jonnie

੭੭ ♡ ౨౿ "I'm a waking hell and the Gods grew tired"

[crucifyjonnie]

♡ Hi, hello and welcome! ♡

jonnie. 28. slytherin. daydreamer. bookworm. music lover. writer. gamer.

This is an 18+ blog, mdni! Minors will be blocked without further discussion. ☼

Asks are always open for chats and vents, but reqs as well ♡

links - masterlist, get to know me, cod sideblog

[crucifyjonnie]

Jonnie bb, waves & luminary are songs I associate with your theme 🖤

I love iiit🥹🖤 and i love youuu

[simplyastra]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧— 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭

SUMMARY: You were a Gryffindor, he was a Slytherin — and somehow, that was supposed to mean something. But between shared silences, late nights in the library, and conversations under the stars, you and Theodore Nott begin to realize that maybe houses were never meant to define people. Based off of this request.

You had been at Hogwarts since first year — best friends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and part of every dangerous adventure they dragged you into. You were also close with Neville, Ginny, and the Weasley twins, often helping Fred and George perfect their wildest pranks before they left school. Brave, loyal, and quick to defend your friends, you were a proud Gryffindor through and through.

In sixth-year Potions, Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “Today we will be brewing the Draught of Peace! A delicate, complex potion that requires precision and a steady hand. I haven't paired you in any particular order — let’s see some excellent teamwork!”

Your stomach dropped when he announced your partner: Theodore Nott.

Theo kept his expression blank, but internally he wasn’t pleased. Draco scoffed loudly from across the room. Mattheo grinned at Theo like Christmas had come early. The rest of the Slytherins had been paired with fellow Slytherins — only Theo got stuck with a Gryffindor. Ron looked absolutely flabbergasted, staring at you with wide eyes as if you’d been paired with a Death Eater.

Everyone began moving to their partners. You stayed at your table, exhaling quietly as you gathered your ingredients. You weren’t thrilled either — but you weren’t about to make a scene over it.

Theo walked over after a second, setting his cauldron and supplies down across from you with a controlled sort of care. “Looks like we’re working together,” he said, voice even.

“Looks like it,” you replied, already measuring out powdered moonstone. After a brief pause, you added, “Let’s just… not mess this up.”

Theo raised an eyebrow slightly, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. “I could say the same to you.”

The potion began in quiet focus rather than tension. You worked efficiently, occasionally exchanging short, practical comments. It wasn’t warm — but it wasn’t hostile either. Hermione, paired with Lavender, kept glancing over at you every few minutes, clearly expecting something to go wrong. Nothing did.

When the class finally ended, Theo spoke without looking up from his notes. “I’ll finish the written assignment.”

You shook your head, closing your book. “No. We’ll do it together. Library, six o’clock.”

There was no bite in your tone — just certainty. Theo glanced at you properly for the first time, then gave a small nod. “Fine.”

You grabbed your bag and left with Hermione, who immediately leaned in with a hundred whispered questions. Theo watched you go, something thoughtful settling behind his usual indifference.

Mattheo, Blaise, Enzo, and Draco immediately started in on him as they left the dungeons. “A Gryffindor, Theo? Really?” Mattheo laughed. “This is going to be entertaining.” Theo didn’t respond. But he didn’t look annoyed anymore either.

Later that evening, you arrived at the library exactly at six. Theo was already there, several books laid out neatly across the table, notes half-written in his precise handwriting. The sight made something in your chest ease slightly.

You sat down beside him without a word. For the first twenty minutes, you worked in silence — not uncomfortable, just careful.

Then you both spoke at the same time.

“Wait—”

“This measurement—”

You paused, glancing at each other. You pointed at the page. “This can’t be right. It would make the potion unstable.”

Theo leaned closer, scanning quickly. “You’re right. It should be two counterclockwise stirs after the hellebore, not three.”

You blinked, surprised. “So the textbook’s wrong.”

“Looks like it.”

A small, shared understanding passed between you — quiet, but real. From there, the conversation came easier. Not fast, not effortless — but natural.

By the time you finished, the library was nearly empty. You checked the clock and froze. “We’re past curfew.”

Theo followed your gaze, then stood smoothly. “Then we’d better move quietly.”

You snuck through the corridors together, steps light, voices low. At one point, you both paused in the shadows as Mrs. Norris passed, her eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Your sleeve brushed his as you shifted closer without thinking. Neither of you moved away.

When you finally reached the staircase where your paths split, you stopped.

“Thanks,” you said, a little softer now. “For… not making that unbearable.”

Theo’s lips twitched faintly. “High praise.”

You hesitated, then added, “You’re not what I expected.”

He studied you for a moment. “Neither are you.”

The next Potions class felt different — not friendly, exactly, but easier. “Did you get caught?” Theo asked quietly as he stirred.

You shook your head. “No. You?”

“No.”

A small pause.

You handed in your potion and assignment at the end of class, and he gave you a single nod before leaving the class. You didn't exactly like how you were almost looking forward to the next Potions class, but you didn't dislike it either. You found your gaze drifting to Theo's work station often, everyone working individually this time, when the bell rang, Slughorn clapped his hands, the vials of the Draught of Peace all placed carefully on his table, he call your name and Theo's, “Excellent work! Best in the class!” Slughorn beamed.

You and Theo exchanged a brief, genuine smile outside the class before you turned away — but then—

“Wait.”

You stopped.

Theo hesitated, like he wasn’t entirely sure why he was speaking again. “…If you’re free later,” he said, quieter now, “we could look over Wolfsbane.”

You blinked. That wasn’t even in your syllabus. But something in the way he looked at you made you nod. “Six?”

“Six.”

From then on, it became routine. Library sessions turned into longer conversations, and conversations turned into something quieter, deeper. Eventually, you stopped meeting in the library altogether.

Instead, you ended up on the Astronomy Tower after midnight, passing a joint between you, the night stretched wide above.

“You trust people too easily,” he said, almost absentmindedly.

You glanced at him. “And you don’t trust them enough.”

Theo huffed softly, but didn’t argue.

It wasn’t until later that the conversation shifted.

“My mum—” you stopped, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

He didn’t rush you.

“…I can see Thestrals because of her.”

He nodded slowly. “Me too.”

That made you look at him.

“And it's sad,” you added quietly. “how people expect it to… hurt less over time.”

Theo let out a soft, humorless breath. “They always do.”

Silence settled between you. Not empty. Not awkward. Just understood.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said eventually, voice soft against the night air. “This whole Gryffindor and Slytherin thing…”

Theo leaned back slightly. “What about it?”

“It’s stupid,” you said simply. “We’re sorted at eleven and expected to carry that for the rest of our lives.”

He nodded once. “Houses are just labels.”

