn since third year.
The year that Mattheo first noticed you.
author's note: thank you for the ask angel! i'm so happy you're invested because i am as well. here's when evenmoredownbad!mattheo comes out !
Mattheo Riddle is a complete sucker for bossy women. There’s just something about a sharp tongue and a commanding voice that absolutely undoes him. He can be a real ass sometimes—snide comments, cocky smirks, always pushing buttons just to see how far he can go. Most people are too intimidated to challenge him, let alone call him out. The weight of his last name alone is usually enough to keep others quiet, second-guessing themselves.
But not you.
The moment you raise your voice, standing your ground, glaring right at him without flinching? He’s floored. You don’t just tell him off—you do it with fire in your eyes and conviction in your words, and it stops him cold. Not because he’s offended, not even close. He’s entranced. He can’t stop replaying the scene in his mind—the way your voice didn’t waver, the way you looked at him like you weren’t scared of anything, especially not him. It’s hot in a way that short-circuits his thoughts and makes his pulse spike. He can’t get it out of his mind. He’s obsessed and extremely turned on.
A random though I had with my characters - Avina and Nathaniel
She can’t sleep. He can’t either. They find themselves together in the dark. She tries to keep her distance. He can’t help but step closer. Their peace is ruined by the night corridor inspection. The space between them just keeps melting, involuntarily.
I was trying out something with switching between their POVs. You’ll see.
No TWs. There’s only yearning and the tension from proximity and unbidden feelings.
—A—
I decide to take a walk. It was one of those nightmares again. The ones that don’t let you fall back to sleep and linger when your eyes close.
I didn’t even know where my legs were taking me. I was mindlessly roaming around when I heard faint rumbling. I stopped. Stopped walking. Stopped breathing. Listening. I turned to the source. It was definitely not an inspection. The sound was too faint. Too sneaky.
Someone else was up.
—N—
I was out reading after lights out. How rebellious of me.
But I couldn’t leave it alone. Once the wheels in my head started turning nothing could stop them. Not exactly insomnia. More of a restless, running at 100 miles per hour, obsessively overthinking brain. Exhausting.
I was now stuck in the common room in the dark, elbows to my knees and one leg bouncing rapidly.
Ugh..
I rested my head back on the couch. A moment of peace. A moment of quiet. I hoped it would help me calm down. That it could quieten me like a warm blanket. And for a moment I thought it would.
Until I heard faint rumbling.
Shit.
I had to get out of here.
I stood up fast, almost forgetting the book I took with me.
—A—
There was a tall masculine frame, outlined by the moonlight.
“N-Nathaniel?” I whispered, just to check if I’d get a response back. Because my squinting eyes were most probably deceiving me.
Vale outside at 1:30 at night?
His goodie two shoes dossier would be ruined if someone found out. How funny that sounds when you’re in a reform school.
—N—
I turned my head, hearing my name whispered.
It was her. Don’t ask me how I knew when the whisper was as faint as the one of the wind. I just knew.
I peered through the darkness somewhere around the entry to the corridor.
“Avina?” I whispered, taking a step closer.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” She was closer now. I smiled even when she was whisper shouting at me. I was thankful to the darkness for covering that up because it would’ve probably earned me a slap.
—A—
“I could ask you the same.” He rasped with his stupid deep voice. Why was it deeper now?
“Well, I asked first.” I crossed my arms, like that made any difference in the dark.
“What are you doing at nearly 2 am?” He pushed. Nosy.
“Taking a walk. And you?” I continued whisper-shouting.
—N—
How could I tell her that I haven’t even tried to sleep yet?
“Are you okay?” I asked, hoping my voice was softer. I took a step closer.
She could’ve had night terrors or could have been sleep walking. There’s no other logical explanation for her ‘walk’.
“I’m fine.” Her hushed voice cut through the stillness of the night just like it did in daylight. Then she pulled back.
Predictable.
But the blue light of the moon fell on her face like a spell. A curse on my heart. It outlined every little feature. From her cheek to her lashes and nose. Her hair shimmered light blue.
I had to come to senses.
“You don’t look the part.” I crossed my arms back at her.
—A—
Ughh. He wouldn’t stop pushing.
I was so over it.
“Or you’re just blind.” I shot back. “Anyway, I’m just going to continue with my walk and leave you to… whatever you were doing. Goodbye.” I turned around back to the corridor suddenly having other feelings and thoughts to calm beside those from the nightmare.
—N—
I probably should’ve let it go. Let her go. But my legs started moving on their own and I was suddenly following her.
She turned a corner then stopped in the middle of the corridor turning around, arms crossed, whispering an irritated ‘what?’.
“You’re alone.” I closed my eyes, cringing.
Shit. I panicked.
“Jeez. What an observation.” She chuckled, crossing her arms.
“And it’s night.” I added. I flexed my hand like I wanted to cover my mouth with it.
Digging. Deeper. Hole.
“And what?” She challenged, taking slow steps towards me, “Are you concerned for my safety?” Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at me. The flesh of her neck was painted in the blue luminescence, pouring from the window.
“Spit it out, Vale.” She hissed, putting an end to whatever that spell was.
“You’ll get yourself in trouble.” I reply idly, with what I realise is no other reason that to keep myself in her orbit.
