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dramaticals · 5 months

Text

did you hear what i said?

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: after a year of secretly dating, theo breaks things off when classes start up again. it's now christmas eve and he's back with a figurative box of regret / requested by anonymous.

author's note: angst! there will be a part two with fluff, but i just needed to get this out since i've been writing this for too long. (please) feel free to leave angsty requests in my inbox because this is the genre that gets my gears going! but i make no promises on resolutions and happy endings ♡

"You look happier."

Theodore stands in front of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. His presence garners murmurs all around, even though the Great Hall was emptier than usual for the holidays. The sight of him makes your breath catch. It's been three months since you last spoke to him, but the memory of that night resurfaces, ripping open the wound on your healing heart.

It was back in September.

Theo had passed you a note in Potions, asking you to meet him in the Astronomy Tower after dark. It wasn't a peculiar ask, so you didn't think much of it at the time. The Astronomy Tower had become your and Theo's spot. A quiet place for the two of you to just exist—no interruptions and no expectations from the outside world. Your house rivalry was nothing in that tower. It was just you and Theo.

The two of you would spend hours hiding there, often cuddled on top of a lush blanket you had hidden nearby. You'd talk about anything and everything with him, from learning about each other's likes and dislikes to venting about classes and classmates. On nights where the two of you favoured serenity, it was never unpleasant. You'd embrace the quiet, exchanging sweet kisses all the while enjoying the comfort and protection of his arms.

That night in September was different, though. You sensed it the minute you ascended the steps to see Theo standing stiffly by the railing, his gaze concentrating on a bird on the horizon.

Theo didn't even turn to face you—acknowledge you—before he was muttering the words that shattered your heart into pieces.

"I'm over this." Theo said, his tone void of any emotion. His hand clutched onto the railing so tightly that his knuckles were pale.

Stunned silence fell over you. You just looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Did you hear what I said?" Theo turned to you then, and you could see the pained expression on his features. But then something shifted, and his expression turned cold. "I'm breaking up with you."

His words on their own were harsh, but the inflection on each syllable felt like he was personally twisting a serrated knife into your heart.

"I don't understand." You said. "Why? What did I—"

"I feel like you're getting attached, and I think we've run our course." Theo interrupted. His eyes, the ones you became so accustomed to, were dark and flooded with an expression even you weren't familiar with. Theo scoffed. "You didn't actually think we'd last, did you?"

Maybe it was the naive and hopeless romantic in you, but you truly believed you would. House rivalries, judgemental friends, and family expectations were merely obstacles the two of you would deal with together. You just felt so strongly about him, and you were certain he felt the same about you.

"Did you hear what I said?" The Theodore standing in front of you jerks you back to the present.

You blink, and you nearly drop your fork.

"I heard you," you say firmly, returning your attention back to the half-eaten plate in front of you. You make yourself look busy and uncaring (as much as you could with food and a full stomach), as if Theodore's sudden presence had no effect on you.

Theodore shifts in his spot, his eyes darting to the empty seat in front of you, silently contemplating whether he should take it or cut his losses and leave. Reluctantly, he settles on the former. This makes you tense, your lips pursing as he sits. It doesn't help that you were highly attentive to the whispers; your classmates were surely speculating why Theodore Nott would be choosing the company of a muggle-born on Christmas Eve. You put down your fork, bring your gaze to his, and let out an exhausted breath.

"Nott, what do you want?"

Hearing his last name from you makes his jaw clench. It was cold and formal, stripped of any history you two shared.

"Just wanted to know if you were as happy as you looked."

"You have no right to that type of information anymore."

"Humour me."

You glare at him. Theodore looks back at you with such shy tenderness that your gaze softens slightly.

Am I happy? you think.

Some days, sure. But most days, you find yourself wandering back to that dreadful night in September. Even after all these months, you still wonder if you had just said something different or fought back instead of taking it, maybe you and Theo would still be together.

It was why Ginny, the only poor soul who was aware of your relationship with Theo, had set you up with Michael Corner, a cute Ravenclaw boy in your year. He was smart, funny, and occasionally sweet, but he wasn't Theodore Nott.

Still, you persisted. You allowed yourself to indulge in the idea of being with Michael because the brooding Slytherin boy who had your heart had made his choice. You went on a few dates with Michael; he'd walk you to class, sit with you during Quidditch matches, and sometimes—when he was feeling courageous—he'd plant a kiss on your lips in the middle of the bustling corridor.

"I am." You lie, and you bite down on the insides of your cheeks. What good would it do to admit you weren't, especially to the cause of your turmoil?

Theodore watches you, practically analyzing your features. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know he didn't believe you, and you hated that—hated him, for having been so attentive to you that your tells were obvious.

"You are?" Theodore questions.

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"I think you and I have a habit of saying things we don't mean."

His careful words and wistful gaze make you flush with embarrassment and anger. To this day, you still weren't sure why Theo had broken things off with you, and it was something that had kept you up countless nights. Through gritted teeth and cheeks stinging with remembered hurt, you say, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Theodore starts, his eyes flickering around to ensure no one was listening in. While a few lingering glances were sent your way, everyone was spread out far enough that it'd be hard to eavesdrop. He drops his voice anyway. "I shouldn't have said what I did that night. I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

The anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach erupts, your eyes blazing. "Is this some sick game to you? It's been three months, Theodore. I spent three months crying over you and wondering what the hell I did to you to be so bloody cruel. And now when I'm finally ready to move on from you, you come back to tell me you... you didn't mean it?" The last words leave a dirty, salty taste in your mouth.

"No, no," Theodore shakes his head, swallowing thickly as you recounted the months of hell. He hadn't been doing any better either, but Theo was generally good at hiding his afflictions. Numbing the pain with weed and alcohol were among his favourite remedies. "It's not a game. It was never a game. You should know me well enough to know that I would never mean any of the things I said."

"Know you?" You almost laugh. You had replayed the breakup and the weeks leading up to it in your mind countless times, trying to make sense of the bullshit non-reason he had given when he broke up with you but nothing made sense. The whole thing made you spiral, questioning everything that had ever happened between you two. "I'm actually convinced I never really knew you, because the guy I knew would never have done that to me."

Having had enough of the conversation, you get up, leaving your half-eaten plate and a pained Theodore at the Gryffindor table. You're almost past the door of the Great Hall when Theo, as a last-ditch effort, grabs a hold of your wrist, hauling you to a stop. You let out a small huff and turn to face him.

"Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after dark." Theodore says softly, almost pleadingly. He makes a conscious effort to ignore all the prying eyes that turned.

"Because that worked out so well for me last time."

"Just—please. If you want to continue never speaking to each other again after that, then fine. But at least let me explain."

You had every intention of ignoring Theodore’s request. He didn’t deserve a chance to explain—the statute of limitations for explaining ended months ago. And yet, you found yourself sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room and up to the Astronomy Tower, inebriated by the countless what-ifs and string of memories: Theo sneaking a kiss on your lips as everyone turned to view whatever Hagrid had for Care of Magical Creatures, Theo resting his hand on your thigh during potions, Theo winking at you as you watched him play Quidditch.

“You’re here.” Theodore says, just as you reach the top of the staircase. He was sitting by the railing.

“I am,” you say as you walk toward him reluctantly. You settle next to him.

Theodore looks at you, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and sighs.

You’ve never seen him at a loss for words. He was intentionally silent, sure, but his quick wit never failed him.

“I’ve regretted that night every day, you know.” He speaks up, his solemn eyes trained on yours. “I replay it over and over.”

Theodore’s gaze is unrelenting, brimming with seriousness and a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. You tear your gaze away from his because the more he talks and looks at you like this, the more you find it hard to breathe.

“Then why do it? Why say those things?” You manage to ask.

Theodore’s jaw clenches. “Lesser of two evils.”

When you look at him with a confused expression, he continues, “It was better to lose you on those terms than to lose you completely.”

Silence falls on both of you, filling the space like a thick fog.

“I lost my mom when I was seven.” Theodore explains, his eyes darkening. “A freak accident.”

Out of the year you and Theo dated in secret, he had rarely mentioned his mom. And if he did, it was small tidbits—precious memories. Regardless of how small and insignificant the memory would seem to others, you gathered how important Theo’s mom was to him. Underneath Theo’s stoic expressions and calculating demeanour was a softness to Theo that could only be accredited to his mom.

“She got caught in the crossfire between some death eaters.” Theodore says, his expression pained. He drops his gaze now, but you keep your eyes on him. There’s a mixture of grief and anger that flashes across his features, and it takes everything in you to hold yourself back from reaching for him. To comfort him.

“It took me years to get over it. I don’t even think I am yet—I’m still angry at my father for allowing this shit into our lives and for continuing to do it.” Theodore says, letting out an exasperated breath. You knew what everyone else knew about Theo’s father—he was a blood purist, rumoured to be loyal to you-know-who. He’d hate you the moment he’d find out you were muggle-born.

Theo meets your gaze now, and it’s your turn to feel winded. It was like you were looking at your Theo again. The sweet, sarcastic, pain-in-your-ass-but-in-a-good-way Theo. “I lost my mom, who meant the world to me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I lost you too. So I pushed you away. I figured it was best to cut our losses before I pulled you into something you had no reason being in. Before I lost you permanently.”

“What’s changed?” You ask, shaking your head. His words were hard to process, but the pieces of the last few months were beginning to click into place. “I’m still me, and last I heard, your dad was still your dad.”

“I realized that, in a way, I was kind of like my dad.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Theo says. “My dad never gave any of us a choice. Not me, and not my mom. We always had to go along with him and deal with the consequences of his actions. I took a choice away from you, and you just had to deal with it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I still think I did it for the right reasons, but I regret it. I want to be with you. I should have told you what I was worried about—told you about the risks of being with me, so we could make a decision together.”

Together.

That’s all you wanted. You were more than willing to have dealt with any obstacle that was thrown your way, so long as you had Theo by your side.

But that was three months ago. And while his words brought goosebumps, butterflies, and heart palpitations, they also brought a slew of conflicting feelings. You understood why he broke things off now, and although his reasoning was well-intended, it didn’t excuse the fact that you had spent the last three months in a state of despair and heartbreak. You didn’t eat as much, your grades dropped, and you couldn’t even look at him until recently in fear of tears and the overwhelming rush of memories.

“So?”

“Theo,” you say softly. Your eyes search his face.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sound of his name. Not Theodore, not Nott. Theo.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He exhales sharply at your response, and his expression shifts as he turns to face the horizon. He wanted you to say it was worth the risk and that you wanted to be with him as much as he did. He wanted you to forgive him for what he did to you. “It’s fine.”

“No—I just... I need to think.” You say quickly. Your heart was screaming for him, but your brain was weary. And if the past three months taught you anything, it was that you needed to act with your brain and not your heart. “I just need time. This was a lot to process.”

“Right, of course.” Theo says with a curt nod. He turns to you again, offering a weak smile. It was his heart’s turn to break. “Well, thanks for coming tonight and letting me explain. I guess, just let me know.”

You watch him stand, brush the dirt off his robes, and turn away. Just as he reaches the staircase back down, he looks back at you. Your eyes catch his gorgeous arctic eyes, your cheeks burning and your heart racing.

"Merry Christmas, by the way." Theo says before he descends down the stairs.

#theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter imagine #slytherin x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #*writing

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moodywyrm · 1 year

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any input on college!abby taking bookworm!readers virginity? 🎤

so many thoughts. actually. thanks anon now im thinking.

so im pulling on college!abby in the two fics I've officially made for this pairing. aka. she's dorky, not super good at being forward with u, a munch, the works. at this point, u two have been dating for a while (it took fucking forever), n u confessed to her that ur a virgin after staying super late at her place n cuddling but like super intimate almost fucking-cuddling.

n she's like, 'that's okay baby, we don't have to do anything', but on the inside she's freaking out because she likes you so so much n she wants you more than she's ever wanted anyone, but she's terrified of fucking this up. she wants u to have the best first time ever, she wants to give u the world.

n u turn to her like, 'well I'm saying this now bc, I think I want to. I want u to be my first, now, if u want to,' n she's like yeah fuck yeah baby pls yes. so she rolls u two over, laying u down onto her bed n placing one hand near ur head while the other grips ur waist, n she leans down n kisses u. n this time it's just a lil bit different, still passionate, but with the promise of something more. she kisses u breathless, n ur letting out the quietest, barely there whimpers, reaching up and holding her biceps.

now, abby is never gonna be a one n done typa girl. she wants u shaking, satiated, n slutted out by the time she's done with u, but this is ur first time. so she's gotta take it slow. she starts with grinding u against her thigh, getting u used to being intimate with another person. then she moves to her mouth (spends so much time between ur legs that by the time she's done ur shaking like a leaf) n her fingers, stretching u open until she deems u ready. it takes hours, bc she's going so slow it's torturous, but the way she plays with ur body makes u feel like a livewire, raring n ready to go, even after four orgasms.

when she finally, finally deems u ready for her, she goes to her closet and pulls out a harness n three straps, brand new in box, that she bought way in advance just for u. all black, although one is shimmery n one is slightly translucent. different sizes. she helps u sit up, sitting behind u n present u with ur options, asking which one u want to use. u go for the medium one (the glittery one), practically trembling just thinking about it attached to her, sliding in n out of u.

abby, pretty baby angel with her hair down n no clothes, puts on the strap n lays u back down, kissing ur forehead while she adjusts u two to line up. she pulls ur hips up to rest on her thighs, rubbing her hands up n down ur thighs n waist to soothe you. slowly, she pushes in, n by now she's prepped u so thoroughly that the sting lasts only a few seconds n after that it's just fucking heaven. she gives u a moment to adjust, before slowly plunging in n out, grinding the strap into u, adjusting ur hips here n there before she here's u gasp n cling to her, tightening so much that the strap can barely move. she'd been hitting ur spot with her fingers, but this felt different, good, but different. the blunt, grinding motion of the strap against that gushy lil spot made u quake n whine for her, grabbing for her n pulling her down to kiss u. this position also caused the base of the strap to hit her clit even more, n at this point she was so pent up after watching u fall apart for her that her climax was approaching so fast. u two stayed that way, grinding n whining, abby occasionally pulling back to thrust into u, before ur breathing picked up n u scrambled for purchase on her body, spasming around her strap with the prettiest moans she's ever heard. ur orgasm is fading but ur still whining n she's grinding n grinding n grinding until she lets out the most guttural groan into ur ear, followed by the sweetest lil whimper, cumming so hard she whites out for a second.

u two stay like that for a while, trying to steady ur breathing, n just holding each other. eventually, abby has to pull out n she soothes u as u whimper from the loss. her aftercare btw? top fucking notch, cleans u up, showers with u to get everything off, literally props u up bc ur legs are fucking jelly, rubs lotion onto u, massages ur sore hips, dressing u in her comfort clothes n drying ur hair before carrying u to bed n giving u soft lil kisses n reassurances n cuddles until u both drift off into the best sleep you've had in a while.

yeah. I have some thoughts.

#anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #tlou2 #abby tlou

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planete777 · 10 months

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꒰ RED LINES .:. LN4 ꒱

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n finds her fate hidden within two red lines, and fears the demise of her and lando's relationship. [based on this ask]

pt. 2 .:. 'red hearts'!

WARNINGS. pregnant!reader, both her and lando aren't ready so there are discussions about potential abortions, mental break downs (i.e panic attacks, crying, you know the drill), angst, mentions of throwing up (no one does it i promise), attachment issues (like me fr), a little bit of fluff (because im not that evil >:])

NOTE. first non-high!lando fic!! i've never written a pregnancy fic, so like, forgive me if it's bad haha 🥲 i put so much effort into my banner, like i'm so proud of it lmao. anyways, enjoy reading luvs 💗

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any high!lando thoughts, scenarios and requests, or any other trope too 🤍

edited to add tag in banner

y/n is almost blinded by it.

two bold, red lines.

she finds it completely comical how she didn't know it sooner, for the ink that runs down the result window is so palpable, it might as well have been written with a permanent marker.

the test taunts and mocks her as she stares at it in complete despair and confusion as she so sure that they had been careful. but now, she lets herself cry over spilt milk because having a baby, on top of mountainous piles of stress that came hand-in-hand with uni, was not a checkbox she would've liked to tick off amidst her status quo.

the bathroom pounds with an deafeningly eerie silence, as she stares, and stares, then blinks as tears flow, then stares again. her ears are swallowed by loud static and her vision fuzzes around the edges, making the test in her hand seem further away than it actually is, and she allows herself to completely fade out.

she feel utterly sick. like she wants to throw up, but the upcoming bile, instead, remains dislodged in her throat and presses immense weight into her chest. it shortens her breaths, she's hyperventilating as if she's been strangled, then panic completely overwhelms her. everything before her zooms in and out like a malfunctioning camera and the pregnancy test clatters to the ground as she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

she doesn't remember the last time she had a panic attack this severe, and neither does she know if she'll get over it solus. yearn for a presence beside her devours her brain and she wishes that lando–

lando.

the way her heart seems to squeeze in her chest is almost too animalistic to be normal, and it arrives at the thought of him being unacceptable of the baby. he's barely situated in one place, fuck, he basically travels for a living, and all her mind conjures is how he won't be there when she needs him most. she tries to wish it away, because just thinking about her makes her spiral even more and she knows she cannot survive with a child whose father decides to be absent.

codependency isn't great, that she's thoroughly aware of, but lando's presence brings a wave of comfort braided in the brightness of his smiles and the warmth of his embrace, and it has become her whole lifeline.

yet, the bathroom she's in feels too small and too cold to be anything other than unbearable, and her body feels to weak to remain upright, sliding down to the tiled floor. she sobbing and spluttering so much that lando can hear it from two rooms down, and he rushes into the en suite without a thought in mind.

he crouches down in front of her, hands flush against the skin of her cheeks. he's shaking, fucking terrified out of his wits, and his words are enunciated with a tremble.

"hey, hey, y/n breathe with me," he desperately takes her hands into his, and places it on his own chest, making exaggerated breaths as y/n's start to simmer. it feel like hours stretch by, the air surrounding feels tense with fear and devastation, and by the time she settles, y/n senses nothing but exhaustion.

"what's wrong, love? you're scaring me," lando gently asks, and she struggles to respond, mouth rid of any moisture as if it had been scraped dry. lando takes the initiative to look around in hopes that anything would give him a clue to his girlfriend's break down.

then he freezes.

the white stick lays there, gleaming and glowing like it's fucking sent from heaven, and he feels his heart plummet into the depths of his guts. he knows he can deny it all he wants, but it's undeniable, what he's seeing, yet prays like a grieving mother that what he thinks is not true as his quivering hands reaches for it.

two bold, red lines.

"oh fuck," it punches out of him, every inch of energy disperses like fleeing birds, "you're pregnant?"

it's so small, so timid that he almost doesn't see it, but she nods, and his arms fall like he's been shot and the test leaves his fingers. he swears he's drenched in ice cold water and he remains silent, bound by stunned numbness. his lack of response spurs y/n again, and she begins sobbing, pressing her face into her arms and wiping it furiously. all she thinks is that he doesn't want it, and out of sheer terror, she starts rambling utter shit.

"i can get rid of it, if you want, lando, just please i'm begging you, don't leave me."

he's crying himself now, doesn't know what to feel at the suggestion, but it makes him gag.

"get rid of it if i want to? fucking hell y/n, i'm not a prick like that," he fumbles out, words wet and hardly cohesive, "as long as you want to keep it, i want the baby too."

she looks up at him, eyes so full of hope that he immediately takes her into his arms.

"you sure, lando?" she's still hesitant, burying her head into his chest, and as further reassurance, he kisses her forehead, "as sure as i'll ever be."

#‧₊˚✩彡 planete.writes: ln4 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #formula one

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fatesundress · 1 year

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⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege.

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson.

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing.

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds, he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you.

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition.

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying.

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you.

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it.

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else.

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild, lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 3 months

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literally can't stop thing about highschoolsweetheart!au where darling is 24/7 clinging onto a slightly annoyed/frustrated könig's arm, autistically chatting his ear off about random things like cute cat videos that she saw, dinosaurs or art, gushing about how much she loves him, how utterly handsome he's looking and that they're absolutely meant to be!! 🥺 always nuzzling him and pressing sweet kisses to his face.

until... maybe he snaps and shuts her up :// not in a nice way. maybe i'm projecting here, but i've been silenced before and it did nasty things to me. (bit of advice for unknowing peeps, don't make autistic people stop rambling, if you can help it. let them down gently if you must 💌)

back to our sheep... she suddenly shuts in. doesn't chat as much as before, slowly sticking to only utilitarian stuff. avoids his gaze oftenly, gradually starting to keep her distance, stops initiating affectionate things. she still absolutely adores him, but she's hurt, heart constricting in her chest. thinks she's doing him a service by listening to his 'request' at shutting the hell up, thinking she's making him happier. she's still itching to babble, making an active effort at stoping herself from going back to her rambling habits.

how would könig feel? react?

imagine what would it be like, if after some time of this distance, at a social gathering or something, he sees a man approaching her. another MAN!! how is this possible?? and he's... he's asking her about things? looking interested in her talk, eyeing her up and down??

would you do me the honour of tormenting this poor man for me? :33

Her ramblings were cute at first, then they started to go in one ear and out the other. König has a budding tinnitus from work and only wants to rest, but she skitters to him like a lovesick cat, climbs into his lap, and starts to talk his ear off about attachment styles and some pop psychology.

The enthusiasm in her eyes is what bothers him the most – he’s hit with envy, bright hot and red, because he has no time for intellectual interests these days. There's nothing but gun oil and gym to keep him busy. He was supposed to become either a philosopher or a fighter, but since they said philosophers can’t get pussy, he chose the other option (and still got little to no pussy), sad wanker as he was back then.

He either doesn’t know what the hell she is talking about or, he would want to discuss with her about the subjects she’s into, so much in fact that it would soon become an autistic competition of its own. But the deeply ingrained memory of being called a scrawny nerd is keeping his mouth shut even now, when he’s approaching his mid-thirties.

So he tells her she should read an actual book about the subject and stop filling her head with nonsense layman theories.

It hurts; it fucking burns, the mute, helpless stare she shoots at him. She scoots away, sorely upset, and won’t come back to him before the evening fall.

There's no cute noises and kisses peppered all over his face, no dangling from his neck and prattling away about the differences between C. S. Lewis and Tolkien; no videos where a cat tries to fish the last pringles with its paw or memes that remind her of him. There's just a broken girl and a knife in his heart, but he’s too ashamed and proud to apologize.

And so she comes back to him when he won't go to her, the deep yearning always overthrowing her pride. It feeds his self loath by gallons: she's better than him, always has been.

She hugs his middle when they lie down to sleep, forehead pressed against his upper back. She’s too small to reach the back of his neck, but she won’t wriggle upwards like an adorable little worm to place a kiss there like she used to. Just falls asleep with a sigh, holding him tight.

His sleep arrives only after hours have passed, and the knife inside his heart has finally done its duty and euthanized the whole organ.

They never talk about it: but she prattles far less nonsense to him now. He nearly breaks the silence one day and asks her about the Myers Pigs test or whatever it was called, see if she would crack open from her shell and laugh. He could coax her to tell him what her newest interest is nowadays, what makes her eyes bright and shiny when he’s away. But he’s too fucking ashamed, too goddamm proud to tell her that she’s annoyingly cute when she talks so much and that he fucking loves her for that. That she’s the silliest girl he’s ever met and if he had a hat, he would take it off every time she wanted to share another monologue.

If he had the balls, he would ask if she had all this madness inside her when they were kids but never had the courage to spill it out… If he's the only person she has allowed to see this side of her without fear.

...

He returns to the party after having a smoke – a bad habit everytime he knows he's about to down a few beers – only to see she’s engaged in a heated conversation with some other guy.

Or, the guy is asking questions, while his girl is about to burst out of her dress from the eagerness to tell him everything about some new hyperfixation of hers. Something she hasn’t really shared with him; not anymore...

The knife is still in his heart, it seems, because it twists. Violently.

He looks for a weapon to defend himself: an empty beer bottle, a knife on the table, an untended umbrella by the door; his fists, ungloved. It’s just a routine check, a simple habit that was hammered in his system years ago, and of course this is not the time or the place for violence. He just… fantasizes about stabbing that guy in the liver with some blunt cutlery, pounding his ribs to pieces until his knuckles bleed with jealousy. He even fantasizes her screams when she sees what kind of a man he really is: a weak wanker who turned into a pitiful beast of a man.

These flashes take only a second or two, then he squares his shoulders and goes to get his girl back.

“How about we dance,” he offers his hand to her, palm up like the other guy was made of air – or not even that.

Her eyes light up with surprise, pure, undiluted hope, her interest in her chat companion now completely gone.

“You... You want to dance?”

His lips compress into a thin line, his nostrils flaring from the need to either claim her right on this floor or turn and beat the competing dick beside him into a pulp.

Then her hand finds his, her soft little smile pulls him back, her eyes now shining to him and only him.

It’s a slow one, the song, and he only notices it when she lifts her hands and cups the back of his neck. Tingles shoot down his spine and send a curious little twitch down his dick – even his testes pull up a notch. They’ve fucked a thousand times, and still, she has this effect on him... All she needs to do is smile and touch his neck, and his body answers; he’s hers.

“Does this mean you like me…?” She asks with a playful smile when his hands come to naturally claim her waist.

“...What?”

“You saw me with that guy and came to whisk me away.”

He tries to avoid her stare, fakes to steal a glimpse at the other pairs dancing, but it’s challenging when she looks at him like… like that.

“He was drooling all over you back there,” he mutters.

“...Oh? So you came to save me?”

“You have difficulty saying no.”

She's relaxed, while he's stiff, the adrenaline leaving him slowly and with a rising boner. It doesn't help that she's drawing little circles on his skin, right there where it tickles and sends more pulls down his cock.

He tries to breathe deep and slow, but it doesn’t really work much. There are times when he gets a hard-on from her playing with his hair or brushing a set of fingertips across his nipple, and then there are times when he really wishes she wouldn’t do shit like this. Not when they’re at a party and he almost had a temper tantrum in front of everyone.

“König… You never dance,” she says with a weighted stare. He answers it with a heavy glare of his own, eyes that should tell her enough about his true feelings for her.

