The Fact That Anthony Can’t Stop Calling Kate Viscountess?

thank you kind sir 🙏🏼

Beware of the Canon

Posted:06/08/23

Title: Beware of the Canon

Dad Miguel O'Hara x GN Spider-Reader

BF Hobie Brown x GN Spider-Reader

Summary: You're Miguel's kid who's dating Hobie Brown

Author's note:

Word Count:807

Spider-verse Story List/ Master List

Warnings: Language

🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞

Hobie had asked you out a few weeks ago when he came to visit the Spider Society to hang out. You happily agreed and snuck out when your father was busy.

The first date was a smashing success. How could it not be when you're bashing in nazi skulls with a young hot punk who's got superpowers!

Hobie just couldn't help but take you on date after date. One day, it's an underground show in a dimension in the corner of the universe the next your eating stolen sweets on top of a freshly graffitied Statue of Liberty.

To be honest, you're not exactly sure when you become official. It was just common knowledge for you to refer to each other as partners.

Today, Hobie escorted you back to your earth with an arm over your shoulder laughing about something stupid. "Huhm." The sound of your father clearing his voice catches both of your attention.

You look up to see your father, Miguel, standing in your bedroom with his arms crossed. "Jigs up." Hobie chuckled and put his hands up. Miguel glared at you, not bothering to even acknowledge Hobie, who walked over to your bed to crash.

"What the hell were you thinking sneaking off to other dimensions behind my back? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Your father had his voice serious and raised but not enough to be yelling. "Not to mention the shit that you've been doing in those dimensions. I mean, honestly, spray painting the Statue of Liberty." You smirk at the memory. "A symbol spreading the falsehood of liberty while dozens of minorities suffer..." You say as Miguel continues. "You stole historical artifacts from the British museum..." You lifted your chin proudly. "Returned said artifacts to their original owners..." You corrected. "And worst of all, you've been trying to help spider people break cannon!" He shouts. You stare into his eyes for a moment, trying to think of a witty response. "Yeah, I got nothing for that one..." You looked pasted your dad to see Hobie smiling at you, happy that you don't feel shameful for ehat he call real spider-man duties.

Miguel stares into your eyes pissed off. "How long did you think you would be able to get away with seeing him behind my back?" You signed. "Honestly... it didn't feel behind your back... at least not the relationship part. I love him." His face softens and places a protective hand on your shoulder. "Y/n... beware of the canon. You're a spider person... if you get too close to him-" you cut him off. "He'll die?" He didn't respond, making you scoff. "We know that, Papa. That's why we've been testing your canon theory..." His jaw clenched and started to shake his head, trying not to say something he'll regret.

"You're grounded. Give me your bracelet." You looked at him wide-eyed and then gave it to him. "Oohhh~" Hobie teased at the threat, knowing damn well he wouldn't listen to it. "And you!" Miguel whips around to see Hobie laying on your bed with his boots still on. "I- I can't. I just can't." He turns towards the bedroom door. "I ain't even here," Hobie responds to himself. "No more dimension jumping for you till you've earned back my trust and shown me that you can not only be responsible but that you take canon breaking more seriously." He paused after he opened the door. He holds your face with one hand. "I've already lost one kid and refuse to lose another." He kisses your forehead. "Aww, that's a happy little ending, in it?" Miguel glared up at him. "Get your damn boots off the bed."

Hobie hops to sit up, letting his feet hit the floor. Miguel rolls his eyes and bent down to you again. "Him? Seriously?" You nodded with a smile. He looks back at Hobie, then you. "You know there's plenty of respectable young Peter Parkers out there..." You cocked an eyebrow. "Not all of them but a few..." You crossed your arms playfully. He sighed in defeat. "Worth a shot." He kisses your head again before stepping out of the room. "Go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon." You nodded and started to walk towards your bathroom.

Miguel stopped before closing the door and opened it again. "Oh and Hobie." Hobie stopped checking you out to look at him. "Yeah, mate?" "Get the hell out of my house." He said, making Hobie chuckle and stand. "Yes, sir. I'll have your offspring home before supper, yeah?" Hobie, shoot a web at you yanking you from your bathroom to his chest. Hobie kisses your lips. "What?" Miguel said, confused, opening the door one last time. He sees Hobie holding you in his arms as he opens up a portal.

"Hey, wait!" Miguel yells after you guys as the portal closes. "Ay, coño!"

just saw this on twitter and died😭

whoever made this… thank you😂

I'm your biggest fan

I'll follow you until you love me

Papa-paparazzi

Baby, there's no other superstar

You know that I'll be

Your papa-paparazzi

Promise I'll be kind

But I won't stop until that boy is mine

Baby, you'll be famous

Chase you down until you love me

Papa-paparazzi

i mean-

𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔬

𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖇𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍.