You glanced at him. “We’re not that different, you know.”

Theo was quiet for a moment. Then, softer than before:

“No. We just pretend we are.”

The stars stretched endlessly above you, the castle quiet around you. For the first time in a long while, Theo felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest — something steady.

And you felt it too — that quiet understanding, the kind that didn’t need to be explained.

After Hogwarts, none of it would matter. Not the rivalries. Not the house colors.

Just this.

Just the way you understood each other — without trying, without forcing it.

Opposite sides of the same coin.

And somehow, finally facing the same direction.

WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND PICTURES OF GRYFFINDORS AND SLYTHERINS TOGETHER?? Also to the anon who asked for this, I hope you like it<3 (Yes I used the Thestrals theory again sorry :3)

[teh-nos]

this fic is so good i hope i write it

[mynorthernattitude]

rage bait idea: like your own texts during an argument

[theunfortunate-author]

[crucifyjonnie]

unequivocally in love

mattheo riddle x little sister nott!reader fluffy and cute, kissing and love-confessions. mentions of blood and fighting. word count: 2657

Theo walked up to Mattheo—who was taking a bite from an apple—looking him straight into his eyes. “She’s in the infirmary. Again.” Mattheo’s features darkened as he looked at his best friend. Cocking his head, the air shifted in the room.

“What do you mean she’s in the infirmary again? What happened?” Mattheo asked, tone fuming as he rose from the armchair in the common room. 

“I don’t know. Pansy told Draco to tell me. I’m not worried, though.” Theo shrugged. He fucking shrugged. The thought of you being in the infirmary left Mattheo’s blood boiling in his veins. With quick strides, he made his way to the Hospital Wing. Slamming up the doors with a force so powerful the hinges could fall off, he walked in with determined steps, earning narrowed eyes from Madame Pomfrey. 

“Mr. Riddle, we have patients in here.” Her voice was kind, but Mattheo’s darkened glare made her move her gaze elsewhere. 

Pansy sat by your side on the hospital bed, eyeing Mattheo whose steps were closing in on you by mere seconds. Her gaze found yours, giving you a smirk while whispering, “Ooh, here comes trouble.” Pansy stood up from the bed, giving you a slight nod before leaving space for the thunder storm coming your way. 

Mattheo’s gaze scanned your face. One cracked eyebrow, dried blood on your chin and bruising around your eye. Mattheo’s expression was impossible to read, except the murderous look hiding behind his coffee coloured gaze. “You’re going to tell me exactly who it was.” The tone in his voice made it clear that there was no room for discussion. 

You shrugged, not wanting to rat anyone out—yet. “You should see him, he looks worse than me.” A smirk lingered on your lips—which apparently wasn’t appreciated. He tilted his head to the side, almost in a mocking kind of way and then—everything stills. His body, his eyes, his expression. The kind of stillness that only comes right before hell breaks loose. 

Mattheo turned his head to Pansy who was now standing by the door. He swallowed hard before giving her a short nod, jaw flexing. “Go get Theo. Now.” His gaze turned to you, expression calm, but eyes burning in a terrifying intensity. Cupping your cheek with surprising gentleness, he studied your face thoroughly once more. “You’re really going to make me ask twice?” Brushing just below the bruising under your eye—a touch so featherlight—his burning gaze found yours once more. “Who. Did. This?”

“Well, technically, you never asked a first time,” You smirked, holding the cold ice block to your eyebrow—water dripping and running down your arm. Mattheo cocked his head in pure irritation, jaw clenching once more. “You’re really handsome when you’re angry, you know that?” The look in his eyes telling you the attitude is not working. “Why get Theo? He doesn’t bother, never worries about me.” That was a lie.

A low rumbling sound leaves Mattheo’s lips—almost feral—and it would probably scare the shit out of you if you didn’t know him the way you did. With uncharacteristic gentleness,  his hand slides up to tangle slightly in your hair, tilting your head up towards his as he leans down until you can feel nothing but his breath against your lips. For a short moment of time, it felt like only the two of you existed in that little space by the bed.

“Cute, but flirting will not save whoever did this, princess,” Mattheo says, before his lips crush against yours. A searing kiss that definitely tasted like anger and iron from the dried blood on your face. A hiss leaves your lips, as the bruising around your eye starts to ache. Mattheo took a step back, his gaze still stormy with emotions.

Your gaze moves from Mattheo’s hardened stare to the door behind him as it bursts open to reveal Theo who's dramatically sighing. He took one glance at Mattheo's still murderous expression and then moved his gaze to you, shaking his head as he pursed his lips.

“Merlin. Another fight?” He asks in disbelief. Not because he was any better; he got into fights on a daily basis but when you did—once in a while—it was unbelievable.

You shrug innocently, a smile creeping in the corner of your lips. “He provoked me, I broke his nose, he got a real good hit on my eye and cracked my eyebrow—hence the blood,” you smiled, swallowing the taste of iron still present in your mouth, “I guess it runs in the family, brother dear.”

It was hard to read Theo’s face. Half pride—half exasperation. He shook his head, all big brother energy. Two steps was all it took for him to reach the bed, cupping your chin to inspect the bruising around your eye and the—now all dried up—bloody eyebrow. “Fucking hell.” a whisper so low, you weren’t sure he even realised he said anything. “Who did this?” 

Mattheo hadn’t moved an inch since kissing you. The tension in his whole body was so tight it actually looked painful. His eyes darkened further—if possible—at Theo’s question. Despite both boys demanding an answer, you shrugged once more and looked at Pansy with a smirk. “You’re both so dramatic,” you stood up from the bed and walked over to Pansy, gesturing for the exit. Madame Pomfrey rushed forward, handing you a small bottle. ‘Healing potion’, it was supposed to help with the bruising and the cut. You gave her a gentle smile in regards. Turning around, your gaze wanders down the room, searching. “Hey, McLaggen, nice snout.” A laugh escapes your lips as you finally spot him.  

The second McLaggen’s name is out of your mouth, Mattheo turns on his heel—faster than the golden snitch—his eyes locking onto the Gryffindor boy, who was lying further down the room. His nose was the size of an apple, the swell almost taking over his whole face. Two black eyes painted the darkening perfectly. Mattheo gave a short reaction of approval to your hits before striding over the floor with determined steps. As soon as McLaggen noticed Mattheo, all colour drained from his face. 

Mattheo didn’t have to say a word, he just looked at the terrified boy—all curled up to the headboard. Looming over him, Mattheo had the expression of someone’s darkest deepest nightmare. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Theo sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was all for Mattheo being protective over his little sister when you were innocent—but now? You put yourself in this situation. But Mattheo was determined to make McLaggen suffer some more. 

