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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

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Lego still not sponsoring me (dark!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is a nerd who needs to get sprayed with water for being a fucking creep. You're an adorable cashier at the Lego Store in Berlin who doesn't know any better and is too nice to lose. He will have you. Mostly because he wants someone to do his Lego sets with.

Details count: 2922 AO3 TW and Tags: Dub-con/Non-con, age gap, size difference, kidnapping, awkward colonel Konig, nerd Konig, hurt/comfort, Konig's POV(mostly), awkward German, yandere Konig.

You didn’t want to build Millenium Falcon with him.

You didn’t want to shower or eat, you didn’t want to do anything besides crying, and even though your tears, as he expected, were beautiful and adorable, it was kinda hard for König to take care of your mental and physical needs while he was rock hard from watching you cry so sweetly.

König is patient, kind, and a model citizen through and through. Why are you upset? He is doing everything he can, just to make you smile! Seriously, Schatzi, the desire to make him as miserable as you possibly can doesn’t make you pretty or cute or even the least bit adorable. Good thing that he is used to feeling sad and kinda of bullied – you’re lucky he doesn’t even try to feel good anymore. Not in his destiny book to live a good life. — I brought food.

You groan lightly, whimpering somewhere in the corner of his basement. To your justification, his basement is a bit dirty. He forgot to visit the house for months after deployment, which was never enough to fill out the blanks of loneliness in the empty rooms. His dogshits methods of choosing decorations also made the mere existence in the house a hard mission even in itself. He looked at the anime posters in the guest rooms, which made him want to sell the property to anyone willing to pay 50 Euros for the processing fees. The posters(Sword Art Online because why the hell not, he likes cool swords and a power fantasy about a loser getting the chick) and artwork of his queen and savior, The Busty Blond Lady From Fate because, unlike those waifu-obsessed freaks, he did have a life and not enough time to actually remember her name. Something about light sabers. Or cats. — Are you going to kill me?

He sighs because you sound like a broken record. All the time – the questions about his intentions, like you can’t see the tent in his pants every time you open your eyes, about letting you go, about at least allowing you to text your family that you decided to change your country of residence and would need to revoke your German visa. You’re way more soft than he thought you’d initially be – no fighting, no arguing, just pure terror and desire to die every time his hands brush over you. König is a sweet guy, as sweet as someone like him can be – but he only has a few weeks until his next mission, and even a few days of your moping around is bound to make him not just blue-balled, but also very, extremely, offensively hot-headed.

He spent two days with you chained up in his basement and, he thinks, that should be enough for foreplay. He is extremely generous and kind – usually, at this point, he’d already start breaking the fingers of whoever poor fuck is his torture victim for the mission.

— I don’t want to kill you.

You whimper – somehow, his answer didn’t calm you down. Fucking women and their inability to talk to their kidnappers – he considers spiking your food just this once, so he could have a nice session with your little drunk self and some roofies but, of course, he is a nice guy who brought you takeout in a reheatable container, with a cute plastic fork and some sparkling water in a glass, just so you won’t feel like he is making you eat some garbage. It’s good food, too – he’d love to cook like this, but the heights of his skills are runny eggs and burnt coffee. He hopes you like the Italian because it’s the most inoffensive stuff he could have brought you without resorting to pizza and cup noodles. He will never let you eat cup noodles on his watch.

— Are you going to rape me?

He can’t exactly say no because, as a matter of fact, pulling your cute body under his is one of his intentions. He wanted to do it since he was you in this fucking store, but, of course. saying this to a pretty girl is lame. And completely counter-productive. And would make him a villain in your eyes, even though he tries so fucking hard to be a hero. He can make you feel good if you were to just open your pretty legs for him and moan under his tongue – god knows, he wants to make you feel good. He wonders what would it take for him to please you. If he could have a full-time job at this.

— Nein. Thought I told you already.

— I don’t…I shouldn’t believe you.

He shook his head, pushing the plate(he had to go out of his way to actually put the pasta from the tray to a proper plate, enjoy this, woman) towards you. You’re adorable like this – naked, trembling, a bit too weak to actually fight him over not eating anything for the past two days – you’re repeating the same conversation over and over again and König wouldn’t mind living in a groundhog day if the loop would end with his fucking you on that thin mattress each time.

Speaking of mattresses – he needs to get you a thicker one.

Speaking of thicker mattresses – he needs to relocate you into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Speaking of his bedroom – he is fucking bricked.

— If you don’t trust me, why do you ask?

You bite your lips. He can see you’re hungry and thirsty – he doesn’t want to forcefully feed you, so, yeah, you better be very hungry very soon. He pushes the plate towards you, hoping you won’t launch it on his head. He survived worse, a 6’4 British dude in a ski mask falling on him with the speed of Brexit, but getting hit by a plate when your angry girlfriend is being an angry girlfriend is…the best thing that could ever happen to him, actually. Gott, he is miserable.

— I…I don’t know. Don’t want to get killed.

— I won’t kill you.

— But you will hurt me.

— I don’t have to do that, Liebling.

No, he doesn’t.

But he sees the way your plushy thighs are squeezing into that tiny corner where your mat is, your squishy body getting all shaky and trembly, your lips in a tight line with tiny blood droplets from biting on them too much – and, by his fucking god, you’re beautiful. He wants to make you wet, to make you squirm, to make you beg and cry for mercy as he pounds into the sweetness of your cunt. He wants to try you on the inside and out, lick you all over from the inside, and then make you lick your love juices from his lips.

König knows he is hard and can’t really hide it – it’s useless now, really, he is being very nice and considerate to you. Changing your life is hard, especially with how quickly you moved to his place – like a good boyfriend, he should help you adjust. And aid you in recognizing that he is, in fact, your boyfriend and future husband. The perfect partner to ever exist. — What is it?

— Pasta. It’s…it’s good. Should be good. He is nervous, anxious. Seeing a pretty girl in her natural habitat – a Lego store – is one thing. He was barely able to talk to you properly, especially right after his deployment, where the only female attention he ever got was Roze asking to cover her or additional female soldiers groaning in pain as he stomped them. But you…he shouldn’t be colonel around you – absolutely not. You’re soft and civilian, you’re as polite as a girl in a basement could be, and you deserve to have something nice for once in your life. Licking his lips, König gently picks up a fork and presses a small amount of pasta – rich, creamy, with some nice cheese that smells divine - -against your lips.

You refuse.

A smart move, he could have poisoned it – so he thinks for a few seconds, staring at you like a smart girlie you are, and then – lifts his hood. If only barely, revealing his scarred chin and bruised lips. The initial swelling after getting his head bumped by a guy who was speaking like an edgy teenager in the Counter-Strike lobby was already gone by the time he managed to get you into his basement – but no amount of rest could hide all other marks from his job.

Despite being a seasoned mercenary with hundreds of killed targets and completed objectives, he feels…insecure. You’re a nice girl, a good girl, the type that used to look at him with hatred while he was bullied at school. Hatred or pity – but you only look at him with fear, and it cements his understanding that you’re not going to give in to loving him so easily.

König sighs deeply, his lips, curved into that awkward, boyish smile that creeps on his face every time he as much as thinks about you, now transforming into a scowl as you proceed to whimper and try to get lost in the wall behind you. Like he wouldn’t be able to track your scent if you would disappear. He slowly presses his fork towards his mouth, chewing on the food – showing you that it’s not poisoned.

He smiles again when he sees you slowly parting your lips, expecting him to feed you with less of a fuss. He’d propose something else – maybe even untying your hands and allowing you to actually for yourself, but something in your helpless state made his cock throb in his pants. God, König knows he isn’t his strongest soldier, but could he please make you less adorable? He doesn’t want to push you on your knees and make you suck on him until he whimpers, but the way you lick all of the cheese from your lips and try your best to look presentable in front of him… The process of feeding someone shouldn’t really be sexual, but König gently pushes the hair away from your face and lifts up the fork over and over, sometimes only changing to bring a glass of water to your lips. He can do this all day. Every day. Pleasing you already becomes second nature – and he spends most of his life thinking that the only thing he can take care of is his rifle and a few tortured enemies that need their teeth extracted. You require gentle handling – and he wants nothing more but to give you that. Just…a bit later. Preferably after the already came in your pussy at least two or three times and made you choke on his dick as a little thank-you gift.

You finish eating after a short while, thanking him for bringing you a napkin to clean your lips. König gently caresses your head, enjoying the sensation of your hair under his palm – it’s like petting a cat. A soft little pet just for him and no one else – if only he could actually bring you to like him. He has a few bond activities in mind, though. — You liked it, ja?

You lick your lips again, and his breath hitches. This is going to be hard, this is going to be impossible, it’s worse than having to work with high Krueger on a ship that made everyone feel like they were the ones doing crack in the backroom of their makeshift base.

— I…I did.

He pets your head again like you’re his pet – and you gently move your head to lean into his touch. Perhaps you’re dumber than he thinks. Or way smarter – a clever strategy to make him relax and nice to you without making him too suspicious. You slowly get back into your corner, but König wouldn’t have any of it – he drags you back by your arm, making you whimper and sob in his hold. It’s bad, he doesn’t want you to squirm from under him as much as you do, but…if you don’t want to be a good girl, he might as well force you to.

You cry as he pushes you deep into the corner, his hands roaming over your body. Thank god he ripped your clothes before you woke up – now there isn’t anything protecting you from his hands, not even that adorable bra he ripped in pieces because, as much as he loved wearing a uniform with straps and buttons everywhere, he could not figure out how to take this thing off you without breaking it. The last time he was sleeping with a woman, she wore a sports bra that could be taken off easily. It’s your fault that you decided to be more girly, really. Not his.