MOTHER HAS POSTED‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

MDNI ; explicit NSFW content

sometimes, when the night air has a bite to it and the stars seem to shine a little brighter, luke castellan will sit by your side and confess his desire for a normal teenage life.

he won't say much, only telling you that he wishes he lived a life similar to yours, and maybe you can pull a specific desire or two out of him. but either way, you're always quick to fill the silence with possibilities, telling him of all of the things you he do to achieve a similar feeling.

he tries to implement some of them into life at camp half-blood. asking for cherry and blue raspberry slushies in his goblet at dinner. partaking in your stash of substances you shouldn’t have had at camp when he's free. sneaking around with you to play with each others bodies with enthusiastic curiosity at any hour of any day.

from what you can tell, that is his favorite part about being a teenager.

at first, he was quick to turn your casual conversations during the night into desperately grinding your clothed crotches against each other without any cares of how it looked, only caring about how it felt. letting out any moan or praise or thought in a quiet enough whisper to not alert anyone (or more likely, anything) that could be out there with you.

and even though you had nothing but constellations as your witness, you dare not bare your bodies. instead keeping them trapped in your clothing, attempting to ignore the way heat was multiplying as you both chased a feeling that seemed impossible to catch like this.

it was much easier to capture the feeling that started low in your groins before erupting all over the rest of your bodies when you were in the showers. where he became more desperate and bold.

always being the last two to clean your bodies at night would guarantee solitude, a state neither of you ever took for granted. times like those, you share a stall, stripped down completely with nothing at all to hide your bodies, save for the soap which is not used until after.

after he’s kissed you stupid.

after his fingers have traced every curve and bend and protrusion of your body.

after you’ve admired him with your eyes and your lips and practically begged him to do something, anything.

after he’s brought both of you pleasure from whatever method he’d settled on that night, or from whatever seed of an idea you sweetly planted in his brain.

no matter when or where or how, luke is always eager to have you.

it’s nearly impossible for him to get his fill, a stark reminder to you that while he is a normal boy in most circumstances, the blood running through his veins gives him an edge human boys will never have. the power coursing through him—a characteristic you share but not to the same extremity—allows him to take you over and over again without faltering, even when you’re left begging for mercy.

(sometimes, he’ll pity you. most times, he kisses you to keep you distracted, and then swiftly pulls another orgasm out you before you can cry and whine about it)

.ೃ࿔ SECRET SURPRISE ☾

finding out you’re pregnant on the day of toji’s big mma match

tags —nsfw, unprotected sex, pregnancy, cum dump, pet names, riding, dacriphilia, cum slut, cockwarming, mood swings, morning sickness,

notes— links are informational NOT nsfw links! OPEN THEM!

one thing that always calmed toji was definitely being deep inside his most precious person. feeling you squeeze around him had his stomach clenching, lips clashing with yours as you whined.

“my dicks fuckin’ melting,” he pants. he had you in so many different positions, absolutely wrecking your body. currently he had you in one of your favorites. especially after missing him after he’d been away for so long. his hand laced in your small one, squeezing it with each sharp thrust. holding it beside your blessed out face.

“gunnu c…cumm,” your eyes flutter, your free hand held his face, lips falling open as he kissed you, groaning as he picked up the pace, your back arched up, legs crossed behind his back as he angled your hips up. he felt himself slide deeper inside letting you suck him in.

“remember the shape of my dick, pup?” he chuckles, sitting up on his knees to grab your hips, thumb falling over your swollen clit.

“mmh just know y-yours, toji!” his thumb circles your bundle of nerves watching you cry out, legs trembling.

“good girl,” his grin had your stomach bursting with joy, you love him so much. so much. your fingers reach out, desperate for his touch. “still so needy after all this time.” he takes your hand, leaning over to kiss the soft digits. your eyes are crossing as you feel your legs tremble. “my pretty wife…” he cooes, only making you tremble at his deep voice.

“shit, squeezin me tighter than usual!” you almost knock the wind out of the man as he crashes his lips, drinking your gasps and tears as you tremble around him. “trying to push me out?” he slaps the outside of your thigh as you cum around him.

“more cum,” you kiss his lips, sucking his tongue, playing with his scar as your eyes gloss over, too dumb to think of anything else.

toji pushes your legs higher, sinking deeper as the squelching of your pussy echoes in the bedroom. “love you, love you toji…toji—ah” your pretty chants has his body heating up and dick throbbing even bigger. you feel every vein that bulges around his fat girth and his big tip kissing your cervix.