When the room is finally quiet once more, you peek through the door, “Done yet?” the question echoes across the silent room, only a low groan sounding from the back of the room. Your eyes roamed over the hall, finding Theo leaning against Madame Pomfrey’s desk—fingering through some book—totally unbothered by the storm that hailed the room; though a slight smirk of clear amusement gives him away. Your gaze wanders further, finding Mattheo straightening out his sleeves as if this was any other day. McLaggen’s nose was twice the size, and he’s whimpering as he carefully wipes the fresh crimson off his lip.

Mattheo whirls around at the sound of your voice, giving you a lazy half-smile—charm radiating off him despite the violence that took place just minutes ago. You shake your head, raising an eyebrow as your eyes bounced from Mattheo—to McLaggen—and back to Mattheo again. Rolling your eyes, you sigh, feigning disapproval. “Couldn’t I get the credit for this?”

Cupping your face, nuzzling your nose, Mattheo smiled. “Of course you get the credit, princess,” his tone was tender and soft, expression calm and steady. The contrast was unreal considering he had just rearranged McLaggen’s face. His thumb brushed lightly over the bruising on your face again, his dark eyes examining every detail of the injury; like it personally offended him. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Theo sighed once more, making an exaggerated gagging noise. Pansy on the other hand clapped her hands in approval, “Aw! Matty’s being sweet. Who could have thought he even had a heart in the first place?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, flipping them both off, without breaking his touch with you.

“Only for you,” he whispered, words meant only for you to hear. You stared at Mattheo, eyes roaming over all of his features. From his brown curls, to his intense alluring eyes, to the perfect curve of his cupid’s bow, all those little scars on his face that made him—him. Tracing his eyebrow with your fingertip, you reached up to give him a quick kiss before you laced your fingers with his. His eyes found yours again, and those usually sharp dark eyes went stupidly soft like someone flipped a switch. Only being in his presence tasted like relief and possession, all tangled together in a sweet stir.

“Ugh, get a damn room,” Theo looked nauseous, and you raised an amusing brow at your brother. 

"Stop being so damn dramatic, Theo. It's not like you don't drag girls to your dorm and then brag about it in the common room,” you shoot at him, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Clutching his chest dramatically with widening eyes, he looks at you with annoyance. “I have standards, unlike some people—” cutting himself off, he glares at Mattheo—who raised an unimpressed eyebrow at your brother. 

"You're calling ME, your own sister, low standard?" Your eyes widen as you smirk, "I'm the one who should be offended"

You started walking towards the stairs, pulling Mattheo along. "Oh and Theo, my dearest and only brother, say hi to Lavender from be, would you?" You taunt as the two of you skittered down the stairs.

Pansy loses it laughing, while Theo just stands with his jaw agape in pure disbelief for a solid three seconds, before spluttering down the stairs you and Mattheo had already reached the end of. “I SWEAR TO MERLIN.”

Mattheo dragged you along the corridor—a rare, boyish grin plastered on his face. The minute you’re out of earshot from Theo’s curses, he spins you around and pins you against the cold corridor wall. The curve of his lips made your heart melt, as his nose brushed against yours. “You’re a menace. I love it.” Closing the distance between the two of you, his lips caressed yours in a soft kiss. You smiled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“He will definitely kill me one day. It was bad enough that I got involved with his best friend, but making fun of him for who he chooses to share bed with…” you trail off.

The laugh leaving Mattheo’s throat was warm. He nuzzled his nose against yours, before stealing a last kiss, lacing your fingers once more. “He deserves it.”

“I CAN STILL HEAR YOU,” Theo yells from the stairs, making you giggle against Mattheo’s lips. His hands slide down to your waist as he leans his forehead against yours. The intimidating demeanor he usually wears was far gone. Mattheo looked stupidly happy. 

“STOP LISTENING!” you yell as your gaze locked on Mattheo. “I love that you’re only soft for me, and so utterly unbothered by everyone else.” The words left your lips as a whisper. You squeezed his hand, earning a soft smile from Mattheo.

The boy in front of you—the one who always wears darkened features and gives people glares if they walk a little too close—the one who sneers at romance novels and makes fun of couples in the common room—was now the boy who looked at you like you hung the stars. “Only ever for you.” His words caressed every broken piece of your soul. His eyes roaming over your face—memorising every little freckle. You reached up to caress his cheek, fingertips tracing every little scar and every little flaw, the ones that made you so hopelessly in love with every fiber of him. He melted into the tender touch of your fingers, eyes fluttering shut, exhaling deeply—like this was mending every part of him.

As you walked towards the Slytherin dungeons, your steps grew slow and tired. A yawn escaped your lips as you walked down the last steps before entering the door leading to your house. “I’m tired,” the words came out a lot more dramatic than you intended.

Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and started walking down the steps leading to the common room. It’s dark, not even the fireplace was lit. You nuzzled into the crook of Mattheo’s throat as he reached the door to your dorm. Kicking the door open as carefully as he could, he entered your room and put you down onto the mattress. You snuggled up with the blanket, closing your eyes as your head rested on your pillow. Mattheo shrugged off his shirt and toeing off his shoes and pants before sliding down under the blankets with you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You moved to rest your head against his chest—the even beats of his heart drumming right under your ear. It was a calming feeling, relaxation filling every inch of your body, calming everything that has ever felt uneasy inside of you.

His hand found your hair, fingers threading carefully through the strands in slow gentle strokes as he kissed the top of your head. 

"Mattheo... why do you love me?" You closed your eyes, yawning once more as your breathing started to come at a slower pace.

Mattheo chuckled lightly, pressing one more kiss on the top of your head. It took some time before he answered, choosing his words with precision. “Where do I even start?” He hummed softly, “You’re brave, and kind. Always believe the best in people. Your laugh could light up anyone’s day. You get feisty when Theo annoys the shit out of you, even though you’re also the only one who knows how to really handle him,” his voice was filled with sleepiness, but he wasn’t done yet. “The way you take care of others, and how you put everyone else above you. And your face. Merlin, I love you so much it’s stupid.” Mattheo grabs ahold of your hand, kissing the palm down to your wrist.

“But when did you know that you wanted to be with me? How did you realise that you saw me as more than your best friend's little sister?” You didn’t really plan for all of these questions—but somewhere—you had always wondered.

Mattheo smiled, shifting slightly—just to look you in the eyes. “It was during a weekend in Hogsmeade. The rain was pouring down, and you were wearing Theo’s stupid jumper because yours got soaked in the rain,” he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “I tried to tell myself I just thought you were pretty—beautiful, stunning even. But as the time went by, I realised I started memorising small things about you. What you liked to eat, how you wanted your coffee. I started noticing things, like how you chew on your lip when you’re concentrating. Or how you pull on hairstrands when you’re nervous, or how you hide your hands inside your jumper when you're uncomfortable. It wasn’t that I just thought you were pretty anymore. You consumed my mind—every moment of my day.” He exhaled lightly, “And then, one day, I saw you talking to another guy, and every inch of my body, every brain cell told me to throw this guy over the bridge for even thinking he would be good enough for you. I was fuming, and I didn’t feel like me, you know. Like I was possessed. And that’s when I really knew.”