His hands cup your breasts roughly. Tugs and twists your nipples, a few shaky moans telling him exactly how sensitive you are – he might not have a girl in a hot minute, too busy with being the best freaking mercenary in the world, but even he knows how to take care of a pretty thing like you. Your tits fit in his hands perfectly, even more, reasons to believe you were just made for him. Not for some lame job at a Lego store counter – you should be waiting on your knees in his bedroom, with your mouth open wide and neat to fit his cock right in. With some sweet things lingering on your tongue as he bullies himself right in, getting what he deserves for protecting peace – and installing violence – while doing his job. He might not be the best freaking guy around, but he deserves something nice.

He pinches your nipples until they’re firm and swollen, every little cry escaping from your lips is only encouraging him to proceed. Licks on the open skin of your neck until his eneve stubble makes you whimper from how sensitive you are – it should be painful, he thinks, with how bloody the little bite marks from his teeth have become.

König marks you as thoroughly as possible, smiling each time you cry and beg for him to stop. You’re changing between bad German and good English, between loud cries and small whimpers, which he can’t determine from pleasure to pain. Not like he cares, too determined to make you cry his name – even though you probably don’t know it. All of his desires to claim you taking full power now, not listening to the way you plead with him. Whimper for him. Your skin is a clear canvas, allowing him to paint you with hickeys and marks, enjoying the little blood droplets covering your collarbones.

— Quiet, please. Don’t…don’t move, Schatzi. I don’t want to hurt you.

— Please, please, just…anything but… — Won’t take long. Promise.

— I don’t want to- — Quiet. I know you don’t, Liebling. Just…Scheisse, you…fuck.

— Stop! — Can’t. I apologize, Schatzen. Relax for me, ja?

He whispers, he whimpers, he is almost out of his mind when he can finally put his tongue on your swollen nipples. For some weird, depraved reason, he almost expects the milk to start flowing from your chest, allowing him to drink up as much as he wants. If he could get you pregnant, he might enjoy it for a few months – although having a kid on his hip isn’t as fun as it could have. He tried to babysit Hutch kids once when he brought them to base – and it was the worst fucking day of his life. Besides, little children can’t be around Legos – it's already a deal breaker for someone like him.

Speaking of legos…

You wiggle in his grasp, as good as you can with your hands still in the handcuffs – he should give you that one, at least you aren’t just laying lifelessly in front of him. At least you’re putting up a fight. At least he doesn’t feel too bad about restraining you without proper reasoning. You lick your lips again, that cute tongue of yours going over all the bite marks. You take a deep breath, shaking in his hold. God, he can just look in your face the whole day – barely knows how to handle himself around you. — I…I thought you wanted to…build this set with me? Smart girl. Way smarter than he gave you credit for – you know how to make him stop in his tracks and finally look at you differently. Maybe, you’re too good for him. Maybe, he doesn’t really care about that. Millennium Falcon, still sitting in the box – König hoped you’d start slowly putting it together but, seemingly, you need a bit of encouragement. The only thing that could tug him away from your breasts is the expensive set sitting just next to him.

Might start bonding with you as well. He tugs away from your nipples with a loud pop, an obnoxiously wet sound emerging as a thin line of saliva connects your breasts and his tongue. You whimper when he smiles, that scarred face of his twisting in a huge grin. Knows he’s not the most charming person around, but it’s not like you have any choice now – not with the limited options he gave you. Like a good girl, you’d probably pick doing Lego Sets with him than taking his cock in that tight pussy of yours. He’d be satisfied with any outcome. — J…ja. I’d like that. He has to give this one to you – you really know how to get a man going.

Bu building this insane set with him, that is.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #konig mw2 #konig x you #konig cod #lego

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pedge-page · 3 months

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omg imagine PK x Plushies i love you so much girl you are amazing

Plushies x Piss Kink Crossover - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Notes: The crossover that was bound to happen and its HEREREEEEEEEE. This is more Plushies!verse setting and they discover a lil piss kink.

Warnings: PissKink, Plushies humping, yes we are peeing on the plush, premature ejaculation, assisted male masturbation, crying, jealous!Joel, and a HINT (just a bit) of sub!Joel at the end

18+ ONLY

- - - -

“What’s this one? Benny the Buffalo?” Joel asks, staring down at the brown fuzzy stuffed animal in his hands.

“No, dummy, that’s Biscuit, the Bison,” you retort, not even looking at him as you continue reading.

The two of you are lying down on your new “shared” bed, and Joel has decided its time he get to know his roommates on first name basis.

“Course. And this?” He snatches the white rabbit next. “BunBun?”

“Carrot.”

“Appropriate. How about Ghosty over here?”

“Casper.”

“How original. Aaaannnddd....?” He shoves the next one in your face to get your attention: a fat baby chick with an enormous orange bill.

“Mr Quakers,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“I bet he’s loads of fun on that little nub of yours,” he snickers. He tosses the poor chick like a free-throw basketball across the room.

He grabs the next one, buried waaaay in the back of your bed under all the rest. “Alright, Let me guess… Hammy the Hamster.”

“No that’s—“ you take one look at the one currently in his palms: a medium sized hamster with bitty hands and a large head as big as his squat body. Quickly hiding your shocked expressions, you go back to your book and say very casually, “Um…that’s… Frank.”

“Frank?”

“Mhm.”

“Just Frank.”

“Yup.”

“Frank the Hamster. How does that make sense?”

“Well I didn’t name him.”

“And who did?"

You swallow, wondering why Joel’s got so many goddamn questions about the naming conventions of your stuffed animals. “Um … Frank did…”

“Stuck up fella, naming the thing after him. Who was this “Frank” then. Your uncle? Was he as perverted as me?”

“No. Frank’s… my ex.”

Your face feels hot, avoiding his gaze and trying to look anywhere but at him.

Joel stares at you with an unreadable expression, then back to the fisted squishy hamster plush. He contemplates for what feels like an eternity. There’s an uneasy silence hanging in the air, and your heart is beating out of your chest, wondering what he may be thinking about those word resonating in his ears.

He clenches his jaw, gritting his teeth into diamonds while looking at something so extremely soft and huggable. You hope maybe he’ll just dropkick it out the window at worst, but instead:

“Hands and knees on the floor. We’re fucking Frankie the Hamster tonight.”

There was no “we”. What he really meant was YOU are fucking Frank the Hamster tonight, and he is pinning you down and forcing you to grind on it harder.

“Joel—that—feels… uncomfortable.”

He’s not rubbing his cock along your ass, or nudging your clit or kissing you. Instead, he’s caged you between the thick mass of his sold body and the hamster on the floor, your legs spread out with his knees along the inside of your calves to keep them open.

He keeps rubbing along your pelvis, palm digging into the squishy part right below your belly, pressing hard against your bladder.

“Joel,” you warn again. Your legs quiver with the rapid build, too afraid to push him off entirely. He’s steaming, that’s for sure, but why torture you above the little helpless guy?

“S’matter? You don’t like rubbing your slutty pussy over your ex’s face?”

“It’s just a stuffed animal—ow!” You cry as Joel pinches your nipple through your shirt.

“You grind on Frankie’s face before?”

“N-no. Never,” you swear.

“Mmm. Not sure I believe you, sweet pea. Kept him all these years, didn’t ya?”

You shake your head, too afraid to face him. You really hadn’t been grinding on the hamster ever. In fact, you nearly forgetting of his existence until Joel fished him up while asking everyone’s name.

He forces your back to arch even more drastically, putting more pressure between your naked cunt and the soft squish bellow you. You furrow your brows, fear creeping between your spread legs, unable to clench against something to brush off the mounting pressure in you.

“Joel please—I really need to go...” you didn't want to finish the sentences. He wasn't pleasuring with his hands you in the right places so much as building pressure in the wrong one.

“Go where? I’m all you need. Right. Here.” His fingers dig possessively into your side while his other hand pushes into your lower belly.

You shake your head again. Heart racing now that you no longer care about your pleasure and are more concerned with the mess of forbidden bodily fluids you’re about to rain all over your poor Frankie—

It hits you with burning desire mixed with an irksome bile. You gasp out angrily.

This. Mother. Fucking. Asshole.

Joel smirks into your neck behind you, as if reading your mind figuring out his evil little plan.

“S’wrong, angel? Would you rather be doing this with any of MY plushies I’ve spoiled you with?”

“I—you—“ you grit your teeth, eyes closing as a wave of panic washes deep through your core. You’re desperate not to make a mess, a fool of yourself to tame his sadistic need to own every inch of control over you.

He hears the little staggered pants from your lips. “Do it,” he commands softly but with finality, laced with a sadistic “win” for him.

A tear slips down your cheek as you moan sadly, your stomach giving up and unclenching as the walls of your bladder breaks, and hot urine spills into the stuffed animal’s face currently wedged so tightly against your entrance.

“Shhhhhh,” he coos, finally grinding himself against your ass. He can hear the feint rushing liquid of your piss splatting into the cotton.

He presses you further into its plush softness, suffocating every inch of your crotch so that it absorbs all the nasty warm juice squeezing out of you like a lemon. Your legs quiver violently as you can’t help but release more and more, flowing out as if by his demand and feeling the poor plush get heavy with the rush filling its cotton innards up.

"Naughty girl, am I making you piss all over your ex's face? Little Frankie doesn't deserve that does he?" He taunts, fully well intending for this to exactly happen as he wanred.

There’s so much, and another tear slips passed you, but this one because it feels so—relieving. It’s gross and nasty, embarrassing and heartbreaking all at once, and it makes you hump against him and the dampened hamster even more.

Joel feel the quickened breaths coming out desperately from your nose as you grind down on the defiled thing all soaked up with your own piss. Your hips are frantic, smothering your cunt with the piss-logged plush desperately, as if you were trying to...

“Shit—are you…?”

You cry out in response, mouth agape with satisfied groans when you clit catches along the wet seams just right and you find yourself cumming on the sad wet thing drowned below you.

Joel clears his throat in surprise. His cock pulses on its own and floods the inside of his pants in white strings of his seed.

Did he think you would probably cry? Yes.

Did he want you to pee and destroy your ex’s little gift to you? Yes.