—A—
He was so annoyingly persistent and stubborn. Why couldn’t he just let it go? I’m not afraid of getting caught. Unlike him.
“And so will you. … Go to sleep, Nathaniel.” I mumbled quietly and turned the other way.
“No.” Firm and stubborn. Just keeps on being stubborn. I face him again. Looking up at him, just as defiant.
“Oh? So we’re getting into trouble together now, huh?” I mused still in whispers. We were unusually close.
—A—
I wanted there to be some logical explanation to my reaction either biological or something else. But the speed at which warm travelled up my neck and settled on my face was Olympic.
Now I was imagining it. Staying up late with her, roaming the castle—
Footsteps.
Clear clink of shoes.
We were done for.
—A—
Fuck!
I glanced around the pitch black corridor, trying to see the door to the storage room that was somewhere in this part of the building.
I grabbed Nathaniel’s hand dragging him with me and opened the door as quietly as possible—praying to every deity in the sky that it won’t squeak. And it didn’t. Thank goodness.
I pushed Nathaniel inside and closed the door in a rush.
It was unexpectedly… tight here. There was a bucket or something close to that on our side opposite the door. So we had to keep still… With me pressed to him.
I tried to control my breathing so that I can hear the footsteps better. Hoping that they’ve retreated already. But it was impossible with a certain someone next to me.
—N—
“Stop breathing so loud,” she hissed and leaned her head to the wooden door.
Did she have any idea what she was asking of me? I could smell the faint trace of rose fragrance on her skin and hair. I could feel her pressed to my whole front and my heart was beating out of my chest at the speed of a race horse.
“You’re pressed against my ribs,” I murmured, hoping the breathless wasn’t mortifyingly obvious. “You try breathing normally.”
She went still. Actually still.
—A—
Did he just say what I think he said? Or was it the proximity and the drumming of his chest next to my ear messing with my head? Yeah, it was probably the latter.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” I muttered. Hoping to put some distance between us, I backed to the doorframe. My body was facing him but my head was to the door, trying to listen or at least appear so.
—N—
It’s the dark and the veil of restraint that it lifts off people. It has to be. Because that has to be the explanation for the guts I had to say it:
“Then maybe you should stop making it race.”
Her breath stuttered. I wouldn’t have heard it if not for the silence and the mere centimetres separating us.
Faint sound of shifting and I felt her warm exhales on my chest. I actually thought I’d combust.
“Since when did you become so bold?” she breathed out. And I—
I was bloody flustered again.
Not much and maybe not the best but I had fun writing it. I had ideas about continuing with her stumbling over that bucket and him steadying her by wrapping arms around her waist and etc. but I got lazy so this is all I’ve got for now.
JUST GIVE ME THE NIGHT | Prince!Mattheo Riddle x Princess!Reader
summary: rival heirs from neighbouring kingdoms, a broken affair that should stay that way for you own good considering you're engaged to someone else, but you're unable to let Mattheo go despite the fact he ended things so harshly and one night you're determined to confront him about all of it when his actions prove he isn't as unaffected after breaking things off as he pretends to be.
C/W: 18+. piv. fingering. small amount of angst, mattheo being a little bloody and beaten, self-loathing behaviour from mattheo, kind of cheating since reader is engaged but its an arranged marriage and the guy is a dick.
song inspo: the night does not belong to god by sleep token
There was a stillness to the world as your hand lifted slowly towards his door.
It felt almost as if the entirety of the land had fallen into a hushed, watchful silence - a deep breath taken before your actions caused an undeniable shift of the tides with the startlingly loud rap of your knuckles against aged wood.
The way it echoed through the stone walls made you freeze, panic at the possibility of being caught rolling through your chest, your galloping heart, as you held your breath and waited what felt like an eternity for that voice you loved so well to call to enter. For the rustle of movement or the soft thud of his footsteps approaching the door.
None of them came.
And the absence of them forced you to swallow the lump in your throat that was attempting to suffocate you, to nudge the door open and pop your head around the edge to look for him. Hesitantly stepping into the room with a soft frown when he was nowhere to be found.
He had been there recently, at least, you were sure. The fire was still blazing strongly, the logs that had been thrown inside to feed it not yet swallowed whole, and when you looked to the bed, the sheets were wrinkled. Strewn and tossed aside like someone had been fighting for sleep and lost their temper when it continued to evade them.
You only hoped that he hadn't left in search of another fight. Especially not when you had heard from your own knight, Lorenzo, that he was already bloody and bruised, that he hadn't seemed to care what happened to him the first time let alone a second, but then just as you were about to turn on your heel and go looking for him something caught your eye.
His dagger. The one always hung at his hip, steel gleaming cold and sharp, as deadly as the boy that wielded it, sat innocently on top of the table beside the bed.
Now Mattheo may have been hot-headed, a thrill-seeker who was impossibly quick to anger, but he was not foolish.
Typically.
And unless he had suddenly developed a death wish after the two of you had violently parted at his own insistence, then there was no way that he'd leave without that dagger.
But then, as if on que, a faint splash alerted you then to a presence in the adjoining room.
You released a breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding at the sound and maybe if you had been a little less concerned, a little less skittish when you had first entered the chambers, you would have noticed the rather obvious clue to his whereabouts in the way the room smelt like sweet soap and expensive oils.