The confession hung in the air, but all you could do was smile. Leaning your forehead against his, you closed your eyes. “I’m so unequivocally, madly, in love with you, Mattheo Riddle.”

a big THANK YOU to @obsessedwithceleste for reading it through and helping me edit it ♡

© crucifyjonnie 2026. Please do not copy, translate or repost any of my works. Reblogs, likes and comments are welcomed though ♡ you are accountable for your own media consumption.

[puddlesoffrogs]

embracing the fear

Who knew the guy you're fooling around with had a heart and would be the one to make you feel better about your new braces 🩵 [request linked]

mattheo riddle x fem!reader. FLUFFFFFF, but course in pizza fashion a little bit of making out + swearing. 2k

It was impossible to pull your eyes away from the indisputable vivid, red circle highlighting your inevitable doom. A week from today at the ripe age of eighteen the appointment you never thought could happen, would arrive.

Curse your orthodontist! who gave you everlasting hope that you had avoided the teenage horrors of needing braces.

Curse your parents! for respecting the art of muggles and the highly skilled occupation of their friends who offered to give them a discount.

Curse the ridiculously hot guy! who's taken an interest in you and who will surely flee the scene once he sees the metal traps aligning your teeth.

The frustration bubbles violently beneath your skin, exhaling out in an exhausted sigh. You shove the appointment sheet deep into the black hole of your robe pocket hoping to forget all about the tragedy.

Only to jump at the approach of none other than said boy, Mattheo.

He slides in beside you on the Slytherin bench, elbow nudging into your side happily, "Mornin." He flashes a wide amused grin at your startled surprise, "scare ya did I?"

You roll your eyes, dropping your hand clutched to your chest, "Please as if."

He snorts, plating himself some breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The rest of the group settling themselves around the two of you, the table roaring louder with chatter.

"So what you got there?" He raises a brow, eyeing your pocket.

Taking a bite of your syrupy drenched waffle, you way the choices of how to direct the conversation.

Deciding for blunt rudeness, you huff, "It's none of your business."

"But i'm trying to make it mine." He hums.

You scoff at the arrogance, wondering what the hell you see in him again and he grins watching the way your eyes narrow lost in a thought, the subtle scrunch of your brows showing your displeasure.

A quick gaze over his features; glimmering eyes full of mischief, a mop of curly brown hair softly framing his face, with a grin so wickedly charming it could make the darkest of wizard's swoon.

It's easy to remember why, but that doesn't mean you're about to open up vulnerably to him.

"Well, stop." You give him a sharp pursed smile and avert your attention back to your waffles.

Mattheo knew something was bothering you beyond his nagging and took your snappiness with no offense. That wasn't a part of your agreement, and he had no plan on meddling with female moodiness.

But when it dragged on throughout the week, Mattheo's mood soured to mirror your reflection. Long gone was the girl who teased him, flashing him a flirty smile in the hall. Who could take his playful jests and never missed a week diving under the sheets beside him.

A part of him felt pulled to check up on you despite the consequences that might unravel. Never had he ever wondered the halls towards the girls' dormitories with an ounce of care that was flourishing inside him now.

He didn't do feelings, or check-ups on girls he was casually seeing.

And yet the absence of your smile, had pulled at his heartstrings like an idiot in love, puppeting his legs to stride towards your presence.

He walks the hall promptly, with a lack of apologies for passing-by students caught in his path. His hair was still damp from the post-practice shower, water drops dripping down his neck, a lasting souvenir of his impatience to catch you before curfew.

He knocks with a sharp thud, a little harsher than intended releasing a heavy weighted breath. He needed this to be resolved as soon as possible, feeling out of place with an odd sense of unfamiliarity lingering over his shoulders like an unwelcome shadow.

Usually, the two of you expended your time by just kissing and doing other intimate activities. Perhaps he truly only cared because he hadn't been laid in a week, and your moodiness was causing serious cock blocking for him.

It was all very odd, and he just wished you'd open the damn door already—

"Hey?" You greet him with wet hair that matches his, a towel stills scrunched in it to dry the droplets. Your eyes glaze over his unaccustomed-for visit with concern, yet there's a fondness that glimmers in seeing him.

"Hey." Mattheo nods, his eyes surveying you head to toe with his own touch of concern. The edges of his lips curving sideways with partial relief, "Shower?"

"What?"

He coughs clearing his throat, "I meant you also had a shower?"

You try not to snort at the ridiculous question, raising an amused eyebrow. "Yeah. And?"

Mattheo's eyes narrow with judgment at your tone, rolling them back with sass. "Nothin. Just an observation."

"O-kay?" The tension building between you is not at all how he planned for this to go. Why is everything so weird?!

His lips form a tight line, taking a deep breath to control his anger at the situation. "I just wanted to see you, aight. To you know….” Merlin could that have sounded any closer like a clingy boyfriend.

You raise a brow curious at this new wave of affection spurting out of him.

"—to ya know, fuck." He adds, shoving his hands deep in his pockets trying to commit to the lie. It doesn't stop the wave of surging panic rolling over him like a tsunami at his uncharacteristic lack of charm.

Yet somehow it works, as you roll your eyes, a peak of a smile finally bringing the warmth back into your face, and you reward his ludicrous reasoning with a desperately feral kiss.

He groans at the connection, the reuniting of your lips wandering over his for the first time all week. He hates how needy he feels with the sudden feel of your soft lips. His hands are on you in a flash, cradling your face as he walks you backwards, falling further into the intensity of the kiss, lips moving in a rhythm only you two can feel.

The two of you fall onto your bed, bodies sliding together creating a friction of heat, his hands getting lost roaming the feeling of your body he sorely missed.

He hums pleasurably, as you caress his neck with eagerness. Planting assertive kisses along his neck, and finally when he's replenished oxygen back to his mind, does he grunts softly your name to grab your attention back to his original goal.

"I lied."

"What?" You pull back with confusion.

"I mean— I want to talk." He mumbles gently touching your shoulders and rolling you off him to the side.

A tinge of embarrassment overcomes you by your animistic instincts and you purse your lips.

"Relax, it's not bad." He senses your discomfort, shifting onto his side to face you, "I just noticed somethings been bothering you all week."

You sigh at the redirection of conversation, "I'm fine, Matt."

Mattheo shakes his head, "Cut the bullshit. I hate people who beat around the bush."