Did he expect you to fucking cum from it? Um.

Did he know HE would cum from it??? No. Definitely not.

His teeth grind against one another trying not to think about how perverted he is, pulling away from you so you can’t feel his sticky spent through his trousers and on to your back.

The squishy lump below you begins seeping the now cooled piss into the floor boards. You sigh deeply, not sure what to do now that your little punishment has turned into—something wilder.

You feel a gentle kiss along your cheek, his thumb caressing away your tears.

“That was hot,” He admits plainly.

You cover your face to hide your smile. It’s gross. It really is. Should be embarrassing. You don’t even want to think about the hamster on the floor, the memories you’ve just soddened with your own fucking piss.

He helps you off the floor. Your thighs still shake, the uncomfortable feeling hanging there in disgust now that you’re mentally sober again.

He guides you to the shower where you both wash up quietly.

“Um—listen I didn’t… I don’t know why you would keep your ex’s stuff but…I mean I’m reasonably… it doesn’t make me feel great, so ya can’t blame me, for getting jealous—“

You shut him up but tugging against his half hard cock.

“First of all,” you say, the sudden boldness in your voice blanking his mind into submission under your touch.

“That plush, was from my first boyfriend—in high school. We dated for 2 months,” you continued, your fingers gripping his base with a gentle squeeze, feeling him swell to full mass, “and then he realized he liked boys. That was it. We laughed about it and stayed good friends. He gave me the stuffed animal as a parting gift to college for helping him through it all.”

You stop rubbing his cock and Joel opens his eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So…Frank’s just… a friend…”

You kiss his collarbone. “Just a friend,” you repeat.

The water coats his back soothingly. An ache that had formed in his muscles, the strain of aggression tickling his brain from the minute he heard you had a stuffed animal named after your ex, still in your bed after years, had suddenly vanished.

“Why—why would you say hes your ex and not just your old friend? Why'd ya let me make you do that to it?” He asks, concerned now that he’s ruined something sentimental to you over his quickness to jealousy.

“Because—“ you nip along the swell of his chest, both hands working along his hardened cock. “You wanted it.” Your thumb swipes along his tip, the precum feeling sticky despite the shower water drenching you.

He moans, head falling into your shoulder as he thrusts his length into your palm.

As your wrist continues to jerk him off, your lips ghost the shell of his ear with a deadly, lascivious whisper:

“And I’m too crazy for you to say no.”

- - - -

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anonymousewrites · 11 months

Text

One Hell of a Love

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Book 1:

Follows the events of Season One

Prologue: One Hell of a Meeting

Chapter One: One Hell of a Reunion

Chapter Two: One Hell of a Rat

Chapter Three: One Hell of a Fiancée

Chapter Four: One Hell of a Case

Chapter Five: One Hell of a Viscount

Chapter Six: One Hell of a Ripper

Chapter Seven: One Hell of a Reaper

Chapter Eight: One Hell of a Dog

Chapter Nine: One Hell of a Hound

Chapter Ten: One Hell of a Fair

Chapter Eleven: One Hell of a Ring

Chapter Twelve: One Hell of a Doll

Chapter Thirteen: One Hell of a Prince

Chapter Fourteen: One Hell of a Deer

Chapter Fifteen: One Hell of a Curry

Book 1.5:

Follows the non-manga-canon anime events of Season One and Season Two

Chapter One: One Hell of a Monastery

Chapter Two: One Hell of a Congregation

Chapter Three: One Hell of a Cleansing

Chapter Four: One Hell of an Arrest

Chapter Five: One Hell of a Torture

Chapter Six: One Hell of a Queen

Chapter Seven: One Hell of an Angel

Chapter Eight: One Hell of an End

Chapter Nine: One Hell of a Thief

Chapter Ten: One Hell of a Camera

Chapter Eleven: One Hell of a Train

Chapter Twelve: One Hell of a Crisis

Chapter Thirteen: One Hell of an Instrument

Chapter Fourteen: One Hell of a Dress

Chapter Fifteen: One Hell of a Ball

Chapter Sixteen: One Hell of a Dance

Chapter Seventeen: One Hell of an Order

Chapter Eighteen: One Hell of a Separation

Chapter Nineteen: One Hell of a Maze

Chapter Twenty: One Hell of a Loyalty

Book 2:

Follows the events of Book of Circus, Book of Murder, and Book of Atlantic

Chapter One: One Hell of a Circus

Chapter Two: One Hell of a Prosthesis

Chapter Three: One Hell of a Roommate

Chapter Four: One Hell of a Hallmark

Chapter Five: One Hell of a Cold

Chapter Six: One Hell of a Show

Chapter Seven: One Hell of a Fire

Chapter Eight: One Hell of a Nature

Chapter Nine: One Hell of a Banquet

Chapter Ten: One Hell of an Alibi

Chapter Eleven: One Hell of a Murder

Chapter Twelve: One Hell of a Discussion

Chapter Thirteen: One Hell of a Newcomer

Chapter Fourteen: One Hell of a Perpetrator

Chapter Fifteen: One Hell of a Reveal

Chapter Sixteen: One Hell of a Hire

Chapter Seventeen: One Hell of a Ship

Chapter Eighteen: One Hell of an Experiment

Chapter Nineteen: One Hell of a Corpse

Chapter Twenty: One Hell of a Lady

Chapter Twenty-One: One Hell of an Identity

Chapter Twenty-Two: One Hell of a Scythe

Chapter Twenty-Three: One Hell of a Past

Chapter Twenty-Four: One Hell of a Record

Chapter Twenty-Five: One Hell of a Confession

Book 3:

Follows the Events of Weston College Arc

Chapter One: One Hell of a College

Chapter Two: One Hell of an Appointment

To be continued...

Specials:

General: OVA

Halloween Specials: 2023

Christmas Specials: 2023

Valentine's Day Specials: 2024

Pride Specials: 2024

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

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@v1l-ismissing

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@temporarilyablog

@elaemae

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@ittomain1

@whereismymonsterlover

@alythewolf

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wondashoever · 3 months

Text

how r we feeling about the wxs world link cards (LOOOONG RANT AFTER THIS)

WHY IS HE DOING ALLAT 😭 LITERALLY HIM IN LIKE HALF OF HIS CARDS OMFG but hes so silly teehehehehghehe i so normal HES JUST SOME GUY YK. is he falling off somewhere LMAO NOO BUT THE BACKGROUND IS SO COOL !!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THAT LION PLUSH ON HIS SHOULDER LIKE ITS IMITATING HIM ! it gives me wizard of oz vibes actually!

furina ahh pose LIKE HAHAH ithjink im going INSANE I HAVE NO WORDS JUST (chef's kiss) I LOBVE THE OUTFIT SM THOUGH?? IT REMINDS ME OF THE JELLYFISH RUI CARD OUTFIT!! howd you like his new drip (giggles) but oh ky god HE LOOKS GORGEOUS??????? ABSOLUTE KING (applause) THE DETAILS THE FRILLS ARGHHHHHH I NEED HIS DRIP

HES EATING THE PLUSH OMEHWBNJKJNWSOMNOM SOMEONE SAID THAT THE BUNNY HAD N25 COLURS AND IM ACTUALLY SCREAMING AT THAT RFRGRHRGGHHHHHHHHH IM GOING INSANE THE ONLY DOWNSIDE OF THIS CARD HIS HIS UGLY ASS SHIRT (affectionate) BUT ISTSS SO CUTEVER IM CRYING THE PLUSHIES ARE SO FRIGHTENED AHAHHSHSHSHAHA

reminds me of his first birthday card actually! it has quite the same vibe HIM JUST SITTING THERE WITH BOOKS LIKE OKAY LIL BRO WE KNOW YOURE A NERD I LOVE THE COMPOSITION OF THIS CARD?????????????????????????????????????HES LITERALLY ALWAYS WINKING HES SO F(RUI)TY RRRRRRRRGHHC IM GOING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHES TALKIMHG TO THE LION PLUSH FROM THE TSUKASA'S UNTRAINED IM FUCKING SCREAMING THE SYMBOLISM SHES SO CUTEREFSYGVWHBJYVWCFTDGVHSBKJE DID YOU KNOW I LOVE EMU RFRGRRGHHHH SHES SO SILLY AWWE I LOVE THE OVERALL LOOK OF THE CARD??? ITS SO PHOTOGRAPH STYLEE AND THE HOUSES AROUND HER ARE SO CUTESY

PEGASUS CARNIVAL RIDEEEEEEEEEEE ITS LITERALLY TSUKASAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THE STAR ON IT?!?@?@?!?!?!?! THERES SM GOING ON HERE BUT ITS SO GOOD TOGETHER !!!!! THE POLYSHO BALLOONS IM NOT OKAY SHE ATE RFRGRGHH HER CARD IS SO COLOURFUL I LOVE HER PROTECT THAT SMILE OMFG I COULD GO ON FOREVER

AGAIN, POLYSHO HOT AIR BALLOONS AND YWLLOW TURTLE WITH POLYSHO COLOYRS IM NOT OKAY I LOVW HER SHE LOOKS SO CALM AND SERENE?????????????? SHES A GIRLBOSS SHE LOOKS SO SOSISOSOSOSOS HAPPY THE COLOURS ARE SO BIRGHT FFGRGRRH NENENENENENNENENEEEE AND THE CLOUDS ARE SO COTTON CANDY??!???!?!?!?!??????