The tendrils of steam that were seeping through the half-open door, soft and coiling, beckoning you to follow them and find him.
So you did, with your stomach tumbling and footsteps light and fast, almost soundless as you slipped through the gap and into the room.
At first you could hardly make anything out but then you blinked away the damp warmth, allowing yourself a moment for your eyes to adjust to the heavy fog of steam that lingered like a blanket, and with it the room steadily came into a less hazy view.
Much like the one in your own chambers, there was a sprawling bath that took up half the room, carved into the stone floor and adorned with jewels that glimmered and shone like starlight beneath the water. Housing at the farthest end of it, your prince, with his back to you, unguarded and completely unaware.
His body glowed, candlelight reflecting off the droplets of water that clung to his flushed skin, his dark hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck whilst his head hung low against the brace of his folded arms.
You let your eyes trace over every inch of him like it was the very first time, the last, because for all you knew it very well could have been.
Even with his back to you he was beautiful, and it broke those parts of your heart that had never been able to fully commit to hating him as you were supposed to, to see for yourself the way he had been marred by fresh bruises.
They were everywhere. Vicious blooms of lavender and navy, smudges of violence that ranged in size from being as small as a fingerprint, or maybe it was the stark outline of a knuckle, to something much, much larger.
They painted him with such an air of defeat, especially when paired with the slump of his usually proud shoulders, that the very sight of it felt fundamentally wrong. Like you were witnessing the death of a small, flickering flame that had once been a wildfire.
It made you vengeful, made you protective. It made your chest ache so unbearably that it felt as if you had bore wounds to match his own upon your lungs and your fragile ribs, and it had all left you incapable of breathing quite right.
There was the slightest movement from your own body as you tried, a twitch of your arm whether to reach out for him or to reach for a weapon you didn't possess to avenge him, and a soft noise that bubbled past your lips before you could choke it down.
Wholly unnoticeable to perhaps anyone else, but enough to alert Mattheo that he was no longer alone.
Mesmerised, you watched the lazy lift of his head, the way it tilted almost imperceptibly to one side before the low drawl you've yearned to hear so desperately since you last fought finally found you again.
"I told you I do not need your constant supervision Theo, I am not a child."
You snorted softly at that, unable to help it at the faint bite of petulance lingering in his tone.
"I believe Theodore was in need of some well deserved rest after the lengths he had to go to today to keep you from getting killed, you have me instead." You called out softly, and the effect of your voice was instantaneous.
He didn’t turn.
Instead, it was as if all at once every part of him drew tight, like a knife had been plunged into the low dip of his back, deep past muscle until the tip grazed his spine, and then slowly ripped upwards.
You could sense the way it rippled through him, the violent shudder that wracked down to the depths of his bones when he croaked your name before he could bite it back. Before he could repackage it in grit and fire, and spit it like a reprimand rather than a telltale sign of his own weakness.
"What are you doing here?” He demanded, voice rough, brooding, once he was able to shove down the rush of longing inflicted by your presence that had caught him so horrendously off guard. “Come to seek justice for the wounded pride of your betrothed's men?"
Despite his defensiveness, you allowed yourself to draw a little closer, feeling the fine wisps at your hairline begin sticking to your skin as the heat in the room seemed to swell. Steam thickening until it was a physical press against your skin.
"Why would I care about them?" You shot back quietly. "But perhaps, you could help me make sense of all this and tell me what they did to draw your ire. Or are we simply feeling a bit nostalgic and deciding to revisit the old Mattheo who liked to pick fights for no reason?"
He didn't expect your calmness, you could tell. The levelled, coaxing tone apparently had a way of making him wary, fingers twitching restlessly against stone, trying to bury themselves into it like he needed grounding whilst his face slanted to the side just so.
It was movement enough to gift you a sliver of his face, the half-hearted sardonic curl of his mouth as he smirked. "Maybe I've grown sick of seeing Flint's ridiculous crest everywhere I turn."
You took another step closer, a thoughtful laugh humming at the back of your throat as you did so, before reminding him. "Then I believe you've come to the wrong part of the realm if you want less of it, dear prince." You mused. “Also that excuse is a blatant lie, I don't believe you, I think it was something else."
Mattheo turned to you then, slowly, deliberately, disbelief evident in his expression that you would provoke him so blatantly. Though, really, it shouldn't come as a surprise. Not with you, not when it had been one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with you despite himself.
Gentle currents broke out around each movement of his body whilst he leaned back, appraising you with raised brows.
"What else could there be?" He shrugged mildly, but where his tone was meant to be unaffected, dismissive even, there was the faintest tremble. A miniscule fracture beneath his indifference as his throat bobbed.
You planned on cracking it wide open.
With shaky hands, you unclipped your cloak, allowing the heavy weight of velvet to slide down from the curves of your shoulders and rush to the floor.
There was a sharp exhale as he drank you in, lips parting as your beauty punched the breath from his lungs, his heart stuttering at the vulnerability that you were entrusting him with despite everything he had done to try and make you turn your back on him.
It felt more intimate than either of you were used to or truly prepared for, nothing but a simple nightgown shielding you from the burning catch of his eyes whilst he was fully bare beneath the water. A far cry from the desperate rucking up of dress skirts and trousers that were torn loose rather than unlaced, drawn down just barely far enough for him to be able to bury himself within you.