“if you keep acting like a needy brat, ‘m gonna bust soon,” his voice is strained. he fell deeper than ever, your eyes crossing as toji practically drools into your mouth. your tight pussy around his throbbing cock only had his tongue lolling out.

“mph ah ‘s big,” the large bedroom balcony was wide open as the cool night breeze swept your moans.

“want it please,” you held him so close. arms squeezing around his sweaty neck as you kissed his pretty scar—

“gun kill me,” he felt his stomach tighten, dropping his sweaty head into your neck as he gives a few more very sloppy thursts, until he’s twitching unbelievably hard, hips stuttering inside as his tip sprays long ropes of cum.

“feels so warm, toji,” you lick his ear as toji hums, lazily rolling his hips inside you as he breathes heavily against your neck, a few strained groans coming out when he feels you clench, filling you up.

“take it all,” he pushes up, leaning over your face as he pants, your fingers holding his face as you pull him to your lips.

“I mean you’re still cumming—“ you suddenly squeal, toji flicking your clit causing your body to jump.

“don’t be all snarky,” he pants over your lips, your tongue hangs out as toji deepens the kiss. sucking your tongue, making your cream ooze around his bulging cock some more.

you rub your tummy as toji groans, pressing a hand over yours and pushing down, making you whimper. he was filling you up so good. you loved the feeling of him cumming inside you.

once his dick runs dry, he rests beside you, pulling you closer. your deep breath falling even as you two fall asleep.

toji kept his soft cock deep inside you, holding you close to his chest as you slept. the warmth and closeness wasn’t something he’d admit out loud, but he needed it.

A couple weeks go by, as you roll over to your side. your stomach hurting as you extend an arm out, only to feel an empty bed.

“to…ji…” you feel another uncomfortable churn before suddenly tripping out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom, quickly falling in front of the toilet as you throw up.

you miss toji, you almost whine. why was he gone so early? you don’t think much of it. instead you go about your day until toji comes home. leaning on the man as you sit with him on the couch. he’d gained some weight for the weigh in tomorrow, so he was bigger than usual.

“you went harder than usual last night,” you mumble in his side. toji looks over, noticing the healing bruise around your thighs, his big hand gliding between your legs to rub the skin.

“i thought i heard someone cry for it to be harder,” he snarks.

“well like ya, but i have a shoot tomorrow,” you mumble rolling over so you were hugging toji.

you were more affectionate than you usually were, toji notes. you’ve been attached to him since he walked in. sitting beside him as he bathed, helping him get dressed, now you’re all over him. wasn’t this was your favorite show? is your period soon?

“you feelin alright?” toji runs a hand on the back of your head, petting you gently, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders.

your leg glides across his lap, nuzzling yourself onto him even closer. “mhm.”

he wraps an arm around you pulling you closer as he continues watching. you’re quiet, maybe you were just tired…you were wearing his sweater and sweats, but he could feel you trying to get closer to him.

“you’re needy tonight, pup,” toji grunts, feeling your hand down the front of his pants, playing with his semi-hard on.

“just missed you,” you kiss his ear, toji hums snaking his own hand down the back of your sweats and slipping a finger inside you from behind.

it didn’t take long for his fat cock to be nuzzled deep inside your dripping cunt.

“something happen today?” toji holds your cheek, the other on your hip helping you bounce on his lap. your ass slapping down on his firm thighs, whining at how big he is.

“why do you keep asking that?” you huff, getting annoyed with his questions. “just…uh, wanna feel you,” your nails dig into his shoulder, head falling back as you chase your high.

“you’re acting…”

“what?” you squeal feeling toji grab the back of your neck pulling you to his lips. you cry as he kisses you aggressively.

“I’m asking how my wife is, don’t act like a child,” he snaps, making you whine, clenching around him. toji groans getting worked up and helping you fuck him faster.

he could never get tired of this view. your head thrown back as you held his shoulder and the other hand holding his wrist that was playing with your tits. you were so fucking beautiful. your eyes fluttered as you cried out and cumming with a shake, letting him spill inside you again.

usually you would cuddle into him and let him soothe a hand over your back, but instead you stood up, his cock slipping out of your holec immediately watching his cum ooze out, still sticking to his tip, as some more cum slid down to hos base. your hand cupped your pussy and headed to the bathroom.

“baby?” he leans over the couch, puzzled.

“haveta pee,” you mumble, discarding your sweater and the door shuts.

toji follows a couple minutes later, grabbing a towel to clean off before tucking himself. he looks over seeing you in the shower. sliding the screen open, you hum looking over your shoulder.