SOMEHOW HER CARD GIVES A DIFFERENT VIBE FROM THE REST! BUT MAYBE ITS JUST ME?? ITS SO AESTHETIC THOUGH!!!!!! ITS SO CALMING I COULD STARE AT THIS FOREVER SHES SO PRETTY AND AND YOU SEE THE ANIMALS THERE RUGHT (cat->rui, bunny->emu, chick->tsukasa, lamb->nene) ITS SO RRFRFRGG DO YOU SEE MY VISION IM SO SANE

#babbles #project sekai #prsk fa #polysho #wxs tsukasa #wxs rui #wxs emu #wxs nene #wonderland x showtime #wondershow

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strongestbanner · 1 day

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What If:

Logan and Victor decide to forgive each other, escape together and live in a small cabin located in Argentine Patagonia (probably in the Río Negro province, towards the mountains of the west) 🏡❤️‍🩹🇦🇷

They both accepted that they are two sides of a same coin, and they'll always be there for each other, no matter the circumstances <3

(If you wanna cry at the end, keep reading)

Logan gets addicted to drink mate and can't live without his thermo (he choose Lumilagro when he just arrived bc he didn't have enough money for a Stanley thermo, but he doesn't give a f*ck). His favorite yerba mate is Rosamonte: the most bitter yerba mate for his taste 👌🏻

Vic shows off Logan the words he already knew in Spanish after so many missions. Now he learned to say to Logan: "enano boludo" (fool runt) just for piss him off.

Victor has become very punctual at merienda time, he always waits for Logan with sweet facturas (like biscuits, croissants) (sometimes Logan is sick of eating sweet, so he asks Vic to bring salty facturas too). Also, Victor LOVES membrillo's facturas (quince jam) (his beard always ends up dirty as if he had blood on it, never forgetting his animal instincts).

Of course, Logan got a job at a sawmill, he has too much experience with wood hehehe. And Victor worked for a time in a food distributor for a bakery, but he got fired bc he was caught stealing some cookies with membrillo. So, now he stays at home doing housework (surprisingly, he's very clean and hates finding cobwebs on the ceiling).

Logan secretly listen to Tango music, somehow he feels internally moved and sometimes cries too!! He also bought some Carlos Gardel vinyls to send for Laura's birthday <3

They both bought earplugs to use once a month bc they discovered that they have a lobizón neighbor 2 km away (the argentine werewolf 🐺).

At first they slept in different rooms, until Victor decided to have a sleepover after watching a chick flick movies marathon with Logan over a weekend (yes, they have Netflix). How did he convince him? He used his secret weapon: kitten eyes ✨ This is how slowly Victor's old room was transformed into a leisure room. Now they have a shelf full of classic literature books (and Spanish literature too bc Vic is so interested in it and he wants to still learning). Some CDs and vinyls of Logan bc he also likes argentinian national rock (He seems to like "Los Piojos", "Intoxicados", and "Patricio Rey y sus Redonditos de Ricota" 😂).

This is for the argentine fans: LOGAN SUPPORTS BOCA JUNIORS CLUB 💙💛💙 He's not a very huge fan for football games, but he stays focused watching them. While Vic usually falls asleep at half time on the sofa with him.

Victor convinced Logan that he would control his bloodlust, so their household is never short of a good supply of meat. Unfortunately, this is a vile lie. When Logan is away, Victor takes advantage of those free hours to hunt and devour little animals like hares or deer. He knows his schedules and how much time he has to clean up his tracks. Who knows how long he can sustain the lie 🫣

In my mind their first kiss was PURRFECT. The coldest month is July (it's winter there), so, after a week of overcast skies, one night Logan went outside the cabin to smoke a joint. He observed the number of visible stars until he realized that Victor was stalking him with a cup of tea in his hand. They both sat on the front steps and IT JUST HAPPENED. Logan tried to deny what happened, FOR SEVERAL DAYS. But Vic managed to take away his embarrassment and make him enjoy it many times more bc he ✨obviously✨ kissed him first.

It hadn't been a year yet and Logan had invited the X-Men to his whereabouts to celebrate his birthday in October. Logically, Victor didn't like this idea at all, so he decided to flee to the forest. Logan had so many feelings fluttering in his chest, but he knew better than to waste such a beautiful and special day. He looked for Victor and found him cooling off in a river. He was so upset and a little jealous, but Logan convinced him because they would make barbecue. It was a VERY uncomfortable moment for Victor, he was not sorry for what he did, but Logan took care of making him feel part of his family <3

Ofc, I wrote all this with my tears.

I don't consider myself a good writer and my English is very poor, but if anyone wants to make a fanfic or fanart of this TAG ME PLS 😭💖

#sabretooth #victor creed #wolvertooth #Sabrevine #james logan howlett #wolverine #headcanon #marvel #x men 97 #xmen #alternate universe #Argentina AU #status CRYING #they're so gay asf #mi gente latino

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marwhoa · 2 years

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request: can i get some Mori dating headcanons? it's okay if not, have a good day :]

🝮 mori-senpai dating headcanons !!

morinozuka takashi & reader

author’s note: so exciting! I did this impromptu without consulting my fic schedule at all, I was just so excited. It’s my second ohshc ask !! and my first headcanon write !! I have a few headcanon requests that i may be tots cool with knocking out shortly.. or maybe i’ll watch Wednesday.. ooh! Fun fact, i actually have Honey’s Usa-chan. I bought it with money I was given after donating plasma 😎 watch this be the post that gets me flooded with ohshc requests lmao

word count: 1.0k

When you guys first got together, little paper-craft animals would appear in places he knew you would see. You only discovered it was his work when one day, he said a little, “ oh! “ and then held out an adorable paper-tanuki. You keep them all, don’t you?

That isn’t to say he doesn’t still do it. No, no, you will occasionally find a little cat or so still! Once there was even a little chick.

Before dating him, you may have encountered a rude person, bully, or unwanted flirts. Once y’all were together, magically that slate was wiped clean… Did you gain a boyfriend or a guardian angel? (Trick question, answer is both!)

Now, we all know how quiet he can be—speaking only when necessary or so. As such, you have occasionally been referred to as the “ Mori Whisperer “ due to your accidental talent at being able to read this man like a book. Like, the easiest book. One time, you glanced at him from across the room, sprung right up, and left. Everyone was confused, and then even more so when you came back with … poetry book? God, they were even more confused.

When you turned and saw them looking at you, missing Mori’s second-long starstruck expression, you simply went, “ What? He had his ‘poetry book’ look in his eyes. “ No one knew which to question more, how you knew that or how you saw that look FROM ACROSS THE ROOM.

Alright, home boy surprised the death out of you once though. You’re great at reading him, but you had never met an exhausted Mori, so imagine the shock on your face as you were leaving with him from the club room after a late night, and right before leaving out, his hands slipped into yours and pinned you to the wall. His head hung low, resting against your shoulder. Silence. A little squeak of awkwardness slipped your lips and he smirked against your skin, mumbling something about how cute you were and how hard it was to focus on anything else if you were in the room. Even when you were gone he couldn’t focus! He rose up, gave you a smooch on the forehead, and then carried on with a yawn.

You wondered if he could hear how loud your heart was thundering in your chest on the way to your rides home.

If you’re shorter than him—let’s be real, he’s 6’4. I dare you to be taller—he will wordlessly hoist you up in some way, shape, or form. Prove me wrong? Within reason, of course (like ceiling height limits), he is either going to encourage caring you on his back, shoulders, or in his arms (won’t confess to it, but he may, just a teensie tad bit, prefer this method)

If you ARE taller than him, don’t think you’re safe from being picked up. He will just tug you into a hug, contemplate silently for a second, and then WHOOSH, hoist you on up!

You see this? This right here? Yeah, he’s picking you up like this and looking into your eyes. If you’re lucky, you will catch his lips curl up into a fond smile.

Shares his food with you. Whether you have a habit of not eating or not, he will know. Mori is shockingly in tune with knowing whether you’ve had enough to eat or not—and if you’ve had the proper food groups. He grew up with the words most mischievous, sweets-loving little martial artist! Best believe he is either gently nudging a plate of yumminess to you OR holding it out for you to eat (cue the swooning in the background at such an adorable display of love!)

Mori will hold a bit of food for you to take, leaning into his propped-up hand with a smile in his eyes. When you take it, he can’t help but imagine you looking like an adorable little puppy or something and is quick to quietly take his gaze elsewhere, lest he wants his pale complexion to bloom with the ripest of rosy hues!

Rarely seen without Honey, but when you came into the picture? That because a, “ rarely seen without one of them, pretty much never alone ”. At first it was because Honey didn’t trust you being good enough for Mori and had to make sure you were good enough (what? you think someone’s following you? Oh, no, no, no, you’re um, seeing things. Yeah.) Now it’s just because it happens organically… or does it?

After the initiation period, you and Honey actually get along well. If Mori isn’t there when you come into the club room, Honey will beckon you over to hang out with him! Some of the girls love to visit him especially if you’re there because of the adorable older sibling caring for younger sibling dynamic you inadvertently fall into place of.

Mori may or may not have came in to see this once. Swore his heart nearly popped like a ballon as he saw your face contort into a playfully scolding expression saying, “ Honey-senpai, watch out! You’re spreading strawberry cream all over your face. “ He totally wasn’t imagining you taking care of children or anything, not at all. Not with those kind, gentle hands.

You’re, you’re sorely mistaken!

On particularly slow or boring days, he just might (with permission, of course, he is no heathen!) run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly. If you rest against him or lay your head in his lap, he will pray that you cannot hear how loud HIS heart is.

Also, his love language is acts of service. You don’t even have to ask him for help, he just magically appears (which has startled you a few times! you’ve joked a few times about getting him a little bell to hear him coming. he may have snorted at that, but when you turned back to look at him, he had a neutral expression…). Like, literally magically appears. One time you were having trouble on homework, and guess who sprung up a surprise visit? That’s right.

Morinozuka Takeshi, in the flesh. Cue a comedy scene worthy montage of you getting nice and presentable before letting him into your study room. He said he was also having trouble, but once the impromptu study sesh began, you discovered it was a lie! He was too good at this to be having trouble!

Who told him you needed help?!?

#ohshc x reader #mori senpai x reader #ohshc headcanons #ohshc mori x reader #morinozuka takashi x reader #takashi morinozuka x reader #ohshc morinozuka takashi x reader #mori takashi x reader

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lady-of-the-spirit · 3 months

Note

10, 31, and 45 for the fanfiction writer ask game!