"Everything." You whispered, shattering his trance and swallowing thickly when his dark eyes snapped to yours. "There's so much else. It's who the men wearing that sigil defend, the archaic laws they’re willing to reinforce for his benefit. What upholding them does to me, to us."
Warmth flooded your toes with the next careful step that you took. The hem of your nightgown swirling wet and weighted around your ankles whilst you studied him. The way his eyes softened before he could shield his feelings, the war between yearning and rejection that carved itself out across his pretty face as he battled himself internally.
After a moment he shook his head, resolute, or maybe he would have seemed so if not for the fact that he refused to meet your gaze. "There is no us, I've already told you." He muttered, hollow.
"Isn't there? Look me in the eye and tell me again, show me you truly believe it and then I'll be convinced."
Your words were an infuriating challenge, one that made something hot and unforgiving curl within his chest, that made his eyes flash and his jaw clench until it was sore, teeth threatening to shatter with the pressure.
Because he knew that you had him.
With that stubborn tilt of your chin and the unshakeable set of your shoulders, your fearless expression whilst you crept closer looking like his dream come true, he knew that nothing he told you was going to make you run this time. That you were done with letting him run also.
Still, he blew out a frustrated sigh, damp arms shimmering beneath the light as he folded them across his chest. Stubborn, even if he was fighting a losing game.
"There can't be an us, it's a foolish dream, princess."
You frowned. "Why?"
He regarded you with a pained gaze at that, the kind that you didn't just witness but felt, that seemed to beg of you ‘why are you torturing me like this’.
You were only inches away now, waist deep in the glittering water and his scarred, aching hands trembled with a desire so fierce to reach out and touch you, to make sure that you were real and he wasn't dreaming, that every nerve he owned was screaming it's discontent as he struggled to choke it back.
"Your family, for one reason." He said like it was obvious, gritting his teeth until you could easily spot the irritable twitch of his cheek when you scoffed.
"That never stopped you before, Mattheo." You countered, defiant, fingers drifting to touch the chain that adorned your throat. "Remember the tournament? You gave me your token before anyone else could even think about it, your necklace with your family crest that you then insisted upon me keeping? Hardly the actions of someone fearing repercussions from my family."
For a breathless moment you thought you'd unravelled him so much sooner than expected, his gaze blowing out, burning black as it followed the trail of your fingertips down to where he knew the very same pendant was nestled beneath your neckline.
The thought of you wearing his crest, his mark, and little else, only a thin nightgown that he absolutely wasn't watching slowly turn transparent as the water line rose with each step you took, had his hands clenching to white knuckled fists. His tongue dragging over the full plush of his lip like he wished more than anything it was your skin.
It had your head spinning.
Hunger had become a blaze within his blood and in a last ditch effort to look elsewhere his stare dipped only to then catch on the sodden material of your dress melding to your stomach and your hips, the curves of your thighs that he had been desperately forcing himself to ignore.
Mattheo growled a curse like the gods were against him and just when you thought he might snap, he dragged a hand viciously through his wet curls, yanking at them like he needed the sharp shock of pain to stop him making a mistake, before he then glowered at you.
"How about the fact that you're engaged?” He hissed. “I know you have no small amount of distaste for these laws but just because you don't want to marry that piece of shit doesn't make it any less of a major fucking issue."
"Says the Prince who years ago killed the man who challenged him to a duel for sleeping with his wife." You rolled your eyes, undeterred and voice deadpan. "Don't pretend the sanctity of other people's marriages mean shit you."
"Fine." He seethed, surging forward to ensnare your arms in an unyielding grip, the ferocity of his movement churning the water and causing your body to sway into his. "You want a better reason as to why I shouldn't touch you, shouldn't even look at you?”
“Do your worst.” You whispered as your hands found their way to his stomach, palms flush against his warm skin.
He swallowed hard, the dark fan of his lashes fluttering at the touch before he huffed a ragged laugh, a hollow sounding thing that was as forced as it was humourless. “If you insist, princess. How about all the years I spent being cruel to you before I ever truly knew you, how about that when I started to care for you I swore I would never say or do anything to hurt you again and then I broke that promise at the first sign of hardship.”
You opened your mouth to argue and Mattheo shook his head, guilty, and distressed by your willingness to defend the harm he had caused.
“I could have been brave and held hope like you did, or been kinder in my approach at ending things for your safety. But instead I immediately reverted back to cruelty that made you cry and almost broke your heart.”
Mattheo's voice broke and then he was releasing you just as suddenly as he'd caught you, pulling away and into himself as shame flooded his face. “You deserve so much more than this, and I have never been nor will ever be worthy of you.”
Silence followed, a gathering of seconds where your breath remained caught in your throat and your eyes stung with the burn of oncoming tears.
And then you were reaching for him tentatively, allowing time for him to retreat if he wished when his heartbroken gaze darted nervously to yours.
He didn’t though.
He gave in like it was suddenly all too much to refuse you, deflating with an agonised sigh and allowing his head to fall into the cup of your hands as your thumbs brushed gently over his cheekbones.
"Don't you think that should be my decision?" You murmured , the first sweeping tendrils of hope beginning to curl around your heart when he glanced at you with soft eyes and a hesitant smile.
“Gods no, you're a terrible judge of character.”
“I'm a fantastic judge of character.”