"It's nothing really, just a lot on my mind this week."

"Hm but ain't that the point of me?" He quips playfully, shooting you a flirtatious grin.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh again falling back into the softness of your bed. "It's stupid."

Mattheo watches, and the noose around his heart tightens with distress. "Come'on try me." He's well aware that by allowing you to open up toys the line between casual and something else, but it's eating at him to stay in the dark.

You ponder the worse that could happen by telling him the truth. Eyeing him with scrutiny and feeling a warmth surround you by the charmingly pleading look he's pulling.

"Promise you won't laugh if I tell you?"

Mattheo's eyes flash with intrigue, his lips stretch devilishly, "Me? I'd never."

Your eyes squint playfully mad, "I'm being serious."

"Go on then. I promise I won't laugh." He sighs dramatically, "Easy!" His elbow gives as he's yanked to lay beside you. No way are you telling him the honest truth with him gawking at you like an animal in a zoo.

The ceiling now the centre of your attention, allows the bubble of nerves to hit the surface and spit from your tongue with a speed Mattheo has never seen.

"Merlin! Slow down Women, you're like a chipmunk on speed right now." He cackles deeply amused, his eyes crinkling further when you shoot him a look.

You repeat your doom impending braces dilemmas again, only to be interrupted by the impatient boy.

"—Why can't you just use magic?"

"My parents are against it."

He raises a brow not understanding fully, "So, you're an adult?"

"So I still stay with them till school is over. And besides they don't really like the idea of fixing them with magic."

Mattheo tilts his head trying to spot imperfections with your teeth and falls short. "Nothing even looks wrong with you."

"Thanks for the observation, Riddle."

"Just saying it how I see."

You shove him playfully, struggling to hide the heat attempting to burn its way up your cheeks. "Anyway, I'm getting them put on this weekend."

A silence falls over the two of you, the ceiling now a favourite of your attention. Unwanted thoughts from the week swarm your mind, the anxiety buzzing in your stomach, you might puke.

Loud, stomach-churning laughs of shame that echo across the stone walls upon your arrival back showcasing the new accessory. Nicknames that will follow you for the rest of final year.

And then there was Mattheo.

The uncertainty of what he'll think. Will he still find you attractive…want to kiss you—"ow."

You rub at the sore spot on your forehead, frowning at him. "The hell?"

He grins unbothered by the flick, "You were in your head."

"No shit. Were you even listening to anything I said?"

He nods, "Course I was. And I think you're overreacting."

"What I didn't—"

He hums, turning his body over to face you. There's an annoyingly smug I-am-so-smart look that you wish to slap off his face. "Didn't have too, I can read you. And you're being stupid."

"Hey!"

"Come on. Why on earth do you think you'd be any less with something on your teeth?"

"I-"

"Yeah, you're being stupid and whatever reason you have conjured up in this big cute lil brain." He leans closer tapping your noggin, "You're hot now and you'll look just as good after your torture."

"It's not tor—"

"Whatever." He captures your lips once again, swallowing any further complaints with the tip of his tongue.

"So lets see. Give us a smile." Mattheo greets you outside your dorm room, untucking his arms from his chest. How long as he been standing threre?

You shoot him an unappreciative glare at suddenly being all up in your space, though it feels nice to see a familiar face. You grunt pushing past him into your room, hearing his footsteps follow behind.

He snorts, “Hello? What your just not gonna talk to me?”

Ignoring the boy further, you throw off your sweater, before yelping as he tackles— knocking you down onto your bed. A merciful attack, his fingers digging playfully into your sides in an effective tickle that has your wriggling letting out a forced laugh.

He grins back, admiring the flustering spreading over you and finally capturing your adorable smile. Your eyes crinkle as you smile authentically, cheeks brimming with radiance that makes Mattheo's heart stutter with difficulty.

His eyes zoning in on the new accessory covering the rows of your teeth, a pretty blue glistening back. You retaliate, slapping a hand over your mouth insecurely, his brows flicker displeased and he pins your wrists to the bed with a hand.

Your lips remain pursed stubbornly and he cocks a brow at your difficulty.

"Fine have it your way." He jabs at your sides again spurting out another happy laugh.

“Mattheo!” You squirm in between jabs, struggling to keep your mouth closed.

"Aw, those are cute." He compliments, a hand grabbing lightly at your jaw for closer inspection. You try to pout and he squeezes your cheeks together briefly, grinning in amusement. "I like them."

"Quit starring." You mumble.

"You quit it." He leans down quieting you with a kiss, releasing his hands to rest them instead on your hips. His tongue flickers over the wires getting to feel out the new ridges, humming in curiosity. Only before his fingers ram into your sides again in another torturous tickle attack, "Now, lemme see that cute smile again."

SO SORRY TO THE ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS MONTHS AGO, hope you like it b! AND tysmmm to @viperify + @obsessedwithceleste for reading it over 💗thank you for reading! Feel free to leave any love ᥫ᭡ ©️puddlesoffrogs 2026 ⤷ masterlist.

[crucifyjonnie]

For someone who had braces during almost all of my teenage years, this healed something in me ❤️ G YOU'RE A FUCKING GENIUS!!!!

[mewnbuns]

sorry for staring at your biceps i would like you to put me in a headlock

[lavenderpanic]

all of my writing is actually just thinly-veiled fantasy about being seen at your worst and still being loved

[writingdose]

[animentality]

"fandom is dying," they whine as they stab artists and writers in the chest with discourse knives and harassment screws. "why isn't anyone making content for me to greedily consume for free as I make the experience worse for them and everyone around me?"

[ashstfu]

reading a good interesting book after a horrible reading slump and suddenly you can feel the sun shining again and the sky is more beautiful than ever and birds are all singing songs to you

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

.✦ ݁˖ EYES ON ME.

.✦ SUMMARY: Tom has sworn to protect his little brother from women like you—but ends up falling into the trap himself when your punishment becomes his demise ;)

.✦ WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. revenge hate sex. slight exhibitionism. Tom is jealous but doesn't want to admit it. rough sex, little to no prep, degradation, slight slut shaming? choking, face slapping (m rec MUHAHA), tearing instead of taking off clothes, unprotected p in v, creampie, orgasm denial, no aftercare, Tommy is obsessed with our pussy us :333

.✦ AUTHOR'S NOTE: yall know the phrase "missionary so we can keep arguing" ??? beccause that's them. lol.

wordcount: 3,1k

This. Exactly this is why you loathe Astronomy lessons.

Your arms hug your chest more tightly, hurrying along the dark and eerily quiet corridors, cursing yourself for not taking a warmer jacket with you. Although spring is slowly but surely starting up here in the far north of the country, you currently find yourself in that strange transitioning phase, where afternoons are pleasantly warm, hot even, while nights are bone-chillingly cold. 