There’s a thin line between love and hate, but never has he felt this undeniable truth as acutely as he has with her...

“If you don’t stop with the tickling I’m going to have to take you upstairs for a fuck.”

Her tiny little fingers stop immediately, but her eyes shine brighter than ever before. From shock, love, or awe, who knows. Then she picks up that annoying habit again, a bit too keenly to convey any kind of actual fear.

“You’re begging for it, aren’t you...?” He comments with genuine contempt.

“...Yes?” She answers with a breath of a smile, pure love in her stare.

He grunts as if tired, then scoops her up, right there on the dance floor and takes her upstairs when everyone can see.

“You like me. Admit it,” she babbles when he carries her inside some guest bedroom and kicks the door shut, with her snug and smiling in his arms.

“Yes, yes. You can tell me all about everything when I’m done with you.”

“All about everything?” She giggles as he throws her on the bed and starts to take off his shirt. Her eyes shoot to his pecs, then to his fingers when he unzips his pants. There's no lie, no deceit in that stare, just adoration and want.

“First you have to be quiet. Think you can manage that?”

She opens her pink little mouth, then shuts it, starts to nod like a broken doll.

When he eventually slides in, the poor doll whimpers, just like he thought.

"Hush," he gruffs, but doesn't cover her mouth.

He can have a little taste, a sip, a treat... Because the knife in his heart stops rattling only when he makes love to her – he does that often, even if he calls it 'fucking' in his mind.

#könig x highschool sweetheart #könig angst

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zentraex · 5 months

Text

Wishing on World Wish Day is a funny thought. Magic doesn’t exist in our world. Still, trying doesn’t hurt, right? Maybe your favourite fictional character comes to life?

Remember: English is a lot different than German. I apologise for any grammar mistakes.

Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, Yandere, Mentioning of Masturbation, Stalking

From Another World

Monday, 29. April 2024

Dear Diary,

Today is World Wish Day. Normally, I don't believe in that, but what's wrong with giving it a try, right? After all, no one will know but you, so it's worth a try, even if it's just for fun.

I'm totally obsessed with this anime: "My Hero Academia". It's been a long time since I've watched the anime and yet I can't stop throwing my money out the window for merch. After all this time, I still read fanfictions about Katsuki. I wish someone like him would exist in real life, or better yet, he would exist, explicitly. Do you think he'd like me then? I hope so. I like him so much that my heart wouldn't take it if he hated me.

With red cheeks, you close the book and grin to yourself. It's a silly entry, but you still love to think about "what if..." situations.

And what better day to try than World Wish Day?

Maybe, just maybe, the wish will come true after all.

You giggle again, what a stupid thought.

A loud noise that you can't assign wakes you up the next day. Tired, you rub your eyes and glance at your phone's clock.

It's an hour before your alarm goes off and you need to get ready for school. Smiling, you lie down again, but the rumbling in your apartment startles you up.

Your parents are on vacation and you should be alone.

A burglar...

is your first thought. Your heart pounds against your chest as you reach for the baseball bat in your closet. It was a gift from your childhood friend. You don't have any contact with them anymore, but you find it difficult to detach yourself from things.

Who would have thought that it could be of use after all?

The sleepiness is completely gone and adrenaline is pumping in your veins. Completely in a state of euphoria, you are not even silent as you rush into the living room, club firmly in your grip and ready to strike.

Of course, the burglar notices you. Your footsteps are not quiet. But don't worry, someone like him would even notice you if you sneaked up.

It's dark, you can only vaguely see his head turned in your direction.

You swing with full power...

...

... but suddenly it explodes, your bat. The blast causes you to fall back to the floor of your room and the smell of smoke blocks your nasal cavities. Your breath is shaking and your body trembles.

Was the explosion real?

You don't even have time to think about it, because a few milliseconds after your impact, the burglar grabs you by the face and pushes your upper body down. You can feel how he puts pressure on your body with his legs, not only immobilizing you completely, but also causing you immense pain.

What do you do in such a situation?

Right! Crying and begging.

"T-Take what you want," you begin as fat balls of water flow through your face. "Just not the family pictures, my mother is very attached to them. Please don't take my beloved father's trophy either, he's so proud of them," you sniff. "A-and please don't take the necklace in my jewelry box. It's a family heirloom."

The otherwise silent room fills itself with your sobs as you tell him about the things that are worth so much to you and your family. He doesn't say anything.

You're scared. Your field of vision is blocked by his hand, it stinks of smoke, you are immobilized and everything hurts. All the while, the burglar is silent.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he says after a while.

"Huh?"

The grip on your face comes loose and your watery eyes show you a blurry gray vision of a man. His voice sounds like Bakugou's.

"You kidnapped me, why are you begging like a baby now?"

It takes a while for you to be able to process the info. The last heavy drops roll down your cheeks and your vision are clearing. There is a man in front of you and he has light, spiky hair and a prominent face that you would recognize anywhere.

"B-Bakugou?" it slips out of you. "A Bakugou cosplayer?"

He looks and sounds one-on-one like Bakugou, your beloved anime character.

At the mention of his name, his grips tighten again, eliciting a whimper from you.

"I'll give you ten seconds. Tell me who you are and how you know my name. Why am I here?"

"I-I'm Reader a-and I know the character you're cosplaying because I'm a huge fan of him, a-"

He interrupts you by putting a hand on your mouth.

"Figure that I cosplay? I'm real."

Shit, I'm dying at the hands of a maniac...

He looks at you for a while before speaking again.

"I'm going to let you go now, turn on the lights. Don't do shit, you’ll regret it."

He doesn't let go of you until you nod. For the first time, you can breathe properly, but your limbs still hurt unbearably. On shaky legs, you walk to the light switch and then turn towards the person.

Now that you can see it closely, you notice that he looks like the real Bakugou down to the smallest detail.

Crazy...

When you look into his eyes, you notice how he looks around the room. Your whole walls are full of him, your bed is full of plushies, and your closets have a whole bunch of Bakugou figurines. Even your pajamas have a Bakugou pattern.

"Are you a stalker? Shit, ended up with a lunatic."

"What? No! I'm just a huge fan of him."

He then just clicks his tongue and crosses his arms.

"Stop talking like I'm not real."

In the meantime, your pulse has regulated itself again. Maybe that's why you find the courage to raise your eyebrows skeptically and cross your arms.

"No, you're not. Bakugou is a fictional character. You really need to get help, my friend."

Then he says with gnashing teeth: "No, I'm not."

"Oh, yes? How do you think I get all the close-ups of you?"

He seems to pause and steps closer to the images. His gaze scans them all: the moment he collapsed in front of Deku after fighting him, when he was kidnapped by the League of Villains and sat tied up in a chair, when he fought Deku and Ochako with Ida on the team, and many more. More precisely, all the defining moments of his life are glued to your wall, just not from his perspective.

He has to swallow as he lets it sink in.

Could you be telling the truth?

No way, right? He experienced it! He can feel and think, how can he be fictional?

But then why do you have all these memories?

Suddenly, he is plagued by a headache and nausea almost makes him spit up.

Was his life just a show for people like you? Was it never about saving lives? To be a hero? All his work, courage, heroic deeds were not self-willed, but written by someone?

But he's here now, isn't he? He's made it to the real world, so he's thinking for himself now, isn't he?

But how did he do it?

His gaze wanders to you, who looks at him expectantly.

It must have something to do with you. After all, he's in your house for a reason, right?

Did you bring him to life?

"Look, I'm serious. I'm real. The explosion earlier, can anyone else do that?"

Your eyes widen, you've totally forgotten about it in the heat of the moment. A normal person can't do that, so how did he do it?

You are silent and your silence gives him the answer he needs.

"See? Maybe I was fictional, but you must have brought me here somehow."

Me?

Your gaze wanders to your journal and the idea that your wish has come true pops up.

Can it be?

Impossible...

It was just a stupid thought, a little joke to yourself. Magic doesn't exist in your world, but how do you explain this situation?

Suddenly, your heart is beating like crazy and your body is getting all hippy.

Bakugou Katsuki? Real? In your house?

However, the fan-girl in you only comes out briefly when you realize that you're not just standing in front of your big hero in your pajamas, but he's standing in your fan-girl room.

You can't even put into words the shame you suddenly feel when the blush goes to your head.

"S-So you're real, huh?" you say quietly. "That's cool."

Nervously, you play with your sweaty fingers and quickly realize how overwhelmed you actually are.

What are you doing now? What's the best way to deal with the situation?

"What do we do now? My parents are on vacation, so you can't stay here forever."

He frowns thoughtfully and asks, "How long are they on vacation?"

"Four days to go. I don't know if that's enough to find a way to bring you back to your world...", you murmur.

Bakugou pauses for a moment.

His world, huh? The world in which he is only fictional, controlled by the ideas of a stranger.

Does he really want that?

By now you're at school and Bakugou is alone in your house, bored. The TV program only brings junk, which is why his gaze wanders around your room all the time – nothing better to do anyway.

Something has been confusing him since the beginning of his arrival...

This strange feeling...

This feeling of...

Pride?

Proud that he is being loved here like this. Of course, in his world he also had fans, but no real ones. It elicits a grin full of arrogance from him.

He wants to feel it, recognition, appreciation, love.

Without much thought, he goes out and runs in any direction.

You are home in a series of apartment blocks close to the city center. So, it doesn't take long until he hears the first people talking about him.

"Oh my God, look at this Bakugou cosplay! How good is that?"

"How well taken!"

"Can I take a picture with you?"

This goes on all the time.

In the beginning it feels good, very good.

But...

Something is bothering him....

That he is not recognized as himself, but only as a costume. He puts his hands in his pocket and walks back with an annoyed expression. Almost at your apartment block, you run into him.

While he remains as still as a board, you almost fall over when you two collide.

"Bakugou!" you breathe a sigh of relief. You look like you've been scared, your skin sweaty and your eyes wide open. "I thought you didn't like it with me or something..."

Something is happening in him again.

He can't even describe this feeling...

No matter what it is, he likes it, very much and he has to pull himself together so that he doesn't start grinning.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I've had a look around here."

You smile and nod in understanding. In the meantime, you have calmed down and can think clearly again.

"I wanted to go to the library today and see if there are some solutions to bring you back. Do you want to come with me?"

Then his brow furrows again and he clicks his tongue.

"I don't have time for that."

Instead of being sad about the answer, you have to giggle. You've already expected such an answer, after all, you know him – and you love him just the way he is.

"That's okay. Here's the key to getting up. I'll see you later."

Deep down, he hopes you can't find a way to bring him back to his world.

You didn't find a way, not even for the next four days. Your only guess is that you'll have to wish him back next year on World Wish Day.

Hopefully this will work out...

As much as you like him, your favorite character doesn't belong to your world. Here, he has no IDs, people only know him as a character, he can't live the life as a hero that he wants to and he doesn't have a place to stay.

His life would be a disaster here and you don't wish that for him.

But how do I make it possible for him to live here for a year?

Your front door rings and your face turns pale.

Your parents...

As you walk to your door with your legs shaking like crazy, you swear your heart stopped for a second.

"Reader, you should have told us about the current situation!"

...

"And you could have introduced us to your boyfriend earlier!"

What?

Your gaze wanders to Bakugou, who smirks at you while your mother hugs him.

"My poor son-in-law, you were afraid of ending up on the street after your parents died."

Your father puts a hand on Bakugou's shoulder.

"As long as you continue to treat my daughter well, you can stay here for eternity, Mania."

"I found someone on the internet who would fake all this paperwork," Bakugou says.

"Yes? This is good. Do you want me to come with you?"

He shakes his head.

"No, it's too dangerous."

You just nod silently, and turn to your wall.

Sighing, you begin to tear down the pictures on your wall.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to rip it all of. It's certainly creepy for you to see all the photos of you. You live here and I want you to feel comfortable."

"It doesn't bother me."

Surprised, you turn to him.

"Sure?"

"Yes."

You gaze at his laid-back form, missing out on his racing heart.

For some reason, he didn't like it.

For some reason, he panicked.

For some reason, he had started taking pictures of you as well...

"Today is your first day of school, excited?"

"No."

"Not a bit?"

"No."

"Not even a little bit?"

This time, you only get an annoyed look in response, after which you just laugh.

Bakugou then turns his gaze to the ground and fights the flush of his cheeks with a frown.

No matter how grumpy or negative he reacts, you always seem to be smiling.

He's noticed how well you seem to know him.

"You don't mean it."

And every time you were right.

No matter what he did, you always seem to like it.

Not even Kirishima accepted him as much as you did.

At school, he quickly realizes that you're incredibly popular.

Especially the boys seem to like you a lot...

Not even Kirishima accepted him as much as you did.

Since he's been in your world, he feels less and less like a hero...

When you leave the house, he follows you in the shadwos. The fear that something could happen to you is so big that he wants to lock you up...

He takes pictures of you all the time. If you take a shower, he'll sneak in and steal a few moments, only to be able to blow off steam later.

When you're sleeping, he lies down next to you without you knowing.

He takes advantage of your ignorant parents to be able to play "couple" with you.

Maybe that's his true self?

His gaze darkens as a classmate embraces you.

Bloodlust leaves him thirsty for violence.

Not even Kirishima accepted him as much as you did.

He’s sure you'll accept it that way as well.