10. at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

unless 1) I came up with a title in the process of writing or 2) I decided for some reason I needed to have a title before starting, it will be the LAST thing I think of. they are hard. My titles tend to be 1) whatever random thing pops into my head 2) something relevant to the fic (probably still a random thing that popped into my head), or 3) a lyric I chose after I scoured every song that fit the vibe of the fic.

31. tell us about one of your characters who’s an absolute joy to write

I'm interpreting this as MY characters and not just a character I like to write ❤ Marianne is a joy for me to write. I never know what's gonna come out of her mouth. When I was planning her character, I was NOT planning on her being as sad or as sassy as she ended up being when I actually started writing her. So now when I write her, I don't know if she's gonna be all soft smiles, rolling her eyes and sassing people, or being all sad inside. and it's fun to write her because on the outside even when she's all :) there's a 50/50 chance she'll be sad on the inside and not letting it show. she's got a rich inner life and the others don't realize that (yet) (except for charles because he's a mind reader).

45. name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

jiangchenglotus has some great jiang cheng centered fics, I love their series about jc and lwj being besties. syriala also has so many great jc centered fics. @minim236 has written so many great fics for various fandoms but I love the discovery of witches ones most ❤

fanfic writer ask game

#ask #book-loving--anime-chick

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siriuslynutswrites · 1 month

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reposting this here because fuck, the riddle brothers wound me to the CORE

M.R. | T.R. III | Two Birds

mattheo riddle & tom riddle III, mattheo riddle x theodore nott, spanish speaking riddle brothers

warnings; death, war, blood, violence, child abuse, homophobia, internalised homophobia, time-appropriate homophobia??, drinking, substance abuse, nsfw making out but no sexy time xx, and some spanishdict translations because i didn't have any dictionaries on hand :((( (oh yeah, and angst)

word count: 6.8k

1988

"¡Tom, mira esto!" Mattheo crouches down next to something or other. [ tom, look at this! ]

Tom looks up from his book, his smart, childish eyes of boyish wonder analysing his brother for a moment. His small fingers smooth across the top of the page containing the story of the Deathly Hallows.

He sighs softly, and closes the page over on the scene of Antioch and Cadmus arguing, Peverell brothers torn apart by thirst for power.

Eight year old Tom doesn't know what that means yet. He just wants to read.

"¿Qué es?" He asks softly, crouching down next to Mattheo in the dirt. [ what is it? ]

There are two birds, tiny and huddled up together, sat in the mud. The larger of the two only has the smallest tufts of fluffy feathers, and the smaller is visibly shaking in it's fuzz, pressed up into the larger's soft chest.

Mattheo's cooing at them softly, child wonder shining in his eyes like a beacon of hope.

He reaches for the birds, just little fledglings, but Tom quickly grabs his hand.

"No los toques. No sabemos si no son mágicos." He commands, and Mattheo groans, sticking his tongue out at his older brother as Tom tilts his head at the small animals. [ don't touch them. we don't know if they aren't magical ]

"¡Pero son bonitos! Y creo que tienen frío." Mattheo argues, to which Tom glares at him and pinches him in the side. [ but they're pretty! and i think they're cold. ]

"Silencio. Estoy pensando." He says, and Mattheo simply sticks his tongue out at him again. [ quiet. i'm thinking. ]

And then they both just crouch and watch the birds, one thinking, one admiring.

"Pienso qué necesitamos moverlos a otro lugar." Tom announces at last, and Mattheo nods, dashing off to the bench where Tom had been sitting earlier with the book. [ i think we need to move them somewhere else. ]

Ignoring the pages containing the arguing brothers, Mattheo grabs hold of the blanket Tom had brought out, and brings it over back to the older eight year old.

"Gracias. Leí qué la madre abandonará a los novatos si huele algo más en ellos." Tom says, and takes the fluffy blanket from Mattheo, carefully wrapping the material around the birds. [ thanks. i read that the mother will abandon the chicks if she smells something else on them ]

The big one lunges to jab Tom in the hand, but he retracts his palm fast enough to avoid it, instead moving it under to cup the blanket beneath the fledglings' bums, picking them up in his tiny, cupped hands.

"Ayudame, Matt." He quickly says, and Mattheo rushes around to put his hands up under the birds; all the time, he has a pensive expression, such deep theory in his eyes for his young age. [ help me, matt. ]

As they start to slowly shuffle towards the trees at the edge of the large garden, Mattheo finally pops the question.

"¿Crees que nuestra madre nos abandonó porque estábamos en un lugar donde no deberíamos estar, tampoco?" [ do you think our mum abandoned us because we were somewhere we weren't supposed to be too? ]

Tom falters softly, unsure what to say.

How do you explain this to a younger brother?

They may be the same age, but Tom knows he was born first for a reason. He needs to make sure Mattheo never feels scared, and he needs to be strong for him.

"No. Yo sé que nuestra madre nos amaba. Ella simplemente— ella simplemente no puede estar aquí con nosotros." His voice is strong like it needs to be for the younger boy, and he nods, helping Tom carry the birds to one of the trees. [ no. i know that our mother loved us. she just— she just can't be here with use. ]

"Mira." Tom whispers, jerking his chin up at a low branch. "Es el nido." [ look. (...) it's the nest ]

There's a small nest settled right in the crack of the branch from the tree, upheld by a fork in the thick trunks, and Mattheo grins widely at it.

"¡Mattheo! ¡Tom! ¡Ven aquí!" María Calderón yells out from the porch behind the massive green hedge, and Tom swears a word an eight year old shouldn't know, slowly bending down to place the birds on the ground, much to Mattheo's disappointment. [ mattheo! tom! come here! ]

"Lo siento, Matt, lo siento." Tom quickly says, and rushes back to pick up his book from the bench. "Les dejaremos la manta y les ayudaremos más tarde." [ i'm sorry, matt, i'm sorry. (...) we'll leave the blanket and help them later ]

Mattheo nods grudgingly, and then the two boys run back as fast as they can to the Calderón mansion.

"¡Ahí estaís! ¿Por qué tardasteís tanto?" María snaps, hurrying the two into the dark entrance hall. "La cena— ¿Donde hay la manta?" [ there you are! why are you so late? (...) dinner— where's the blanket? ]

Her voice is sharp and painful, and Mattheo gives Tom a wide eyed, worried look.

His older brother doesn't look at him, bravely staring up into María's eyes as he presses the Deathly Hallows story to his chest.

"Debí haberlo perdido." He says, and instantly suffers the consequences. [ i must've lost it. ]

María's eyes blaze with anger, so quick to have her fuse lit as she backhands Tom across the face.

He stumbles, head ringing with the force as he instantly cups his cheek, tears lining his waterline while María starts yelling about how ungrateful they are.

Over and over again, it's always the same, no matter where they stay.

An older boy curled with pain, while the younger boy stares in fear as an adult screams.

Same boys, same story.

1991

Tom and Mattheo file onto the train behind Draco, following him and Crabbe and Goyle down the tight corridor.

There's hustle and bustle all around, and despite the fact his face doesn't twitch, Tom can see loud and clear the excitement in Mattheo's eyes.

He hasn't had this kind of wonder since he was at least nine, when María finally crushed the happiness of novelty in him.

Mattheo hasn't told Tom of anything he's wanted since his eighth birthday, other than wanting to come to Hogwarts.

He's quieter than ever these days, and he's only regained some of his former self over the holidays spent in Malfoy Manor, where Draco and his mother had made the two feel more comfortable than ever.

Tom is still weary of the blond.

He hangs close to Malfoy as they quietly and swiftly move through the corridors, only Draco's incessant yelling managing to break them through the crowds. Birds are hooting and tweeting, sweeping above heads carrying notes where the owners can't break through the currents sweeping outside the compartments, and it isn't long before an owl deposits a large load right on top of Crabbe's head.

Mattheo lets out a snort, but at Tom's warning look, falls silent, simply watching with mean amusement as Crabbe yells in disgust and swats at the bird shit.

The group finally makes it to a rather large compartment, more closer to the size of two rather than one, and the group of five piles into it.

There's people already sat in it, but Draco assures them with a low voice that they are all already friends.

Tom gives him a doubting look as Mattheo— always the confident brother— walks to the window, plopping down next to a boy with dark lidded ocean eyes and messy, sweeped mousy hair.

"Ciao." The boy murmurs, and Mattheo's lips twitch into a smile, looking at the boy from between his thick lashes. [ hello. (ITA) ]

"Ciao. ¿Hablas español?" He asks, and the boy gives him a look. [ hello. do you speak spanish? ]

"No, italian. I'm Theodore Nott." He offers a cryptic handshake to Mattheo, and Tom watches with the bitter downturn of his mouth as Mattheo takes it.

"Mattheo Riddle. I've never been to Italy before."

The boy cracks a dry smile, and then looks outside the window again, chin braced on his palm.

"It's beautiful." He murmurs. "I've heard it can be similar to Spain. I assume you're from there?"

"Tom!" Draco calls, and Tom turns, throwing an uneasy glance over his shoulder at Mattheo making fast friends with the boy. This isn't safe. He shouldn't be so trusting.

But alas, he walks over to Draco with a sigh, immediately greeted by a boy with sickly pale skin and brown hair, and a boy with rich skin and dark locs.

"This is Blaise Zabini," Draco gestures to the black-haired boy, who offers a tight, chilled smile, and then points at the brunet, "And this is Lorenzo Berkshire. My father told me to introduce you to anyone worth knowing, so here they are. It looks like your brother is getting on with Theo well enough."

"Thank you." Tom says, and sits himself down next to Draco, leaning away from the blond as he launches himself into a lively retelling of all the adventures he had during the summer, mostly with Mattheo.

He knows making friends is vastly important to many people, but he finds in himself a weariness he doesn't see in Mattheo. Shouldn't he be careful who he trusts?