Astronomy classes typically start at 21:00 and end two hours later—catching the last few weak sunrays painting the horizon a bright, saturated orange as well as the starry night sky, sometimes accentuated by polar lights. 

And while these definitely are the highlights of your lessons, it doesn’t quite change the fact that the walk back, especially in cold, dark weather, is as much unpleasant as terrifying.

The size of the castle does not help, either. Your walk to your dorm takes around 10-15 minutes surely and spans across half the castle. It leads you past the Great Hall, countless portraits of famous witches and wizards, the kitchens, and classrooms. 

If you weren’t so caught up in your thoughts and regrets about signing up for Astronomy in the first place, you might’ve noticed the shift in the air around you. How the torches’ flames dim slightly as you turn the corner, how the owls’ hoots from the Owlery a few hundred metres away fade into the tranquillity of the night. 

Instead, you shake your head at a comment your professor made this night, eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. He could’ve just cancelled the lesson for bad weather—but instead, he insisted, only to then be a nuisance when students couldn’t make out constellations.  

If you weren’t so damn inattentive, you might’ve been able to draw your wand in time when a door to your right flies open, one strong arm circling your waist, the other clamping over your mouth as you’re pulled into a classroom before you can even react properly. 

Might’ve been, you think, but when notes of sandalwood and myrrh flood your senses, that small chance dissolves into nothingness. 

What could he possibly want from you this late? 

He lets go of you when he’s put a sufficient amount of distance between you and the door and spins you around to face him. 

Moonlight is drowning in from outside, the only source of light in the classroom besides a few candles—still, the resentment edged into his features is as evident as ever, and your mind races through all scenarios where you may have insulted Slughorn’s favourite boy. 

And yet, you cannot recall such a moment. You are smart enough to keep distance between him and yourself, even though you sometimes would do nothing rather than smack him across his stupidly handsome face. There's no word in the whole English language to describe the sheer audacity of this man—starting with the way he treats his friends and ending with his perfect-student act in class. 

Sometimes, you wonder if you are the only one seeing right through the facade he puts up. And even if you can’t quite place it, beneath said facade shimmers nothing good. That, you are sure of—and one of the many reasons why you prefer staying away from trouble rather than giving him that deserved slap across his cheek he is practically begging for. 

“Mattheo,” he says, lowly. Nothing else. No explanation, just his brother’s name. 

What about him? You nearly ask, but then it dawns upon you. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

Over the years, Tom Riddle has acquired many titles. Prefect, Head Boy, top student, but most of all, protective older brother. 

And you may or may not have gotten involved with the younger of the Riddles. Involved as in... hooked up with. 

In your defence, you were quite drunk. More than usual. And those pretty brown curls, those freaking gorgeous doe-eyes—they led straight to your demise. Mattheo asked so sweetly too—how was your drunk self supposed to abstain from that? 

It was just a one-time thing. Or, well, if you count the other two times it has happened after that—a three-time thing, perhaps. 

You decide not to tell him that. “That’s none of your business, Riddle. He’s an adult and very well capable of making his own decisions.” 

He scoffs with his signature condescending tone and shakes his head. 

“Perhaps if he didn’t go after someone like you. But he can’t seem to keep his hands off women who are clearly bad for him.” 

Bad for him? Someone like you? Who on earth does he think he is? 

“Someone like me? What is that supposed to imply?” you ask exasperatedly, crossing your arms over your chest when a breeze sends a shiver down your spine. 

Tom’s eyes drop to the now strained buttons of your blouse, a muscle ticking in his jaw before his eyes return to yours. 

“You have quite the reputation regarding... that.” 

“And you, you, Riddle—” you laugh in disbelief, closing the distance between the both of you, poking his chest with your index finger. “You’ve got quite the reputation for being an absolute asshole, which you’ve just proved right once again—contrary to me, because I don’t have said reputation.” 

You don’t miss the flame lighting up behind his guarded eyes when your skin touches the fabric of his shirt. For a long moment, silence falls between you two, and your hand drops to your side again, swallowing the lump which has built in your throat. 

You are too close. So close, you see how his jaw clenches and unclenches, how the crease between his brows fades. So close, if you shut your eyes and breathed in, you’d find yourself in a dark forest after rain—intoxicatingly good, but also just as dangerous. 

Did he bathe himself in perfume?

Before you get to say anything else, a hand wraps around your throat. Firmly, but not enough to hurt or stop you from gasping. Tom walks you backwards until you’re pressed up against one of the tables, trapped between his body, taller and broader than your own, and the oak currently biting into your skin. 

“You’ve quite the mouth on you. Careful, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want to do anything I might regret later.” 

His thumb brushes along the side of your neck then, his eyes—a darker brown than his brother’s—following. The touch of his bare skin on yours efficiently short-circuits your mind. You shouldn’t let him do this. You should ridicule him and flee to the sanctuary of your dorm—but something in his voice makes you curious. Makes you stay—right there, a breath away from him, your pulse hammering beneath his fingers on your neck. 

“Is there anything mighty Tom Riddle could possibly regret? Here I thought you live a regret and carefree life. Guess I was wrong.” 

His grip on your throat tightens the slightest bit. “Oh, there are plenty. Though I will make sure I won’t regret staying up late for this.” 

You raise a brow at him. “Riddle missing out on his beauty sleep for me? The greatest tragedy of the 21st century, for sure.” 

“Quiet,” he snaps, his hand leaving your throat. Tom places them on the back of your thighs instead, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the table. “You’ve said and done enough.” 

Enough? You were just getting started. A warm-up, you could say. 

You never thought arguing with him could be this much fun—especially when it riles him up to the point he gets fucking hard from it. 

Because no, you haven’t quite missed the tent in his trousers, which was poking into your hips until a few seconds ago. How could you have? It was scarily evident. Knowing that you have this effect on him, a guy who you’ve never seen leave a party alongside a girl, is more satisfying than you’d like to admit. 

He makes quick work of his belt, and that, on the other hand, is something you did not expect—not from him, at least. 

It’s not only the fact he initiated this—but time and place. A classroom, of all places. Anyone could hear you. Prefects on duty, professors walking past. It was dangerous. Reckless. So unlike him, you wonder whether someone slipped him a potion during dinner. 

Good that you don’t necessarily mind reckless. 

He steps between your thighs, wrenching them apart. 

“Someone could walk in, Riddle. You are insane,” you scold, though not entirely sincere, eyes darting between the unlocked door and him. 

He flips up your skirt in response. 

“Knowing you, you would most definitely enjoy that, slut.” 

The retaliatory insult sits on the tip of your tongue but never makes it past your lips. His eyes are focused on the wet spot soaking through the cotton of your panties. His thumb presses down on it, tracing it upwards until he finds your clit, and you moan in response, meeting his touch. 