“You aren't, angel,” He insisted gently. “Do you know how many dodgy characters I've had to pay Lorenzo to scare off just whilst we've been here for this wedding because you're too tender-hearted for your own good.”
“There is nothing wrong with being k– wait–you bribed my knight?”
“Multiple times.” Mattheo confessed, a mischievous little smirk tugging at his lips. “He was more than happy to be able to get a little mean about it, knowing I'd cover for him. He agrees that you're too trusting, by the way.”
You blinked at him, bewildered, before feigning a betrayed look as you muttered. “Traitors, the both of you.” And shook your head in disbelief. "Anyway, my point was that neither of us have been saints and you were certainly not the only one capable of cruelty, Mattheo. I forgave you for it once before, and I forgive you for it now."
His eyes shuttered closed for a moment and he made a soft noise in the back of his throat, hands hesitantly skimming up your sides and over the soaked cotton stuck to your arms whilst he pressed his forehead gently to yours.
"You shouldn't." He murmured, tracing his fingers over the curve of your cheek and dipping to press them softly against your mouth when he sensed your impending protest. "If you forgive me and say you still want to be mine, I will be relentless. I'll tear cities to the ground and kill anyone that tries to take you from me.”
He nudged his nose against yours, something sparking in his chest when he felt the way your breath stuttered, the way you slipped a hand from his face and buried it within his curls at the back of his head to hold him close. “I'll want to steal you away back to my home and wrap you up in the colours of my family and the silk sheets of my bed so everyone knows you're mine.”
The air between you was crackling, suffocatingly hot and bloated with tension as his mouth hovered over your own, lips just barely catching whilst he spoke. “And when it inevitably sparks a war with the Flint's and maybe even between our families too, I will watch as the kingdoms burn and still be unable to let you go."
The heavy-lidded look he gave you as your eyes held his was searing, all unashamed, ruthless honesty, and so much that love that you felt dizzy with it. Weak kneed and breathless in the face of Mattheo’s passion and possessive need stripped back to their rawest forms.
"Then don't." You rasped, before your other hand left his face to cradle the fingers that had dropped from your mouth to linger at your chin, raising them back up so you could kiss the pad of each one. "You have me Mattheo, no matter what trials men or gods may bring, you'll have me. I am yours."
The groan that tore from his throat was pure sin. “Gods– fuck it, m’yours too–I always have been–”
And then Mattheo kissed you like he'd rather die than do anything else.
Desperate hands cupping your face and his mouth crushed to your own, any thought about the consequences, the inevitable chaos he'd be welcoming if he claimed you and gave you himself burning away as something golden and warm burst through him.
It was a demanding thing, raw and inelegant because your arms were tangling around his neck in an instant, fingers sliding rough through the wet silk of his curls, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips before he parted them for you.
And then oh, you were fucking whimpering his name around the prettiest moan he'd ever heard in his damned life.
He didn't want it to be like this though, he didn't want a feral blur of greedy hands and even greedier lips.
You had both fucked quick and frantic plenty of times but this felt like it needed to be different, like he needed to take his time and unravel you bit by bit as if he had all the time in the world to kneel before you and offer his worship.
So he forced himself to quell the desperate roughness in his movements. Kissing you honey-slow and soft as a dream, tilting your jaw carefully so he could deepen it whilst a hand swept down your back to sink you into him.
"Angel." He murmured against your mouth, with a need that was almost overwhelming. "My pretty girl."
The lovely sigh you made at his words did something to him that he couldn't explain, it had him drawing back just an inch, forehead dropping to yours so dark eyes could watch your face, half dazed and lovesick.
Mattheo knew you would have let him take control and fuck you there, in the bath, against the steam-damp stone, you would have let him crowd you against them and wrap your legs around his waist, let him push inside you and set a pace that had your back arching, limbs trembling, moans tumbling from your throat that echoed around the walls like a damn symphony.
But he wanted to hear you ask for it, craved the reassurance of your words rather than just the cues of your body and the urgent press of your mouth telling him that you wanted this, wanted him, whilst his fingers brushed over the laces of your soaked nightgown.
Your eyes found his the moment they fluttered open, hazy and warm with desire, making him groan when you nodded breathlessly.
"Don't stop, Mattheo.” You pleaded, sounding as wrecked as he felt. “I need you."
He caught your mouth with his again, kissed you deep and aching, burning just wild enough that it felt like your knees would buckle whilst his hands worked open each silken ribbon that ran from your chest to your stomach until the nightgown parted wide.
It was with a shaky breath that he let his fingers hook beneath the material at your shoulders. That he drew it down, slow and gentle, until it bared your chest and then your belly, your arms slipping free of the damp sleeves as the top half of the gown fell and bunched at your hips.
There was no time for you to be insecure about it, not when Mattheo was looking at you like you were something sacred. Not when his hands stopped pushing down your gown and instead ghosted up your arms and over the dips of your collarbones with a reverence that had you shivering.
His exploration resuming only once he'd mesmerised every constellation like freckle adorning your skin to then trace the swell of your breasts and the path from your sternum to your navel.
His palms slid to your hips then, kneading gently as he buried his face in your neck to hide the lovestruck, flustered expression on his face. Murmuring, “You are the most beautiful thing I've seen, the closest thing to heaven that I'll ever touch.”