#yandere #mha #bnha #mha x reader #x reader #bnha x reader #female reader #yandere x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bakugou #mha yandere bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #Yandere Katsuki #Bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader

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savventeen · 10 months

Text

you say the stupidest (sweetest) things

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader rating: 16+ (for swearing) wc: 4.5k prompt: seungkwan + "things you said at 1am" summary: you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession warnings: insomnia, mental health issues, dissociation mention tags: fluff, friends to lovers, first kiss, reader is a little unhinged but who isn't tbh, they're also highkey allergic to genuine expressions of love/affection but they're working on it, banter, stimming, wrestling like children to try and work through emotions, reader is some flavor of lgbt+ (they make an "i've never done anything straight in my life" joke), reader's pov is dramatic bc they're dramatic oops a/n: this is for @dokyeomin as a part of my emergency commissions (check out the post here) and this was only supposed to be 1k but it 100% got away from me... i hope you still enjoy the fluff and all of the attached nonsense <3

From: Y/n 🔪 [11:47pm]

yo kwannie if i impulsively decide to go to the 24h convenience store how harshly do u think they'll jusdge me for buying every flavor of gummy candy available *judge i wanna see if i can melt them down into one Ultimate Gummy u know for Science

Seungkwan pauses brushing his teeth and stares down at your messages.

To be fair, it's probably not the strangest thing you've ever texted him. He's known you since your second year of college, after all, so he has about half a decade of experience with all of your various y/n-isms under his belt now.

Which is how he knows to trust his gut when it tells him that this probably isn't your usual brand of nonsense.

He spits the toothpaste into the sink and dials your number. You answer on the second ring.

“Before you say anything,” you start, “I was only half-serious about the gummies thing. Like, it's a fun idea, you know? In theory. But in actuality? I do not want to deal with the mess that it would create. Or the smells. Well, the smells might actually be pretty good depending on—“

“Uh-huh,” he interrupts dryly. “Y/n, when's the last time you slept?”

The beat of silence that follows is enough to confirm his suspicions, and the hesitant “Um” that follows is just the icing on the cake, really.

He sighs. “The fact that you have to think about it says enough.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” you argue petulantly. “I just… don’t wanna tell you.”

“Y/n...” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I know, I'm sorry.” And you do sound a little bit sorry, at least. “I'm just. Having an episode. Don't worry about it.”

His shoulders droop as the words sink in. “Episodes” are what you've taken to calling your intermittent bouts of serious insomnia.

Generally speaking, you sleep about as well as the average twenty-something with a caffeine addiction. But every few months or so, it's like your brain completely forgets how to shut off and you end up staying awake for 40+ hours straight.

“Well,” he says, putting his toothbrush away and going back to his bedroom. “You know that ship has sailed, right? You know I'm gonna worry about it.”

Your deep sigh crackles over the line. “Yeah, I know.”

“So. Where're we at this time?”

He mentally braces himself. The two of you have done this enough times now that he knows that you know there's no point in trying to lie or beat around the bush.

“Uhhhhhhh, I'll be hitting the 46-hour mark in about 20 minutes.”

“Aish.”

The fact that you can say that so casually makes his heart hurt. He knows that whenever he doesn't get enough sleep, he makes sure everyone knows it and thus babies him accordingly. But you've always been so intent on hiding anything and everything you struggle with. It's taken years for him to bully himself past the walls you keep hidden behind shit-eating grins and an over-willingness to help.

“Okay,” he says, moving to the dresser to grab an extra set of clothes. “I'll be over in an hour.”

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” He tosses the clothes onto his bed before going to grab one of his duffle bags, firmly asserting, “You've got an hour to mentally prepare yourself for my arrival.”

“Honey, you've got a big storm comin',” you quote at him without hesitating.

“You sure do,” he assures with a snort. “Better get ready to feel the wrath of my friendship.”

“Why do you have to love so aggressively?”

He rolls his eyes while he throws his clothes into the duffle bag with one hand. “Because it's the only way you'll accept it, idiot.”

“No, it isn't.”

Your pout is so audible through the phone that Seungkwan has to stop and glance at the screen in disbelief.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n. Do not stand there and lie to my face like that.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Not—” He gesticulates wildly with one hand like he's going Can you believe this shit? to an invisible TV audience. “Okay, tell me this: what did you do the last time I sincerely monologued at you about how much you mean to me as a friend, hmm? No bits, no bullshit, just me telling you how much I love you and how amazing you are.”

A beat. “I'll hang up on you, Kwannie, don't test me.”

He barely resists the urge to shove his face into the bedspread and scream. “You're literally proving my point right now!”

“Kwannieeee,” you whine, because you know he's right.

“Also, because I'm never letting you live it down, I will remind you exactly what you did."

You say his name again, but it's muffled, and he assumes it's because you're hiding your face in shame.

“I gave you a sincere, heartfelt speech about how much your friendship has changed my life for the better and made me become a better person—” he ignores your wordless pterodactyl screech, “—and how do you respond? By staring at me like a deer caught in the headlights, slowly raising your arms to give me double finger guns, winking, and then slowly backing out of the room like an awkward mannequin!”

“...”

“Well?” He puts his free hand on his hip. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“… I’ve changed a lot since then.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes before moving to continue packing his overnight bag. “It was literally three months ago.”

“Yeah, and? Doesn't change the fact that I've changed,” you assert.

“Into even more of a nuisance? Yes, you're absolutely right.” He smiles when he hears you scoff playfully.

“Listen here, Boo Seungkwan. You know that well-rested Y/n is ready to throw down with you at a moment's notice. What do you think sleep-deprived, zero-impulse-control Y/n is going to do the second you get to their front door?”

“Stop referring to themself in the third person, hopefully,” he mutters, finally zipping up his bag and heading to the door. “And then after that, they're going to let me bully them into resting.”

“Hmm. The council has heard your proposal, briefly pondered it, and deemed it “unnecessary” on the basis of: they're a bad bitch that can't be stopped by neither time nor physics nor any god of your choosing.”

Seungkwan scoffs as he puts the call on speaker and sits to put on his sneakers. “Well, “the council” can go fuck right off.”

“What if the council would like to fuck right on?”

Pausing in the middle of tying his laces, he blinks down at his phone. “I'm— what?”

“Okay, real talk, what do you think it would mean in this case? Like, would this be like a 'hop on' versus 'hop off' situation? Or more like an 'I'm down for this' versus 'I'm up for this' kinda situation? Because it would have very different outcomes depending.”

Seungkwan decides that this is a debate better left for another time. “I think it means that I'm going to be at your house soon and that if you're not in your pajamas with hot Sleepy Time tea and the series Planet Earth ready to go, there will be consequences.”

“Booooooo, you whore.”

He finishes tying his laces and jabs his finger at the phone. “Consequences, Y/n.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“See you soon, love you, bye.” He hangs up before you can get another word in, but doesn't move from his seated position in the entryway.

Slowly, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out, taking a moment to lean back on his hands while he stares at the back of his front door. Specifically, at the large collage of sticky notes and pictures and doodles that have taken up residence there.

A few of the notes are ones he's gotten from other members of your shared friend group over the years (the one from Chan that reads "if u eat my rice i'll eat ur kneecaps xoxo" hangs proudly in the center, right next to a picture of him sleeping that Seungkwan managed to capture from an extremely unflattering angle). But most of them are from you.

Dumb puns, meme references, bullshit animal facts you made up just to get him to laugh… almost all of them are stupid in that extremely charming way that only you somehow manage to pull off.

But the one he's staring at now is almost completely hidden by other notes and pictures that have been added to the collage. It's a pale blue, the ink starting to fade a bit with time — the first note you ever gave him, back when you two were just people who happened to sit next to each other in an astronomy class.

Even though most of it is hidden, he doesn't need to be able to see all the tiny words you crammed into the small space to already know exactly what it says.

how do u make a space party? u planet :P u looked sad today, hope this makes u feel a little better also if this is 2 forward feel free 2 pretend i don't exist. or punt me in2 the sun idk u'd be doing me a favor tbh

He'd almost skipped class that day because of how bad he'd been feeling, but he'd decided to try and push through. And before that day, neither of you had interacted with more than a polite greeting and the occasional question about the homework.

But then you'd passed him that note, and he'd passed one back that said “that's dumb. but thank you” with a smiley face, and you'd passed another one back that said “do u think lizard people have ever been to space?” and the rest, they say, is history.

Seungkwan shakes his head with a sigh before standing up and grabbing his bag and his keys, striding determinedly out the door. He's got a best friend to take care of.

Seungkwan should be at your place soon, and you're not quite sure what to do in the meantime.

You have your laptop hooked up to the monitor in the living room with Planet Earth queued up, you have the kettle filled with water and ready to go on the stove, and you have mugs and teabags ready on the counter next to it.

The Required Tasks™️ have been completed as much as possible without the arrival of your best friend, and now all that's left to do is wait.

Which, normally, you're not the worst at. You're excellent at entertaining yourself, actually, mostly because there's always something to think about. Whether it be about cute dogs that you've seen over the past week (I wonder if the pomeranian down the street will let me pet him next time), potential plot twists for the new fantasy drama you're a little bit obsessed with (what if Gregothy was cursed the whole time???), or generic ponderings of the human existence as a whole (do souls have the metaphysical equivalent of a fingerprint?), you're pretty much always thinking about something.

Which is totally fine and dandy and cool or whatever when you have the ability to, you know, shut it off. For example, when you need to do something simple and necessary like, oh I don't know, go the fuck to sleep.

You also hate when that manic mental energy somehow translates into kinetic energy as well. It makes you feel like a hamster in a cage, watching yourself running and running and running on that stupid wheel until you exhaust yourself.

Tonight's metaphorical wheel: stimming like wild in the kitchen. Flapping, rocking, (gently) slapping, making weird and fun mouth sounds, the whole shebang.

And again, normally stimming is fun. Stimming is great. But stimming because you feel like if you don't stop moving you're going to literally vibrate out of your skin is, to put it lightly, Not It.

It takes you about ten minutes to work out all of the energy until you no longer feel like your blood was replaced with pop rocks.

With a groan, you lower yourself to the kitchen floor and lay down face first. Because despite how exhausted you feel in every possible way, there's still something like an itch in your conscious, a fucking pea underneath the miles of mattresses that refuse to let you just. Fucking. Sleep.

Your pity party must've lasted longer than you realized (or, more likely, you dissociated for a hot second there) because suddenly someone's knocking at your door at the same time you get a text from Seungkwan.

And you know it's a text from Seungkwan specifically because you got Vernon to help you change your notification settings so that whenever Seungkwan texts you, the "i love you.. bitch" sound clip plays instead of a normal text tone.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate slowly inching your way to the door like an uncoordinated caterpillar, but you swat the thought aside like you’re swatting a gnat and you awkwardly roll to your feet and make your way to your front door.

Without hesitating, you unlock the door, swinging it open with a flourish and sticking a finger right in Seungkwan's face before he can utter a single syllable, forcing him to cross his eyes.

You open your mouth wide like you're going to say something, pause for a moment, then tap your pointed finger to his nose with a quiet "boop."

He blinks, expression turning deadpan, and sighs. "I should have expected this, honestly."

“Yep!”

You let him into your apartment, and he makes himself right at home, mildly bitching at you as he goes to get the tea ready, and something within you shifts.

The inside of your head is still a bit of a dumpster fire, unfortunately, but inside your chest... something clicks into place that you're not sure that you're ready to name. Whatever it is, though, it's soft and warm and kinda feels like your heart is being hugged.

Smiling to yourself, you follow him into the kitchen.

💤 💤 💤 💤 💤

It was pretty much straight to “business” after that, and it only takes Seungkwan one cup of tea and two episodes listening to David Attenborough's dulcet narrations for him to knock right out, leaning heavily against your shoulder on the couch.

Which means it's now the perfect time to sit there and Admire Your Bro™️.

It's rare to see him so still, you think. He's an active guy, in pretty much every sense of the word, and you always feel a little honored when you get to be witness to his quiet, vulnerable moments like this one.

He looks so serene, face smoothed out and painted in soft twirling shades of blue from the screen of the monitor, though you can't see too much of it from this angle. Mostly you just see his cheeks and stupidly adorable button nose.

And you've seen the same thing a million times before — in all kinds of states and expressions — and despite how much you've tried to ignore it, each and every time you've caught yourself noticing just how cute Seungkwan is, it's caused that thing in your heart to scrunch up, full of the L-word feeling that you've kept unnamed for what feels like forever now.

Except, maybe that thing in your heart is tired of scrunching up. Maybe it's decided that it's tired of forever.

Maybe that thing has finally decided to burrow itself out of the walls you've built up because you find yourself finally allowing yourself to think, Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

You don't realize that Seungkwan has completely stilled against you, but you certainly notice when he suddenly throws himself forward so he can turn around and stare at you incredulously. Only he overshoots a little bit and ends up falling off the couch with a squawk and a dramatic flail.

"Oh my god, Kwannie are you okay?!"

He stares at you from where he fell, wide-eyed like you've grown a second head or like the time you'd tried to convince him that birds weren't real and actually just a government conspiracy.

"Am— am I okay? No??"

Now it's your turn to move off of the couch, coming down to his level to see if maybe he hurt himself when he fell. "Fuck, okay, did you hit something? Do you need an icepack?"