Whatever. Tom will be here to pick up the pieces if the friendship doesn't work out.

And make this Theo guy's life a living hell if he dares hurt his brother.

Crabbe and Goyle heave the trunks of the whole group onto the racks up on the wall, and it doesn't take long for a group of girls to come join, giggling and chattering as they set themselves between the boys, slapping down many bags of sweets on the table as greetings ring out.

1994

Mattheo props his homework next to Tom before sitting down, slinging his over the shoulder bag on the back of his chair.

"I really don't bloody understand Charms." He admits softly, and Tom doesn't look up from his book, a soft hum on his lips.

He finishes his page, and as he flips it over, he grins, softly stating, "Porqué eres un idiota." [ because you're an idiot. ]

"¡No! ¡No soy!" Mattheo opposes, pulling his quill and ink out of his bag. [ no! no i'm not! ]

The feather in his quill is a bit worse for wear, but Mattheo just won't let Tom replace his things for some reason.

At last, Tom marks his page, and sets his book off on the side, leaning forwards in his chair as Mattheo does the same.

"Right, well, what do you not understand? It'll be an easy fix." He says, and Mattheo points at one of the more complex charms, his wand already set on the table.

It takes a few hours, but eventually, Mattheo is a master at the spell, and he claps Tom on the back, a victorious grin on his face as Tom rolls his eyes and shakes his head, picking his book back up.

"How could I ever repay you?" Mattheo asks.

'Hang out with me more' is right on the tip of Tom's tongue, but he bites it just in time, swallowing down the tang of blood as he pretends to think about it.

'Act more like my brother rather than Theo's' isn't a great option either, and Tom pins his gaze on Mattheo's raggedy quill, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"Just get a new quill, for fuck's sake." He rasps, heart beating a bit more painful when Mattheo grins like nothing is wrong.

"Of course. Theo wanted to go get new ones at Hogsmeade anyways."

And if that doesn't hurt, Tom doesn't know what does.

Tom watches with dark eyes as Mattheo storms out the hall, leaving his bewildered date behind on the floor, her mouth hung open in a gasp as she holds her glass up in half toast.

Instantly, he whispers to Enzo that he'll be right back, and whips out as fast as he can after his brother.

He doesn't even have to go that far, with him noticing Mattheo shoving past a pissed off Weasley and Potter, storming up the stairs past Granger.

Tom follows after him quickly, already half calling out; he can't, not without alerting other people that something is wrong, so he just goes after him quickly, his legs— despite not being as long as Mattheo's— speeding up so he can catch up quickly.

"Matt, ¿qué pasó?" He asks fervently, and watches as his brother flinches away, shaking off his tentative hand from his shoulder. [ matt, what happened? ]

"¡Déjame en paz!" Mattheo snaps, but Tom knows that shudder in his voice; he hasn't heard it in years, but it still fills him with rage. [ leave me alone! (literal. leave me in peace) ]

"¿Qué pasó?" He repeats, firmer, and Mattheo whips around, tears standing thick in his brown chocolate eyes, hard bitterness run soft with cruel emotion. [ what happened? ]

"Theo. Theo happened." Mattheo snarls, and immediately, a righteous 'I told you so' comes bubbling up from Tom's core four years late, although he stamps it down in favour of consoling his younger brother.

"Tell me." He murmurs softly, a hand hooked around Mattheo's shaking body helping him to a small window alcove.

His brother climbs onto the wide ledge, forehead immediately pressing to the cold glass of the frosted winter pane as Tom whips out his wand and magics thick curtains to cover the two of them.

He slides into the alcove himself, shutting the curtains behind them as he leans against the opposite wall, his eyes trained on Mattheo's silent tears.

He sits there, softly, watching as Mattheo cries like he hasn't let himself in years, at least not in Tom's presence.

"What happened?" He repeats tentatively, and Mattheo groans, rolling his head to rest the back of it against the cold stone. He hiccups softly with swallowed sobs, and looks down his glistening cheeks at Tom.

"I— It's— It's wrong." He says at last, swallowing thickly as his voice runs hoarse and cracked.

"Nothing is wrong when it comes to you." Tom says, and tilts his head at his brother. "Come on. Spill."

Mattheo sighs, and deflates a little, drawing his knees up to his chest as he looks out into the dark starry night.

The music of the Yule ball still dances in through the curtains, and yet it isn't loud enough for Tom to not hear his brother.

He looks so small with his silhouette of moonlit silver, dead eyes staring up into the stars as tears still track down his red cheeks. He's fourteen, and yet he's small like he's eight again, hiding away from their current family in a cupboard.

"He kissed her." He says softly, and Tom makes a slightly confused noise, trying to understand why Mattheo is reacting like this. "He kissed her, and I was jealous."

"Well, I understand why. She's very pretty, so you have the right to be mad at him for trying to steal your date—"

"You don't get it." Mattheo says lowly, looking at Tom again, cutting him off in the middle of trying to make sense of the situation. "He kissed her. I was jealous of her. I wanted to be her."

Tom's stunned into a silence, his gaze tracking over Mattheo's features.

Slowly, his eyes drop, and he pins his gaze into the dark wooden windowsill, away from Mattheo. He can't— Mattheo wants Theo to kiss him? Mattheo— He likes guys?

Tom swallows thickly, only able to listen as Mattheo starts to slowly sniffle again, the hands in the edge of his vision gripping onto dress robes in a white-knuckle hold as Mattheo tries to contain himself.

Tom doesn't know what to do. He's lost. He's only read about this, and he knows that it's looked down on, as much in the muggle community as in the wizard community. Mattheo— This is a problem. This is not good.

But then again, the waver in Mattheo's breath and clear hurt in his eyes is much more important than anything else.

So Tom steels himself, and kneels up, his gaze determined on Mattheo's face.

"Hey." He says, slow, soft, like he's comforting Mattheo about the imagined monsters under his bed. Only ten months apart, and yet he acts years older. "Hey."

"I know you think it's wrong." Mattheo confesses, breathless. "I think so too. But I can't help it. When he talks about girls, when he kisses girls, I want to curl up and cry."

He shudders out a sob, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"When he talks about how he wants to fall in love, I want to shake him and remind him that I'm right here. But I can't, because I'm a boy."

"Matt, listen." Tom scrambles, and with nothing better to do, he grabs onto Mattheo's robes, pulling.

His younger brother crumbles forwards into Tom's grip, and the moment his arms encircle Mattheo, he bursts out into loud sobs, hands coming up to fist the back of Tom's robes.

He presses his hot, wet face into Tom's shoulder, tears spilling freely; Tom wishes he could catch them, nursing away the painful drops like he used to when they were younger, when it was just them two against the world.

"I wish I could fall for a pretty girl. I wish I could be like you." Mattheo admits, and Tom thinks that maybe he wishes the same, just so Mattheo could be spared this self-hatred.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay Matt." Tom says, hands sweeping up and down Mattheo's shaking back. His hands are trying so hard to pick up the pieces of his brother, but he doesn't know how. He didn't notice the cracks forming, and now he doesn't know how to pick up the pieces.

Immediately, a resentfulness— already existing— grows like a roaring wave towards Theo. Theo, who is so important to Mattheo, but can't see how he's hurting him. And even if loving another man is a disease, Mattheo does not deserve this pain. Mattheo does not deserve to have his feelings discarded, just because Theo's a boy.

"Todo va a estar bien Matt. Te tengo. Siempre estaré aquí para ti. Te tengo." He repeats the mantra, and the coil of his arms tightens, starting to squeeze. "I've got you." [ everything is going to be alright matt. i've got you. i will always be here for you. i've got you. ]

1995

Mattheo stands dead-eyed next to Tom, listening to Theo giving him his quiet opinion from the other side. His dark head is tilted towards Theo, but his eyes are trained on his older brother, who scans the entrance of the maze fervently.

It's been an hour, or two, or three, since Potter and the rest of the contestants had entered the maze, and Mattheo can feel the uneasiness beating from Tom like a siren, the call making him want to respond.

But he doesn't dare move to hold Tom's hand. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Probably not when they're by themselves either.

Tom has grown further away from Mattheo, but all he can do is sit and watch as his older brother turns to Enzo and Blaise more and more. He could bet Enzo knows more about Tom now than Mattheo does.

He looks away from Tom, a bitter taste rising like bile in his mouth as he looks to Theo instead.

"As much as Draco will wish it was different, Potter will score highly." Theo says, and Mattheo hums low, gaze grazing the side of his face as he takes in the gorgeous face his best friend has once more. Oh how much he just wants to cup Theo's cheek with his hand.

Mattheo looks away quickly, hoping to rip out the feeling by the root if he stops his wants fast enough; alas, like every other time, the ache persists.

"He might even win." Theo finishes, and as if right on cue, there's a loud crack in the air, and the band scrambles to start an upbeat tune.

Potter is folded over on the floor, and Mattheo's eyes are fast enough to recognise the object beneath him as what it is. A corpse.

"He's back!" Harry's hoarse yell rings throughout the arena, and Theo falls silent as he focuses on Harry instead. "Voldemort is back!"

Instantly, Mattheo looks at Tom, and closeness be damned, he grabs his older brother's hand, grip tight and iron. Tom's eyes are panicked, the unsureness of the future reflected in the dark brown as he squeezes Mattheo's hand.

"It's okay." He mouths to Mattheo, and glances at Harry. "It'll be okay."

Amos Diggory's wails of pain are like a shadowed warning that Tom will be a liar.

Tom and Mattheo slowly step off the train, trunks hanging wildly in the air behind them as they trudge behind Draco to the waiting Malfoys.

Narcissa drags Draco into a tight hug, whispering into his ear fervently as Lucius— for the first time ever— sends the brothers a look differing from tired responsibility, instead giving them a small smile of hidden pity.

The five, three family members and two brothers, leave platform 9 ¾, heading to the same car they've used before.

Magically enhanced, it widens enough for there to be space for everybody to get in, and driverless, the car starts off down the road with all the trunks loaded into the back.