You were smiling, he could feel it. A soft laugh bubbling up past your lips and pouring, pretty and golden, over him as your hand dragged gently down his spine whilst the other tangled itself in his hair. “I didn't know you were capable of being so poetic.”
He let out an amused huff. “It only happens with the right inspiration.” He hummed, lips trailing the curve of your throat as he spoke, nose nudging at your jaw before he pressed a warm, lingering kiss there. “Like being in the presence of divinity.”
You snorted. “You're ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you.”
Your breath hitched, a small gasp fleeing from your throat that you couldn’t stop if you tried. You wanted to melt, wanted to cry, wanted to say it back to him over and over as the pressure from the bloom of your own feelings cracked open your ribs one by one for your heart to pour itself out.
You settled for kissing him instead.
For tasting the words on his lips as Mattheo said them again, hushed and lovely, like he knew you needed them more than you needed air in your lungs. A total goner for the way you lit up each time he did so until you were glowing brighter than the numerous candles flickering around the edges of the bath.
He moaned when you snuck a hand down between to find him hard and aching, gentle fingers circling around his cock, stroking him so maddeningly fucking perfect that he had to grip your wrist and get you to you stop before he embarrassed himself.
"I won't last if you keep touching me like that" He breathed, lips slipping over the curve of your cheek before he dipped his forehead against yours. "Besides, I want you in my bed, like you deserve, the bath can wait for another time."
With that, you let him push the rest of your gown from your body, his hands back on you before the drowned material could even sink to the floor once you stepped out of it.
Swallowing hard as he took a moment to digest that you were fully bare before him, that he was bare before you, and that there was no going back from this now.
There would be denying, no pretending, that he did not love you with every miniscule spec of existence that made up his soul. That he was not yours, as you were his.
His eyes met yours then, gazing over the raw vulnerability of your own expression before he pulled you into a kiss that burned.
That felt like a brand, a promise and a declaration, as he hauled you up into his arms, hands clamped tight beneath your thighs and a low groan rumbling through his chest when you wove your legs around him.
He carried you from the bath like you were infinitely precious, like you were the most important thing in the world to him as he snatched the thickest towels he could and moved out of the room, past the still-roaring fire, and towards the bed.
His mouth brushing softly once, twice, against yours when he set you back on your feet and wrapped you in a towel, drying you with a reverence that had your heart flipping in your chest and your cheeks flushing warm.
He melted when you took the other towel and did the same for him.
Little butterfly kisses pressed to his arms and chest whilst you went before the fizzing in his chest got the better of him and you laughed, startled and bright, as Mattheo tackled you softly down upon the sheets, pushing you back into his pillows with his body encasing yours.
And the sight that awaited him when he looked down was the sweetest, most breathcatching thing he had ever witnessed.
You with firelight slanting over your skin and dancing in your eyes, your mussed hair strewn over the pillowcases and your lips swollen from his affections, staring right back at him like Mattheo had not only hung the moon and the stars, but as if he was more beautiful, more beloved, than all of them combined.
Your hands found his face as his lungs drew tight, fingers sweeping the dip of his brow and the lovely arcs of his cheekbones before you pulled him close and whispered against his mouth. “I love you, Mattheo.”
The noise he made in response was a soft, cracked thing that sounded like you had ruined him.
Like you had slipped a searing hand between his rips and wrapped it around his racing heart until anything else it contained that wasn't you burned away.
Like he craved nothing else for the rest of his life but that white-hot feeling of being utterly in love with you.
“Tell me what you want,” Mattheo choked, voice wholly wrecked, nose nudging against yours. “You can have it, whatever it is, I don't give a damn, I'll give you anything. Everything.”
You gasped as he dragged a scorching touch from your shoulder down past your ribs, your stomach, hovering over your hip bone until it met your outer thigh and let the heat of it sink deep. Sparking a need so fierce you were almost sure you would have cried out for him if it wasn't for his mouth covering yours.
“I want you to touch me,” You told him breathlessly once he had finished kissing you dizzy. “I want you to make love to me, show me that you're mine and I'm yours, Mattheo.”
He had never followed a command so willingly, nor so quickly, in his life.
But the words had hardly parted from your lips before he was readily obliging, fingers slipping further over your skin until his hand dipped between your parted thighs and found you warm and wet for him.
He pressed his fingers to your clit in gentle circles but still you jolted, back arching like a bow and his name a startling moan on your tongue whilst he shushed you with soft sounds and even softer kisses mouthed against your flushed temple.
“Relax for me, princess, I've got you, let me make you feel good.”
You did your best to listen, to settle beneath his electric touch, chest heaving as you nodded and he rewarded you with another kiss for doing so well for him. A lazy, indulgent thing that stole what little of your breath his ministrations had allowed to remain in your lungs.
He was making your head swim with the smallest effort, just his weight hovering over you and his barely there touches that only grew bolder when it seemed like the light pressure was threatening to drive you insane.
The moan you made when he slowly pushed two thick fingers deep inside you, unhinged.
"Does that feel good?" He rasped, biting back a groan when the moment his thumb brushed over your clit you clenched tight around him. Hips canting and your hands grasping at his biceps, nails scoring pretty little crescent moons into his skin.
“Mattheo–” You panted, “oh gods, please.”