Seungkwan being Not Okay is maybe one of the worst things that could ever happen in the entire universe and you're trying not to panic as you reach out to check for injuries.

"No, no, stop—" he bats away at your hands and you stop in your motions, now kneeling in front of him. "I'm not hurt!"

Your brain does the cartoonish screech thing as it comes to a halt, and you furrow your brows. "But.. you just said you're not okay?"

"I'm not!" His eyes are still wide in shock, but he also looks confused and maybe a little bit like he's about to cry?

Oh no. If he cries and it's somehow your fault (because it has to somehow be your fault) you think the world might actually end.

"Okay, uh. I am— confused,” you start, sure you must look as lost as you feel. “But, um, what can I do to help?"

He swallows, and a part of you realizes that he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before. "Did you mean it?"

Knowing that it's significant but not yet knowing why, you maintain eye contact. "Mean what?"

"What you just said."

You blink. "...that I'm confused?"

He shakes his head. "No, before that."

You have a hard time remembering what you just said when you're not sleep-deprived and worried you've just somehow accidentally caused irreparable emotional damage to your best friend. "Uh... when I asked if you were okay?"

"No, fuck," and it's a shock for some reason, hearing him cuss right now. You hear him say much worse things all the time, but you think it might be the way he said it — with a kind of desperate vulnerability that you're not sure you've ever heard from him before.

That thing in your chest twinges and you think maybe you're the one who's gonna start crying.

He says your name like a plea, and then he's on his knees right in front of where you're kneeling on the floor, reaching forward to cup your face in his palms. "You said— Y/n, you said "holy shit I think I'm in love with you.””

Oh.

You're pretty sure your heart falls right out of your ass and bounces across the rug, judging from the way it comes to a dead stop. You blink at him. Full of new and sinking kind of dread, you whisper, "...I said that out loud?"

He laughs, but it's tinged with incredulity and sounds a little too close to a sob for comfort. "Yes! You did!"

And wait, no, your heart is still stuck in your chest, because you can feel it start pounding against your ribcage in double, triple, quadruple time. He must see the fear in your expression, because suddenly his eyes are narrowed in a determined scowl and he growls, "Oh no you don't."

Then you find yourself going down with a yelp as Seungkwan octopuses himself around you, trapping you within the confines of his surprisingly strong arms and legs as he basically tackles you to the floor.

You try and wiggle away even as you know it's useless, and he grits, "Y/n dammit, answer my question."

"Why were you even awake?” You deflect, getting an arm free and trying to give him a wedgie. “You were supposed to be asleep!"

"I was supposed to be asleep?!” He screeches, easily evading your reach and poking your ribs to get you to reflexively pull back your arm. “You're the one who hasn't slept in literal days! And stop avoiding my question!"

"No!" He has you trapped once again, and you resort to licking his arm.

"Oh my god!"

He muffles his scream into your shoulder, long and frustrated, and then he just... goes limp. He loosens his hold and just lets his full body weight kinda crush the parts of you he's ended up lying on and just... lays there.

This is your chance, you know — to wiggle free and escape and run away from your feelings just like you always have.

But, for some reason, you don't — that scrunched-up thing in your chest holds you back. You stay there, lying beneath Seungkwan on the floor of your living room at one-something in the morning, and the two of you just breathe.

"It's okay, you know," he murmurs after a moment, so quiet you barely hear him over David Attenborough still narrating softly in the background. "If you didn't mean it. It's okay."

Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

And you realize how easy it would be to play it off, to blame it on the sleep deprivation, the way you blurted it out like that — to say (to lie) you meant it completely platonically, like the way you propose to Mingyu at least once a month when he cooks you all dinner.

And you also realize, quite shockingly, that despite how a part of you still desperately wants to run away, the larger part of you wants to stay. Doesn't want to run. Doesn't want to lie anymore.

You swallow heavily, briefly close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. "And if I did? Mean it?"

This time, you do notice when Seungkwan goes still. Slowly, he lifts his head so he can look you in the eyes.

When he doesn't say anything, just continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, you try to continue.

"Would you— would that— would it be okay? If I meant it? When I— when I said that I'm in love with you? Is— because um, like you said, it's okay if it's not, and uh—"

Your nervous rambling comes to a stop when he once again cups your face, but it's gentler than before, closer to a caress. The whole time you'd been talking he'd been slowly sitting up, and now he's on his knees next to where you're still lying down on the floor, looking down at you like all the hope in the world is somewhere to be found in your expression.

"Y/n." he says your name like it's something precious, and you feel the absurd urge to burst into tears. "It would be very okay." His thumbs make gentle arcs across your cheeks. "And just to be clear: you mean it in a non-platonic sense, right?” He chews on his lip. “Hopefully, in a very much romantic sense?"

Staring at him staring at you, eyes bright with hope and a little bit of wonder... you can only imagine you must be looking at him the same way. Your chest feels like it's full of helium but also like something warm and gooey is sloshing around in there. And all that hope and wonder and holy shit is this actually happening? is causing your tongue to stick to the roof of your mouth, and all you're able to get past your lips is a breathless, "Hopefully?"

"Oh my god," he groans in frustration, but it's light and airy and makes you think of amusement park rides and fairy lights and how you want to annoy the shit out of this man for the rest of his life, if he'll let you. He's shaking his head, smiling, beaming, and he asks, "Why can you never give me any kind of a straight answer, huh?"

"Because it's my life's purpose to be the bane of your existence until the day we die," you say, reaching up to hold his face too. "Also because I've never done anything straight ever in my life."

And then your body is moving before your brain can think it though, dragging him down until you can press your lips to his and finally, finally know what it's like to kiss Boo Seungkwan.

He makes a little noise of surprise, one that you can feel buzz against your lips before he melts into you. And oh, any thoughts you might have had are forcefully ejected from your brain because all you can focus on are his lips pressed to yours, the way they move slowly, gently, turning this chaste kiss into the most scorching experience of your life. His nose bumps against yours and the heat of his warm breath sends tingles throughout your body, and his hands, fuck, his hands are still holding you gently but also with a firmness that feels like he doesn't want to let you go.

And then he's pulling away, and you whine at him because this may be the cruelest thing he's ever done to you ever in your entire life. "Noooooo, why'd you stop?"

"Because, as much as I'd love to continue to make out with you on your floor while an old British man narrates about life on the Serengeti—” he mercifully ignores the way you choke on your spit at the way he talks about making out with you so nonchalantly "—it's past someone's bedtime."

Your mouth drops open in offended shock. Was he actually going to put you to bed like a child? Like you both hadn't just declared your romantic love for each other? "Are you fucking serious?"

He just stands up and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a single raised eyebrow. You take the part of you that finds it annoyingly attractive and promptly smother it, crossing your own arms from your position on the floor.

"I'm not a baby," you definitely don't pout.

"Hmmm...” And then the bastard fucking pouts at you. “But you're my baby."

You blink at him.

"Welp, that was nice while it lasted,” you grunt, rolling to your feet, “but I suddenly need to relocate to Antarctica and become a penguin herder.”

He pulls you into his arms with a laugh, and you let him, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“You know,” he starts after he's held you for a few moments. “This isn't how I ever imagined how us confessing to each other would go.”

You snort.

“But also,” he continues, “it feels very 'us' doesn't it?”

"Yeah,” you murmur, not bothering to lift your head from his shoulder.

“Mmm, is someone finally sleepy?” he teases, starting to waddle you both towards your bedroom. “Did all the emotions finally wear you out?”

Instead of nodding, you lightly kick him in the shin and the sappy part of your brain that is currently in charge of everything thinks that his indignant squawk is one of your most favorite sounds.

The sappy part of your brain is right, of course, and when you wake up in your bed 15 hours later and accidentally smack him in the face, the urge to run is a little bit smaller than it was before. And the way he flushes bright red after you sleepily kiss him on the cheek is an image you're going to cherish until the day you die.

#svtsource #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan fic #seungkwan x y/n #seungkwan x you #seungkwan x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #savv writes #savv fics #in my queue world

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justmystyles · 11 months

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Now You're In My Life - Part 3

part 1

part 2

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 1.8k (it's a shorty, but I promise the next one won't be)

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down.

warnings: some curse words, but other than that it's tame.

a/n: i am absolutely blown away by the reception i've received over the last couple of days. i just had these stories in my brain that i wanted to write down to get out of my system, i never in a million years thought anyone would read them, let alone actually like them. i'm so thankful for all of the likes, comments, reblogs, lurkers. thank you thank you thank you! 🖤

i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

tag list: @bethanysnow @cute-as-ducks420 @gem1712 @golden-hoax @groovychaosavenue @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @youknowwhaaat

The day after your night with Harry, you sat at your desk willing your eyes to stay open as you reviewed the end of month report. By the time you got home, and the adrenaline of the evening had worn off, you only really got about an hour and a half of sleep. You figure you probably should have called out, but you had been holding onto your PTO so that you could end the year with two months of short weeks.

You were startled by a soft knock at your cubicle wall. You turned to find one of your coworkers, hiding half of his body and displaying a suspicious smile on his face. “Hi Y/N.”

“No way that’s a good greeting,” you reply cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

“You always think the worst of us,” he chuckled. “I’m just here to hand off the delivery that just came for you.” He stepped to his left, revealing an elaborate flower arrangement.

Your eyes went wide and you reached out to take the vase, pulling it up to your face to inhale the scent of fresh sunflowers, orange roses, safari sunset, and yellow solidago. The perfect combination of fall colors.

“You guys got me flowers?” You ask. Sure, you worked with some great guys, but they were typical mid-forties construction guys, you didn’t think it would ever cross their minds to get you flowers. Especially for no reason.

“Not us.” Your coworker shrugged before returning to his desk.

Even more confused than before, you place the flowers down on your desk, and remove the attached card. Pulling it from the envelope, her heart leapt as she read over the words.

Thank you for last night. Especially that last bit.

-H

PS - This should also cover your train ride. ;)

They were from Harry. He was thanking you for kissing him.

That’s it, you clearly never made it into work, you’re still at home in your bed. This has to be a dream.

You sat back down, and reached for your phone on the other side of the desk. You didn’t want to bother him, but it would be polite to thank him for the flowers, right? Just one text, that’s not too much of a bother. He can read it when he has a moment and respond whenever he wants. If he wants. You take a deep breath, building up the courage, and quickly open up your message app, typing Harry’s name into a new message.

Thank you sooooo much for the flowers. Completely unnecessary, but very much appreciated. :)

Before you even had a chance to lock your phone, a FaceTime call from Harry lit up the screen. Your eyes went wide, you weren’t even really expecting a reply text, let alone a FaceTime.

You swipe to answer, and before you know it, you’re staring at Harry who’s looking into his phone with that wide, dimpled grin.

“Harry, you really didn’t have to do this.”

“I know, but I wanted to. Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful. Really.”

“Well, let’s see them then.”

You swap the camera view, the flowers coming onto the screen. You see Harry’s brow furrow and his head shake in disapproval.

“No no no, this won’t do at all. I’m going to have to let you go. I’ve got to give that florist a piece of my mind.”

“What?! Why? They’re so beautiful!”

“I made it very clear to them that I wanted the flowers to be as beautiful as you are. These aren’t even close.”

Your heart melts immediately, but you’re quickly snapped out of it by the sarcastic ‘awws’ and kissy noises from the cubicles around you. Everyone was listening to your call. You were mortified.

“Y/N, can you flip the camera back around, please?” Harry’s voice rings out over the taunting of your coworkers. You quickly comply, and he starts to chuckle. “There’s that adorable blush. I wish I were there to pinch those cheeks.”

You cover your eyes with your free hand before rushing into a nearby conference room for some privacy. You take a seat at the table, placing your elbow down and burying your face in your hand.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Harry says before taking a brief pause. “Well, maybe a little.” He chuckles. “But more than that, I wanted to make sure you know that last night meant a lot to me.”

His words pull you from your spiral of embarrassment, you stay silent for a moment, making sure you heard him correctly before uncovering your face. “Really?” You ask tentatively. Harry nods his head with a sweet smile. “Me too.”

“Yeah? Excellent! I’d really like to see you again, would you like that?”

“Yeah, I really would.”

“Great, New York City isn’t that far from you, right?”

“No, it’s a few hours. Not a bad ride, I’ve done it a few times.”

“Would you like to do it this weekend? I’m at Madison Square Garden Saturday and Sunday, I would really like you to come.”

Your smile widens at the thought of spending the weekend with Harry. “Yeah, that sounds really great. I would love to.”

“Great! Can I book anything for you? Travel? Hotel?”

“No Harry, I’ve got it. I’ll book everything and let you know my itinerary.”

Harry smiles, and you can see the excitement in his eyes, even through the phone screen. “I can’t wait. Oh! And don’t forget your costumes!”

“Costumes?”

“Yeah, it’s Harryween! You’ll need to have costumes for the shows.”

“Harry… ween?” You question.

“Yeah, it’s Halloween, and my name is Harr--”

“No no no, I get it,” You interrupt him, waving your hand at the camera. “I just… it’s cute.” You smile.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m a sucker for a good pun.”

You see a sparkle in Harry’s eyes, and his dimples re-appear. “I knew I liked you, Y/N.” He joked. “The costumes don’t have to be too elaborate or anything, you can just reuse one of your old ones.”