“you’re worrying me here, did something happen? did i do something?” toji was horrible with words, but that doesn’t mean he’s a complete fucking idiot. he thinks he can read you pretty well especially having married you. likewise. yet, this is the first time he’s seen you act so…moody.

“worried about what? we just had sex?” you wash the conditioner from your hair, opening your eyes to look at the man. he looked so confused.

“dunno,” he mumbles. he wanted you to confide in him. is he really that bad with emotions that you can’t tell him what’s going on? “can you tell me you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” you smile softly, quickly easing his nerves, but he can’t help but look at you longingly.

“c’mere,” his hand reaches out, cupping your face and pulling you close. “gimme a kiss.”

you smile as you walk closer, away from the water, to lean high up meeting his lips firmly. he’s leaning down, holding your face as he continues kissing you. he couldn’t get enough of you, his hand stroking the back of your neck as you hum, rubbing your fingers on his wrist.

toji still had his guard up. you were in fact “okay”, but you seem more irritated one second, but suddenly okay the next. he checked your temperature and you seemed fine.

“she’s been really moody,” toji chugs some water as he leans against the ring.

shiu doesn’t bother to look up from his ipad. “what did you do?”

toji rolls his eyes. “thanks.”

“did you forget her birthday, leave your dirty socks in the kitchen?”

toji fixes his gloves. “who do you take me for? you’re no help.”

“she could just be sick for your ass,” shiu shrugs, looking up to laugh at toji’s annoyed expression.

“fuck off.”

your head was pounding. heart thumping out of your chest as you sat on the cold tile floor. your lips trembled, hands running cold….no way….no way…..

“hon, he’s asking about you! you alright in there?” shiu’s hand knocked on the door.

of all the days to find out your pregnant, you had to find out now. you couldn’t hold back and wait until tomorrow…but you were nervous! you couldn’t wait—

you inhale sharply. “I’m fine.”

the moment you step out though, your eyes immediately scan around, overstimulated by all the people moving around, the coach warming up toji, shiu answering calls—

“you alright, baby?” toji is loosening his muscles as he looks up at you, ready to head out as they try to push him out the door . you don’t even realize how your legs automatically carried you to him. “baby?”

you’re an idiot, truly. because the way his hand stroked the back of your neck and the way his voice sent your stomach fluttering.

“i have to tell you something….” you bite the inside of your cheek. no, you couldn’t tell him now, that would be absolutely disastrous.

“ya, quickly,” his thumb caresses your cheek, waiting for you. instead you only lean up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him to your lips. his lips automatically open as you kiss him feverishly. you pull away breathing for a minute. toji’s eyes are slightly open watching the way you squeeze your eyes shut as you kiss him….“you alright?”

your breathing heavily, before forcing out a tight lipped smile. his brow quirks even more concerned as you nod. “f’course…stomach just hurts a bit,” you peck his lips again before letting him head out.

your eyes follow him as he glances over his shoulder. he was concerned, he still couldn’t figure out what was going on. maybe something happened at work? but you haven’t complained about anything, which you always do if there’s a problem—

“you got this toji, make sure to keep your guard up after his left hooks!” his coach yelled in his ear as toji stepped into the cage. his arms snapping out, before stepping up to the middle. his eyes immediately ventured out, scanning the front row to find you. you weren’t looking at him…

“scared to look at me, king?” his opponent mocked, practically making toji roll his eyes into his skull.

once they shook hands and the round began toji was in the zone. his fist colliding with his opponents stomach then face. sending ripples through his body. it was always impressive watching toji move around the cage, his feet carrying him so fast you could barely keep up.

your heart felt like it was about to leap from your chest, and not in a good way. would toji even want a kid? he’s in the highlight of his career, he wouldn’t have time for this…are you even ready?!? you’ve been with toji for awhile, but you never imagined having kid so early, did you even discuss it with him. would he think you’re not ready??

toji took a hard elbow across the face, knocking him to the ground.

“FOUL!” the ref shouted. your eyes were filled with worry. you like watching toji fight, it was exhilarating, but this time you felt sick.

toji’s eyes seemed to find you immediately. ready to get back up, but he stopped breathing for a second…..the simple gesture of your hand on your stomach…he felt his heart beat a little faster as he unconsciously, almost automatically, connected the dots in his head.