You were a shuddering mess. Crying out for him as he pressed himself close and moved a little faster, fingers curling relentlessly against that part of you that made you keen and your thighs shake, trembling and clamping down around his hand like you were desperate to keep him there.
There was the nudge of his forehead falling against yours then, a tender moment that made your heart swell as he watched you in awe. “I know.” He husked.” “You're doing so well, angel. Looking so fucking pretty for me.”
You let out a breathless, little moan at his praise, a delirious sound that once you would have rather died than made in front of him, but now you couldn't care less.
Were delighted by it even, with the way it seemed to hit Mattheo like a rock to the head, his dark eyes blowing wide and dazed.
He looked like he was fighting a war with his restraint.
Torn between his greed for your sounds, his hunger for the way you felt beneath him, around him, when you unravelled by his hand, and simultaneously never wanting it to end so he could have you writhing and whimpering for him for much, much, longer.
But your chest was beginning to rise and fall in shallow jerks, voice thinning as your insides burned and your blood sparked, pressure coiling tight in what felt like every possible nerve ending as Mattheo thrust and crooked his fingers just right until your back was lifting from the bed more often than it was resting against it.
"Are you close?" He murmured, low and rough, heat licking down his spine when you rolled your hips harder against his hand, tears of pleasure sparkling in your eyes as you quickly nodded. "That's it, be a good girl and come for me."
You did. A strangled cry catching at the back of your throat as golden light rushed through you. Blinding. Warm.
Your body quivering beneath his as he coaxed out more pleasure than you knew how to comprehend, head thrown back and hips stuttering until a soft kind of exhaustion settled over you like a blanket and pressed you limp into the sheets.
Mattheo was stroking at your cheek as you dazedly found your way back to him, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns as his gaze turned adoring, his expression lovesick when you blinked before tilting your head up for a sweet, gentle kiss that had him smiling against your mouth.
“You with me, princess?” He teased quietly.
“Always.” You murmured, swallowing the sigh that escaped him as you wound your arms around his neck, drawing him down at the same time you shifted your own body until every inch of him was pressed against you.
He swore as your thighs parted wider for his hips to nestle into, his cock sliding over your wet cunt as you did so, and he couldn't resist any longer when you rocked, slow and deliberate, against him. Fingers tangling in his hair whilst you moved like you were trying to drive him out of his mind.
"I need to feel you."
And fuck, how could he ever deny you anything.
How could he have ever tried.
There was a tremble to his movements when he finally pushed inside you, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he slid in inch by inch until his hips were flush against yours and you were whimpering his name like a prayer.
Your eyes fluttering shut at the stretch of him until his nose nudged sweetly at yours, his breath shaky against your lips when he whispered. "Don't close your eyes, keep them on me."
Mattheo moved slowly once your pleasure-drunk gaze was locked on his.
Languid rolls of his hips and butterfly soft brushes of his fingers up your sides that made the loveliest sighs clamber up from your throat.
Gentle hands removing your arms from around his neck and raising them above your head so he could stretch you out beneath him and melt into you until there was no space left at all between your bodies. Your hearts. Your bonded souls.
And it all felt like nothing could, or would, ever part you again.
He choked on your name when you tightened around him, groaning soft like you'd wounded him, like you’d stolen his breath even as he fought to grasp it with everything he had.
His eyes squeezing shut despite what he'd said because it all felt too fucking good and Mattheo was starting to fray apart at the seams quicker than he wanted to.
“I'm sorry– I’m not gonna last long.” He gasped, voice wrecked and sounding pained by the admission, but then he was moaning into your mouth as you kissed him.
A wild, desperate thing, that told him “don't worry about that, I just want you’ before you answered out loud with a threadbare noise of your own when you hitched your legs up higher around his waist and he thrust deeper, greedier, burying you into the mattress with each half-frantic snap of his hips.
It felt like the fire had blazed outwards from its hearth and swallowed the room, like it had found a home beneath your skin, flaring and spreading until it had then latched onto his, ready to devour him whole.
There was no more kissing anymore, just breathless pants into each other's mouths and his hands clenching desperately around yours whilst pleasure and delirium chased and nipped at your heels.
“Ohgodsohgods–fuck,” You whimpered when he angled his hips and ground into you, his pelvis catching at your clit with each aching press. “Mattheo–”
"I know,” he rasped, his forehead shoved against yours. His body beginning to shake and his pace faltering, movements jerking as your hips rose sharp to meet his own and made light burst behind his eyes. “I know, fuck, come for me angel. Let me feel it.”
You fell apart then, cunt fluttering around him until he followed you into bliss with a hoarse shout that he muffled by kissing you, rough and intense at first, and then slower. Sweeter as the fierce pressure of his orgasm mellowed into a low, buzzing warmth over time.
It took a few minutes for him to be a little less breathless, for his muscles to feel a little less liquified and his vision to lose the hazy smudge of lingering pleasure. But when it finally did, he rose above you just enough that he wasn't crushing you with his weight and looked down at you in awe.
And much to the threat of his own heart, you were staring at him the same way, stunned, eyes that were a bit glassy like you couldn't believe that what had happened between you was real. That it wasn't all some dream that you were destined to wake up from any second, heartbroken and alone.
The ache to reassure you, was a fierce thing that temporarily made him forget how to speak. Tightening his chest to the point of pain, to devastation that any flicker of your doubt was only there because he had planted it himself in a stupid attempt at denial that he would spend the rest of his life making up for.