Your chuckle at his suggestion. “I don’t think that’s going to work, I haven’t had a Halloween costume since I was like twelve.”

Harry’s jaw dropped at your confession. “You don’t go out on Halloween? No parties or anything.”

You shrug in response. “Never get invited anywhere.” You pause for a moment, suddenly remembering the one time you actually did get invited to a Halloween party. As a plus one. You were dumped two days before the party, and it was too late to return the costume, so you threw it in one of your basement storage bins. “Actually, I may have something.”

Harry could see the sadness in your eyes as you recalled the memory. He hated the sight, and silently swore to himself that he’d do everything in his power to make sure you never made that face again.

“Perfect. I’m sure you’ll look stunning in whatever it is.”

You grin through your blush, a knock at the door brings you back to the present. “Well, I uh… I should get back to work. I’ll see you this weekend.”

Definitely. And I’ll be texting and calling you well before that. You don’t really think I’m just going to go three days without talking to you, do you?”

“I mean, you went all those years without talking to me before we met.” You shrugged.

“Then I guess we’re going to have to talk all that much more to make up for lost time.” The sincerity in his voice makes your heart race. “I’ll talk to you soon, Y/N.”

“Bye, Harry.” You smile before ending the call and returning to your desk.

When Harry said you had to make up for lost time, you didn’t think he meant it literally. But he would text you often throughout the day. He would let you know what he was up to, ask you what you were doing and tell you how excited he was to see you this weekend.

He had a show Wednesday night, and he had been texting you right up until the last moment before he went onstage. He asked if he could call you after the show, you told him of course. You figured it would be around eleven or so, which was pretty late for you, but you’d just go to bed and leave your ringer on. The sound of the phone would wake you up, and you could talk to Harry and hear all about the show before going to bed properly.

The plan worked… mostly.

The sound of your phone woke you from your slumber. Still half asleep, you reach over to your nightstand, swiping to answer the call. “Harry?” You say groggily.

“Y/N? I can’t see you.”

See?! It’s a phone call, what is he talking about? You pull the phone from your ear and look at the screen, you sit up with a jolt when you see Harry’s face on the other end.

It wasn’t a phone call, it was a FaceTime. He was on your screen, hair perfectly tousled from performing onstage. He looked amazing. You were in bed, hair in a sloppy topknot, no makeup, a couple of pimple patches, probably some eye crusties. And Harry wanted to see you.

“I… uh… I thought you were going to call?”

“I was, but I missed your face. I wanted to see you.”

Harry wanted to see you. Not if he knew the horror show that was waiting for him on the other side of that phone. “That’s really sweet Harry, but I wasn’t expecting to see you. I don’t have any makeup on, I’m all gross and night face-y”

“Turn on the light, darling. Let me see you.”

Darling. He called you darling. Nothing that had happened over the past three days felt real.

How could you say no now? “Alright, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You sigh and reluctantly lean across your nightstand, turning on your lamp. You look into the phone, Harry’s eyes soften when he finally sees you. A look of adoration spread across his face.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“Harry…”

“I’m serious. Thank you for being vulnerable with me.” He had seen it the night you met, but your insecurities and difficulties letting people in became even more obvious to him the more he spoke with you. He wanted nothing more than to be trusted with your heart. He wanted to know everything about you; the good, the bad, he wanted you to let him in, and he was willing to take as much time as you needed.

You talked for a few minutes, getting a recap of his show, talking about your schedules for the next day. But Harry could see you were tired, he didn’t want to keep you up too long. You said your goodnights, and he blew you a kiss through the phone. You smiled shyly and ended the call, placing your phone back down, turning off the light, and snuggling into your blankets. You drifted off, replaying your conversation in your head.

Especially the part where he called you darling.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles meet cute #harry styles fluff #harry's house #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #love on tour #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic

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yanxidarlings · 9 months

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YANDERE HP GOLDEN ERA: SLYTHERIN BOYS X DORMMATE READER PT2

so more of the slytherin boys was in the lead last night and inspiration struck, but i still will be doing whichever option has the most votes by the end of the week, and eventually i'll probably have all of the concepts up, if you haven't already you can vote here.

so i did more reading up on mattheo and lorenzo, and i honestly don't know where to pick up from, i'm thinking of making this my main concept for yandere hp and building on it.

the last post specified the darling as the dormmate of our dear slytherin boys here, but many of the headcanons can be applied to a fem darling, or darling from another house. it's quite intriguing to imagine someone who had grown up close to draco, theo, ect. getting sorted into a different house; i can honestly see this being a trigger for the boys' yandere tendencies to develop.

sure theo was attached before, but he had never even entertained the possibility of not getting sorted into slytherin together. and what do you mean the darling won't be there to knock draco down a peg when he won't stop talking down to goyle?. how is blaise supposed to get through seven years of not watching his darling everynight whilst they sleep?

i might expand on this in my future ravenclaw (possibly hufflepuff) posts. for now i want to delve into the individual yandere characteristics of each slytherin (i'm considering adding pansy, adrian, other slytherins) to the concept if anyone else is interested.

DRACO MALFOY (cast tom felton):

i think i've made it painfully obvious draco is alot to deal with as a yandere. he's got a bit of everything and even more; but overall, he is overwhelmingly obsessive. his obsession is driven by irrepressible thoughts of his darling. ever since he was a child, separating from them has simply felt wrong, i think he's likely to have known the darling the longest, perhaps having grown up close to them.

maybe his darling is a member of the black family, or a lestrange, or hails from another prominent family, thus he has been brought up closely next to them.

there's no one he feels more comfortable around, his darling is his home, which would be sweet if he weren't willing to kill and maim others to keep his darling with him.

his darling was probably hoping, praying to get sorted into any house but slytherin, it didn't take a ravenclaw to know draco would only get worse if they shared a dorm/common room. immediately, he claims the bed next to his darling, and already has pestered his father into arranging them a private dorm together, but that old oaf dumbledore refused because "all students must be treated equally." what bullshit. if you ask draco.

he won't let his darling interact with anyone "don't lower yourself and associate with the likes of them" and socially isolates them. don't you dare wander off, it'll end in the biggest tantrum, and don't even think about dating, the entire slytherin dorm will implode on itself.

draco needs constant attention, his darling is all he thinks about so he expects them to only think about him as well. you'll quickly learn that it's best to give draco the attention he wants. it's not that he plans to give his darling a hard time, but he becomes moody, both mean and clingy at the same time. he'll have his arm around his darlings waist whilst accusing them of being a blood traitor, and attacking their insecurities, then a few hours later he crawls into bed whispering sweet nothings.

it leaves his darling on the edge, because sometimes these mood swings happen even when paying him the attention he so desperately craves.

this could lead to his darling keeping a facade up in front of him, so he has less ammunition during his mood swings, but if he suspects his darling of not being as open and comfortable around him as he is them, all hell breaks loose.

THEODORE NOTT (fancast lorenzo zurzolo):

but he's not as sensitive about his darlings perception of him as theo is. perhaps sensitive isn't the correct word as much as demanding. theodore demands his darling be open and honest with him, he wants to know about every ache and thought they have. however he is best characterised as a possessive yandere. above all he cannot live with the thought of sharing his darling with anyone.

sharing, in theo's mind, is anyone even casting a glance upon his darling. why isn't his company enough? why does his darling have to interact with undeserving rodents like malfoy, potter and the weasleys? he would completely abandon his life outside of his darling if they just asked would anyone else do that for them? no!.

they're the person that matters most to him, and he wants to be the only person his darling cares about as well.

theodore has likely known his darling since childhood, perhaps they shared similarly harsh parents/guardians, and bonded over that. it would make it all the more easier to theo to manipulate them into staying close to him.

his company is not as dreadful as draco's, and he doesn't demand physical affection and praise as much as the latter does, not if his darling is not willing. but there is still a part of him that yearns to press up against them and never let go.

he simply cannot handle his darling distancing themselves from him, and is quick to resort to threats, blackmail, emotional manipulation, anything that he thinks will keep him and his darling close.

he is another one who will shamelessly confess his love and attraction to his darling, and has already 'claimed' them in a strange way; everyone at hogwarts seems to identify theo out of the slytherin boys as the one the reader is 'dating', to theo's delight. his darling doesn't have to agree with the rumours or even think of them as a couple, as far as he's concerned, they've been together since they met.

MATTHEO RIDDLE (fancast benjamin wadsworth):

the only one who i imagine the darling meets when they start at hogwarts is mattheo. whichever year he starts at hogwarts, he's immediately intrigued by them (for whatever reason). maybe the rest of his dormmates take poorly to his blood status, and the darling is the first to welcome him, or maybe ol' moldy voldy has tasked him with extracting something from the reader.

no matter what jumpstarts his obsession, it develops at an alarmingly fast rate, one week he's glancing over at them in class, the next he's invading their thoughts whilst they sleep and following them in the halls.

his darling likely won't take too easily to his sudden interest in them, they've already been dealing with several unsettling slytherins for years, and are probably always on guard.

not like mattheo cares. if he wants to be close to them, he will. he knows draco and his gang have to treat him with courtsey if they want their families to stay in the dark lords good graces, as does his darling. so he inserts himself (quite violently) into his darlings life.

it should be harder than it is considering his short temperament and his darlings cautious nature, but he's able to understand his darling on an intense level due to his inherited legilimency.

no matter how uncomfortable his darling is around him, he can just invade their mind and lock them in a room with him if he wants to spend time with them. and he always gets what he wants.

he seldom reveals that he is reading their mind, lest they feel the need to develop occlumency. it also gives him a kick knowing their raw thoughts, he could never even say a word to his darling and still know them better than anyone else does. including the other slytherins.

deep down mattheo's incredibly insecure about his connection with his darling; out of theo, blaise, goyle, enzo, draco, he's known them for the least amount of time. he's the only half-blood. he's evil incarnate son of the dark lord himself. he'd only bring them pain and suffering but he can't bring himself to let go of them either.

whilst theo, draco, enzo and even goyle will confess their affection for their darling, and perhaps admit to what they've done, mattheo will only do the latter, and does not provide any context as to why he hexed weaslette after the darling complimented her quidditch skills, nor will he elaborate on why he must take showers at the exact same time as his darling everyday.

BLAISE ZABINI (cast louis cordice):

blaise shares his concealed affection for the darling. you could be none the wiser to his deep seeded affetion for you for years only to suddenly be told that he's your betrothed and now he refers to himself as your fiance and invites you to sleep in his bed as if it's the most normal thing ever.

among them all, blaise is the most calm and calculated. he knows that following his darling around and monopolising their interactions makes him look bad but sometimes he just can't help it. he has to sneer at granger who the darling got paired with in potions, and make remarks about how disgusting muggle and mudbloods are.

but he doesn't think he's better than muggleborns; he thinks he's better than everyone. i think blaise is the most likely to develop an obsession for a shallow reason, maybe the readers is aphrodite personified, hails from a prominent pureblood family that his mother is encouraging him to marry into or is incredibly intelligent, their actual character couldn't matter less to him. from the moment he decides they're his, they're his.

blaise is uniquely one of the only ones who actually wants his darling to love and show him affection of their own accord (meaning he would be nice enough to give them amortentia).

he wants them to be happy, but he also wants them to be entirely dependent on him. he takes on a sort of big brotherly role, he encourages them to eat and sleep well. he wants to be the one they ask opinions on outfits, schoolwork, ect. he thinks if they rely on him for everything, it'll be impossible for them to leave.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE (fancast louis patridge):

out of all of them, enzo is by far the 'softest', as mentioned in the previous post, he's the 'sane, normal' one out of all of them. he doesn't act strangely creepy (sorry blaise it's true), disturbingly controlling (don't deny it mattheo), possessive, obsessive or devoted to them. he comes across as the 'best friend', the sidekick in every romance novel that offers advice and stays out of the drama.

this is because he initially see's his fixation on his darling as nothing but a desire to protect them from those lunatics he and his darling call 'friends'. but why does his heart drop when he see's them getting pulled into a room by mattheo, or when blaise stares at them as if they are a veela. it's not jealousy it's concern for his poor mate. yeah, that's it.

and why can't he stand to be left out of their attempts to evade the others, or when they don't confide in him, whether their troubles are slytherin related or not.

he's probably the only one who realises how messed up what they all do is, the rest justify it, but when enzo eventually gives in to his obsession he doesn't pretend to be in the right. he's apologetic but he just can't let them go.

the only thing that would set him off would be them distancing themselves from him. he can handle sharing, but the idea of his darling avoiding him, not viewing him as the safe haven from the rest really drives him to insanity.

i also think lorenzo would be the one who convinces everyone to share their darling once shit hits the fan and everyone wants to take the reader for themself.

GREGORY GOYLE (cast josh herdman):

goyle is honestly just happy he gets to be around his darling. yeah, it would be nice if he could have them to himselves, and not just be a lackey for draco to sabotage the others. maybe his darling treats him with a bit more benevolence and he's grown attached to them over the years.

always willing to lend a helping hand, i think he's the least possessive out of all of them, and is best characterised as a devoted yandere. whilst the rest of them want to maintain some level of control over the reader, he's content just being near them. he doesn't even have to talk to them but it's a plus.

i wonder if he's actually as bad at school as he acts or if he just doesn't bother listening so that the darling has to dedicate time to tutoring him. no one knows.

goyle will really have to fight tooth and nail to be apart of the sharing arrangement enzo, draco, theo, mattheo and blaise somehow eventually come to. (that i will expand upon in a future post because this is getting long).