Before Tom can ask, Lucius starts the conversation.

"So, as you may have heard, your father has returned." His voice is cold, but an underlying weariness and fear is settled into his silver eyes, so similar to Draco's. "This means you are no longer staying with us. The Dark Lord is residing in the old Black Manor."

"We would keep you, boys, but the Dark Lord insisted." Narcissa intersects, her hand braced on Draco's knee in a soothing action.

"¿Crees que vamos a morir?" Mattheo whispers to Tom, impolite as he totally blanks the Malfoys. "Nos va a matar." [ do you think we're gonna die? (...) he's going to kill us. ]

"No." Tom replies fervently, looking at Mattheo. "Somos— Somos demasiado importante. ¿Por qué tendría hijos sólo para matarlos?" [ no. (...) we're— we're too important. why would he have children just to kill them? ]

"No sé." Mattheo admits, looking out the window of the car to bustling London. [ i don't know. ]

The hall is dank and cobwebby, the reek of something mouldy wafting in from one of the many open studies. The curtains are pulled over, and there are shadows dancing along the dark floorboards.

An old, decrepit looking house elf ambles along at a lulling gait, clearly not used to such speeds as she lifts her hand and snaps her fingers, candles flickering to life as she carries on in her frantic craze to most likely complete the first order she got in years.

Tom glances off to the side, faux boredom shining in his eyes as he inspects all around him, the portraits mostly empty with inhabitants long gone.

Mattheo himself keeps his heavy eyes stuck on the ceiling, head rolled back as he swallows— enviously casual movements are a must when you're meeting your murderous, genocidal father— and his dark brown eyes don't even reflect a flick of flame from the candles.

At long last, one of the study doors swings open, and out steps Voldemort.

For a second, offence traverses Tom's body at the thought that people have called him similar to this guy.

Bald, pale as fuck, with no nose and red eyes? That is no compliment.

"Boys." Voldemort says, and Mattheo slowly drops his head to look at him, his eyes doing nothing to betray the nervousness Tom can read from his tense shoulders. "It's good to finally see my children again, at last."

"Sir." Mattheo says, nodding, and with an agreeing nod, Tom steps closer to his brother, ever so slightly bristling at the sight of Voldemort's milky complexion.

"No need, no need." There's fake kindness in his voice as he steps closer, bare feet travelling down the cold hall towards the pair. "I am your father, and so you can call me so. We are family, and we shall be loyal like one. Yes?"

"Of course." The two agree at the same time, and Voldemort looks back down the hall, gesturing at it.

"Then you two shall find yourselves rooms. We have a lot to catch up on."

"¡Estoy cubriendo para ti! Podría haberle contado sobre— sobre lo que está mal contigo." Tom growls, his fists clenched at his sides. "Podría, pero no lo hice, porque te amo jodidamente y quiero mantenerte a salvo! Ahora estamos jodidamente atascados aquí, y no hay nada que pueda hacer." [ i'm covering for you! i could've told him about— about what's wrong with you. (...) i could've, but i didn't, because i fucking love you and i want to keep you safe! now we're fucking stuck here, and there's nothing i can do. ]

"¡Calla te, idiota!" Mattheo snaps, standing up straight in the study. "¡Además, no es mi culpa que estemos atrapados aquí!" [ shut up, idiot! (...) plus, it's not my fault we're stuck here! ]

"¡Por supuesto que no! ¡Pero necesitas aprobar más! Nuestro padre es un asesino, y necesitamos estar lo más seguros posible." Tom says right back, his shoulders tensing and snapping up with angry fear. "Te matará si no haces lo que él quiere, ¿entiendes? ¿O eres tan despistado?" [ of course not! but you need to try more! our father is a murderer, and we need to be as safe as possible. (...) he'll kill you if you don't do what he wants, understand? or are you that clueless? ]

"Yo sé. Pero tenemos que hacer más por nosotros mismos. Tú eres el que se dio por vencido." Is Mattheo's response. It's sharp, and it's cold. [ i know. but we have to do more for ourselves. you are the one who's given up. ]

He— How dare he say that? How dare he say that like Tom isn't trying everything he can? As if he isn't looking for every solution? As if he isn't trying to get them out?

"Bien. ¡Bien! Este soy yo, rindiéndose. Sobre ti. Eres jodidamente ingrato e inútil en eso." Tom yells, emotion risen to the point of breaking him as he whirls around. It may be cruel to repeat the words they both heard so many times when they were younger, but he doesn't give himself time to think as he storms out the study, leaving behind Mattheo, stunned to the spot. [ fine. fine! this is me, giving up. on you. you're fucking ungrateful and useless too. ]

He keeps going, until he's out that damned mansion, until he's out of those damned grounds, until he's out of the damned village.

Tom keeps going, until he catches the Knight Bus and heads to the Berkshire residence.

Tom slowly opens the large door to the hall, grunting softly when he has to push against the drag of the carpet too. But he does, and enters the dining hall, where Voldemort stands, an emotionless expression colouring his features; there's an air of annoyed disappointment. So bloody father-like.

"And where have you been?" He asks, wand retracting from between his robes. He drags his white fingers reverently over the wood as Tom drops his gaze to the floor, chastised.

"I'm sorry, father." He says, and Voldemort lets out a menacing, low hum.

"I'd hope you are. You are the oldest, and I had a plan for you." He says. He turns away, slowly walking up the length of the dinner table, and Tom finally looks up to see a pale-faced, ashen Mattheo sitting at the head, the dark collar of his shirt seeming to dig into his neck.

He has his right arm braced on the table, and his face trembles with feared pain as Voldemort stops behind his chair, pale hands dragging down the back of it.

"You know, I was quite frustrated when I had to chose Mattheo for this instead. He wasn't meant for this, you see. You're the oldest, and you were in the plan." Voldemort drawls out lowly, and Tom watches, stricken, as Mattheo's bottom lip wobbles while his brows twist with horrible torment.

"I'm sorry, father." Tom breathlessly repeats. "I'll take over from Mattheo as soon as possible."

"Oh, I can't change it anymore. It is done." Voldemort tuts. "But very well, I will reinstitute you into the plan. It wasn't meant for Mattheo anyways. Tomorrow morning, I want you down here at eleven."

With this, he quickly departs, leaving the two brothers by themselves.

"Matt, qué... ¿Qué pasó? ¿Estás bien? ¿Qué te hizo?" Tom hurries a step or two forwards, right as Mattheo shoots up from the chair, pushing the heavy furniture back with the loud scratch of wood on wood. [ matt, what... what happened? are you okay? what did he do to you? ]

"Es tu culpa." He murmurs, hand coming to hook on the his long black sleeve. His fingers unbutton it, and he starts to slowly drag the material up his left arm. "Estaba tan asustada, ¿entiendes? Pero te fuiste. Tenía que tomarlo." [ it's your fault. (...) i was so scared, you know? but you left. i had to take it. ]

He flips his arm over, and Tom's mouth runs dry.

The dark mark, wrapping fresh and coiling on Mattheo's fore arm.

His very skin is red and aching, like the pain is still settled into it, even so long after.

"Lo— Lo siento. Lo siento, Matt, yo—" [ i'm— i'm sorry. i'm sorry, matt, i— ]

"No. No quiero oírlo. ¿Recuerdas cuando dijiste que todo estaría bien? Bueno, aquí es donde no está bien. Vete a la mierda, Tom." Mattheo snaps, and pushes away from the table, storming out the room. [ no. i don't want to hear it. remember when you said everything will be okay? well, now is where it's not. fuck you, tom. ]

Tom is left with overwhelming guilt, and the ghost of the dark mark on his brother's arm flashing before his eyes.

Tom hasn't seen Mattheo once outside of classes and the time they're forced to spend together in their dorms.

His feet seem heavier than ever, and Enzo's promise that they'll make up seems less probable than ever before.

Tom stalks up the stairs to the dorm, and flings the door open wide, ready to settle down for long revision.

Mattheo is pressed up to one of the bed posts, his shirt discarded somewhere as he tears away from Theo's mouth, hands woven up into his mousy gold hair.

Tom only has time to feel disgust (at the state he's seeing Mattheo in) and shock, before Mattheo's shoving an equally indecent Theo from him, stalking up to Tom with his jeans hanging low on his hips, most likely displaced so after an especially harsh tug from Theo.

"Get the fuck out." Mattheo snaps, pushing Tom right out before slamming the door with definitive force in his face.

They— Theo and Mattheo are together? When? How? Why doesn't Tom know anything about—

Tom swallows thickly, guilt settling a heavy weight in his gut as he pulls the bag up further on his shoulder.

Mattheo's flushed (from factors Tom doesn't want to think about) and angry face is burned into his memory, such cruel hatred sown into the lines of his dark eyes that Tom can't breathe.

What happened to them?

Unwilling to acknowledge the answer, Tom pulls himself together, turning to leave a brother he doesn't know anymore to continue a development he wasn't aware of.

What Tom doesn't know will hurt him. And it'll hurt him a lot.

1996

Mattheo blinks, the vibrant green of the dorm stabbing into his eyes like needles as he sighs, head rolling back until it's properly flopped onto the pillows.

He feels so... good.

He pops his lips, repeating the sound a few time as the vibrations of the noise seem to spread in the air, colouring pink and greens to throb and float outwards. Something tickles his throat, and Mattheo finds himself diving into an involuntarily coughing fit, quick hacking rising from the depths of his lungs.

It hurts, but also at the same time, his arms aren't painful, and his back doesn't feel as tight as it usually does. Mattheo hates that Cormac guy, but whatever he's selling is good.

The door opens quickly, and with a small grunt, Mattheo lifts his head, coughing once more as he catches sight of Theo.

Beautiful, beautiful Theo, who looks ready to sprout white feathered wings and fly up to heaven, where he belongs among other angels.