And he would begin by gently stroking your cheeks in the way that he knew you adored, peppering soft kisses along your forehead and down the line of your nose until you laughed, soft and sweet, and his lips hovered just over yours. His eyes catching your gaze with all the raw honesty and love that he possessed.
"Marry me." He murmured, pressing a doting kiss upon the surprised parting of your lips. "Fuck the laws and our families and your fiance. You are mine and I have always and will always be yours, so marry me instead."
name:
meaning of name:
nicknames/titles:
age:
gender:
location:
birthday:
strengths + example where it's shown:
weaknesses + example where it's shown:
how it affects others:
emotional depth
attachment style + how it manifests in the story:
physical fear:
emotional/abstract fear:
happy memory:
sad memory:
object of significance:
philosophical outlook/belief:
what characters are ignorant about themselves:
how confident are they:
goal:
long-term dreams:
what they're embarrassed/ashamed to tell others about:
regrets:
source of pride:
source of misery:
what they admire above all else:
do they believe in fate:
personality
mbti:
enneagram:
big five:
character archetype:
star sign:
who they pretend to be on the outside:
who they actually are/how they feel towards the mask:
mental health conditions:
how it manifests for them:
iq:
eq:
humour:
reputation:
habits
bad habits:
mannerisms when stressed:
mannerisms when content:
mannerisms when scared:
mannerisms normally:
verbal mannerisms/distinctive speaking style:
how do they move across a room:
what do they say and what remains unsaid:
how they express love:
hobbies:
appearance
defining features:
eye shape + colour:
hair texture + colour:
skin texture + tone:
vibe:
height:
build:
clothing:
any bodily disfigurement (scars, etc.):
overall attractiveness:
their opinion on their appearance:
appeals to:
relationships
who they trust most:
what they wish they could do for them:
what's holding them back:
who they hate most:
what they wish they could do to them:
what's holding them back:
relationship with the protagonist:
relationship with the antagonist:
siblings:
relationship with them:
parents/step-parents:
relationship with them:
previous broken relationships:
why did it break:
what others expect of them:
who believes in them:
their mentor character/who they look up to:
political/religious/other affiliations:
what makes them different from every other character:
non-human relationships + why:
romantic "type" + why:
relationship dynamics:
backstory/background
primary emotion towards their past:
primary feelings while in their past:
where did they grow up:
defining incidents:
earliest childhood memory:
saddest memory:
happiest memory:
major accomplishments:
their opinion on it:
notable people in their backstory:
effect on them today:
trauma:
what have they already lost:
financial circumstance:
progression
why are they important (eg. why're they the only one able to do something?):
what do they learn about themselves throughout the story:
what do they learn about the world:
how do they feel towards their newfound knowledge:
character arc (positive, negative, neutral):
how relationships change because of their actions:
what mistakes do they make:
what scene is their character highlighted:
do they get what they want:
why or why not:
what happens to them after the story ends:
Weirdly Healing Things to Do When You’re Feeling Creatively Burned Out...
Write a fake 5-star Goodreads review of your WIP—as if you didn’t write it. Go ahead. Pretend you're a giddy reader who just discovered this masterpiece. Bonus: add emojis, chaotic metaphors, and all-caps screaming. It’s self-indulgent. It’s delusional. It’s delicious.
Give your main character a Pinterest board titled “Mentally Unstable but Aesthetic.” Include outfits, quotes, memes, cursed objects, and that one painting that haunts their dreams. This is not about logic. This is about ✨vibes.✨
Make a “deleted scenes” folder and write something that would never make it into the book. A crackfic. A “what if they were roommates” AU. The group chat from hell. This is your WIP’s blooper reel. Let it be silly, chaotic, or wildly off-brand.
Interview your villain like you’re Oprah. Ask the hard-hitting questions. “When did you know you were the drama?” “Do you regret the murder, or just the way you did it?” Bonus points if they lie to your face.
Host a fake awards show for your characters. Categories like “Most Likely to Die for Vibes,” “Worst Emotional Regulation,” “Himbo Energy Supreme,” or “Best Use of a Dramatic Exit.” Write their acceptance speeches. Yes, this counts as writing.
Write a breakup letter… to your inner critic. Be petty. Be dramatic. “Dear Self-Doubt, this isn’t working for me anymore. You bring nothing to the table but anxiety and bad vibes.” Rip it up. Burn it. Tape it to your mirror. Your call.
Create a “writing comfort kit” like you’re a cozy witch.
A candle that smells like your WIP. A tea that your characters would drink. A playlist labeled “for writing when I’m one rejection email away from giving up.” This is a ritual now.
Design a fake movie poster or book cover like your story is already famous. Add star ratings, critic quotes, and some pretentious tagline like “One soul. One destiny. No chill.”
Write a scene you’re not ready to write—but just a rough, messy outline version. Not the polished thing. Just the raw emotion. The shape of it. Like sketching the bones of a future punch to the gut. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just open the door.
Let your story be bad on purpose for a day. Like, aggressively bad. Give everyone ridiculous names. Add an evil talking cat. Write a fight scene with laser swords and emotional damage. Just remind yourself that stories are meant to be played with, not feared.
turnnoffyourmind
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