“oh fuck.”

the eye contact you made said absolutely everything. it was too easy reading you. his stomach churned, his fist slammed into his opponent. he couldn’t think, taking hits he would normally dodge. your hands falling over your face as toji kept getting beat, over and over and over—

what is going on?!? toji was screaming at himself. stop thinking! just move!

with every ounce of his being, toji used it to land a direct blow across his opponents head, immediately knocking him out on impact. the ripples of his muscles, sent a wave of adrenaline pumping through his veins. and the only thing he could do was shove the flooding people coming into the cage, not even letting the ref grab his hand to announce his victory.

your eyes blew wide as toji fell to his knees in front of you, immediately between your legs as his hands grabbed your waist, staring up at you with bright green eyes. his chest was heaving, blood still trickling from his split lip and cut eyebrow.

“toji, congratulations!” you immediately try to wipe the blood with your sleeve, not caring that you spent so much on it. his dark green eyes were blown, immediately falling on your beautiful lips, congratulating him over and over—

your heart stops. his lips press softly on the back of your hands. kissing so gently…. he’d normally go for your lips and shamelessly deepen it—

“don’t be nervous,” he speaks softly, surprising the living hell out of you. he’s never been so soft after a match. but the look in his eyes immediately told you…he knew.

“I don’t know if I’m ready…” your head dropped, you couldn’t be a mother, you’ve fucked up so many times! you lost your keys just a week ago and accidentally got on the wrong train home after a long day!

toji tilts your chin. “and your career—“

“do you wanna keep it?” he asks, tilting his head not breaking eye contact. your stomach was churning even more. you felt like throwing up. you never gushed about having children, nor did you ever wish to have some. but it’s weird….its weird because you felt really warm inside. you didn’t know why your mode was shifting, why you were okay, but the sureness in toji’s eyes—having him come immediately to you.

you could only nod, biting your cheek so you wouldn’t cry, but covering your face with your free hand. the mma victor could only smile, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. the audience and reporters around had no clue what was happening, but everyone was swooning at how gentle toji was being.

“I’ll be the one to fuck it up, so don’t worry.” he teases.

you hit his chest. “don’t say that.” you take your hand off to look at him, he had a light flush on his cheeks. you’ve never seen him so calm after a match. “you sure?”

“kids are annoying brats, but if it looks like you…,” you roll your eyes. “what did you think was gonna happen?” you quirk a brow.

your breath hitched as he leaned his face close to your ear, his voice low, similar to how he spoke to you when you’re intimate. “your pretty eyes always filling with tears if I don’t stuff you full with my cum.”

your face burned red as his hand stroked your neck unbeknownst to the cameramen and reporters all waiting for toji to return. “can’t remember a time where you weren’t begging for it deep inside.” his hand travels down to your lower stomach!

you felt your legs closing as you hid your face in your hand, trying desperately to compose yourself, but my god, this man was so absolutely shameless.

“wonder what day of me pumping your tiny pussy with my cum was the one that struck gold—“

“toji,” you almost cry out only for his ear, so unbelievably hot from embarrassment you couldn’t breathe. “are you trying to kill me?!”

“of course not, pup, i was just reminiscing,” he laughs, pulling away to hold your face.

you roll your eyes at his amused faced. “haha, fuck you. so mean,” you shove his shoulder back making the man laugh, as he leans forward, tilting your chin to capture your lips.

he winces for just a moment, his cut lip stinging as you taste the metal on your tongue. you loved kissing him. your ears still hot as toji pulled away, his hand slipping down to hold yours as he walked with you back to the reporters. he did not take his hands off you that entire night.

when videos and photos were released, fans were deep diving to try and read toji and his wife’s lips. desperate to know what was so important.

but was only confirmed at his match a year later, when he stepped into the cage and gave a wave to his wife and little baby sitting on her lap.

link // link // link // link // link // link // link

OPEN THESE LINKS 🔗 do not stop talking about this! I hope u enjoy my fics but it’s all pointless if u don’t open these links and repost! information is power! especially and most importantly NOW!!

😭❤️‍🩹

Au where Violet dies giving birth to Hyacinth and Anthony is alone being a single dad raising his siblings alone.

His motivation for finding the perfect wife increases tenfold and he’s balancing duties trying as viscount and finding a suitable wife for his family.

In the mean time, Lady D becomes a surrogate aunt figure to the Bridgerton siblings. She loved Violet and so is okay helping Anthony raise the siblings.

Anthony eventually meeting Kate (Edwina is too young to be in the marriage market). They agree to marry each other for convenience, Anthony wants his siblings to have someone they can rely on and Kate wants to give her family a good reputation as being the wife of the viscount.

Anthony falling for Kate as he sees her get along with his siblings and help him raise them, Kate falling for Anthony because of how much he loves his family and wants to be there for them.

Just Kanthony raising the bridgerton siblings

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.