"¿Qué pasa, cariño?" Mattheo rasps, and Theo cracks a smile at him as he comes up close with an explosive sigh, bags dropped off at the foot of Mattheo's bed. [ what's up, baby? ]

"Why weren't you in class today?" He asks softly instead, sitting on the mattress next to his high lover. "Hmm? And didn't we agree to finally take a shower?"

"Don't wanna." Mattheo huffs, and flops on the bed again. His voice is slurring, and the green in the dorm is bright.

"Matty, are you high again?" Theo asks, and puts his large palms on both of Mattheo's cheeks, curling his head up so he can have a proper look. "How the fuck did you even— I literally threw everything out last night."

Mattheo doesn't reply, soaking in the warmth of Theo's palms as he gently opens Mattheo's eye wider, taking in the bloodshot brown with a hissed click of the tongue.

"Matty." He says, voice low as he lays Mattheo back down in the fluffy bed of clouds. "I love you, but you're such an idiot. What if the teachers got worried and sent someone up to check?"

Mattheo simply lets out a garbled 'mrphhblegh' as he rolls over onto his stomach, propping his hands up so he can watch Theo magicking water into an empty glass. While he's at it, Mattheo fumbles for the half-drunk bottle of firewhiskey on the other side of his bed, dragging the glass over until his parched lips cup the burning liquid.

He's mid tilting it to wash his throat down with fire when Theo tuts and plucks the bottle out of his hand, replacing it with the glass of water.

"Water. Agua. You need it." He says, and promptly snaps the firewhiskey out of existence, alcohol disappearing into thin air.

"Saying it in Spanish doesn't make me want it more." Mattheo protests, but drinks the water anyways, dropping the empty glass onto the bed without a care when he's done.

He rolls back over onto his back, and watches as Theo puts the cup away and climbs into the bed next to him.

"Are you sure?" He challenges, ocean eyes lidded and enticing as he quirks his thick brow at Mattheo. "What about... me?"

"That's not in Spanish." Mattheo grumbles, but his hands hook around the back of Theo's neck never the less, dragging his face close.

"A mí." Theo sighs out, and let's Mattheo catch him in a slow, lazy kiss, lips fitting together as he rolls over with a grunt on top of Theo. [ me. ]

His large, warm palms settle on Mattheo's bare sides, thumbs teasing over his ribs as Mattheo shudders, squeezing his legs tighter around Theo's hips. His fingers tease up tighter into Theo's hair, and he kisses the dear air out of his lungs, shirtless body hung above the boy.

Mattheo breaks away, giving Theo a small, casual smile, before diving right back in for another kiss.

And then, for the second time in the past two years, the door flings open, and Mattheo rips away to look at Tom standing in the doorway.

"Cormac is making jokes about weed, and I swear to God Matt, if you're high during—"

What he's seeing catches up with him, because Tom's gaze flickers to Theo awkwardly propped up on his elbow beneath Mattheo, his hair a mess, before looking up at a bare-chested and definitely high Mattheo.

"What the fuck?" He snaps, and Mattheo groans, turning right around so he can spare himself the pain of looking at his older brother who doesn't love him anymore, especially during the time he was supposed to feel good. "Theodore, are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Tom's voice is full of rage, and Mattheo moves too slow to react when his older brother pulls him off of Theo, letting him try to steady himself with a stumble at the sudden move.

"He's fucking high, and you're going to try and fuck him?" Tom growls, hand wrapped right around the collar of Theo's uniform. "That's twisted, Nott."

"I wasn't going to do anything." Theo argues right back, and Mattheo groans at Tom shoving himself into business he doesn't understand, again. "What, can I not kiss my fucking boyfriend?"

"Your bo—" Tom falters as he repeats Theo, and looks back at Mattheo, a weakness in his eyes. "You two are actually together and you didn't tell me?"

"Yeah, I didn't." Mattheo huffs, gaze dropping away, because no matter how strong and mean he tries to be, seeing Tom give him that look makes him feel like a little, scared kid again. And he already suffers feeling like that too much when he's in the stupid damned mansion.

"Just get out of here, Tom." Theo snaps, standing up as Tom's loose fist drops from his shirt. "Neither Mattheo nor I need you here. I can take care of him without your help."

Tom swallows thickly, and Mattheo sits down on the bed like a toddler in a huff as his older brother starts his slow retreat with the escort of Theo to the door.

It seems like he only remembers his ability to speak when he's on the other side of the door.

"Wait—" It slams shut in front of him.

Slowly, Theo comes back to sit in front of Mattheo, his hands catching his and pulling them away from their nervous picking at Mattheo's dark jeans.

Theo holds them gently in his own, and only after a few minutes does Mattheo gather his pitifully lackluster courage to speak.

"Theo?" He murmurs, unable to look up, and Theo gives a hum that he's listening.

"I did need him. I want him to be my brother again."

But when Theo runs back to the door, desperate to give Mattheo what he wants, he can't.

Because Tom's not there.

Mattheo doesn't feel so good anymore.

1998

Tom's searching, frantically.

He was so, so stupid.

Tom runs through the barren halls, fights abandoned when his father was killed at last. Everyone is gathering in the Great Hall, and yet Mattheo is nowhere to be seen.

Mattheo is nowhere to be seen, but Tom is determined to not have to search through the corpses strewn on the castle grounds.

He storms down the stairs, his steps ringing out along barren halls as he keeps running as fast as he can, the call of "Mattheo!" a constant from his lips.

At long last, he sprints out into the courtyard, head whipping left and right.

He's going to find Mattheo. He's going to find Mattheo, and he's going to make it right.

He'll get his brother back.

There's the figure of Theo's broad shoulders curled over as he kneels next to something, and Tom is of half a mind to ignore the fucking cunt until he sees a dark head of curls lolling backwards from Theo's arms.

He's of half a mind to ignore Theo until he sees his brother wrapped in his embrace.

"Mattheo." He rasps out, and then bolts as fast as he can to Theo's side.

He doesn't stop to greet him, or anything, just dropping to his knees on the cold stone of the courtyard, right as a misty rain starts to descend from the heavy hanging clouds. The downpour is too gentle to wash away the puddle of blood forming beneath Mattheo.

Mattheo who's still. Mattheo who has a gaping wound in his side. Mattheo who's eyes are open. Mattheo who's last view was of Theo's face, and not Tom's.

Tom doesn't say anything, simply reaching for his little brother. Always his little brother.

Theo doesn't put up a fight when Tom pulls Mattheo out of his arms, his ocean eyes lined with waves of tears glued to Mattheo's pale, lax face.

Tom numbly closes Mattheo's eyes, his hand continuing it's journey down to cup Mattheo's cheek as he pulls his body onto his lap.

Mattheo is relaxed in a way he hasn't managed ever since Voldemort came back. As much as Tom wishes he's lax because their father is gone, he knows it's not that. His still and indolent body is like that because it's lifeless.

Tom's breath runs shallow as a sob escapes Theo, but he ignores his brother's lover, pulling Mattheo more into his arms.

Mattheo who's still so cruelly warm. Mattheo who's back is so cruelly wet from the moments he'd spent in his own blood.

"¿Mattheo?" Tom murmurs, and suddenly, a sharp sting blasts between his ribs.

It's horrible and mean, knocking the air out of his rungs as his ribs start to shrink in his chest, squeezing his heart like a vice. They grab and grab and grab, until Tom's heart explodes a bloody mess between his lungs, painful and burnt and drowned.

Something clenches in his core, and Tom's lip trembles as tears that don't exist tip over the edge of his eyes, dripping invisible down Mattheo's face.

It's too much, and it's not enough.

With a raw sob, of pain, Tom curls over, folding forwards as he presses his face into Mattheo's hair, arms tightening; he can't squeeze the life Mattheo doesn't have out of him, so he's hoping to squeeze the prevalent death away instead.

"Mattheo." He repeats, and then it's like all he knows is his brother's name, that and the cracked torture in his voice as he hugs Mattheo's warm body close. "Mattheo."

It's grief.

It's grief and it's cruel.

It's grief and it means his brother is dead.

A low moan of desolate pain bursts from Tom's lips, and then he's bargaining like he's never bargained before with any god who will listen to him.

Por favor, por favor, por favor. Devuélvelo. Devuélvelo a mí. Él pertenece aquí. Nunca tuvimos que hacerlo bien. Por favor, devuelve a mi hermano. Dame a mi hermano pequeño. Él es mi hermano, no entiendes. Él es mi hermano, y tú me estás rompiendo. Por favor, por favor, por favor. [ please, please, please. give him back, give him back to me. he belongs here. we never got to make it right. please, give back my brother. give me my baby brother. he's my brother, you don't understand. he's my brother, and you're breaking me. please, please, please. ]

When it doesn't work in Spanish, he tries English, even when the painful shatter of his heart tells him it's no use.

Anything. I'll give you anything, anyone, to have my brother back. Take whoever you need, take even me, but please, just bring him back. Let my little brother stay by my side. He's just my little brother. My baby brother. My only family. Don't leave me alone. Let me love him like he deserves. Please.

9 years ago, if Tom had gone back outside instead of nursing his wounds in the Calderón mansion in south Spain, he'd find the blanket he left outside for Mattheo's sake void of any life.

A dead fledgling, small with its youth, cold with the lack of the older fledgling at its side.

And next to it, a gaping absence of the older fledgling, taken away by fate.

Two birds, on a wire. One says "C'mon" and the other says "I'm tired".

Two brothers, in an embrace. One says "Don't go" and the other says ...

what a doozy, right??? i love them sm, your honour. i'm also never gonna shut up ab the fact that mattheo saw theo's face last, not tom's.

also, mattheo had been lying in his blood for hours before theo got there, so yes, he did regret a lot of things 🥰

please tell me your thoughts!!!!!! i'd love to hear em

#marcie writes ✭˖*°࿐#tom riddle #mattheo riddle #riddle brothers #mattheo riddle x theodore nott #mattheodore #slytherin boys #family relationship study #voldemort is stinky

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