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toomuchracket · 8 months

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scary movies (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

day 3 of promptober75! this is less about scary movies than it is about the two of them musing on romance. but they do watch bones and all! i don't think there are any spoilers, but don't yell at me if there are please lol this isn't proofread. yeah, this is just a cutely weird little fic about some cutely weird people. i hope you enjoy!

"baaaaaaaabe, hurry up. i miss you!"

you can hear the pout in matty's voice, even from the next room of the hotel suite. picking up the bowl of m&ms in one hand and the open bottle of champagne in the other, you pad back into the bedroom. "how can you miss me? you've been with me the whole day."

"i always miss you when i'm not right beside you, no matter how long it's for," matty replies, sitting up on his knees on the bed to carefully take the bowl and bottle from your hands. the way his stomach muscles shift with the movement makes your knees run the risk of shaking. "the night before our wedding is going to be hellish for me. are you sure we can't just stay together? al green it?"

"baby, it's tradition."

"peer pressure from dead people, you mean."

"fine, another reason, then. oh, here's one - absence makes the heart grow fonder. you can't argue with Classical poetry."

"try me, babe."

you sigh. "matty, sweetheart, love and light of my life, sole occupant of my head and heart… it's only for twelve hours of our lives. and we will literally be on the same floor of the same building. it'll be fine!"

matty quirks a brow.

god, he's stubborn. you inhale deeply before you talk again. "alright. i'll wait until the bridesmaids are asleep and then we can sneak out together for a walk. but i'm not sleeping with you at all - in either sense, actually - regardless of how crippling your separation anxiety is."

"i can work with that, darling. thank you," matty smiles and leans up to kiss you.

before he can, though, you place your index finger on his pretty lips. "not so fast, healy, i have a caveat: i'll only do it if we can share a cig."

matty rolls his eyes, and nudges your finger from his face with a quick head movement. "should've seen that one coming. christ, fine. one cigarette, and that's it. don't want any rattling coughing fits during our vows."

you giggle, leaning down to kiss him; the speed with which his face softens afterwards is comical, almost cartoon-like. "thanks, angel."

"mmm, can't wait to marry you," matty murmurs against your lips. "nor can i wait for you to get into bed with me so i can cuddle you the way i've wanted to all day."

"point taken, baby, just let me…" your face screws up as you reach around to unclasp your bra through your (matty's) t-shirt, before pulling it out from under the soft material and launching it towards the open suitcase in the corner of the room. relief palpable, you climb onto the bed and grin at an enamoured matty, now sitting against the plush headboard and swigging champagne. "freedom at last."

"you know, i'd gladly do that for you, sweetheart," matty smirks, tugging you onto his lap with one arm. "in the name of feminism, and all."

"as much as i commend your attempts to champion the gender, baby, i'll pass," you smile, enjoying the tiny moan that slips from your fiancé's lips as you weave your hands into his hair. "because i know if i let you do that, your hands are gonna end up on my tits, and then we'll never get anything done."

"oi, that's not true," matty frowns (cutely). "we'll get each other done. and i know you enjoy that. as do i, my god."

his lips attach themselves to your neck, making their way down; your insides begin to liquify, but you fight through the slight haze of pleasure and stand your ground. "yeah, i really do enjoy it. but, baby, there's other stuff i enjoy doing with you that i wanna do too, yeah? like… watching this film we agreed we were gonna put on tonight."

matty groans against your skin. "must we?"

"yes. you promised me, matty," you say, as firmly as you can with his lips still attached to your collarbone. "we watched the irishman yesterday because you wanted to, and you said we could do bones and all today. it's only fair."

"a romance film about cannibalism," matty mutters to nobody in particular. "it's foul, that concept."

"well, fair is foul and foul is fair."

"what?"

"macbeth. shakespeare. can't argue with him. anyway," you say, shuffling around so matty can lean back against your chest. "can i put the film on now?"

a deep sigh, one that seems to drag itself up from the depths of matty's soul. "depends."

"on?"

"it depends," matty begins dramatically. "on if you're going to spend the rest of the day thirsting over timothée chalamet or not."

"you know, i seem to like him a lot more in your head than i do in real life."

"really?"

"yeah."

matty hums, appeased. "sick. go on, then, stick it on."

you press a kiss to matty's temple and snake a hand across his torso to hold his own. matty brings it to his lips, and the contact seems to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. "thank you, lover."

the beginning of the film passes without much incident; that is, until the first lightly gory scene. you wince a little at the sound of cracking bone, but you're nowhere near as bad as matty, who almost upends the bowl of sweets resting on his lap and vigorously shakes his head as if it'll erase the memory from his brain.

once it passes, he reaches for the champagne on the bedside table and takes a long drink, before passing the bottle to you. "maybe you'd better hang onto that, darling."

"alright, baby."

despite both of your respective silences, and although you can't see matty's face, you can picture the disgust colouring his features from the way his head tilts against you as the film progresses. he doesn't speak until the film's main villain is introduced, reaching back for the champagne with a "creepy fucker, that one"; this sentiment is built upon at the shot of a james joyce book in said fucker's residence. "oh, christ, he really is suspicious."

despite your own discomfort towards the happenings on-screen, you grin at matty's assessment. "i mean, yeah, baby. but i think the lurking and creeping kinda gave that away already."

"well, obviously. but that book's an extra layer of him being an absolute wrong'un."

you giggle, wrapping your other arm around matty and resting your head on his shoulder. with a happy little huff of air through his nose, matty turns slightly to kiss your cheek; the two of you stay like that, cosied up in a tableau of casual domestic intimacy. it's sweet, for a while, and comfortable - matty even rips the piss out of you at a particular scene involving timothée chalamet and a cornfield, touting it as "your dream movie death, babe".

(he's lowkey not wrong.)

the sweet moment breaks somewhat, though, as the film progresses and matty gets increasingly more grossed out. with every drop of blood spilled, every jumpscare, every mere mention of the "eating" driving the plot, the muscles in his limbs loosen and contract back into tension, soundtracked by a chorus of gasps, gulps, groans of disgust, and the odd "oh for fuck's sake" when things get really horrid. in spite of your own discomfort at some of the gore, you can't resist fucking with your fiancé a little bit; amidst a silently fraught moment for maren, the protagonist, you lean right next to an unsuspecting matty's ear and crunch a handful of m&m's in your mouth. he practically hits the ceiling in fright, and pinches your thigh with a "not fucking funny". but he doesn't let go of you at all, however grumpy you make him, holding you like a lifeline throughout. in fact, by the time the credits start rolling, matty's fully squished his face into your ribs to get away from the gore on screen, thumbs rubbing your thighs so quickly to try and calm his noticeably thumping heart that you fear he might accidentally set your skin ablaze.

despite his terror, though, you have to hold back a laugh. "matty, sweetheart," you say, trying with all your might to keep your voice steady. "were you scared of that movie?"

"no, just unnerved by it," comes the clearly- untrue reply, muffled by your cotton-mix-clad chest. "like, they were just constantly eating raw? really? mingin'."

you can't hold back a derisive cackle now, though. "you're freaked out at people eating raw meat? you fucking hypocrite!"

"i wasn't eating people, was i?" matty protests.

"i don't know, i think you ate with it at finsbury."

matty scoffs, but you feel him smile against you. "you're a right weirdo, sometimes, you know that?"

"and you're a scaredy-cat, you know that? honestly. can't even handle a bit of cannibalism in a movie. pussy."

your fiancé pulls back from your chest to look at you, and you regret your words immediately as soon as you see the shit-eating grin on his face. "well, you are what you eat."

an immediate facepalm. "i can't stand you."

"that ring on your left hand suggests otherwise, darling," matty kisses said ring, then presses little pecks up your finger to the tip. "and look at that - you can be romantic and kiss fingers without wanting to munch on them. this film is nonsensical. i mean, i get it's some metaphorical thing about loving people for who they truly are, but jesus, the cannibalism isn't half disgusting."

"hmmm, i don't know," you muse, twirling matty's curls around your fingers. "i think there's something romantic about it. the ending with maren and lee, at least."

matty peels your fingers out of his hair and moves to face you, his beautiful face contorted into the most bewildered expression you think you've ever seen. "are you on something right now?"

"i'm serious! it's romantic, if ill-advised. and messy."

"sweetheart," matty shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "politely - what the fuck are you on about?"

you smile. "well, it's all about desire, and lust, yeah?"

"yeah, i get that, but…"

"so, it's just needing somebody so much that you, well, you consume them in their entirety. and also, like," you continue, pushing your slipping glasses back up your nose. "there's an element of closeness to it, too. how much more intimate can you get than having your lover being broken down in your digestive system, literally fuelling you the way their love does so emotionally? oh, and devotion! giving yourself up to your lover like that to sustain them? you're together forever. yeah, it's disgusting, but you can't deny there's a romance to it, matty, you really can't."

he looks like he wants to, though. "but it's so violent."

you roll your eyes. "says the man who wrote a song about the idea of cracking his girlfriend's skull open, just so he could know exactly what she was thinking. and i thought that was sweet, and romantic."

matty opens his mouth as if to disagree, then closes it and shrugs. "actually, you've got a point, darling," he smiles almost shyly, tracing patterns in the bare skin of your shin. "i wrote that about you, you know."

"you did? aww, baby," you coo, pulling your fiancé's face towards you so you can kiss all over it. "i had no idea!"

"oh, come on, babe, who the fuck else would it have been about?" matty scoffs. "used to daydream about being so intimate with you like this, just hearing you think out loud, as unedited as you'll ever get."

you smirk. "bet you didn't think the thoughts would be about the inherent romance of cannibalism, huh?"

matty laughs, leaning in to kiss you slowly, deeply, passionately. "no, but it doesn't matter. i love you regardless."

"i love you too. and i promise i won't try to eat you, baby."

"nor will i take a heavy object to your skull, sweetheart. however," matty smirks, shuffling down the bed to rest his head in the gap between your legs. "i would quite like to eat you in a slightly different sense, if you'll allow."

"oh, go on then."

#mads does writing #mads muses #into the birthday partyverse #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #promptober75

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 10 months

Text

New series idea: analysing my favourite (underrated) lines from Six of Crows

I feel like I haven't given you any analysis in a while, and I've had this idea for some time now so I thought it was worth giving it a try. This is going to be a list of my personal favourite quotes in Chapter 2 of Six of Crows with explanation/analysis for any that I have an explanation/analysis for - but if a famous or popular quote isn't included then it's not because I don't like it, it's just because I don't feel I have anything new to add to the existing analyses around it. And yeah, if you guys like this then I'll make it a more regular thing and go through chapter by chapter (probably sometimes including multiple chapters in one post), so let me know what you think!

(Also, I chose to start with Chapter 2 on purpose because I don't have loads to say about Chapter 1, but if anyone is interested I'm open to trying it in the future)

"every favour came with enough strings attached to stage a puppet show" - ugh words cannot explain my love of this quote. Not only is this a gorgeous and vibrant metaphor that brings forth very clear imagery, it also achieves two different concepts relating to the idea of the "puppet show". Firstly, we have the idea that Kaz is the puppet master and Ketterdam is his stage; he is in complete control, he can bend the city to his whims, and it's ultimate his say that can make or break someone. This is definitely the image we're given of Kaz in the opening two chapters, and this singular line really reinforces that, however the rest of the book and many of the descriptions in Crooked Kingdom unravel this view very quickly. This description far better fits Pekka Rollins, which brings me onto the other concept relating to the "puppet show": the question of who it actually is pulling the strings. Arguably Kaz is a puppet on Rollins' stage, and Rollins a puppet on the Merchant Councils'. each has power but each is ultimately at the whims of the other. This brings worth the suggestion that something darker is at play and that there's far more to Kaz than initally meets the eyes before we've even met him, so in short it's just completely and utter genius.

"Kaz hated a puzzle he couldn't solve, and he and Inej had concocted a hundred theories to account for the murder - none of which satisfied" - again, Kaz has thus far said a single line, and not one with a lot of information in it ("Yes and no. It's always good to have a country in debt to you, makes for friendlier negotiations) and yet we know so much about him - and even some details about his relationship with Inej! It even tells us a lot about Inej; we've been presented with a figure heralded as near-omnipotent in his city, someone no-one wants to be on the wrong side of, someone who has complete control over every conversation he has with you, and she is someone with whom he will spend hours trying to solve a riddle? So then, the reader is forced to think, what kind of power does she has? What makes her worthy of his closeness, why does he trust her, and why does she know him well enough to so intimately know his likes and dislikes? Inej hasn't even spoken yet.

"But it didn't feel neutral to Inej. It felt like the hush of the woods before the snare yanks tight and the rabbit starts to scream" - ok most of my enjoyment of this quote is just of the beautiful prose, however I would like to add that all six Crows experienced this sort of 'calm before the storm' leading up to the most painful experiences of their lives - Wylan thinking he could go to music school, Inej at the beach with her parents and calling sleepily to the man she though was her father, Kaz staying at the cafe and meeting Margit and Saskia, Matthias knowing he was going to be a big brother, Jesper seeing his mother for the last time when she picked him up and hugged him even though he was up past his bedtime, Nina feeling that she had purpose and loving the way she could help her country - so this could be considered foreshadowing.