He pulls away. “You get wet from just this? From arguing?” 

You grin up at him. “Only when I am winning.” 

Instead of asking you to lift your hips so he can slide your panties off, he hooks his fingers beneath the damp fabric, ripping it along the middle with a sharp tearing sound. 

Those were expensive, you want to tell him, but his hand clamps over your mouth instead. “I would’ve considered going easy on you. If you weren’t such a goddamn brat who doesn’t know when it’s better to shut up, that is.” 

Your eyebrows pinch together, because how could they not? It’s him who pulled you into this classroom just to what? To fuck you because you dared to have sex with his brother? Even if you tried making sense of it, you doubt you’d succeed. 

But for now, for now you are curious whether he is bluffing or if he actually knows what he’s doing—and the answer, you find just a moment later. 

His trousers are left to pool around his ankles, and he takes one last step forwards—groaning lowly as he coats himself in your slick. Tom doesn’t prepare you any more than a few bumps against your aching clit. Doesn’t use his fingers to work you open and get you to relax your muscles and give in to pleasure. 

Instead, he nudges against your entrance and pushes inside. Not slowly, either. With one mean, sharp thrust, he splits you open around him, hands on your hips keeping you in your place. The sting is overwhelming at first, blinding. Your scream is muffled by his hand over your lips, and he stills for a moment—giving you enough time to stop him if you so wished. 

When you don’t, your thighs closing around his lower body, he has the answer he needs. And though your vision is blurry with unshed tears, you feel the smirk on his lips. The satisfaction radiating off him is sickening, and thoughts about smacking it away return. 

“So fucking tight. If you can’t take it, just say so. I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“How considerate of you, Riddle.” you murmur with a fake smile, meeting his gaze. “I am not backing down, though. Now show me what you’ve got before I change my mind.” 

He eases your legs apart, keeping them spread wide for him as he sets a rhythm. Fast, deep, unrelenting. His hips slam against your own with a loud smacking sound which echoes off the walls and—you are quite certain—can be heard from outside just as clearly. 

God, perhaps that ego of his is rightfully as massive as it is. 

His hand leaves your mouth and instead wraps around your throat again, more tightly this time. Your eyes flutter close, losing yourself in the feeling of him so close, so deep. Tomorrow will be soon enough to hate yourself for this. Now, now, you want to feel. Feel as he fucks his hatred into you. 

But Tom—Tom isn’t quite happy with that. He wants to see you. Wants to see your eyes roll to the back of your head as he stuffs you full over and over again, wants to see you tear up each time he thrusts deep enough to brush against your cervix. He wants you to focus on him during it all. 

“Eyes on me,” he rasps, voice low and thick with resentment. He grasps your chin and tilts your face towards his. “Look at me when I fuck you.” 

You obey. And you hate that you do. You hate that he walks around the castle like he owns it. You hate that he’s making you feel like this. 

Most of all, you hate that he always gets to have his way. 

Your fingertips tickle with want, and what you do next isn't entirely thought through. 

“I hate you, Riddle.” you whisper, eyes glaring up at him just as he wanted. And then, in one swift motion, your palm connects with his cheek, a loud SMACK! reverberating between you two. 

His head stays turned to the side, and you clench your hand into a fist, dropping it to your side. 

Damn, that hurt—but also, fuck, that felt amazing. 

Tom stills his movements, buried all the way inside your velvety walls, his tip nudging uncomfortably against your already-sore cervix. You can’t say you’re not scared of what comes next. Did you hurt his ego? Will he stop? Will he—and you much preferred this option—do the same to you? 

You could’ve frozen time, thought about every possible outcome for days, perhaps weeks, and what comes next wouldn’t have crossed your mind in that time. It wouldn’t have crossed your mind at all, not in a thousand years. 

His head dips, and at the same time he uses his grip around your neck to pull you upwards. Tom breathes in, a mere inch from your lips—once, twice, his dark eyes staring at yours so intensely, the room around you starts spinning—and then, his lips collide with yours. 

It’s messy, rough, uncoordinated—as it has been. He steals your breath away, but you don’t complain. His other hand finds your blouse, again, ripping instead of opening, one button after another popping off, leaving your chest bare for him. 

Only when his lungs too run out of oxygen does he part from you, a whole new expression written over his face. 

I hate you, but I can’t get enough either. 

Tom seems to realise what the latter may mean, and God, if he was rough before, he is feral now. 

His cock pistons into you at a pace you have a hard time keeping up with, every thrust making the table squeak and sending your hips backwards—so harshly, he has to pull you back multiple times. 

“This is what you wanted? Getting fucked like a slut? Don't even bother answering. We both know.” 

You shriek when he angles his thrusts just right, gripping his forearm. “Riddle— Tom, I—” 

He looks at you, taking in the mess he’s made of you. Torn blouse and panties, mascara smeared, whining and moaning so sweetly beneath him. This is so much better than he imagined it to be. 

Similar thoughts cross your mind. Beads of sweat on his temples, one dark curl hanging loosely over his forehead. He breathes heavily, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. He looks gorgeous like this—even more so than usual. Human, almost. With real feelings. Fuck.  

His thumb finds your swollen clit, briefly—pulling away before it starts feeling good. He scoffs when you whine at the loss. 

“You thought I’d allow you to come? Pathetic. Think again.” 

You want to argue with him, beg, if you really have to—but he pushes you down onto the surface of the table, leaning over you—an angle which allows him deeper, and that, he uses to his advantage. 

Low grunts and groans begin spilling from his kiss-swollen lips, and with a few more deep thrusts, he spills himself inside you, painting your walls white with his release. 

Tom stays there while he catches his breath—buried deep, keeping you full of him for a moment longer. 

When he does finally withdraw, you hiss at the friction—God, you aren’t looking forward to the walk back to your dorm. 

Tom doesn’t speak a word while he dresses himself. Only when he is about to exit the classroom does he turn around one last time, a small, satisfied smirk tugging on the corner of his lips when he realises you haven’t moved, thighs slick with your combined arousal. 

“Don’t come near him—us—again,” he says, keeping his tone as strict as he could—though failing. “Trust me, I will know.” 

・・・ 

You are glad it’s the weekend, because for the last two days, after returning to your dorm, you haven’t moved much. Your whole body aches, and a part of you wishes you smacked him twice instead of just once. 

With your latest read in your hand, you prepare yourself for bed—though sleeping has been rather difficult when all you can think about is him. How he felt inside you, how pretty he looked when his guard was down. 

A few minutes later, a sharp knock on your window startles you. The bed just got warm, and you sigh deeply as you swing your legs over the edge and cross the room to the window. 