" 'Care to place a wager?' Jesper asked.

'I'm not going to bet on my own death,'

Kaz flipped his hat onto his head and ran his gloved fingers along the brim in a quick saulte. 'Why not Bolliger? We do it every day,' "

"Kaz had done his best to teach her, but she didn't quite have his way with breaking and entering, and it took her a few tries to finesse the lock" - my main source for liking this quote comes from an analysis I did a while ago when someone asked me about comapring this quote and Kaz's self-proclaimed "shoddy job" of teaching her to pick locks. It's a while since I posted that so I'll run through it here briefly, basically it's very indicative of their relationship dynamic. Whilst both place the other on a pedestal, they do it in different ways, and Kaz particularly often glorifies Inej and almost finds it difficult to accept that she, like anyone, must be flawed. So if she fails at something, like picking locks as well as he can, and she cannot possibly be flawed then the error must be in his teaching - it can never be with her. It's also a glaring example of Kaz's self-destructive nature. My other reason for liking this quotes is just that it once again tells us about the characters so early on and without having to directly explain it to us - we know Kaz is good with locks because he tried to teach Inej and she isn't as good as him, but she still manages to get it open.

' "I'm a business man,' he'd told her, 'No more, no less,'

'You're a thief, Kaz,'

'Isn't that what I just said?' " - I ADORE this, but honestly all I can say for analysis is that it sums up the entire theme of the novels beuatifully.

"Now he looked like some kind of priest come to preach to a group of circus performers" - this sets up a great parallel that I've mentioned before in one of my "little details you might have missed/forgotten" posts, but it's also interesting to have it come from Inej's perspective since she's incredibly religious and performed as a travelling acrobat with her family. It's probably drawn from personal experience, someone in dark clothes who judges the brightness of Suli traditional clothing and/or culture and tries to preach religion to a group who've already long found it because they don't align with thier idea of religion. It's even possible that she links that idea with Kaz, not because of his actions but because he's from a country that has perversely sexualised and condemned her culture and he dresses like the rich merchants who would preach this exact kind of message - and possibly even have visited her at the Menagerie, where she was forced to appropriate her own heritage and way of life for the enjoyment of those who look down it with no reason for doing so.

"Inej pitied the boy who might die alone with no one to comfort him in his last hours or who might live and spend his life as an exile. But the night's work wasn't over yet, and the Wraith didn't have time for traitors" - this is one of the few but fabulous examples we get of the idea that "Inej" and "the Wraith" are separate entities; Inej being the girl she was, the girl she should have been, and the Wraith being a creation of necessity to aid survival. Inej is a religious young woman from Ravka who has been through far more than she should have done, but the Wraith was born and raised on the blood-soaked streets of Ketterdam and has every intention of surviving them - no matter the cost. This concept is only mentioned a few times, however it runs a beautiful parallel with the distinction between Kaz Rietveld and Kaz Brekker, or Kaz and Dirtyhands depending on how you look at it.

Ok I realise this is a pretty long post but thanks for reading it if you got this far, and I really enjoyed making this so please let me know if you guys would enjoy seeing more. And, in summary, Leigh Bardugo is a genius

#grishaverse #leigh bardugo #six of crows #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #nina zenik #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #kanej #wesper #helnik #soc meta #six of crows analysis #six of crows meta #soc analyst

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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i love your works and your toxic könig so much 😭 for some reason in my head könig was always like a puppy in love even outside of aus but i like to imagine him like this sometimes.

basically if he feels abandoned bc you were busy with something else (literally taking a shower for like 10 minutes or not looking at him while he was talking) he will start crying and needs you to kiss him a bunch of times and tell him he's your favourite boy baby husband man boyfriend sweetheart for like an hour lol. he literally can't stand it if he can't touch you or talk to you for long periods of time (let's say the reader is a civilian and könig often has missions he has to leave for). he literally goes insane and keeps rereading those screenshots of loving messages from you he has an entire folder on his phone for, literally he convinced himself that you've already left him for someone else and is now going to be crying himself to sleep.

when he does return he's literally scared, so it feels like you attached him to yourself physically and that's why he never leaves your side. always holding hands, könig always being there even if your have to move around the house a lot or do the most mundane tasks even if he himself has chores or things he needs to do. kind of creepy bc he's just silent but feels like he'll die if you disappear from his line of sight for more than two seconds.

even aside from that listening to you talk fondly of someone, anyone really: a friend (if he lets you have them), a random cashier (if he wasn't there with you to talk to them instead of you), a relative (if he even allows you to talk to your family) he's so!!! like hurt and upset and goes quiet for long periods of time.

like eyes red from crying, nose stuffed and he's like "i'm fine nothing is wrong" then goes back to crying somewhere more private.

and this kind of behaviour makes sex kind of uncomfortable Sometimes. he often needs you to repeat that you're his, only his, you can't look away from him, you HAVE to be holding his hand when he fucks you but somehow it's a 50/50 when it comes to power dynamics.

either he manhandles you and shows you that he's the only man, the only person you could ever need or love and that he won't ever let you leave him; or he's completely subby, like "please hold my face and kiss me while you're riding me for as long as you want, i'm only yours and i wanna show that" kind of way.

i am insane basically thank you for coming to my ted talk.

This was one of the best Ted talks I've ever been to! I loved every word, every second of it!! 🥳🥹 My god, I want more... I need me some encore now.

I love subby König, holy Christ. And tbh... what's beneath the toxic, crazy killing machine König is someone who is horribly, and I mean HORRIBLY love-deprived and touch-starved and super duper insecure. Which means there's bound to be some subby behavior leaking through toxic König too!

König would so need to have you on his sights at all times. And when he's working, it's annoying because... he loves his work but now he's just thinking about you. What are you doing at this very moment..? Have you talked to someone today? A friend, a colleague, a family member? A stranger??

Do you sleep ok without him (because he doesn't, he just tosses and turns in his bunk/cot/the ground all night when you're not there), and why haven't you sent a text today? He's gonna call you as soon as he gets somewhere more private.

The longer the mission lasts, the more sullen and broody he gets. After a few days, he kills his enemies with a thousand yard stare only because they're basically what's between him and his squeeze.

And yes he has to touch you like a thousand times a day or just watch your every move when he finally gets home. If you're in the bathroom too long he comes to knock on the door and ask if everything's alright (you ran there to have a moment's peace from this big cuddly behemoth who looks at you with that creepy batless obsessive stare... frankly it's disturbing)

And oh my god stop – holding hands during sex? Oh my god. Imagine him bordering on being rough (because he's *missed* you goddammit 👿) while wanting to entwine your fingers together✨️. Toxic König is a huge romantic, even if the "romantic" things he does are a bit... questionable. And he wouldn't shut up during the first round after he got home!

"Say that you missed me,"

"Tell me you're mine... Say it. Now,"

"You're always teasing me,"

would be some of the things he'd say during pounding you to his heart's content. (And you wouldn't even know how you've "teased" him this time... Like... He's the one who left for a week long mission...? 🤨)

After sex he would be so much gentler, but no less demanding and whiny. He needs so much validation and gets odd and grumpy if you don't give him some. If you'd try to domme him though, he would become even more unbearable (being a sub is this man's secret fantasy but he doesn't even know it himself).

#answered #könig headcanons #yandere könig #sub könig #i love him #in all forms #könig x reader

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lizzieislife94x · 5 months

Text

Long Distance (e.o)

Requested ❤️

Lizzie x Fem Reader

GirlxGirl

Y/ns POV:

I wash up my plate as I watch my phone like an excited child its 6:30pm meaning my girlfriend will be calling any minute its 10pm where she is at the moment on location, I dry my dish as I wait for the call after 5 minutes my phone rings with the facetime call.

Me: babyyy I've missed you so much.

Lizzie: I've missed you too, how was your day today baby.

Me: it was great work was chill I hung out with one of my new co workers Jane she's awesome.

I say with a smile as I look at lizzie her smile doesn't seem proper maybe I'm over thinking

Lizzie: that's good did you eat.

Me: yeah I just had dinner just finished 15 minutes ago, how is work going liz.

Lizzie: ugh good yeah just really tired I wish I was with you though.

Me: yeah me too me too.

After an hour on the phone we hang up and I have a huge smile on my face lizzie said she's coming to visit next week she has 2 weeks off and I couldn't be more excited about it I decided to go for a shower then bed and fall asleep with a huge smile on my face.

4 days later:

"So you have any plans for this weekend y/n" I look up from my food and smile sweetly "actually I don't do you wanna do something" I ask Jane as she grins "yessss lets go dancing and let loose" she says excitedly as I giggle "ok so tomorrow night I'll meet you at the club?" I say and nods "yes definitely " we continue to eat our lunch as my phone rings I look and notice lizzies name causing me to smile "Jane ill be right back I have to take this my girlfriend is calling" I stand up and walk away to answer.

Me: Hey baby is everything ok

Lizzie: yeah I just missed your voice babygirl how is work.

Me: yeah we're on lunch just now I'm going to the club tomorrow night with JaneAll I hear is silence for bit

Me: lizzie are you there liz baby

Lizzie: yeah sorry I'm here thats great as long as you have fun princess

Me: oh you no I will but hey I can't wait to see you on Monday I'm counting down the hours

Lizzie: me to princess I can't wait to just chill with you go out and most importantly have you in my arms.

Me: oh god me to baby I can't wait shit hey baby I gotta go I gotta get back to work ill text you later have fun filming.

With that I quickly hang up and rush back up to the office and get back towork after a few hours it's home time I quickly head home and throw myself on the couch oh jeez its been a long day I decided to just have grilled cheese for dinner I can't be bothered cooking once I eat I head up to my room and throw myself onto the bed and open tik tok must have fell asleep though because I'm being woke up to the sound of my alarm I roll over and groan getting up to shower and brush my teeth I get dressed for work and head to my car.

Me: Good morning baby I hope you have a great day still counting the hours down till your here but I'm heading to work so I'll text you again later

I put my phone down and drive to work as I pull up my phone beeps causing me to smile when I see her name on my phone

Lizzie♥️: Good morning princess I hope you have a great day at work and don't get to drunk tonight ill text you later beautiful

I smile and walk into the building to get my work done at lunch Jane comes running over to me "dude you still on for tonight" she says excited "yeah of course haha I'm looking forward to it ill meet you at the club at 8" she jumps up and down a little making me laugh.

after a long day its finally time to head home I need to go and pick an outfit.

2 hours later:

I finish putting the last touches to my make up and admire myself in the mirror I do look pretty hot if I do say so myself I went with tight black dress and black heels decided light make up and curly hair I grab my phone and take a full body picture and decide to send it to lizzie.

Me:*1 image attached* baby do I look ok

Not even a minute later my phone dings

Lizzie: Wow wow wow you look fucking sexy baby not gonna lie I'm hella jealous right now if anyone looks at you a little to long punch them in the face for me babygirl😳

I giggle at her text blushing slightly

Me: Baby no one's going to look at me and even if they did let them I have the best girlfriend in the world I don't need nor want anyone else but you your eyes and your staring are the only ones that matter to me

I spray some perfume and head out getting into my car and driving towards the club after 20 minutes I arrive right on time I park up and head to the front of club and see Jane "wow you look amazing" she says as we hug and head inside.

4 hours later:

"Oh my gosh that was so fun I yell to Jane" she nods and agrees we head outside and I call an uber "I haven't been out in a while and I had so much fun thank you Jane" she looks at me and smiles "same thanks for coming with me" we part ways heading into our own ubers after 20 minutes and a stop to Mcdonalds I'm home I decided to drunken facetime my girlfriend while I munched my Mcdonalds we spend roughly 2 hours on facetime before I passed out

Time skip to Monday

Work was boring today maybe its because lizzie gets here in the next hour and I'm counting down I get to finish in 10 minutes so I can pick her up once I finish I practically run to my car and head towards the airport my excitement rushing through my veins after 15 minutes I arrived at the airport I get out and stand against my car patiently waiting after a few minutes I spot her walking towards me with a huge smile I jump up and down and run towards her screaming with excitement as I jump into her arms she catches me and we both squeal in joy holding eachother tight "I missed you so fucking much" i mumble into her neck as she holds me tighter "I missed you to princess" we stood holding eachother for 10 minutes before I took her bag and put it in the trunk then opened her door for her "thank you baby" she smiles fuck I've missed her smile so much Irun to my side and start to drive to my house her hand automatically rests on my thigh making my thoughts run wild I haven't seen her in 6 months so its been 6 months of no action I pull into my drive and get out running round to open her door "there you go baby" she giggles and smiles as we walk inside she plops down on the couch and I follow instantly cuddling upto her "fuck I've missed you" I mumble but loud enough for her to hear"I've missed you too beautiful" she says as she plays with my hair I Bury my face in her chest and bask in the feeling of being in her arms and her playing with my hair I let out a content sigh this is perfect.

AN: ok this is gonna be a 2 parter I didn't think it would be this long but this part is basically just leading up to them being together again part 2 will have the action if it sucks I'm sorry lmao hope your all good and stay hydrated people I feel like I've not wrote in months

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