Who in their right mind sends an owl this late? 

You open the window, a chilly breeze greeting you. Taking the letter from your owl, you pet her, and she flies off into the darkness of the night again. You sink onto the chair at your work desk, studying the envelope. 

The seal looks familiar, and yet you can’t quite place it—only when you open it do you recognise the handwriting. 

It’s Tom’s—and the content makes you huff a laugh. 

Tuesday, after Herbology. The classroom I use for tutoring. Don't be late, or I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for another three days. 

You cringe at the thought of him seeing you limp to the Great Hall for breakfast and quickly shove that thought away. Most importantly, he reached out to you. After just two days, he’s the one breaking his own rule. 

You sensed it was a lie back when he told you to stay away. It didn’t come with the usual authority, with the finality you’d expect from him. 

A smirk spreads across your face, slow and sweet realisation dawning on you. 

You got both Riddle brothers addicted to you—and your pussy. 

A/N pt 2: THREESOME WHEN WHEN WHEN????

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2026 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own

𑁤 general taglist:

@glowingatdawn @whimpurrin @cb97s-babyygirl @averielilyrose

[dreaming-of-epiphanies]

YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!! Ohh when I tell you I've been waiting for this!! @viperify can testify this alone gave me the motivation to finish a paper I'd been putting off (ty for yelling at me in my dms to do it ily)

So now that I've waited far too long... let's get into itttt!

✮ "Your arms hug your chest more tightly, hurrying along the dark and eerily quiet corridors, cursing yourself for not taking a warmer jacket with you. ╰┈➤ Sidenote but literally me, I'm always cold

✮ "...catching the last few weak sunrays painting the horizon a bright, saturated orange as well as the starry night sky, sometimes accentuated by polar lights." ╰┈➤ I know I've probably said this at least a dozen times but my GOD your descriptions are top tier. This is literally gorgeous.

✮ "Mattheo asked you so sweetly too- ho was your drunk self supposed to abstain from that?" ╰┈➤ THINKING OF TOMMY OFC (it's ok tho I won't fault her cause Matty IS pretty dreamy...)

✮ "You don't miss the flame lighting up behind his guarded eyes when your skin touches the fabric of his shirt." ╰┈➤ IT'S HAPPENING EVERYONE STAY CALMMMM

✮ "But something in his voice makes you curious. Makes you stay- right there, a breath way from him, your pulse hammering beneath his fingers on your neck." ╰┈➤ God I'd stay forever

✮ "Riddle missing out in his beauty sleep for me? The greatest tragedy of the 21st century, for sure." ╰┈➤ HELP I'M DEAD LMFAO (lowkey though because there's no way he perfects those looks otherwise)

✮ "You never thought arguing with him could be this much fun- especially when it riles him up to the point he gets fucking hard from it." ╰┈➤ This in absolute perfection and completely on-point for him omg. He's such a little shit (in the best way), you just know he would be absolutely peeved if we dared to argue with him

✮ "Someone could walk in, Riddle. You are insane." ╰┈➤ Yeah but I don't see either of us leaving...

✮ "He flips up your skirt in response." ╰┈➤ HOLY SHIT

✮ "It's him who pulled you into this classroom just to what? To fuck you because you dared to have sex with your brother." ╰┈➤ Exactly. I smell jealousyyyy

✮ "Now show me what you've got before I change my mind." ╰┈➤ GIRL we are playing with fireeee

✮ "God, perhaps that ego of his is rightfully as massive as it is." ╰┈➤ Yeah, along with something else...

✮ "Tomorrow will be soon enough to hate yourself for this. Now, now, you want to feel. Feel as he fucks his hatred into you." ╰┈➤ Oh hun I could NEVER regret this. Sorry not sorry Matty, your brother is definitely for me hehehe

✮ "I hate you, but I can't get enough either." ╰┈➤ If there could be a motto for Tom x enemy!reader this would SOOO be it

✮ "You shriek when he angles his thrusts just right, gripping his forearm. 'Riddle- Tom, I-" ╰┈➤ Ughh I am such a sucker for using each other's first name for the first time during sex

✮ "This is so much better than he imagined it to be." ╰┈➤ BRO THIS IS SO GOOD THIS FIC IS PERFECTION

✮ "'Don't come near him- us- again,' he says, keeping his tone as strict as he could- though failing." ╰┈➤ More like I will not stay away

✮ "It's Tom's- and the content makes you huff a laugh." ╰┈➤ Yeah lets be so fr we KNEW he wouldn't be able to resist us again, which is exactly as it should be.

🩷 LOVED EVERY SINGLE MINUTE OF THIS AND RESPECTFULLY I NEED A DOZEN MORE. ABSOLUTELY WORTH FINISHING MY ESSAY FOR <3

[viperify]

Ivyyyyy you never fail to make me smile like an idiot with ur reblogs🥺💗

this is so very sweet, I absolutely adore you! :3 thank you for taking the time to do this, im very glad to have been of help with ur paper!! ;)

[garfieldsladybird]

just wanna mention for every fandom.

Start reblogging. Reblog.

Why are you not re-blogging? You think the fandom is dead, that no one’s interacting anymore, no one’s doing anything, no one’s writing, no one’s posting. ‘Everyone was so hyperfixed on that character, Where is the writing?’

People are writing. People aren’t reblogging. People aren’t giving some good feedback to motivate the writers that are putting their hard work, time, effort into making this piece that you were reading.

‘oh, it’s just too much work. You don’t wanna click that button and then click a few tags.’ Then you’re gonna have to suffer and not see a lot of writing from a lot of people because the only way this fucking app works is if you reblog.

I see so many pieces of work with 59 likes and 1 blog, I just saw one that had 690 likes and it had 9 reblogs. Even 1,000 likes and only 59 reblogs too. It’s devastating to see for the community of Tumblr. And I’ve been here for like five years, the way this app works is if you re-blog.

There’s so many people that are writing. There’s so many amazing things that I see and I try my best to reblog every single one that I read. That’s what I love doing because sharing someone’s piece of work is just beautiful because it allows me to show it to more people.

I reblog. And the beauty of it is;

I get notifications that this person liked it and this person liked it, and then that post continues to get more views, more likes and reblogs. All just because one person, reblogged it.

so please, if you are a part of Tumblr and you love reading your favorite writers fics, or love reading about your favorite character, please do your job and reblog it.

And if you don’t like re-blogging because you don’t want to do that on your account, then you can make another account and put all of the things that you read on that account. You can do separate things, like fic recs.

You can figure it the fuck out if you want people to actually be writing for a character you love. The writers are writing, you ain’t helping them share their work.

Reblog. It ain’t hard.

[hopecorediva]

reminder to breathe

[writingdose]

your inner child is so proud of the writer you’ve become